She pushes down her repugnance and forces herself to keep looking at his face. This, after all, is what she wanted.
‘We need to do that again,’ he says.
She nods, pliable.
‘I’ve got the room key …’
‘We can’t be late for the gala.’
‘We won’t be. We’ve got a couple of hours to do whatever dirty things you have in mind, you filthy bitch.’
The phrase lands like a slap. She stays seated, mesmerised by his crassness. Desire sticks in her throat. An odd little splinter of fear burrows its way inside her.
‘Don’t you worry about … Ben?’ She wishes she hadn’t asked the question; wishes she didn’t care.
‘No, not at all. He’s my best mate. But this isn’t anything to do with him.’
‘I’m his wife.’
Jarvis grimaces.
‘Barely, the way he fucks around.’
She twists her champagne flute in her fingers.
‘Sorry, I can see I’ve upset you,’ Jarvis says. ‘I confess, I always thought you had an … an arrangement.’
‘We do.’
‘And, for my part, Bitsy lets me get on with my own thing. Ben and I – nothing will ever affect our friendship or our business.’
‘Not even sleeping with me?’
‘Do you know how much cash I give him so he can pursue his political ambitions?’
Serena winces. It’s so vulgar to talk about money. The waiter comes with their drinks and takes an age placing them carefully on paper coasters.
‘No, not really,’ she says. ‘I mean, I know it’s a lot but I tend to stay out of all that.’
‘Yeah. Yeah. “A lot.” You could say that.’
He thrusts his fat fingers into a bowl of nuts.
‘In answer to your question, no I’m not worried, Serena.’ He speaks while chewing, cashew debris landing on the table. ‘And you shouldn’t be either.’ He finishes the nuts and then stares at her with intensity. ‘I’ve wanted you for decades, you must know that?’
He’s right. She does.
The first time she and Jarvis met, Serena was twenty-two. She’d been dating Ben for a few months and was working part-time in a Chelsea art gallery while Ben – older than her by a few years – was already making a lot of money in finance. Serena had never had a long-term boyfriend before Ben. She’d had flings, but no one who could sustain her interest. She was bored by the sleek management consultants and red-trousered gentlemen farmers she met in her circle, all of them playing by rules their parents gave them. Ben was different. He had the background, the breeding and the wealth that was important to Serena, but he also possessed a maverick streak. On their third date, he persuaded her to let him snort a line of coke from her stomach (and she had such a flat stomach then!). On their fifth date, he stole a packet of sweets from the local newsagent on their way to a Michelin-starred restaurant, just to show that he could. He then gave the sweets to a homeless man on the street outside.
‘Redistribution of wealth,’ he said, taking her hand.
She didn’t know anyone else like him. Ben felt the same about her. He was so good-looking, so effortlessly charming, that he was used to girls melting for him like butter in a pan. Serena, by contrast, operated with glacial detachment. To begin with, she wouldn’t even reward his jokes with a smile. She affected ennui when he launched into stories or gave her compliments. She pushed him away when he tried to kiss her. She refused to sleep with him for eight weeks. She did everything she could to make herself stand out. She knew she had the beauty – that was a given – but it was important to make him think he couldn’t live without having her.
It worked. He became obsessed with her. Then, one morning in bed, Ben told Serena he wanted her to meet his two best friends, Martin and Jarvis. She assumed they would go out for dinner, the four of them, but Ben shook his head and turned to face her on the pillow, leaning on the crook of his arm.
‘No. Martin’s … well, he’s sensitive. The two of them don’t exactly get on. We’d need to do it separately.’
‘OK,’ she said, although she thought it odd.
