The Fog - James Herbert [53]
Mavis was amazed by Ronnie’s wide circle of friends, several of whom were actually coloured, and tried desperately to fall in with their cynical and blasé attitudes towards their lives, but after a few weeks, she realized she would never fit naturally into their set. She found their values phoney, their ideals superficial.
She disliked being an imposition on her friend whom she found, underneath the gloss, was the same understanding lonely girl she’d once known, so she searched for a suitable flat of her own. Disappointed by the depressingly poor accommodation she had been offered, she finally broke down one night after she had returned from another fruitless expedition into gloomy bedsitter land. The flats she had liked were way above her price range; the ones she could afford were too run-down and seedy for words. She had got soaked to the skin in the steady London drizzle and at the first kind words of sympathy from her friend, her emotions had bubbled to the surface.
Ronnie had perched on the arm of the settee on which Mavis was sitting and put her arms round her distraught friend’s shoulders, telling her not to worry, that they would work something out later. She told her to get out of her wet clothes and to take a quick hot bath, then to hop into bed and she would bring her a good stiff drink. After weeping a little while longer, with Ronnie gently stroking her damp hair, she pulled herself together, smiled her thanks through her tears, and went into the tiny room that was used as a dressing-room and spare bedroom. She changed into her dressing-gown as Ronnie ran the bath for her. She soaked for ten minutes, allowing the hot water to warm her body and soothe her distraught nerves. She scrubbed herself and washed her hair, then briskly dried off on one of Ronnie’s luxuriously soft towels. Her friend had done well for herself since she’d moved up to London, working as a secretary to the chairman of an American tobacco company, later becoming his personal assistant. The rent for the flat must have been quite high if the prices of the humble flats Mavis had come across were anything to go by. And her clothes were expensive and plentiful, the extent and range of her wardrobe stunning Mavis into open-mouthed admiration. But she was still basically the same sweet friend Mavis had known all those years ago.
She went to her room and heard Ronnie’s voice from the kitchen. ‘You get into bed and I’ll bring you in some hot chocolate and that stiff drink I promised you!’
‘Thank you,’ Mavis called back, taking the towel from her wet hair, rubbing her head with it vigorously. She brushed out the knots until it was long and straight, clinging closely to her neck and shoulders. Unwrapping her dressing-gown from her body, she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror, her pink flesh looking round and pure in the soft glow of the reading lamp. She studied herself for a few seconds, content that her figure, although not stunning, was firm yet supple, curvy, but certainly not fat. She ran her hands along her