Read Harriet for Free Online

so busy." ‘
        ‘Oh poor Simon.’ She got up and put her arms round him, but she could sense his detachment.
        ‘Fix me a drink,’ he said, pacing up and down the room. ‘In a few years’ time, that bastard’ll be crawling to me. "Ay’m sorry, Mr. Philips, Mr. Villiers is far too busy to see you." He’ll regret this.’
        ‘Of course he will,’ said Harriet soothingly. ‘You’re going to be a big star, Simon. Everyone says so.’
        She handed him a drink.
        ‘I missed you so much, I’ve even written you a poem,’ she said blushing. ‘I’ve never written anyone a poem before.’ She handed it to him.
        Simon skimmed through it, his lips curling.
        ‘ "Our love is like a rainbow arched in shuddering orgasm against the sky",’ he read out in a deliberately melodramatic voice. ‘ "Orgasm" in the singular? I must be slipping.’
        Harriet flushed and bit her lip.
        ‘I also found this lovely sonnet, which describes exactly how I feel about you,’ she said hastily, handing him the volume of Shakespeare.
        ‘Harriet de-ah,’ sighed Simon, as he glanced at it, ‘if you knew the number of women who’ve quoted that poem at me! You’re in danger of getting soppy, sweetheart. I don’t mind women being romantic, but I can’t stand soppiness.’
        She tried once again.
        ‘I’ve made some moussaka for supper,’ she said. ‘I’m bored with moussaka,’ said Simon.
        She was still crying when he came to bed. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘I love you,’ said Harriet, in a choked voice. ‘Well, if you love me,’ said Simon softly, ‘you must like the whip.’
        He woke up next morning in a better mood, and they made love, sat drinking coffee and reading the papers in bed until lunchtime. Harriet had forgotten the insults of last night, aware only of a swooning relief that everything was all right again. Her euphoria was short-lived. She was looking at the horoscopes.
        ‘It says I’m going to have a good day for romance,’ she giggled. ‘Perhaps I shall meet a tall dark stranger. I always dreamed I’d fall in love with someone tall and dark. Funny you should be small and blond.’
        ‘I am not small,’ said Simon icily.
        She knew by the idle drumming of his fingers on the bedside table that there’d be trouble, that he’d bide his time and then retaliate without scruple. He started to read a piece about some famous actor’s sex life. When he came to the end he said:
        ‘That’s why I want to make it to the top. Apart from telling Buxton Philips to get stuffed, just think of the birds one could pull. Once you become a big star, you can virtually have any woman you want.’
        There was a pause. Harriet felt faint at the thought of Simon having another woman. A great tear fell on to the paper she was reading, followed by another, and another.
        ‘What’s eating you?’ said Simon.
        She got clumsily out of bed; not wearing her spectacles and blinded by tears, she bumped into a table, knocking off a little Rockingham dalmatian that she knew Borzoi had given Simon. It smashed beyond redemption. Harriet was appalled.
        ‘I’ll buy you another, Simon, truly I will.’
        ‘As it cost about Ł80, I think that’s extremely unlikely,’ he snapped. ‘For God’s sake stop snivelling. It’s bad enough you breaking it, without making that Godawful din. I’m hungry. Go and put on the moussaka, and then have a bath, but don’t forget to leave the water in.’
        Harriet lay in the bath, trying not to cry and wondering what it would be like to be married to Simon. "Harriet Villiers" had a splendid seventeenth century ring. Could she cope with being the wife of a superstar? Some stage marriages she knew lasted for ever. She wouldn’t be a drag on him; when he was away acting, she’d have her poems and novels to write; she might even write a play for him.
        She could just see the first night