Blood Stones (46 page)

‘You certainly did,' he agreed. ‘From the moment your mother broke down you made everyone's life hell. And you went on doing it.'

‘Because I felt what happened was my fault,' she reminded him. ‘You knew all that, but it didn't make any difference.'

‘No, it didn't,' he said, showing impatience. ‘A lot of psychiatric bullshit about guilt in a five year old. You say I didn't love you, Stella, but, by Christ, you weren't easy to love! Ever think of that? Now we're being honest with each other, how would you feel when everything had crashed round you, and the only thing you had was a tearaway, hell bent on wrecking her own life in order to spite you?'

Stella said, ‘It wasn't that. I was punishing myself. Jacob was the only one who made me feel I was worth anything. And then I lost him.' She came and sat opposite him. ‘I want to tell you something. I don't want to keep it in, even if you never forgive me for it. I thought you were involved in his murder. I wanted to prove it … to destroy you. That's why I went after Reece. To get to you.'

Heyderman didn't say anything. He waited, as she did. Then he spoke in a very low voice. ‘That's nice. That's what you think of me, is it?'

Stella felt the tears coming and tried to fight them back. It wasn't the moment for weakness. She knew him. He had no sympathy with frailty.

‘That's how wrong I was about you,' she answered. ‘So wrong, so twisted up.'

‘I see,' he agreed. ‘Something else to feel guilty about. You
are
going to be a bloody mess unless you stop all this rubbish and pull yourself together! You know something, Stella? You're more like me than I ever realized. I'd have done exactly what you did in the circumstances. I'd have gone out to get my father if I thought he'd done a thing like that. So what the hell are you crying about, eh? Because I didn't do it?'

‘You're making fun of me,' she protested. ‘I want you to forgive me.'

‘Oh come on,' he heaved himself up from the sofa and came over to her. He put an arm round her shoulder. ‘Yes, I am making fun of you, and it's about time you started laughing at yourself. All these years wasted … What the hell would Jacob think if he could see you? He bloody nearly made a grown woman of you, I'll give him that. You want me to love you, Stella? Then give me something to be proud of! Do something with your life. We're going home and it's all happening there. It's all to play for, whether the country goes down the pan into civil war or whether the new system works out. We've never been political as a family. The De Beers were liberals, they stood against apartheid. We just kept neutral. But you don't have to; you've got Yakumi's name to help you.'

Stella turned and stared up at him. ‘You mean that? You wouldn't mind?'

‘Would it stop you if I did?'

She hesitated. His arm felt warm and reassuring round her shoulders. Jacob, she thought. ‘No,' she said. ‘It wouldn't.'

‘Good,' Heyderman said. ‘That's my girl. Now for God's sake do something with your face. We're going down to get some dinner before the restaurant shuts. I'm starving.'

Jill Fairfax believed in exercise and fresh air. She had insisted on Elizabeth joining her when she walked her dogs, and it was a daily routine. It was a cold December day, with frost forecast for the evening and a faint mist coming up over the parkland. Elizabeth was looking better; she had put on some weight and said she was sleeping well. Outwardly she behaved normally, but her mother knew that she was miserable. She didn't use words like depression, they annoyed her, because she felt they were used indiscriminately for less fundamental states. Like plain unhappiness.

She strode out briskly. ‘God, it's getting cold,' she remarked. ‘I never like this time of year. Everything's dead, no leaves on the trees, flower-beds bare. Pop loves it because of the shooting. I'm just dying for the spring. I woke up this morning and thought, Good Heavens, it'll be Christmas before we know it!'

Elizabeth had the puppy on an extending lead. It bounded off to the limit of the cord, thoroughly enjoying itself.

‘So it will,' she said. ‘I'd forgotten it was so soon. Actually Mum, Jean Pierre asked me to go over and stay with him. He plans to come here just before Christmas, and I could go back with him. Would you mind?'

Jill Fairfax stopped. She snapped a command and her Labradors came trotting obediently back to her, and sat waiting. She looked at her daughter, and said clearly, ‘Yes I would. So would your father. If you won't go back and talk to your husband, then your place is here with us until you've made up your mind. Not going off with some bloody man old enough to be your father! He doesn't care, he wants you and James to split up for good. Sit, Dinki!' She shouted at the motionless bitch to relieve her feelings. Then she took a deep breath and said, ‘I'm sorry, Lizzie. Of course you must go and do what you want to, it's none of our business. We'll just miss you, that's all. I was being selfish. We haven't had Christmas together for so long. I'd been making plans. Forget I said it. All right, walk on!'

They set off, crossing the broad park and turning towards the distant roof tops of the house.

‘I'm not going back to James,' Elizabeth said suddenly. ‘I've made up my mind. I'm going to get a divorce.'

Her mother didn't answer. She addressed her dogs instead. They were coming up the broad sweep of the front drive when she did speak.

‘If you're sure that's what you want, that's it then. Dinki, Bizzi, heel …'

‘I'm sure,' Elizabeth said. ‘It's not what I want, but I know it's the only thing to do. James and I won't ever get back together, not as we were. It'd be some sort of compromise. It wouldn't work for either of us. I'm sorry, Mum darling, but I couldn't bear living like that. If we had children it'd be different. But we haven't. So …'

They walked round to the side door which was under the archway of steps leading to the massive front entrance. Boots and waterproofs were kept there, with a giant bootscraper like a hedgehog, half its bristles worn through years of use. ‘I thought of going to France because it might do me good to have an
affaire,'
she said. ‘I'm not going to marry him, or anyone. Not for a very long time. I might feel happy for a change. But I can go after Christmas. There's no rush. So we'll be together, that's settled.'

She gave her mother a quick squeeze on the arm – Jill was not someone who hugged her children or felt comfortable with displays of affection – then Elizabeth hung up her coat, lodged her wet boots in the rack and went ahead upstairs. Jill began rubbing the dogs down to dry them. The puppy sprang up and rolled on its back to play.

‘If you ask me,' Jill addressed it, ‘you've got more sense, Bizzi, than my fool of a daughter. She's cutting off her nose to spite her face. Sleeping with some dirty old man won't stop her loving bloody James. Stay still, can't you!'

She went upstairs after a time to find her husband and tell him the news. A man in his fifties who slept with a girl of twenty-seven was quite simply a ‘dirty old man'; modern trends had made no impression on Jill Fairfax.

Elizabeth didn't go into the library to have tea with them. She went upstairs and ran a hot bath. She felt chilled after the walk and the damp cold air was making her shiver. Divorce. The final severance of hope. I won't do it through a solicitor, she said out loud. I don't want to end up as enemies. I'll go and see James and tell him myself. After all, we were very happy. That must count for something. I'll go to London just before Christmas. There'll be a New Year and a new start. Then I'll be ready to face the office again. She had no feelings, as if her emotions were a set of nerves that had been severed. She couldn't even find tears for what was lost.

‘I think you're a bloody fool,' Christa Harris said suddenly. She glared at her husband. He had his back to her and he was changing to go out to dinner. He never told her anything lately, and it maddened her to have to ask. He hadn't been able to exclude her from the coming fight because he had given her a substantial holding in the company as a wedding present.

‘I know my dear. You've always thought so.' He was fastening his black tie and he went on tying it as he spoke.

‘Why the hell must you have this fight with Julius?' she said. She had been saying it every time they saw each other, and it was irritating him more and more.

‘What about Martin? You know perfectly well that you'll lose – where will that leave our son? Or don't you care about his future?'

‘As a matter of fact,' Arthur turned away from the glass, ‘I don't, my dear. I don't see anything about him that deserves my consideration. I'm thinking about myself, at the moment.'

‘You won't win against my brother,' she said. ‘You know you won't. He has most of the holdings and he'll get the shareholders on his side. Then what will you do?'

‘Resign,' he said.
‘If
he gets the shareholders on his side. But he won't. Tom Richfield is a good friend – he's a big shareholder – he'll back me. So will the old aunts, I know that. And you, my dear. We have a very good chance.'

‘That's what I wanted to talk to you about,' she said. ‘That's why I came in here. Not for a cosy little chat. I want to talk to you, Arthur. Seriously.'

He was slipping on his dinner jacket; he paused for a moment and looked into her face. The vivid blue eyes stared back at him, slightly narrowed and as hard as flint. It was strange how he no longer thought her good-looking, or noticed her in any way except to criticize. ‘Very well, dear. Talk to me. But don't take too long. I'm meeting Hugh at the club.'

‘Then you'll just have to be a little late,' she said. She went and sat down and crossed her elegant legs; she lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke. She had taken up the habit to irritate him.

‘I've decided not to vote for you,' she said.

He didn't answer for a moment; he buttoned his dinner jacket and put his cigar case in the inner breast pocket.

‘If you're trying to start a row, my dear Christa, I'm afraid I haven't got time. I'm going to meet Hugh.'

‘I mean it,' she said. Her voice was quite calm; she sounded rather bored. ‘I've been thinking it over carefully, and I've come to the conclusion that you're finished. You won't win, and even if, by some miracle, you did, you'll have to retire in a few years, anyway. I want Martin to have his chance in the organization. I don't see why you should lose it for him, just to satisfy your damned silly pride. I'm voting against you, Arthur, and that's definite. I spoke to Julius today and said so. I said pretty plainly that I expected him to look after Martin when he comes down from Oxford. I thought I'd let you know, that's all.'

‘Thank you,' Arthur said. ‘It's nice of you not to have kept it as a surprise. You've actually told him you'll vote against me?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I sent off a confirming letter this morning. You might as well give in. You haven't a hope of winning without me.' She looked up at him and smiled. ‘You should have been a bit nicer to me, darling. It wasn't good policy to be so offhand with me lately. But then you're as rotten at policy as you are at business. Have a nice dinner with Hugh. Ask his advice. Maybe you'll listen to him.'

She got up, the cigarette between her lips, and walked out, leaving the dressing-room door open. He put his wallet in his pocket, made sure he had his door keys and the key to his car, and had a last look at himself in the glass. Then he switched out the light, an old nursery habit of economy which he had never lost, and went out of the room.

‘I can't believe it,' Hugh Fuller said. ‘It's impossible, my dear chap!'

‘Oh no, it's not. I know Christa. She means it. She wants to make sure Martin gets in at the top and she'll sacrifice me to do it.'

They had reached the coffee and brandy stage and they had been talking about Christa's defection the whole evening. Fuller was genuinely distressed; he had never liked the woman, but this was outrageous. He said so, and Arthur shrugged.

‘I never suspected it, not for a moment,' he said. ‘We've drifted apart over the years, but I never thought she'd turn on me.' He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I made over a hundred thousand shares when we were married, and I gave her another fifty-five thousand a few years ago. And she has a large personal holding from her father. It's more than enough to defeat me, in view of Julius's own holdings, and the majority of outside shareholders will follow him like sheep. What am I going to do, Hugh?'

‘Look, Arthur, I'm one of your oldest friends.' Hugh Fuller leaned over the table and patted his arm. He felt quite emotional. ‘I never liked the idea of this fight, but I thought it was a bloody shame that Heyderman should try and do you down. Anyway, I drew up that damned contract, and I've felt responsible.'

‘Nonsense,' Arthur said. ‘It wasn't your fault; nobody could have worded it better.'

‘That's very generous of you,' the older man said. He brushed his white hair back. ‘Can I give you a piece of advice? Real advice, as a friend?'

‘Of course,' Arthur smiled sadly. ‘I can do with it. I don't know where to turn at the moment. This has thrown me completely.'

‘Give up,' Fuller said. ‘Drop the fight. No, don't interrupt me for a minute, old chap. Look here, you've been working hard for the last thirty years. You're a rich man, Arthur, a damned rich man, actually. Why not call it a day? Look at me – I've got another three years, and then I retire. You've got about the same. I've been thinking lately that it isn't worth it. Arthur, why have a dirty fight in public? You haven't a hope of winning now – why not resign and cut your losses?'