Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (38 page)

‘No. I don’t like shopping. I’d rather soak up the sun.’

‘Like a lizard. Look, there’s one.’

He sat up obediently; his wet hair fell in his eyes. Sally Davies reached a brown hand out and pushed it back for him.

‘That’s better. I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, Lucas.’

‘I am.’

‘Good. I was afraid you might be feeling a little – left out. Now that Tricia’s boyfriend has arrived.’

That had been a slight blow; especially as he was a complete twerp.

‘Oh – don’t worry about me,’ he said.

‘But I do. I can’t help it. I’m a very – conscientious hostess. I like my guests to be completely happy.’

She looked at him, her eyes moving down his face, lingering on his lips. Lucas returned her gaze; he felt oddly relaxed and excited at the same time.

‘I am,’ he said, ‘really.’

He reached for his pack of cigarettes, offered her one.

‘Light it for me,’ she said.

He did, then took it from his lips, placed it between hers. She smiled at him, a slow, inviting smile.

‘Good. Look – it’s very hot out here. I wondered if we might go indoors for a while, have a little drink together before lunch. The others will be hours.’

‘Yes,’ said Lucas, absolutely taking her meaning. ‘Yes, I think that would be awfully nice.’

He followed her into the house, admiring the sway of her hips, her taut, high buttocks. He supposed he should feel nervous but he didn’t. This was a far better way, after all, experience seducing youth. And it was the French way.

‘Izzie? This is Geordie. I’m in New York.’

‘Geordie! Oh my God, I didn’t know you were here—’

‘I just arrived. Didn’t Barty tell you I was coming?’

‘Yes, of course. But I thought it was next week, I—’

‘Would you like to see me? I’d certainly like to see you.’

Celia arrived at Birmingham New Street at five that afternoon. The train journey had been quite short and easy; provided that she found Keir at home, she could be home again by ten. If not, she would stay somewhere and go back in the morning. It was incredibly annoying that he had no phone in his digs; a very nice bedsitting room, Elspeth had said. The landlady had a phone of course, but she was out. Really, the way people conducted their businesses was astonishingly inefficient.

She decided to take a taxi to the address; it was a way from the station, she was told, in Edgbaston, one of the nicest residential areas of Birmingham, but it should only take about twenty minutes. If he wasn’t there, she could leave a note and then come back and book into a hotel. She had already settled on one in her mind, the Royal in Victoria Square; she could instruct Keir to telephone her there, or come to see her.

She found her drive through the city centre, still scarred by its massive bomb damage, depressing. It was a bleak, wet afternoon, and the entire city looked grey and raw. Why did Keir have to live and work in such horrible places? Why couldn’t he show some sense and move to London? Edgbaston, though, was a pleasant surprise, leafy and spacious, filled with large Edwardian villas. The taxi pulled up outside a slightly less grand example; she got out and paid the fare, looking up at the windows, wondering if Keir had seen her, thinking what fun they would have that evening; she could take him out to dinner. She always enjoyed his company; of course he was a difficult character, and he certainly hadn’t made Elspeth’s life easy, but he was invariably good to talk to. Maybe she wouldn’t go back tonight anyway, maybe she would stay.

She rang the bell. A pleasant woman answered it. No, she didn’t think Mr Brown was back from school yet, he was often late, he worked so hard, he looked so tired sometimes – clearly another member of the Keir Brown fan club, thought Celia, irritated suddenly. He got away with too much, and poor Elspeth got away with absolutely nothing at all. It wasn’t fair.

‘Could I – could I wait in his room do you think?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. I can’t just let anyone in, it’s his home after all. I have to go out again myself now, to meet my husband. You’re very welcome to wait in the lounge until he gets back. Or to leave a note, of course. He does know you, I presume, Mrs – er – ’

‘Lady Arden,’ said Celia graciously. ‘How kind. Yes, he does know me. He’s married to my granddaughter. I’ll wait for a little while.’

‘Very well. But you’ll have to keep an eye out for him, he lives on the first floor, up those steps by the verandah, do you see, with the outside stair? So he doesn’t come through the house. You might miss him.’

‘I’ll try not to,’ said Celia. ‘Now, don’t let me keep you, I’d hate to make you late.’

She sat in the lounge, patient at first, then growing edgy as time passed. What on earth was he doing? Surely he wouldn’t have gone out for the evening without coming home first to change. Maybe he would. She began to regret her spur-of-the-moment visit; it could prove the most dreadful waste of time.

After half an hour she wrote Keir a note. She would put it under his door and go back to the hotel. The taxi driver had given her a card with his phone number on, and she had seen a phone in the hall.

She heard voices suddenly, looked up. There was someone coming in at the gate, sharing an umbrella. It was Keir. With a friend. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe he would be less pleased to see her than she had thought.

And then she watched as Keir walked towards the house, round to the side and up the iron steps: with his companion who she could see more clearly now. A fellow teacher perhaps, quite possibly indeed. A very pretty one, moreover; Celia studied her with great interest, a girl, with long red hair and very good legs, her hand in Keir’s, her face lifted to his, laughing at something he had said. Well, he could be very funny, Celia thought irrelevantly.

They paused at the top of the steps, while Keir got out a key, then disappeared inside. The room was overhead, and she could hear their footsteps and their voices quite clearly: as clearly as she could hear the abrupt silence that followed. And went on.

Celia waited: for five minutes. Five long, silent minutes. Then she picked up her bag and her hat and walked out of the front door of the house round to the side, up the iron staircase and pressed the bell very firmly. Very firmly indeed. And went on pushing it.

Keir’s face when it finally appeared, looking cautiously round the door, was actually very funny, a parody of shock and guilt, first flushed and then extremely pale, his dark eyes large with alarm, his jaw rigid.

Finally he said, ‘Celia.’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling at him sweetly, ‘yes, that’s right, Keir. It is indeed Celia. I do hope I haven’t come at an inconvenient time. I have some editorial matters to discuss with you, rather urgently. May I come in?’

CHAPTER 20

Giles was having a lot of difficulty with
Contrasts
, as
Black and White
had finally been titled. He could not help admiring it; it was superbly written, it was a clever idea – Celia and Keir had been right, the colour question was hotly debated at every level, in every newspaper, round every dinner table – and it had a wonderfully clever ending, leaving the reader to wonder whether the couple were going to continue with their pregnancy or not.

Meyrick hadn’t used any cheap tricks; the Jamaican hero was a trained teacher, desperately trying to get a job; the heroine was a nurse, her father a headmaster, refusing to help his son-in-law. It had everything – family, class, snobbery both intellectual and social, love, sex – all set against the background of appalling colour prejudice.

Keir’s teacher friend had arranged for Meyrick to talk to two or three of the Jamaican families whose children were in his class; he had visited them in their hopelessly overcrowded homes, seen their disappointment and indeed despair at never being able to make a future, not only for themselves, but for their children.

One man had been living in one room at a rent of £1 a week, with eight others, taking it in turns to find a bed, sofa or even a space on the floor to sleep. The authorities had discovered this and turned them out, claiming health and even fire risks, and then quickly went on to find them council accommodation; local white residents, living in only slightly better conditions themselves, were outraged and this had increased hostility. There were even some calls for segregated areas where the ‘coloureds’ could be housed.

This man’s brother, whom Meyrick had also met, lived in Birmingham and had been involved in a dispute on the buses there. The white employees were ‘overwhelmingly opposed’ to employing coloured people, in spite of the fact that there were vacancies, and held a strike; banners could be seen all over Birmingham saying ‘Keep Britain White’. Even Winston Churchill spoke of the dangers of Britain becoming ‘a magpie society’; there were letters to
The Times
warning that most of the two million people in Trinidad and Jamaica were planning to come to England, and there were rumours of an organisation in Bradford smuggling Indian and Pakistani men into the country, obtaining passports for them for anything up to £400.

The immigrants even found organising a social life with one another difficult; Birmingham City Council barred them from using their school halls for dances, blaming ‘misuse’ (vaguely described as overcrowding and abusing the toilet facilities), and the immigrants were also frequently blamed for distributing drugs to teenagers.

‘It’s all very ugly and makes one ashamed,’ said Celia after one meeting with Meyrick, adding with her usual ruthless honesty that nevertheless it made for a wonderful book . . .

Giles worried about it endlessly, fearing that the anti-coloured feeling in the country would rebound against Lyttons; Celia, Elspeth and, indeed, Jay, all told him he was talking nonsense, that in literary circles such behaviour would be regarded with distaste and that Lyttons would be seen as occupying the vanguard of liberal opinion.

‘We could also,’ he said, looking heavily round the boardroom table, ‘be accused of capitalising on the misfortunes of these people.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Jay, ‘particularly as two of the men Hugh Meyrick has talked to have very bravely agreed to be interviewed by the press. They’re both articulate, reasonable, and right behind the book, as well as happy at being able to have their problems brought into the open. And it’s not as if we’re showing any kind of bias, the girl’s misgivings about her situation are very frankly examined. It’s brilliant, Giles, you really have nothing to worry about.’

Giles continued to worry.

His greater problem with the book, of course, was Keir Brown’s involvement in it. Keir Brown who, from that August, would be working at Lyttons as an editorial assistant, Keir Brown who had no experience of publishing whatsoever, Keir Brown who was his mother’s latest discovery and apparently her new favourite, brought in to assist on copy-editing the book. It was outrageous. Useless for his mother to point out that Keir had worked on
Isis
in his final year at university, that she was very impressed with some readers reports he had done, that he had a feel for words, that the book had been his idea. None of that justified what she was doing for Keir.

Nobody was quite clear how it had happened: that he should, with quite shocking suddenness, without much consultation with anyone, join Lyttons as Celia’s protégé. Of course she was getting on a bit, she had always been rather inclined to get ideas into her head, to act quixotically, but this was a rather extreme example of it. No one had actually objected, except Giles, or indeed seemed to mind too much. Jay was delighted; he was short of junior staff, he had always liked Keir and got on with him and Celia’s assurance that he would knuckle down and perform the most humble tasks without complaint had proved absolutely correct. Keir was fun and he was funny, he was good-natured, in spite of a tendency to lose his temper at rather unpredictable moments, and everyone liked him. Women in particular.

The person most surprised, perhaps, was Elspeth; when Keir arrived out of the blue on the Saturday after Celia’s visit to Birmingham and announced that he had decided after all to accept a job at Lyttons, she had genuinely thought she must be dreaming. After she had asked him for the third time if he really meant it and why, and he had told her he did really mean it, and it was because he had begun to give up hope of getting the kind of teaching job he wanted, she gave up, deciding she was tempting fate. She asked her grandmother what she thought might have tipped Keir over into his decision, but Celia had been rather cool about it.

‘I have no real idea, darling, but I certainly haven’t pressed him on the matter and it’s my advice that neither should you. It can’t have been easy for him, and I think you should recognise that. Just be nice to him, make it up to him, he’s bound to be feeling a bit – sore. The male ego is very delicate, as I’m sure you know, best to pander to it, I’ve always found.’

‘Granny,’ said Elspeth, looking at her intently, ‘there’s more to this than meets the eye, isn’t there?’

‘Not really,’ said Celia. ‘I told you life usually resolved things for itself, didn’t I? Obviously it has, once again. Oh and darling, whatever you do, don’t even contemplate going back to work yourself yet. That really would be very silly.’

Elspeth, encouraged by the ‘yet’, promised that she wouldn’t.

‘There’s absolutely no excuse,’ Keir had said, twisting his fingers in his thick black hair as he always did when he was upset, ‘I know that. I’ve behaved appallingly.’

‘Very true,’ said Celia calmly. ‘Do have some more wine.’

‘Thank you. But – oh, I don’t know. Elspeth’s changed so much. She doesn’t seem to be fun any more. And—’

‘Keir Brown, how can you even think that, let alone say it,’ said Celia severely. ‘Of course she’s not fun. Removed from everything she knows, her family, her friends, her work, her home, stuck in what sounds a rather remote part of Glasgow’ – she was careful not to criticise the standard of accommodation, even in her hour of triumph – ‘all alone, with a baby all day for company. Babies are wonderful little creatures, but they lack conversational skills. When you came home, I’m sure you made a great effort to talk to her, to be interesting and amusing, but Oliver certainly didn’t. He worked terribly long hours, it was dreadful.’

Keir was silent. Then he sighed heavily.

‘I do still love her, you know. But she won’t let me near her half the time. She seems angry with me.’

‘Well, I’m not surprised. I would be too. I was angry with Oliver. I remember that vividly. And then, of course, Elspeth is probably very tired. It wasn’t an easy delivery, it takes time to recover physically—’

‘We haven’t had much sex,’ said Keir bluntly, ‘if that’s what you mean.’

‘I suppose I do. Partly. Which is no excuse, either, for sleeping with someone else.’

‘I know that. But Margaret did come after me. She seemed rather keen.’

‘Really? Well you are a very attractive man. I’ve always thought that.’

‘And one thing led to another. I was never going to let it go on, not once I’d left Birmingham. I didn’t get that job,’ he added and sighed heavily. ‘I’ve really mucked things up, haven’t I?’

‘A bit, yes.’

‘I suppose you’ll be telling Elspeth. The minute you get back. And her bloody parents.’

‘Now, what good would that do anybody?’ said Celia. She sounded genuinely puzzled.

Keir stared at her, took another large gulp of wine. ‘Well – I don’t know. I just thought—’

‘You don’t know me very well yet, do you? Discretion is my greatest virtue. I’ve constructed an entire life out of it. I have very little time for the truth. Certainly not unvarnished. Of course I’m not going to tell Elspeth. It would break her heart, wreck your little family, and make Venetia and Boy unbearably smug. I would hate any of that.’

‘So—’

‘So what am I going to do? I’ll tell you. I’m going to offer you, for at least the tenth time, a job at Lyttons. Which you will not only enjoy, but be very good at.’

‘Celia—’

‘Which you will accept this time, I feel sure. And move to London.’

‘And Elspeth will move back into her bloody flat and her job at Lyttons, I suppose. Where she will be vastly my superior and—’

‘Of course she won’t go back to Lyttons. I wouldn’t have her there. She should be at home, looking after Cecilia, and providing her with some brothers and sisters. Neither will she be moving back into her flat. Amy’s in it, anyway, she won’t be at all pleased if she has to share it with a baby. Silly child, that one, just like her mother at the same age.’

‘And who is Elspeth like,’ said Keir rather wearily, ‘would you say?’

‘Elspeth,’ said Celia with great finality, ‘is very like me. In a great many ways.’

‘God help me,’ said Keir, but he smiled at her. There was a long silence; then he said quickly, as if he had quite literally decided to move into dangerous territory, ‘All right, Celia, you win. I’ll accept your offer. I don’t like it though, I don’t like blackmail.’

‘This is not blackmail,’ said Celia, ‘it’s simple pragmatism. I want you at Lyttons. Always have. And you’ll enjoy it, I do promise you that.’

‘But there’s a deal in the background. I think we’re both aware of that.’

‘You may be,’ said Celia, ‘I’m certainly not. I told you. Nothing would make me tell Elspeth what I know. Nothing. I wouldn’t hurt her – and therefore you – for the world. I’m just really glad we’ve been able to work something out to our mutual advantage. Now come along, stop fiddling with your hair like that and eat your steak. It’s really very good.’

Giles suggested Lyttons did a paperback imprint.

The family were astonished; it was so absolutely out of character for him to propose anything innovative, anything remotely risky, that Venetia was driven to wonder aloud if he was finally cracking up. On the other hand, for once in his life, he found himself ahead of the crowd.

‘I’m not suggesting we do it in a big way,’ he said when the idea was discussed at a board meeting, ‘just that we put a few books out, from the backlist, say half a dozen, and see how they do. I thought we could launch next spring. I don’t see why we should give Penguin or Pan all our best titles. I would like to put it to Barty, get her reaction.’

Celia was particularly excited and offered to help Giles with overseeing the project; he turned her down with unusual firmness.

Elspeth had been afraid that Keir would regret his decision, that he would become bad-tempered and difficult, start talking about returning to teaching, but he didn’t. He seemed quite happy, and had thrown himself into working at Lyttons with his usual energy; still faintly disbelieving of her good fortune, but infinitely grateful, she devoted herself to finding somewhere to live that they could afford on his salary, settling on a mansion flat in Battersea, overlooking the park. It wasn’t fashionable, of course, rather the reverse, but it was as big as a small house, with three bedrooms and a room which she could turn into quite a grand drawing room. She liked the period features, the cornices and the fireplaces, and the tiny balcony that overlooked the street. It also had the considerable advantage of being almost within sight of her grandmother’s house in Cheyne Walk. It was amazing, she thought, the difference in value made by the presence of quite a small stretch of water. On the Chelsea side of the river, the flat would have cost at least five times as much.

Having found it, she began to furnish it, searching out bargains in sale rooms, not only in London, but in Buckinghamshire, near Ashingham, and struggling to make her own curtains with a sewing machine Celia had given her.

She refused to entertain any notion of help in the house, continuing to do all her own cleaning and to look after Cecilia by herself; she had taken very seriously Celia’s warning about the vulnerability of the male ego. She wasn’t sure how her grandmother fitted into the change in her fortune but she was fairly sure there was a connection; consequently if Celia had told her to walk backwards for the next five years, she would have agreed to do it.

Keir’s main role in his first few months was to read: manuscripts, proofs, proposals, and give his view of them; but he also spent a lot of time poring over
The Bookseller
, studying what other publishers were bringing out, and visiting bookshops to see how the Lytton books and the material used to promote them were faring.

‘They’re a joke those bookshops,’ he said to Celia one day, ‘you’d never think they wanted to sell anything at all. They look like grocers’ shops, dark brown, lots of high shelves you can’t reach without a ladder, and as for the windows – they’re just a jumble. I don’t understand it, especially as they all operate on the self-service principle. You have to really work to find what you want: unless it’s a very new book, and even then I saw some horrible things. Two of Lyttons’ spring titles just stuck on shelves right at the back.’