Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (31 page)

‘No, Mother, we couldn’t. But that’s fine. I quite fancy a bit of independence.’

‘But you’re much too young to live on your own.’

‘Oh I don’t know. I quite like the idea.’ He smiled at her.

Adele didn’t; she contemplated Lucas living alone in London, unsupervised, his burgeoning sexuality untrammelled, and knew it was out of the question.

‘And you don’t feel you could even try? In the vacations?’

He looked at her for a moment, then said, ‘No. I don’t. It wouldn’t work.’

‘This isn’t just about school, is it? Not any more?’

He hesitated. ‘No. Not really. I mean, I’ll never forgive him. For what he did to you, as well as me. I know I was difficult—’

She half smiled. ‘Just a bit.’

‘But I was only a kid. He’s a grown man. Supposed to be. We could have worked something out. Still. Blood on the tracks now. I’m sorry about it all.’

‘Oh, Lucas, don’t. And of course I don’t want you to leave.’

‘Well – I’d have to. If he came back.’ She could see this was different; not emotional blackmail. He hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘There’s something else, though, Mother. He’s just not good enough for you. Honestly.’

‘In what way?’

Just for a moment she felt he wanted to tell her something; but all he said was, ‘Oh – he just isn’t. I suppose I’m a bit biased. No, you do what you can with him, Mum. I’ll get out of your hair.’

Anyway it didn’t work. She came home, ran upstairs, locked herself in her room, weeping. They had moved too far apart, Geordie said, he didn’t think he could even contemplate coming back now.

‘It’s not just Lucas, Adele. It was what it revealed – about us. And the value you put on our relationship. It’s natural, I suppose, that you should put your son first. But I tried so hard, Adele. So very hard. You gave me no credit for that. You didn’t seem to care how miserable I was, or lonely, or about my separation from Clio, and Noni’s distress – you just went on, knowing you were right, knowing what was best for all of us. And I’m afraid that destroyed rather a lot for me. But – ’ his voice had changed; she looked up, saw the old Geordie suddenly, smiling gently at her, infinitely sad ‘ – I’ll always love you. Always. But I can’t fight your love for your son. And we can’t turn the clock back. I only wish we could.’

Noni came home from Paris, excited, happy, ran into the house, calling to her mother. Lucas came out to the hall, shook his head, indicated the closed door. She went up, heard the muffled weeping, tried to find the strength to go in and comfort her, and somehow – just couldn’t. Later she and Lucas sat discussing it, over a bottle of wine.

‘Geordie’s so ghastly,’ he said. ‘Utterly ghastly. She just can’t see it.’

‘Lucas, he’s not ghastly. When will you let it rest, why can’t you make more effort?’

‘Noni,’ he said, ‘it’s not just me. It was never just me. He’s a spoilt brat. Even more of a spoilt brat than I am. He likes life easy. Comfortable. Geordie-shaped. Everything going his way.’

For the first time, he told her about the overheard telephone conversation, the lipstick-stained shirt; she stared at him in horror.

‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘God, how horrible. You don’t think, do you, there’s anyone else now?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Possibly. He’s been over in the States quite a long time.’

‘Yes, but he’s been working.’

‘Every night? Every day?’

‘Oh God,’ she said again. ‘Maybe I should write to Izzie, see if she knows anything, has heard any gossip.’

She went upstairs again; her mother was asleep. Lying fully clothed on the bed, surrounded by dozens of discarded tissues. It would all start again in the morning. Noni sighed. She was getting very weary of it; very weary indeed. She seemed to be the only person not getting any consideration. Everyone was worrying about her mother, about Lucas, about Clio; and the burden was falling most heavily on her.

She made a decision that night: to leave Oxford and take up modelling full time. She supposed she was running away from reality, but she just didn’t care. It was her way of getting through it all; and she was going to take it.

CHAPTER 16

‘She’s not coming? But I don’t understand. How could she refuse? I thought she was so special to you, I thought Cathy loved her—’ Barty stared at Charlie; she felt genuinely upset.

‘Not so much these days. The words Old and Witch hang heavy in the air.’

‘Yes, but still. All these years, she’s been very good to you, paying the school fees, and Cathy’s been to stay so regularly—’

‘I’m baffled, too. I really thought she’d want to come. But she’s refused. Maybe she’s ill, I don’t know.’

‘Does she say she’s ill? Can I see the letter?’

‘There isn’t a letter, she phoned. She was pretty abrupt.’

‘Surely she’d have said if she was ill.’

‘Barty – ’ he hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘I – I actually think it’s a bit more complicated.’

‘Oh really? In what way?’

‘Her mother, Meg’s grandmother, had dementia. She was totally confused apparently, always running away from the care home, wandering round in her night clothes or less. I think maybe Sally, that’s her name, is going the same way. I’ve noticed she’s changed a lot lately.’

‘Oh no! That’s dreadful. How old is she?’

‘Not so young. Seventy-five.’

‘Quite young for dementia. Poor lady. Is she having good medical care?’

‘Yes, I think so. I hope so, anyway.’

‘Well – presumably money isn’t a problem. I mean she must be pretty well off to pay the school fees.’

‘Oh yes. She’s very comfortable.’

‘Maybe we could go and see her, after the wedding, take some photos—’

‘That’s a lovely idea. You’re a nice person, Barty.’

‘I try to be.’ She gave him a kiss. ‘I must go to work. What are you doing today?’

‘Oh – a few clients to see. Then I thought I’d meet the girls from school, take them skating. They’d like it.’

‘Have you got time? They’re perfectly all right, just coming back here. They have a lot of studying to do.’

‘I know. But it’d be fun. And it is nearly Christmas. I told you, Cathy’s just slightly knocked off her perch by all this. Moving out of the apartment and so on. Even though she’s so happy about everything, it’s a pretty drastic change. And readjustment.’

‘Yes, of course. Well it was your idea to give up the apartment.’

She had been slightly surprised that he wanted to do that before the wedding. Surprised and, even though she didn’t like to admit it, irritated. It seemed a little presumptuous. On the other hand, his lease had almost run out, there were only six weeks to go, and it did simplify life a lot. He had suggested – sensing her discomfort – that he and Cathy move into a hotel, but she had said, of course, that they mustn’t think of it.

She had suggested he and Cathy move into the guest suite on the top floor. There were two bedrooms up there, a small sitting room, which Charlie could use as an office, and a bathroom; they would be self-contained and they could preserve the fiction to the girls that there was no impropriety going on. He came over to her, ruffled her hair.

‘You know, I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yes?’

‘Next year, when the girls are safely installed at Dana Hall, shall we take a long trip?’

‘Oh – I don’t know. I mean – we are going to England, aren’t we?’

‘That’s just to meet the family. I meant a real long trip. See something of the world.’

‘Charlie – ’ she stared at him ‘ – Charlie, how long a trip?’

‘Oh – couple of months.’

‘I can’t go away for a couple of months,’ she said. She felt disorientated, almost scared. ‘I’ve been worrying about the two or three weeks in England as it is.’

‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’

‘I have a business to run. A very complex, demanding business. You don’t seem to understand.’

‘Darling, I do understand. I understand something else too. You look tired, worn out, you seem very stressed. You need a really long vacation. I want to see you relax, enjoying yourself.’

‘But I do enjoy myself. I enjoy myself running Lyttons.’

‘Yes, but there’s more to life than that, surely? You must see that. You tell me all the places in the world you’ve seen, Barty.’

‘Well – England. Scotland. France—’

‘And America. There you are. What about India, China, Egypt, the rest of Europe? Don’t you have any curiosity about those places, don’t you long to see them?’

‘Well – ’ she hesitated ‘ – well I suppose so. But I’ve always—’

‘Always what?’

‘Had too many other things to worry about. Jenna, Lyttons—’

‘Jenna will be away at school. She’s really happy about us. She’s settled down a lot lately. I’ve noticed.’

‘Jenna didn’t need to settle down,’ said Barty. She was beginning to feel seriously irritated. ‘She’s always been – Jenna.’

‘Of course. Adorable. But very naughty, very – wilful. Sweetheart, you’re always saying it.’

‘I know but—’ It was all right for her to say it; not for him.

‘Anyway, they’re both going to be fine. Taken good care of. So we could head off, without worrying about them. And we ought to have some time on our own. Just – getting to know one another.’

‘I think we do know each other pretty well,’ said Barty.

‘Well – yes and no. Heavens, Barty, we’re getting married, surely we deserve a honeymoon.’

‘I never think anyone deserves anything, in that sense,’ she said – God, she was sounding more and more like Celia. ‘And there is absolutely no question of my taking a long trip in the foreseeable future. I’m sorry. Lyttons is too important. I’ve neglected it lately, I’ve missed two important books I should have bid for – you don’t seem to understand, this is a full-time, more than full-time, job. I have to read the
New York Times
every day, really read it. I aim to get an idea for a book at least once, possibly twice, a day. I need to lunch regularly with agents, I need to see new young authors, I need to know absolutely what is being published out there. These are tricky times, the market is changing, there are new types of books being published, the paperback market is becoming increasingly important, I need to talk to the bookshop owners, I—’

‘Yes, yes, all right,’ he said, ‘I get the idea. I’m still surprised you can’t set it aside for us, just for a little while.’

‘Charlie,’ she said, and she was angry now, ‘that company provides—’ She stopped; just in time. Only just in time.

‘Provides what?’

Money: money for the houses, for the school fees, for the cars, for travelling. For him now as well as for her.

‘Provides me with work and responsibility for the next hundred years,’ she said.

‘So, do I have to wait a hundred years?’ He was smiling at her carefully; he had sensed her anger, had pulled back. ‘Well, it’ll be worth it.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘You get along to your important work. No, don’t glare at me like that, I understand, it is important and I love you for it. And I’ll stay home and bake an apple pie. Talking of apple pie, sweetheart, could you lend me ten dollars? I forgot to go to the bank last night, and I have to take a client out for breakfast first thing.’

‘Yes of course,’ she said, absentmindedly, pulling a note out of her wallet. ‘Here—’

‘Honey, I don’t want fifty.’

‘Take it. It’s all I’ve got. And ten dollars won’t last a minute. I keep meaning to open a joint account for us. Would that be a good idea, do you think?’

‘It’d simplify things a bit, sure. Then I could take care of things like the household accounts for you.’

‘I can – ’ Barty stopped ‘ – take care of them perfectly well,’ she was going to say. But at least Charlie could do that; it would be a good idea. It was a bore, all the insurance and regular bills, paying Maria and the cleaner and the food suppliers. ‘Yes, that’d be good,’ she said. ‘I’ll fix it today.’ She gave him a kiss. ‘I won’t be late. Give the girls my love and tell them they must do their homework the minute they get in from skating.’

‘I will. ’Bye honey. Have a good day. I’ll miss you.’

She had felt very odd as she sat in the cab, driving down Fifth Avenue; as she passed Elliott House she looked up at it, at its vast, rather stolid grandeur and felt a rare pang of regret for it. It was a museum now; she would have loathed to live there, infinitely preferred Number Seven. But suddenly she felt a longing for it, for its reassurance, for what it represented, the days when Laurence had been in love with her and she had at least been sure of how she felt and what she was doing. However difficult and uncomfortable.

Without knowing quite why, she stopped the cab at 50th, and walked through to the Rockefeller Center and the ice rink, stood leaning on the wall, looking down at it, and at the vast Christmas tree just above it, thinking of Charlie skating there that afternoon with the two girls, while she worked far into the evening, wondering if they would miss her or indeed think of her at all.

Well, even if they didn’t, she had no real choice. And besides, she had about as much desire to spend her days skating and shopping and lunching as she did to – well, to go travelling. How could any of that compare with finding a book, a potentially successful new book, the thud of the heart that accompanied it, honing and shaping it, seeing it come to life, watching it jacketed, displayed, sold, reviewed . . .

‘God, Barty,’ she said aloud, turning back towards Fifth Avenue and the glittering row of over-lit, over-dressed over-sparkling stores and buildings that were Manhattan at Christmas time, ‘you’re getting more and more like Celia.’

And then she thought, to her immense surprise, that she was looking forward to seeing Celia more than she would ever have believed possible. Celia with her clear vision, her withering judgements, her absolute shattering honesty.

Only of course by the time she arrived, it would be too late.

It was Keir who made the suggestion: over dinner with Celia one night, during his visit with Elspeth to London.

Celia had said she was worried that Lyttons was not keeping up with the trend towards increasing realism in publishing and the theatre.

‘Look at the success of
Look Back in Anger
, an absolute revolution, young people speaking out against the old order, nobody else in the place seems to feel a need for change, but I do.’

‘By which you mean working-class stuff, I suppose?’ said Keir. Elspeth looked at him anxiously, but he was smiling at Celia.

‘Not entirely,’ she said coolly. ‘What I really mean, and I don’t see why you have to be so eternally touchy on the subject, Keir, is books about real people, on every level. The Kingsley Amis book,
Lucky Jim
, hugely interesting, I thought. A lower-class but very real heroine, I liked that.’

‘So, exactly, working class.’

‘No. Real life. Life now.’

And he had come up with it: a book about the colour problem in Britain. He phoned her the next day, to discuss it further. Told her she’d need to be very courageous.

‘Courage is one of my virtues,’ said Celia.

‘Right. Well now. They’re arriving here in thousands. From Jamaica, mostly. Friend of mine from Glasgow works at a school in Brixton, I saw him at a meeting of the NUT a couple of months ago. I tell you, those kids could tell you some stories. Make your hair stand on end.’

‘Such as?’

‘They can’t get anywhere to live, for a start. People, landladies and so on, just won’t take them in. Say they’ll get a bad name. They put notices in the windows saying “no coloureds”. How do you think that makes a lad feel? A coloured lad?’

‘It’s a most curious description, that,’ said Celia thoughtfully.

‘Of course it is. As if the rest of us were albino or something. Anyway, they’re living five families to a house, some of them. Ten blokes to a room. One lad in my friend’s class, he and his parents share a flat, a flat, mind you, with two other families. He sleeps under the dining-room table.’

‘How extraordinary,’ said Celia. ‘That’s how the Millers lived when I first met them.’

‘The who? Oh, yes. You’d have thought society might have moved on since then. But at least the Millers didn’t have to contend with prejudice. Another lad, his dad can’t get work, he applied for a job on the railways, but he was told “no coloureds”. My friend asked his mum about it when she came to a parents’ evening, she said it was because the white staff object. The excuse is the coloureds don’t work so hard. A fine excuse. And then there are pubs which put up signs, saying “no coloureds” as well. A man can’t even go out for a drink in the evening without being desperately insulted. Think of the social problems all this is going to cause. It’s terrifying.’

‘Indeed. I had no idea.’

‘So, there’s your book. If I were you, I’d commission one.’

‘Really?’ said Celia drily. ‘And what would you suggest we did for a plot?’

‘Oh that’s simple. Black man, white girl. Dynamite. But like I said, you’d need to be pretty damn courageous.’

There was a long silence. Then, ‘God knows what Giles will have to say about it,’ said Celia, ‘but it sounds like a very good idea to me.’

There was a silence, then she said, ‘Keir, could I just suggest once again—’

‘Celia,’ said Keir, ‘the answer’s no. Once again. Sorry, but no.’