Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (5 page)

‘It’s certainly that. Where will you go, do you think? Look out, old chap, you nearly knocked my coffee over.’

‘Sorry. Wasn’t looking.’ He smiled suddenly, a nicer smile. ‘Funny how I still use those words. I don’t know where . . . I thought I might talk to Izzie about Michael Joseph.’

‘It’s an idea. They have some fine authors. I’m sure they’d be very pleased to talk to you. Your track record is pretty good. Five big sellers now. It will cause a big stir, Kit, in the publishing world.’

‘I know,’ said Kit, ‘not all of it very tasty, either. I’m afraid I can see the articles now, can’t you? And there’ll be a lot of schmaltz too. I’m such good copy, aren’t I? The war hero and – well all that. God I hate it. Still, I’m not stupid.’ He sighed. ‘Schmaltz sells.’

‘Kit you mustn’t be bitter. It’s your books that sell.’

‘Sebastian, I do assure you I try not to be bitter. And I know in some ways I’m very lucky. But it’s still – hard. Terribly hard.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Sebastian. His voice was very gentle as he looked at Kit.

There was a long silence: then, ‘Well anyway, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to see them all this afternoon. I must go. Friday all right?’

‘Of course,’ said Sebastian, ‘what would Friday be without our dinners, Kit? Here, let me help you. You’ve left your hat behind.’

‘Have I?’ He sounded surprised. ‘I’d forgotten I’d worn one. I’m not quite the thing today, I’m afraid. Thanks.’

He put his hat on, picked up his stick, made his way across the room.

‘’Bye Sebastian. Thanks for listening. And let me know when you see the first article, won’t you? I wonder what it will say? New battlefield for war hero author? War hero deserts Lyttons? Oh, they’ll have a field day.’

‘I think,’ said Sebastian, his voice suddenly more cheerful, ‘it will say “Publishers battle over Christopher Lytton.” You’ll get a lot of offers, Kit, mark my words. Now here’s Marks with the car.’

‘Good. New Lytton House please, Marks.’

Sebastian watched the car drive away. It was one of Kit’s biggest extravagances; he was slightly embarrassed about it, his lifestyle in other ways was so modest, his small mews house in Kensington, his rather shabby clothes . . . But the car made his life so much easier and more efficient. Everyone told him it was worth it.

Sebastian went back into the house, the house on the edge of Primrose Hill which he had bought with the proceeds of the first
Meridian
, and out into the garden. Thinking that he too had once threatened to leave Lyttons, with exactly the same intention as Kit. To hurt Celia. And in the end had not been able to. It was all so very long ago . . .

Adele walked into the house and threw her bag down on the hall table.

‘I’m back!’

Silence. Everyone was obviously out. Damn. She so wanted to tell them all about it. She went into the kitchen, filled the kettle, stared out at the tiny garden, smiling. Then she turned round and jumped.

‘Lucas! I didn’t see you. Didn’t you hear me come in?’

‘Of course. But I was busy.’

‘Yes, I see. Going well, your essay?’

‘All right.’

She sighed inwardly. Then, ‘I’ve just come from the palace.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘We were being briefed about the Coronation. It’s going to be so wonderful, Lucas. I still can’t believe it. We have the most marvellous access to everything, both inside and outside the Abbey. It’s going to be such a wonderful day, Commander Colville, he’s the Press Officer, says we must all pray for good weather, but I can’t believe it will rain on such a day. It’s June after all, and—’

‘Mother, I’m sorry, but I really am trying to work. Perhaps we could discuss the Coronation later.’

Adele sighed. ‘Yes of course. Sorry Lucas. You must get on.’

She went upstairs with her coffee, tears rising absurdly in her eyes. He had such capacity to hurt her. What was she going to do with him? What?

‘That is terrible news,’ said Jay, walking back into the board room. The other two looked at him. There was no need to reply.

‘I just don’t understand it,’ said Giles finally. ‘Why’s he done it?’

‘Oh Giles,’ said Venetia impatiently, ‘it’s to get at Mummy of course. It’s all he can do. Apart from refusing to see her or talk to her.’

‘But she’s gone,’ said Giles, ‘it’s a meaningless gesture. That’s what’s so odd about it. Everyone will think he’s going because she won’t be here any more.’

‘Not meaningless to him. He won’t care about what everyone will think. It’s her he wants to hurt. He knows she’ll be upset. Which she will be, with him walking out on the family firm. And anyway, she hasn’t gone. She’s still got her shares.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Jay, walking over to the drinks cabinet. ‘But – it’s not straightforward, is it? She might even be pleased. Think he’s the first in a long line of authors walking out. That Lyttons can’t go on without her. Venetia, drink?’

‘Yes, please. Gin and tonic.’

‘Same for me,’ said Giles. ‘Jay, she can’t think that.’

‘Of course she can. She knows Lyttons won’t be the same without her. She
is
Lyttons. She embodies it, its style, its history. And now it will change.’

‘I trust it will. It has to. We have to move with the times,’ said Giles stiffly. ‘Our mother was fairly adept at not doing that.’

‘That’s not fair,’ said Venetia. ‘I can still remember raging rows with Daddy when she was trying to persuade him to go into paperbacks, to take on popular authors, to recognise changes in public taste. She was marvellous at moving with the times. And so was your mother, Jay, to a lesser degree. I can still hear Daddy saying “not you as well, LM” when she took Mummy’s side. Not that it did either of them any good. If anyone was stuck in the past it was Daddy.’

Giles said nothing, drained his glass.

‘I do fear that people might take their cue from this,’ said Jay soberly, ‘and what about the authors she did edit, Lady Annabel, for instance, Sebastian of course—’

‘Sebastian won’t go,’ said Venetia firmly. ‘I know he won’t. He feels part of Lyttons too. He’s an honorary Lytton, always has been.’

‘Have you talked to him about it? After all, Celia has always edited him.’

‘No,’ she said, sounding slightly less confident.

‘I think you should.’

‘Shouldn’t you? You’re the editoral director.’

‘Possibly,’ said Jay with a sigh. ‘I’ve been putting it off.’

‘Well anyway, Kit is going,’ said Venetia, ‘and it’s bad. He’s always the big lead in the Christmas books for children, and with Sebastian only doing his Coronation edition this year . . . Anyone who takes Kit on will make sure there’s a lot of publicity about it. It’s all so perfect. He’s the publicist’s gift. War hero. Lady Celia’s youngest son—’

‘Blind,’ said Jay.

The other two stared at him. He looked back at them, smiled slightly shame-faced.

‘Well it’s true. I don’t know why everyone pussyfoots round it. It’s part of his myth. You know it is. It’s a wonderful story. It’s always been part of his legend.
Jeunesse dorée
, Battle of Britain pilot, giving his sight for his country, all that sort of thing. I mean—’

‘I hope you’re not implying he makes capital out of it,’ said Giles stiffly.

‘Of course I’m not. I know part of him hates it. But it does him no harm professionally.’

‘I think that’s a very crude remark,’ said Giles, ‘if you don’t mind me saying so.’

‘Oh stop it,’ said Venetia. ‘Both of you. It’s irrelevant to this discussion.’

‘Not entirely,’ said Jay. ‘It’s all part of his capacity for generating publicity. Which will be very bad for us. Look, I’m only speaking frankly. I suppose no amount of money could persuade Kit to stay?’

‘He said it wouldn’t. Surely you heard that.’

‘I know. But there’s a difference between saying something and meaning it. If we made him a really huge offer—’

‘Jay, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. Honestly. This is absolutely about principle. And besides, he has more than enough money. And it’s not as if he has a family to support or anything, poor darling. You do have to get that into your head. No, we’re going to lose him. And you know what happens when a major author leaves. All the others watch him, wondering why. It could be quite dangerous. For Lyttons and for all of us.’

CHAPTER 4

She had been afraid it would be ghastly and it was. Awkward, stiff, even sad: a day to be forgotten as quickly as possible. Exactly what a wedding day should not be. But at least it was over, Barty thought, sinking down on to her bed: for that everyone was grateful. Waiting for it, trying not to mind, pretending it was actually perfectly all right, fearing it was going to deteriorate, that had been the worst part.

Boy Warwick had, as always, done much to keep things not only calm, but comparatively easy: ‘She’s going to do it,’ he said one evening over dinner to the twins, ‘and there’s no point there being some dreadful family rift over it. He’s a perfectly decent chap, with luck he’ll make her happy, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him; in fact he was jolly good to you, Adele, wasn’t he?’

Adele nodded; her escape from wartime France and indeed Bunny Arden’s part in it was something she tried not to think about too much, bringing back memories that were not only terrifying but which filled her with remorse and shame.

‘Jolly good, yes,’ she said finally.

‘There is something wrong with him, though,’ said Venetia soberly, ‘you know there is, Boy. You hated it at the time.’

‘I know, I know. But we all make errors of judgement.’

‘Boy! It was a bit more than that. He was a leading appeaser. Best buddies with Oswald Mosley. Guest of Goering even. He influenced Mummy horribly. And it didn’t help Adele much either, did it, Luc being Jewish and everything?’

‘Well – he repented.’

‘And so did Mummy,’ said Adele, ‘she was very brave, came to Paris specially to apologise to both Luc and me. And he did then help me, of course he did. I wouldn’t have got home without him. So—’

‘Exactly. So we should accept him and make her happy. Three-line whip now girls, all children present,
all
– Adele, don’t look like that – including Lucas.’

‘Yes, all right. It’s just that—’

‘What?’

‘I know,’ said Venetia, ‘mine too. All of them have said it.’

‘What?’ said Boy wearily.

‘How can she be getting married again so soon. I wonder too, you know. Daddy only died a year ago. I mean, why marry Lord Arden? They can be friends. Who’d care anyway?’

‘I am marrying him,’ Celia said firmly to Barty over dinner soon after she had arrived, ‘because I want everything cut and dried. I don’t want a lot of gossipy speculation. About him or indeed anyone else. I don’t like disorder, Barty. As you know.’

‘Yes, I do know,’ said Barty. ‘But—’

‘I loved Oliver very much,’ said Celia, ‘very, very much. He was a marvellous person, and his courage was extraordinary. He was a superb father, and particularly so, I would say, to you. Even more than to his own children. Of course I shouldn’t say that. I never have before and I never will again. But I think it’s important we should both acknowledge it. I know how much he meant to you. And I think I know how this marriage must offend you.’

Barty met her eyes steadily. ‘It does,’ she said, ‘a little.’

‘Barty, I am getting older. Not old, of course, but older. Another fact I don’t often acknowledge. And I find I don’t like, these days, being alone. It astonished me, as a matter of fact. I have always enjoyed my own company. As much as I have enjoyed my work. Perhaps the loss of those two enjoyments go hand in hand.’

‘Celia,’ said Barty, ‘I absolutely cannot believe this loss of enjoyment in your work is permanent. Work, Lyttons, is your life. It always has been.’

‘It took me by surprise as well,’ said Celia, and she looked suddenly vulnerable. ‘I thought it was temporary; grief, weariness after Oliver’s death, so much change in the industry. I scarcely recognise it, you know, there are hardly any firms left in family ownership, they’re all run as public companies by wretched conglomerates, none of them with any personality. I would never have dreamed that Collins would sell shares to the public. Or Longmans. It’s absolutely appalling.’ She spoke as if they had sold state secrets to the KGB rather than sought essential capitalisation for their companies. ‘The fact is, as of course you know, Barty, once you are answerable to shareholders, you lose the ability to do what your instinct tells you is right.’

Barty managed not to point out that without her own intervention Lyttons too would have had to seek recapitalisation and moved out of family control. Which, she supposed, it had in a way. She smiled rather coolly at Celia, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement; it did not come.

‘And all this other nonsense, Penguin forming exclusive agreements with certain other publishers, it can’t be right. They should be completely independent, to decide what they want. And this talk of marketing! Research into why people buy books. People buy books for one reason and one reason only: because they want to read them. Michael Joseph said something very similar only the other day. You know what they say about the camel, I suppose?’

Barty said she did not.

‘The camel is a horse designed by a committee. I tell you Barty, a lot of camels will be published in the next few years. Instinct is the only thing that should guide a house, editorial instinct. Anyway, it doesn’t matter to me in the very least. As I said, I have lost interest in the whole business. I can take no real pleasure in it. It is rather dreadful, actually,’ she added, ‘it’s like losing my identity, like becoming a different person. Or losing one of my senses. I hope it never happens to you.’

Barty was silent.

‘Anyway, I have made my decisions. And I feel happier and easier. Bunny Arden – have you met him, I can’t remember?’

‘No,’ said Barty, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘He’s very sweet. I hope you like him. And he is what I need at this stage in my life. I have absolutely no doubts at all. I expected them, to be frank with you, but they have not arrived. I feel at peace with myself. I intend to be a good wife to Bunny, supportive of whatever he wants to do.’ She smiled at Barty, a wry, conspiratorial smile. ‘It’s a novel sensation. Now, I don’t expect you to rejoice at what I am doing. But I would like you to understand, and to try to approve.’

‘I will. Of course I will,’ said Barty carefully. She found Celia’s protestations deeply unconvincing. It was rather as if she had suddenly embraced a different faith or announced her intention to vote Labour and to give everything she had to the poor. She took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, Celia, I am very glad that you’re keeping your shares. I feel that if you do – recant—’

‘A strange word,’ said Celia.

‘Perhaps. Well, anyway, if you do start missing it all – which I still think you might – you can get back without too much difficulty. The others probably wouldn’t like to hear me saying that,’ she added.

‘Probably not. Of course it won’t happen, and I know I won’t miss it, but I’m very touched that you feel like that. Touched and surprised.’

‘Celia, I’m not a complete idiot,’ said Barty. ‘I value you more than anyone or anything else in the company. You know I do.’

‘Well, thank you. Now what else did you want to say? I can tell there’s something.’

‘Well – ’ she hesitated, ‘ – well, I just feel that Wol would be—’

‘Distressed? At my remarrying so soon?’

‘Yes. A bit.’

‘Barty, I really don’t think he would. I honestly believe that. I think he would be quite happy to see me become Lady Arden. And indeed to be leaving Lyttons.’

Another silence. Then Celia leaned forward, put her hand over Barty’s.

‘Now I can tell you what
would
have caused him distress. My marrying – well, marrying someone else.’

Barty looked at her. ‘Do you really think so?’

‘I know so, Barty. Absolutely. That would have hurt him very badly. Very badly indeed.’

Just the same, Oliver’s gentle, charming presence haunted the marriage ceremony at Chelsea Register Office and later the reception in Lord Arden’s house in Belgrave Square. There was something chilly and joyless about the whole day, however much champagne went down, however amusing and flattering Boy Warwick’s speech, however determinedly everyone smiled and joked and kissed, however beautiful and happy Celia looked: and she did look both. She wore a dazzling suit from Balenciaga – ‘Well one doesn’t get married every day’ – in palest blue shantung with the new bloused jacket, and a hugely wide feather and straw hat by Simone Mirman, and when the registrar declared them man and wife, Celia smiled and leaned forward to kiss Bunny and knocked the hat crooked. It was one of the few spontaneously joyful moments of the day.

Celia had been very hurt by the polite refusal of her invitation from both Oliver’s brothers.

‘I don’t believe she really thought either of them would come,’ said Adele. ‘Apart from anything else, Robert is quite old now and it’s a frightful journey for him, even by plane.’

‘I know, but I don’t think she minds quite so much about him. It’s Jack, you know how she loves him.’

‘Well that’s a long journey too, all the way from California, and Lily’s very frail, isn’t she? With her arthritis, poor old darling.’

‘All those high kicks in her youth, I expect,’ said Venetia with a sigh. She and Adele both adored Jack’s wife; Lily had been a chorus girl when she met Jack, and a very briefly twinkling star of the silver screen in the Twenties. They had returned for a short while to England to live, but the climate had been bad for Lily; and without all their friends in Hollywood they had been lonely and bored. But Celia had loved Jack, who was the same age as her to the day, and she had really thought he would make the trip for her, had even offered to pay the fare, knowing he and Lily were far from well-off. But a charmingly firm note had come back, saying it would be quite impossible, and wishing her every happiness.

‘I’m afraid they both disapprove dreadfully,’ Venetia said, ‘and, I must say, one can—’

‘I know, of course one can. But it doesn’t hurt her any the less. Oh dear. She’s paying quite a price, isn’t she?’ said Adele.

‘Quite a price. Too high, if you ask me.’

‘Just to—’

‘I know.’

Kit had absolutely refused, despite everyone’s pleading, to come. And so had Sebastian. Two great brooding absences, darkening the day. Celia had not expected Sebastian to come, of course, although she had insisted on inviting him, but Kit, her beloved Kit, she had hoped until the last possible moment that he would arrive. Each time the bell rang she jumped, paused in what she was saying, every time the drawing-room door opened, she looked at it, frozen-still, her dark eyes hopeful, and each time when it was only more flowers, another telegram, her smile became brighter, more brittle, and her face beneath its crown of osprey feathers became wearier, and paler.

‘Did she really think he was going to come?’ whispered Adele to Venetia, looking at her as Celia finished her own small speech, thanking everyone for coming, and for making it such a happy family occasion, her voice faltering over the word ‘family’.

‘You know Mummy. If she wants something really badly, she gets it. And she wanted this really badly. I think he might have come, I must say. If only for half an hour. Boy went round last night, you know, and begged him. Kit said he was amazed Boy could even think such a thing.’

‘So where—’

‘I should think, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

And what would LM have made of this? Barty thought, watching Lord Arden and Celia cut the cake; LM, Oliver’s older sister, his partner in the great early days of Lyttons, with her fierce morals, her unbending loyalties. How would she regard this extraordinary occasion and would she indeed have been there herself, or stayed at home, making her own quiet, loyal protest? She suddenly found Jay next to her, smiled at him rather wanly. He grinned back, refilled her glass.

‘Lord Arden’s butler’s a bit slow on the glass charging. I thought I’d take over. We all need it.’

‘I was just thinking about your mother,’ she said.

‘Yes. Me too.’

‘She’d have hated it, wouldn’t she?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, surprising her. ‘She was a very pragmatic old bird, you know. And she adored Celia. She’d have wanted her to be happy.’

‘Yes, but Jay, I don’t think she will be. He’s – well, he’s an idiot.’

He grinned. ‘He is a bit. But there’s no doubt he loves her. And you know what, he’s got a superb model railway upstairs. I’ve just seen it. So dear old Gordon would have approved of him as well. The hours we spent playing with his, it annoyed Mother so much. She always said she was going to cite Hornby as co-respondent in their divorce.’

‘I miss Gordon,’ said Barty with a sigh, and it was true, Gordon Robinson’s tall, erect figure was another great loss in the room.

‘Not as much as I do. He might not have been my dad, but he was a wonderful father,’ said Jay. ‘The trouble was, he missed Mother so dreadfully that it was half a life he was leading. Now look, Tory’s doing her bit for family togetherness, flirting away with old Bunny. Come on Barty, drink up and let’s go and join them. You might find he has hidden depths.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Barty with a sigh. ‘Hidden shallows more like it. But if anyone can bring out the best in him, Tory can. You did well marrying her, Jay.’

‘I know it,’ he said with a touch of complacency in his voice.

Adele had been right; Kit was with Sebastian. Izzie had been invited to the wedding, but had written a sweetly firm note to Celia, saying she knew she would understand that her attendance was almost impossible. Celia had telephoned her to say she did indeed understand, but she hoped that Izzie would at least wish her well.

‘I wish you very, very well, dear Celia,’ said Izzie. ‘I hope you are very happy. And I would have loved to be there, but I’m glad you understand. Perhaps I could come and see you some time soon and meet Lord Arden; I hear he’s very sweet.’

This was a complete untruth, she had heard nothing particularly good about Lord Arden at all, even Henry Warwick declared him a silly old buffer, but she knew it would please Celia. She had gone thankfully to work that day, casting a nervous glance at her father’s study door; she came home to find him and Kit completely drunk, singing, for some reason neither of them could clearly understand, ‘Lili Marlene’.