Chapter One

Cressida leaned towards the mirror and began to apply lipstick. It was a muted red colour, not much brighter than her own lips. She tended to the view that make–up ought to be almost invisible, an enhancement which drew no attention to itself. If people noticed it, you were wearing too much. Her friend Hannah made fun of her for this, as well as for other things. You’ve got to make them sit up and pay attention, girl, she’d say. If you don’t, someoneelse will. But Cressida would smile her slow, slightly detached smile. The trouble was, she didn’t want them to pay attention. Not the ones she seemed to meet, anyway.

She brushed the merest smudge of black shadow on her eyelids, and then traced a faint line under her lashes. Hannah had tried to get her to use mascara.Such lovely big green eyesshesaid, make them notice. But Cressida wouldn’t. Make who notice, she’d reply. George Foxton? Bernard Smithson? Arnold Jones? And they would both dissolve into fits of giggles.

Cressida wasn’t sure why she was going to the party anyway, if things were so hopeless. But it was her last night of the semester. She couldn’t just sit at home with a book. She brushed her hair in front of the mirror while she looked at her face. Was her nose, admittedly an elegant one, a trifle longer than ideal? Was her mouth just a little too wide? She always saw the faults first, if faults they were. Men only seemed to see the full lips, the lustrous eyes, and the thick blonde hair cascading down. She knew she was attractive, objectively so, even if she didn’t always feel it.

She looked at her green silk dress. Was it too tight across the bust? She shrank from flaunting her breasts, yet even so men always seemed conscious of them. The neckline gave only the merest hint of cleavage below her slender neck. Some man will try and look down it, all the same. She shrugged. So what, she thought. I doubt it will do him much good.

Hannah had once called her a man–hater. Cressida had stoutly rebuffed the charge. Idon’t hate men, she said. I just wish I could meet one for a change. But they’re queuing up to take you out, darling, Hannah cried. Cressida shook her head. She couldn’t explain. She didn’t know what she meant, really. She just knew she didn’t want what was on offer.

At the party she had a few drinks, danced with a couple of men, but it was the same old story. Sure, they wanted to take her home. But they were just boys really, pretending to be men, swaggering around like they thought men should, getting drunk, making passes at her. There was one who was cute, and for a moment Cressida thought she might encourage him. It was some time since she’d last had sex, and she missed it; in theory, at least. But when he started giving her his ideas about what made women tick, then made a fumbling attempt to kiss her, she knew it was hopeless.

Hannah was having her usual great time, getting tipsy and trying to make a befuddled choice about which man to go home with. When Cressida got an offer of a lift back with another girlfriend she decided to take it. “I’ve got to make an early start tomorrow,” she said to Hannah. “I’ll see you in six weeks, darling.”

Bridget dropped her off at the corner of the road. “Are you sure you are okay to walk from here, she asked anxiously”.

“Of course”, Cressida said. “It’s only a hundred yards”.

It was a cool night and Cressida pulled her coat around her thin silk dress as she walked towards her apartment block. As she got near she saw a large black car parked outside, and then she saw the glow of a cigarette inside. Just as she went past, a door opened on the other side and a man got out. He came round the front of the car towards her.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, barring her way. “Can you help me?”

Cressida kept walking, intending to brush past him. She heard another car door open, and then suddenly she was grabbed from behind. She opened her mouth to scream and something was pu