Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (21 page)

‘I do. Often on Saturdays, and we have supper nearly every week. But it’s still horrible without him at home, I miss him so much. So does Mummy, she cries all the time. As for poor little Clio – oh Izzie, why do they all have to be so silly? So stupidly, stubbornly silly.’

‘It’s not always easy to be sensible,’ said Izzie soberly.

Elspeth and Amy were both terribly excited by her plans.

‘I’d give anything to be going,’ said Amy. ‘I hear American men are just heavenly. Well, look at Geordie. And Jack Kennedy. I wonder if Barty could find room for me as well.’

‘Amy,’ said Izzie, laughing, ‘you’ve just got a new job. I thought you loved it.’

‘I do. But look at me, nearly twenty-two now and not even engaged.’

‘You were.’

‘I know, I know. But I’m not any more. It just didn’t feel right. It keeps not feeling right. All the men I know are so – so boring. You never know what a change of continent might do.’

Keir was very envious. ‘I’d love to go over there,’ he said, ‘it’s such a true democracy.’

Izzie didn’t like to tell him that, according to Barty, upper-class Americans could teach even the English a thing or two about snobbery.

Kit was sweetly supportive. He said he’d miss her terribly, but she deserved some fun, and that he might even come out soon himself.

‘Wesley’s have just started an American office. They say they think my books could do quite well over there.’

‘Oh Kit, do come. It would be such fun. I mean I’m probably not going to be there terribly long, but Barty seems to think I might even get some work.’

Only her father blighted her happiness. He growled, sulked, told her it was an appalling idea, and that she’d hate America, implied she was going to be a burden on Barty, asked her repeatedly why she was going.

‘I want a change, Father. I feel I’m stuck in a bit of a rut.’

‘Oh rubbish. If you’ve got some problem here, it’s no use running away from it, I can tell you that. Change your job, if you must, but don’t just walk out on everything. Whatever Joseph says, he won’t really keep things going for you. He can’t afford to.’

‘He’s promised he will.’

‘Well, he doesn’t mean it. I think you’re making a shocking mistake, and one that you won’t be able to put right so easily, I can tell you. People’s memories are short, you know, you may find you can’t get another job so easily. And if you’re thinking Barty’s going to be able to find you a job, you really are deceiving yourself.’

‘Father, of course I’m not.’

‘Good. Well that’s something. And there’s something else. I fancy you think you’re going to have a wonderful time out there, make lots of new friends. The Americans are very insular, you know, they pretend to be welcoming and so on, but I’ve always found that a complete sham. I’ve been very lonely and miserable in New York. And Barty will be busy, she can’t just drop everything to nursemaid you.’

Izzie burst into tears and fled to her room. Shortly afterwards, Noni phoned; she told Adele she could hear that Izzie was crying.

Celia was having supper with Adele; she telephoned Izzie next morning.

‘What’s the matter? Is something wrong?’

‘I – I think maybe I shouldn’t go. I’m so worried about Father, I think he’s going to miss me so much. He says it’s not that, but—’

‘I hope,’ said Celia, her voice icily quiet, ‘he hasn’t said as much.’

‘Not exactly. But I can see that it is. And he keeps putting obstacles up, says I’ll hate it, that Michael Joseph won’t keep my job open, that I’m going to be a nuisance to Barty. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Go to New York,’ said Celia. ‘Your father is a selfish old man. Ignore him, Isabella.’

‘I’ll try. But I am worried about him, he looks so old sometimes and—’

‘He is getting old. He’s also a consummate actor. Now I don’t want to hear any more about this. Just get on with your packing. I saw a very pretty suit in Harvey Nichols this morning, navy blue, in this new A-line. I’ll buy it for you, if you like it. Goodbye my darling.’

‘Goodbye Celia. And thank you for the offer. But—’

‘But what?’

‘I’m still worried about Father.’

Celia put the phone down and sat looking out of the window at the river. She was staying at Cheyne Walk as she did increasingly these days. Then she lit a cigarette, drew on it heavily, and dialled Sebastian’s number.

‘You,’ she said when he answered it, ‘are a wickedly selfish, disagreeable old man. Now, I hope you’re not going out this morning, Sebastian, because I’m coming to see you. It’s time you and I had a little talk. What? Oh don’t be so ridiculous. This is nothing to do with you and me, I certainly wouldn’t be bothering to make the journey if it was, it’s Isabella I have to talk to you about. What? Well cancel it, Sebastian. Postpone it. This is much more important.’

‘You’ll never guess who came to see Mr Brooke this morning,’ said Mrs Conley to her friend Rose, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘Lady Celia. Well, Lady Arden, as we’re supposed to call her now. Oh, she looks so beautiful still, and so young. I have missed her. She just said good morning as if it was quite normal she was there, and that she’d come to see Mr Brooke, and then told me to take some strong coffee into the study. I heard him shouting at her straight away and her shouting back, and at one point he opened the door and started walking out through the hall, but she just said, “Sebastian, how dare you insult me in front of the servants”, and he looked at her in that way he has when he’s cornered, then just scowled and walked back into the study and slammed the door so hard that the house shook. I didn’t like to take the coffee in after that, but Lady Celia came to get it. “He’s impossible, Mrs Conley, I’d forgotten,” she said. Anyway, it went on being noisy for quite a long time, and then slowly things quietened down. She was here for about an hour, or even longer. When she left, he saw her to the front door. He was still looking – well, irritable, but quite different. And after she’d gone, he got his stick and said, “I’m going for a walk, Mrs Conley,” quite cheerfully. And after lunch, I actually heard him singing. Well, what passes for singing with Mr Brooke, talk about tone deaf. Goodness knows what she said to him. I think she’s got a bit of witchcraft in her, I really do.’

That night, over supper, Sebastian told Izzie that he was sorry he’d been so hostile to the idea of her going to America.

‘I was just – jealous, I think. Wishing I was young enough to go gadding off, doing exactly what I wanted. Stupid of me, I’m sorry, Isabella.’

It was only the third time in her life he had ever said those words to her; she could remember the other two very vividly. The first was at Ashingham, when she was just a little girl and for the first time in her short, sad life he had made a friendly, affectionate gesture towards her, had seemed to be able to forgive her for living while her mother died in childbirth. She would never forget that rush of joy, of pure happiness and excitement. The second time – well, that had been rather different. She tried not to think about it. But now – she stared at him; he was smiling at her almost ruefully.

‘Father, you don’t have to apologise. I’ve been so worried that you – well, that you’d be lonely.’

‘Lonely! When did I mind being lonely, for God’s sake? Breath of life to me, a bit of loneliness. I won’t have to listen to that dreadful music coming out of your room, either. Anyway, I’ve got a lot of work to do, the new book’s late and I’ve got a series of lectures to deliver. I tell you what, though’ – his brilliant eyes soft suddenly, as he looked at her – ‘I might be able to come out and see you, when Kit comes. What would you think about that?’

‘Oh, Father, I’d think it would be wonderful,’ said Izzie, feeling quite light-headed in her relief, and then, as a dreadful suspicion slithered into her, ‘You haven’t been talking to Celia, have you?’

‘Celia!’ said her father, scowling at his soup. ‘For God’s sake, Isabella, how could you even think such a thing. You know perfectly well—’

‘Sorry, Father,’ said Izzie hastily.

Mrs Conley was able to report to Rose the next day that Mr Brooke had suddenly appeared in the kitchen while she was serving up the dessert to say that on no account was she to mention that Lady Celia had been there that day.

‘Of course I said I wouldn’t. I noticed that he didn’t call her Lady Arden, either,’ she added inconsequentially.

CHAPTER 11

‘Miss Lytton, hallo.’

‘Oh – good morning, Miss Hartley.’

‘Please call me Clementine.’

‘Oh – well – well, all right. Thank you. But only if you call me Elspeth.’

‘Of course. I wondered if you were free to come and have a bite to eat.’

Elspeth felt rather overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and uncomfortable. Here was Lyttons’ leading young novelist – probably its leading novelist, actually, now she’d outsold Nancy Arthure on her last book – inviting her, the most junior member of the editorial staff, not only to call her by her Christian name, but to have lunch with her. It was – well, it was difficult.

‘I – I’d love to, but . . .’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter, if you’re too busy.’

‘I’m not too busy, it’s just that – well, shouldn’t Jay – I mean Mr Lytton . . .’

‘Jay’s got to go to the printers. Don’t worry, he bought me a very oversumptuous lunch last week. We’ve covered all the necessary business this morning. And anyway, I’d rather have lunch with you.’

She smiled at Elspeth; she was a pretty girl, with a round, rather babyshaped face, a small snub nose and rosebud mouth, and a mass of reddish curls.

‘Come on. Nothing grand, we could pop into that new little place in Duke Street. My treat.’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t allow that, my mother would kill me—’

‘Don’t be silly. Your mother won’t know. Or your grandmother. Anyway, I want to thank you. That’s what it’s about.’

‘Thank me!’

‘Yes. Your wonderful grandmother told me that you’d spoken up about the sex scenes in my new book. Swung opinion right round in my favour. I think I owe you an omelette or something at the very least.’

‘Oh. Gosh. Did she really say that?’

‘Lady Celia? Yes, of course. She thinks you’re marvellous. And it would be nice to have lunch with someone from here so near my age. Are you enjoying being out in the great world? Or are you pining for Oxford? Do you know, I miss it still.’

‘Oh, so do I,’ said Elspeth. ‘If I didn’t love it here so much, I’d try and do some kind of research fellowship or something, just to be there again.’

‘I tried that,’ said Clementine. ‘But it wasn’t the same, everyone there regarded me as a sort of dinosaur, a million years old, you know. No, they should just be preserved in aspic, those years, kept exactly as they were and left undisturbed.’

‘Mmm,’ said Elspeth, and said very little more until they were sitting at a table in the restaurant.

‘You’re very quiet,’ said Clementine Hartley.

‘Yes, I know. Sorry. I was just thinking—’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, that you could write a wonderful novel about being a woman at Oxford. And call it exactly that.’

‘Exactly what?’

‘
Oxford in Aspic
. It could be about the whole thing of growing up there, dicovering men—’

‘Discovering sex!’ Clementine’s big blue eyes were dancing.

Elspeth flushed. ‘Well – yes. And the friendships and the dreadful bluestockings and—’

‘Do you know, I love it. Really love it. I haven’t got a theme for my new book yet. I’m going to think about it. Thank you so much.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Elspeth and smiled at her rather awkwardly. She felt slightly out of her depth, at the receiving end of such fulsome praise from so luminary a figure.

‘Celia told me you were destined for great things. She said you’d be a junior editor in no time.’

‘She did? Well she might have told me.’

‘Oh, you know what they’re like. They think it’s good for us to be kept humble.’

‘And grateful.’ Elspeth giggled. ‘Gosh, how thrilling.’

‘And who knows, one day maybe you might edit me. That’d be fun. After all, you’ve got your grandmother’s example to follow. How things have improved since she came back, incidentally!’

‘It is wonderful,’ said Elspeth. ‘She’s so – modern, somehow. In her thinking. It’s funny, when she’s – well, certainly not young.’

‘I tell you,’ said Clementine, ‘she seems a lot younger to me than Jay Lytton. Much more up to the minute. I love her. Why doesn’t Kit ever see her any more?’

‘Oh – because he left Lyttons,’ said Elspeth quickly, ‘but I’m sure he’ll get over it.’

‘It seems to be more on his side than hers. Anyway, he’s a sweetheart, isn’t he? I adore him. And he loves being published by Wesley, says they’re absolutely wonderful.’

‘Yes,’ said Elspeth slightly sadly. ‘Yes, I know.’

When she got back to the office, her grandmother had the page proofs of
Time to Fly
, Clementine’s last book, on her desk; she was frowning over them.

‘Is there a problem with those?’ asked Elspeth.

‘Oh – not really. It’s a marvellous book. What a clever girl she is.’

‘And so nice,’ said Elspeth. ‘We – we just had lunch,’ she said carelessly. Celia looked at her.

‘Lunch? I didn’t know you were on those sort of terms.’

‘Nor did I. But she asked me to say thank you. For speaking up for her sex scenes,’ she giggled.

‘Oh really? How very nice.’

She returned to the proofs; Elspeth hurried to her own office, afraid she might have broken some complex office etiquette by having lunch with Clementine. Celia had clearly been a little surprised. Oh dear . . .

There was something not quite right about this book, Celia thought. It was a brilliant theme, it was beautifully written, but every now and again, it seemed to stumble. The dialogue became awkward. And certain scenes, essential to the development of the relationship, delicate, subtle scenes between the woman and her lover, seemed very short. She knew what that meant – or thought she did. She reached for the buzzer on her phone.

‘Could you get me the manuscript of
Time to Fly
,’ she said to her secretary. ‘I need to make some notes.’

‘Well she’s arrived safely,’ said Sebastian. He scowled at Celia. ‘I miss her horribly. House seems dead. I hope you’re pleased with your handiwork.’

‘Sebastian, it’s hardly my handiwork. Merely a suggestion that she try a change of scene. She was clearly not well and not very happy. Anyway, we don’t need to go over all that again.’

‘I suppose not. I still don’t see why she wasn’t happy. She’s got everything going for her, she’s young, pretty—’

‘And she didn’t have a boyfriend.’

‘A boyfriend! Oh, for God’s sake, I didn’t expect to hear you trotting out such feminine claptrap. Just because she doesn’t get engaged every five minutes, like that absurd cousin of hers.’

‘Amy is extremely silly,’ said Celia, ‘I grant you that. She’s so exactly like her mother at the same age, I can hardly believe it. Anyway, it’s Isabella we’re talking about. And it is not feminine claptrap, Sebastian, everyone wants someone to love and to be loved by. Even you should know that.’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Celia. Below the belt, I’d say.’

‘Sorry, Sebastian. I’m very sorry.’ Briefly, very briefly, she put her hand on his; he stared down at them, at their two hands, as if he had never seen them before.

Then she withdrew hers. ‘But the fact remains,’ she went on hastily, ‘Isabella’s heart was very painfully broken when she was sixteen; she hasn’t given it properly to anyone since. She’s disappointed with life, worried by her inability to attract men – and I have to say it is odd, that no one has found her. She’s lovely, and extremely interesting. And she’s – what, twenty-five. It’s hardly surprising she’s depressed.’

‘Oh God.’ He took off his spectacles, rubbed his eyes hard, looked at her intently. ‘What damage have we done her – them – you and I? How can we begin to put it right?’

‘By letting Isabella follow her heart,’ said Celia briskly, ‘and by encouraging her in everything she wants to do. Now, I hope you’ve written her a nice cheerful letter, telling her how busy you are and that you haven’t had time to miss her at all yet. If you haven’t, then I suggest you do it this afternoon. I don’t want her worried about you. It’ll spoil her trip.’

‘All right, all right. I will. Anyway, you know Kit and I are going out, don’t you? In the autumn. She knows how much I’m looking forward to that. I suppose she’ll still be there.’

‘You and – Kit?’ She spoke quietly, but the pain in her voice was very raw. ‘You’re going to New York with Kit?’

‘That’s the idea. Yes. You hadn’t heard?’

‘Sebastian, how would I have heard? Who would have told me such a thing? Damn. Damn.’ She rummaged in her bag for a handkerchief. He looked at her, got up and left the room, returned a moment later with two large ones of his own.

‘Here,’ he said gently, ‘let me at least resume that much of our relationship, supplying you with handkerchiefs. I’m so sorry Celia, I really thought you would have known.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I didn’t know. Oh dear.’ She got up, walked over to the window, stared out for a few moments. He watched her, his face very sad.

‘I have – tried, you know,’ he said. ‘God knows why I should, but I have. It’s no use. He’s very stubborn. And still very angry and upset.’

‘Is he? Well it’s to be expected I suppose. I’ve written and phoned. He – well, he just won’t see me. Oh, it hurts so much, Sebastian, every hour of every day. But’ – she visibly straightened her back, took a cigarette from her bag and lit it – ‘what a wonderful idea. Going to New York, I mean. What fun you’ll have.’

‘I think we will.’

There was a silence; then, ‘How – how is he?’

‘He’s very well. Very well indeed. Doing splendidly at Wesley, but that much you must know.’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘And – how is the noble Lord?’

‘Shooting grouse. Oh, Sebastian. It really was one of my bigger mistakes.’

‘And the only one I’ve ever heard you own up to. Well, it makes me very happy.’

‘What, that I’m miserable?’

‘Well – yes,’ he said grinning at her. ‘Yes, it does, actually. In fact, I propose a toast. Mrs Conley – ’ he opened the door ‘ – Mrs Conley, bring in a bottle of champagne, would you?’

‘That’s an appalling and very cruel idea,’ Celia said, blowing her nose again. ‘I want no part of it. I’m going to the lavatory, and then I’m going to leave.’

‘Of course you’re not.’

‘Let us drink,’ he said, raising his glass to her a little later, as she returned, composed, her still lovely face freshly made up, ‘let us drink to your misery. Which is not, as we both know, really too terribly serious. Especially now you have returned to the true love of your life. By which I mean Lyttons, of course. And also to my returning happiness. Don’t look at me like that. You owe me a little of that at least, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, Sebastian,’ she said, smiling at him over her raised glass. ‘Yes, I think perhaps I do.’

‘Oh Barty, it’s so lovely here,’ Izzie turned back towards Barty from the verandah at South Lodge, smiling happily. ‘So very lovely.’

‘Isn’t it? I love it more than anywhere on earth. It’s why I never come back to England to live. I could leave Manhattan, but I could never leave South Lodge. It’s going to be blistering today,’ she added, ‘I shall have to be very careful with Jenna, keep her in a bit, she burns so easily.’

‘You’ll be lucky. She and Cathy have plans to take a picnic out on the pond, in the boat. I heard them talking about it.’

‘Well, it’ll have to be a very early picnic. Oh dear. Another battle ahead. How are you feeling, Izzie? Not too tired?’

Izzie had arrived to such dire warnings from Celia about her physical condition that Barty had half expected an invalid to be lifted off the plane on a stretcher, rather than the smiling, if rather thin girl who bounded up to her in the arrivals lounge and hugged her ecstatically. She had since noticed that Izzie was indeed very easily tired and prone to becoming low and even tearful at certain times, but decided to ignore it. Barty had absorbed from Celia a capacity for not intruding; they were both known for their ability not to question the cause of any distress, while at the same time making it clear they had both noticed and sympathised with it. Indeed, Celia had broken the rule of a lifetime in dealing with Izzie’s unhappiness; and then only because it seemed to her a matter of almost frightening urgency.

Even then she had waited most patiently for over an hour while Izzie had wept and prevaricated and denied that there was anything really wrong before saying quite abruptly, ‘Isabella, forgive me, but is it something to do with Henry? Henry and you? And are you pregnant?’ The shock of that had released everything, and because she trusted Celia’s discretion absolutely, Izzie had suddenly found herself able to reveal every hideous, painful, ugly detail. Celia’s only comment on the whole affair was to say that she wanted her to see her own gynaecologist.

‘She is the soul of discretion, and you must be checked out, Isabella. It is quite vital to your future health and happiness.’ Apart from that her advice had been calm, practical and constructive.

Barty adopted precisely the same tactics; she neither questioned Izzie as to why she had felt a sabbatical was suddenly so necessary, or why she was so clearly frail and unhappy – even when she came upon Izzie weeping one evening over some old photographs of herself with the Warwick clan.

‘I’ve been rather lonely,’ was all she said, then, ‘and this has reminded me of how happy I was then.’

‘Well I know about loneliness,’ said Barty briefly. ‘I’m the perfect shoulder to cry on about that one.’

But further explanation was not forthcoming; all Izzie said, her large eyes soft with sympathy, was, ‘I suppose you are. Poor Barty. Is it still very bad?’

‘No, not really. And of course I’m not lonely as such. But—’

‘Have you never – well, felt even remotely for anyone else?’ said Izzie gently.

‘Not really. Although, since we have a long evening to ourselves, let me tell you about one slightly unremote feeling. You’ll probably meet him – in fact, you’re bound to, he’s the father of Jenna’s best friend. Look, let’s open a bottle of wine and if you can bear it, I’ll tell you about him. I just don’t know what to do or what I feel. It’s very difficult. Very difficult indeed.’