Imogen by Jilly Cooper

to marry her.’
    ‘Don’t you want to?’
    He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m a Catholic, if somewhat lapsed. I’m supposed to try to marry for good. I can put up with a free range mistress, but not a free range wife.’
    ‘She’d probably settle down once you married her,’ said Imogen.
    ‘Perhaps. Oh, my God,’ he muttered, turning green again. ‘Here goes yesterday’s breakfast.’
    She had never known anyone could be so seasick. Each time he returned, more white and shaking, to her side. In the middle Cable had the gall to saunter up and put a proprietorial hand over his: ‘We’re going to have some lunch, darling. See you later. Isn’t Yvonne nice?’
    ‘Adorable,’ said Matt. ‘I’m just wondering how I’m going to kill her.’
    At last they sighted Boulogne, hanging in a mist of seagulls, its cranes jabbing the sky. They were now joined by the rest of the party, bumptious from duty-free drink, and clutching their packets of duty-free cigarettes.
    ‘Hullo,’ said Cable. ‘You do look peaky, darling. Do you like my new scent?’ and she thrust her wrist under Matt’s nose.
    The skies were overcast as the boat drew in and it was still raining. A few fat Frenchmen in blue overalls and berets were waiting on the quay. Goodness, they look very English, thought Imogen, and the weather’s just like Yorkshire.
    ‘Shall I drive?’ asked Nicky as they got back into the car.
    Matt shook his head. ‘It’ll take my mind off my stomach.’
    ‘Imogen looks rather grey. She’d better go in the front,’ said Cable, nipping into the back beside Nicky.
    The Mercedes was soon eating up the miles. So this is France, thought Imogen. Great avenues of poplars, cornfields stretching to infinity, incredibly ugly towns with their peeling Dubonnet posters and gaudy gardens like seed packets. There was no one in the streets. Perhaps they were all making fantastic French love behind those closed shutters.
    ‘The First World War was fought all over here,’ Matt told her. ‘Most of the old houses were razed to the ground. That’s why the villages are so new and hideous. Have you read Goodbye to All That ?’
    Imogen shook her head.
    ‘Marvellous book. I’ve got a copy in my case. I’ll lend it to you.’
    ‘I couldn’t get beyond the first page,’ said Cable.
    ‘Too many long words for you,’ said Matt, ‘and no pictures.’
    ‘Oh, don’t be so effing superior,’ snapped Cable.
    ‘There are still plenty of unexploded bombs in the fields,’ said Matt, ignoring her.
    And plenty inside the car too, thought Imogen. Nicky and Cable chattered away, the names dropping like autumn leaves. But finally even they fell quiet. Glancing round, Imogen saw that Cable was asleep, her head on Nicky’s shoulder. She looked away quickly, trying desperately not to mind. If Matt saw anything through the driving mirror he took no notice.
    The rain had stopped and a few stars were trying to peer through the veil of cloud as they reached their hotel. It stood on the edge of a river, festooned with bright pink geraniums and creepers trailing down into the water. The attractive mademoiselle behind the desk seemed delighted to see Matt again. But she looked aghast when James and Yvonne came through the door. There was much hand-waving and shoulder-shrugging, and Matt came over looking rueful.
    ‘Sorry, loves, my crazy secretary’s only booked two double rooms instead of three.’
    ‘That’s OK,’ said Cable. ‘We’re all whacked. Yvonne and Imogen and I can shack down in one double bed. You three can have the other.’
    Matt looked relieved. ‘If that’s all right with everyone else?’
    Imogen nodded. Another day’s reprieve – she wasn’t up to a sexual marathon with Nicky tonight.
    ‘Rather a lark,’ said James Edgworth. ‘Just like the dorm at school.’
    Yvonne’s face, however, was working like milk coming up to the boil.
    ‘But that’s absurd. Jumbo and I are married.’
    ‘We all know that, baby,’