Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (26 page)

It had been the most wonderful few days Izzie could remember. Barty had suggested they all went out to South Lodge for Thanksgiving: ‘It’ll be awfully cold, but wonderful. And very romantic.’

‘Romantic?’ said Jenna. ‘Are you going to ask—’

‘Not in that way,’ said Barty firmly.

‘Is there another way to be romantic?’

‘Of course there is,’ said Geordie. ‘Long walks on wild beaches, sitting by huge log fires, listening to wonderful music—’

‘Elvis?’ said Jenna hopefully.

‘Rachmaninov,’ said Geordie. ‘Barty, we accept, don’t we, Izzie?’

‘Of course,’ said Izzie.

It was very cold; and the red sun sank into the ocean by five each afternoon, and they sat by the fire for hours, drinking, telling stories, having dinner, drinking some more, playing games. Geordie was brilliant at games, always the first to guess or know anything, to find a word containing both x and q in Scrabble, a natural actor in charades. Izzie, who wasn’t really very good at them at all, was openly impressed, so much so that Barty actually said one evening, ‘Izzie, do stop flattering him so much, he’s big-headed enough already.’

Not even that annoyed Geordie, he just smiled easily at her and said, ‘One can never be big-headed enough, in my opinion. You carry right on, Izzie.’

Barty couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t seem very distressed by his separation from Adele; indeed when she questioned him about it, he simply said he hoped it was temporary, that he missed Clio dreadfully, and changed the subject as fast as he could. She was surprised and even a little shocked; Sebastian’s words about his being a lightweight kept coming back to her. Then she thought that men really didn’t like talking about emotional matters and he was probably just embarrassed.

One day Geordie and Izzie went for a walk, just the two of them, and misjudging the time, found themselves walking in total darkness along the shore, with the wind howling round them and snowflakes in the air. She only had a light woollen coat on and became seriously cold, shivering violently, teeth chattering.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘take my coat.’

‘Geordie don’t be silly. You’ll freeze. I’ll be all right. You could lend me your scarf, if you like, I can tie it round my head.’

He did it for her, knotting it firmly round her throat, gave her a quick kiss.

‘You really are terribly cold,’ he said. ‘Let me warm you up a bit.’

He put his arms round her, held her in a bear hug, wrapping his own sheepskin coat round her as well.

‘That’s lovely,’ she said, pressing herself into the warmth of him, and then, suddenly awkward, without being quite sure why, ‘come on, we’d better get back. They’ll be worried.’

Thanksgiving Dinner was wonderful; Izzie had not experienced one before. It was a bit like Christmas, without the fuss of presents. There was the wonderful turkey feast, the decorated house, the feeling of solidarity with the whole country, thinking of everyone in homes of every size and in every town and city and tiny village, all doing the same thing, celebrating being American.

‘A bit fraudulent, as we’re nearly all English,’ said Barty, refilling everyone’s glasses for the umpteenth time, ‘but it’s still lovely.’

‘Geordie’s American,’ said Jenna, ‘and I’m American, and you’re sort of American, Mother. Sort of deep down.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Barty, and realised, to her surprise, that it was true.

‘And Cathy is American. Poor Cathy, she’s having a horrible time.’

‘Now, how do you know that?’

‘Because she’s not here, and Charlie’s not here. They were so hoping you’d ask them.’

‘Well we couldn’t,’ said Barty carefully.

‘Yes, you could. There are plenty of bedrooms.’

‘Jenna, this is a family party.’

‘Cathy and Charlie are just as much family as Geordie and Izzie.’

‘They are not. Much as I like them.’

‘But—’

‘Jenna! What did I say about staying up with us?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Yes, you can. I said only if you behaved really well. Which means not arguing.’

Jenna fell silent, clearly with a great effort; the party resumed, with a game of Monopoly, which she loved. But a shadow had been cast over the evening for Barty; she didn’t like the idea of Charlie hoping he’d be asked for Thanksgiving and being disappointed. It made her feel at once irritable and guilty.

‘I may have to leave the Chapin,’ said Cathy. Jenna stared at her in horror.

‘Why?’

‘My dad can’t pay any more fees.’

‘Oh my God, Cathy, how do you know? Did he tell you?’

‘Of course not. No, I found a letter. From the school. Saying that the bank hadn’t honoured his cheque.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means he didn’t have enough money in the bank to write the cheque.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. But I thought—’

‘What did you think?’

‘That your grandmother paid your school fees. Your dad’s mother.’

‘Why on earth did you think that?’

‘Well I—’

For once in her life, Jenna was lost for words. Her mother had once told her that, in a rash moment, and forbidden her ever to mention it: ‘Charlie hates talking about money. And I’m sure Cathy does, too. I shouldn’t really have told you.’

‘She couldn’t possibly pay my fees,’ said Cathy now.

‘Why not?’

‘Because she’s dead. She died before I was even born. And my other grandmother, my mom’s mom, she’s terribly mean, she wouldn’t pay for anything. And my dad hates her.’

‘Hates her?’

‘Yes. He thinks I don’t know, but I heard him one night when he thought I was asleep, on the phone, telling her she was a mean old witch.’

‘That doesn’t sound like Charlie,’ said Jenna. She felt rather shocked; it was very rare for Cathy to divulge family secrets, she was always rather reserved on the subject.

‘No, well she – she upsets him. He did tell me that once. She thinks it was his fault my mother died.’

‘How could it be? She died of cancer.’

‘I know. I guess she’s just crazy. That’s what my dad says, anyway.’

‘But – what will happen about your school, Cathy?’

‘I don’t know. I really, really don’t know. I expect something’ll turn up. It usually does, Daddy says.’

Jenna felt very impressed by such calm in the face of what seemed to her a disaster.

Elspeth was distraught; apart from feeling wretched, she couldn’t see any solution. She was a realistic creature; she knew that being on her own all day in a cramped flat in Glasgow, with a baby, would drive her very quickly mad. But the alternatives were hideous. An abortion was absolutely out of the question; she could not imagine how anyone could even consider such a thing. It was murder. Perfectly simple. Taking a human life. Wicked. Horrible.

She could, of course, not marry Keir, have the baby and look after it herself with the aid of a nanny; she had the means, or rather her parents did, and it would be greatly preferable to the Glasgow scenario. But it would be a terrible thing to do to a child, any child, condemn it to grow up out of wedlock. It would be a social outcast, tormented at school, damned by society, officially a bastard; she just couldn’t do it. And her own position would be hideous, she would be branded that most dreadful thing – an unmarried mother. Even if she did have money and a flat and a career and the might of the Lytton and Warwick empire behind her. Just thinking about what her father would have to say made her feel quite faint. And anyway, she did love Keir. She loved him terribly. She wanted to marry him. Enough even to move to Glasgow. It was his baby too, and he had a right to say how it was brought up.

Only – and then she was back on the treadmill again, desperate with worry and with no idea what to do.

Celia found her one day, slumped at her desk, pushing a spoon miserably round in her coffee.

‘Elspeth, you don’t look very happy. Are you having trouble with that manuscript? Do you want to tell me about it?’

Confronted by the one person she knew who was absolutely pragmatic and non-judgemental, Elspeth did.

‘Mummy’s been quite nice about it,’ she said, blowing her nose on her handkerchief after the initial storm of tears had passed. ‘Really not too terribly angry at all.’

‘So she should have been,’ said Celia briskly.

Elspeth looked at her. ‘Why?’

‘Let us just say,’ said Celia smoothly, ‘she has learned some wisdom. After having six of you. What about your father?’

‘Furious. Horrible. Especially about Keir.’

‘Really? Well, we shall have to see what we can do about that. Now you’re determined to have it, are you?’

‘Granny, of course. I wouldn’t even consider having an abortion. It’s wrong and besides, it’s terribly dangerous.’

‘It need not be,’ said Celia carefully, ‘under the right conditions. And it’s a matter of opinion whether it’s wrong or not.’

‘In my opinion, it’s murder,’ said Elspeth, ‘and I wouldn’t commit it.’

‘Very well. As long as you’ve thought about it properly, aren’t being swept along on a sentimental tide. Babies are demanding, exhausting and expensive, Elspeth. They don’t lie slumbering sweetly in their cots living on air, you know. Your life will change for ever, in a way you cannot begin to imagine. And your work will suffer considerably, and you know how much that matters to you. It’s important you understand all that.’

Elspeth looked at her doubtfully. Her mother had often told her about the large nursery staff her grandmother had employed, and that Celia had continued to work seven days a week for the whole of her life, from Giles’s birth onwards. It was hard to imagine how her life had been blighted in the way she described.

But she smiled at her dutifully and said she would remember what she had said.

‘What about your young man? What does he want to do?’

‘That’s the real problem,’ said Elspeth, bursting into tears again. ‘What he wants is – well, it’s a bit difficult.’

‘And that is – ?’

Elspeth told her. ‘And Mummy and Daddy are being ridiculous, they say it’s absolutely out of the question, that they won’t allow it—’

‘Very helpful of them,’ said Celia briskly. ‘Well, I have to say I admire his spirit. And his independence.’

‘Do you?’ said Elspeth, looking at her through tear-smudged eyes. ‘Do you really?’

‘Yes, of course. Although I don’t suppose you exactly relish the idea?’

‘No I don’t. But I don’t seem to have much option.’

‘Not at the moment, no. You don’t. If you really want to have this baby and to marry Keir.’

‘Yes, I do. Of course I do.’

‘Then I have to say I admire you also. Now listen, darling, try not to fret too much. You never know what might happen in the future. One never does.’

‘Like – like what?’ said Elspeth, blowing her nose.

‘Oh – I don’t know,’ said Celia vaguely, ‘but meanwhile, I’ll have a word with your parents, if you like.’

‘I wish you would. It might make all the difference. Oh, Granny, we’re so lucky to have you.’

‘Not a view everyone would agree with,’ said Celia. ‘Now you get on with that manuscript, it’s already late.’

Elspeth looked after her fondly, wondering how many grandmothers would have received such a piece of news without expressing any shock or passing any word of judgement. Not many. She wondered if anything comparable had ever happened to Celia. No. Not in her day. It was unthinkable.

Celia knew exactly how to solve Elspeth’s problem; the only thing was she didn’t think Keir would agree with her. But she felt it was worth trying. She took him out to lunch and offered him first her congratulations and then a job at Lyttons, as an editorial assistant.

‘It’s a great opportunity. There are young men all over England who would kill for it.’

‘I dare say there are. But I’m not one of them, Celia, sorry. I’m doing something much more important now. And I’m not taking your charity. My wife’s charity. If I couldn’t get a job on my own merits, I’m not taking one on someone else’s.’

‘Hardly charity, Keir. You’d have to work extremely hard. More to the point, you’d be a great asset to the firm. I have an instinct for these things, I genuinely feel you have talent.’

‘Yes, and a great asset to Elspeth as well. Sorry, Celia. The answer’s no. I’m not even going to say I’m flattered, because I’m not. I can see exactly where this offer has come from, and why.’

‘I hope you don’t think Elspeth had anything to do with it.’

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘If I did, I’d have no more to do with her, bairn or no bairn. She has more integrity than that.’

‘You won’t even – think about it?’

‘I won’t.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I was pretty sure you wouldn’t. And I admire you for it.’

‘You do?’

‘Of course I do.’

He looked at her and grinned.

‘You’re quite something, Celia, aren’t you? Why make me the offer, then?’

‘Because I know it would be the best possible solution for all of you. And it seemed worth a try.’

‘Oh you do?’

‘Yes, I do. I’ve learned quite a lot of wisdom in my rather long life. However, you have yet to see that. And I warn you, I never admit defeat. I shall make the offer again. And again.’

‘And my answer will be the same. Again and again.’

She smiled at him.

‘Well, we shall see. Now then, would you like a brandy? Or will your pride prevent you from accepting even that?’

She also had a fairly brief and forthright discussion with Boy and Venetia; as a result they agreed, with enormous misgivings, that Elspeth should marry Keir and go to live in Glasgow with their blessing.

‘And be nice to Elspeth about it. She’s being awfully brave, and I admire her tremendously. You should be proud of her.’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ said Venetia.

The party for
Growing Down
at the Waldorf-Astoria was a great success; a large – but not too large for exclusivity – affair with guests ranging from reviewers and editors to buyers and bookshop owners, including the great Mr Scribner himself, a rare coup, as Barty hissed to Sebastian. Two of the most powerful women in literary Manhattan were also there – Helen Strauss from the William Morris Agency and Phyllis Jackson from the Ashley-Famous.