Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (78 page)

It was agreed that their shareholdings should remain proportionately the same; he and Jay and Venetia would hold 25 per cent each, with Elspeth and Keir holding their percentage between them. Elspeth had gone to him privately after the meeting and said that she and Keir had some matters to resolve between them, before they could formally take up their holding; he had accepted this and told her to take her time.

Giles had, already, Elspeth noticed, in just a few days, become at the same time more relaxed and more authoritative. His grief at his mother’s death had been genuine, he had never ceased to love her (while quite frequently hating her at the same time), and had longed, above everything, to please her; now at last the great burden of her disapproval had been lifted.

Elspeth’s own situation was rather more complex.

It had seemed odd to them all at first, that Barty’s letter should have been addressed to her: the youngest and least important member of the family and the publishing house. But then they realised that, of course, Barty had been looking ahead many years, decades even, she had obviously not expected to die for a long time: by then, Celia would surely have left Lyttons, and quite possibly Giles, Jay and Venetia too.

It had been a very sweet letter:

Dear Elspeth,

I am writing to you as the representative of what (at the time of writing) is the new, young Lytton family, in the hope that you can see my wishes are carried out satisfactorily. You seem to be an extremely competent person, and climbing the ladder very fast; possibly by the time you get this you will even be in Celia’s chair! It certainly wouldn’t surprise me.

I have made a codicil to my will, which will be with my lawyers in New York, as will this letter, stating that on my death, the shares in Lyttons London should revert, in their entirety, to the family. It is where I want them to be and indeed where they should be. Look after them and Lyttons well!

With my love,

Barty

‘I wonder why she didn’t tell you – or us – at the time,’ Venetia had said thoughtfully.

‘I can see exactly why,’ said Elspeth. ‘It would potentially have been dynamite. Everyone waiting to get their share, squabbling over who would get what and when, who was going to be in control; it would have been awful. I mean, it was fine then, with Barty in control, she was family, anyway.’

‘Yes,’ said Venetia coldly, ‘I suppose in a way she was.’ Elspeth looked at her interestedly; she had always detected a hostility between the twins and Barty, and this was further evidence of it. She wondered why: jealousy, perhaps. Ever since she could remember, Celia had adored Barty, talked about how clever she was, how wonderfully well she had done; it had probably been quite – irritating. As indeed, it had been for her, hearing her grandmother extolling Keir and his talents endlessly.

‘Anyway,’ said Venetia just a little too carelessly, ‘we won’t be seeing any more of your friend and mentor, Mr Forrest, will we? You’ll miss him, I expect.’

God, thought Elspeth, does she know, too? Did the whole place know? Was it possible that Keir had not known?

‘Yes,’ she said, meeting her mother’s eyes very levelly, ‘yes, I will miss him, I have to say. I liked him. And he cheered me up.’

‘Well, he didn’t cheer me up,’ said Venetia. ‘He made me want to jump out of the window.’

Giles had decided to keep the diaries to himself for the time being; they troubled him, deeply. He had taken a few home to read, and then taken them back, locked them up in the safe once more.

Helena was disturbed by his secrecy; she felt the diaries were too important – and too revealing – to be hidden away. She felt the family should know they existed and decide together how to deal with them. A lifetime of unpleasantness and humiliation at Celia’s hands had left her utterly cynical about her mother-in-law, with no desire to protect either her or her memory. Giles, however, felt a strong desire to protect her: and, given their content, the whole family. By keeping the diaries secret, he was doing that. He told himself – and indeed Helena – that he was simply waiting, waiting until the drama of Celia’s death and the initial grief had passed, before deciding what to do; in fact, a very strong instinct told him they should never be read by anyone. Which, as Helena pointed out, was a bit like discovering a body and deciding not to mention it, in case someone got into trouble. It was arrogant, she said, and it was wrong, a decision he had no right to make. But she had been a good wife for too long to disobey; she respected the decision, and kept silent.

The diaries were horribly frank and full not only of reminiscence, but of observation. Reading them, Giles felt, was like having his mother sitting beside him, talking, or rather whispering in his ear, a rush of confidences and observations, some of which were familiar to him, some revelations. They made him feel very uncomfortable, voyeuristic; reading them was not in any way a pleasure.

On the other hand, he couldn’t keep them secret for ever. They weren’t his. Not that they were anybody’s except hers. More than once he had decided to burn them, but that seemed wrong too; besides they were a most extraordinary social document. He had never realised, for instance, and he was sure no one else in the family had, that his mother had actually met Hitler, dined with Goebbels, and during that period was full of praise for them both. That was when she had been so friendly with Lord Arden, who in turn had been very close to Oswald Mosley. Giles was hugely relieved – after leafing quickly and guiltily through that section of the diaries – to find that they had only been friends. Having a lifelong affair with Sebastian Brooke was one thing (also well-documented, he felt sure); a sexual liaison with someone deeply enamoured of the Nazis was something else entirely.

There was another entry that shocked him: in the year she had married his father. He had always been intrigued by their marriage, by how she had met Oliver and decided to marry him. She was the daughter of a titled landowner, reared to marry someone of her own class and genre. Oliver Lytton was neither. She had met him, it seemed, at a rather bohemian London luncheon party given by a friend of her older sister’s and had fallen completely in love with him: what shocked Giles, though, was that having realised her parents would never agree to a marriage with someone so unsuitable, she set out to seduce him and become pregnant, thus forcing the issue.

He had never even suspected such a thing: had simply assumed he had been born nine months after their marriage, that being how things were in those days.
Sexual intercourse, absolute bliss
, read the entry for May 9 1904,
Great fun working on baby-making!

He scarcely slept that night; it was after that he decided to keep all the diaries under lock and key. After all, they were doing no harm. Nothing like the harm they would do if they were read by the rest of the family. Or – and that did make his blood run cold – by a wider public.

Giles was no fool and he had been in publishing all his life. He knew a sensational read when he saw one; he trembled to think what would happen if another publishing company – or even worse, a newspaper – got hold of these diaries. They were, as Helena had said, potential dynamite.

‘Elspeth,’ said Keir. His tone was quite conversational; it did not sound in the least threatening.

‘Yes?’

‘I haven’t asked you before. I didn’t feel I could and besides, we were both upset. But I have to now: what were you doing at the Ritz with Forrest?’

His tone was still quite mild, only half interested; she smiled at him, quickly, said, ‘Having lunch.’

‘I could see that, Elspeth.’ Slightly heavier tone now, eyes getting harder, ‘but why were you having lunch?’

‘Don’t be silly. I work for Lyttons – when you let me . . .’ – mistake that, Elspeth, don’t antagonise him – ‘he wanted to talk about various projects with me—’

‘Oh yes? Anything wrong with the office?’

He still sounded quite mild; Elspeth kept her voice steady.

‘Well – he liked to get out sometimes. You know what it’s like there, always something interrupting you—’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s stop this, shall we? How many times have you had lunch with Marcus Forrest? Have you had – anything else with him?’

‘Like what, Keir? Tea once, actually, at the Ritz—’

‘You and he seem to enjoy the Ritz. Does he stay there?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘he stays at—’ and then stopped, seeing she was walking fast into his trap.

‘Stays where?’

‘At Claridges. You know he does, everyone knows that—’

‘Indeed? Do you know, I don’t think I did. Well, maybe I did. But I don’t see why you should have known.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she said, ‘Celia told me, she’s met him there, Venetia, Jay, they all know—’

‘And does he have a suite there? Or just a room?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Why are you asking me all this, anyway?’

‘You know perfectly well,’ he said, ‘perfectly well. I want to know if you’ve been to his room or his suite and if so, what went on there? Have you been having an affair with Marcus Forrest, Elspeth? Have you?’

‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous,’ she said.

‘Have you been to bed with Marcus Forrest?’

And then, because she couldn’t lie to him, couldn’t look into his eyes and lie, he knew her too well, there was no point, she said finally and very quietly, ‘Yes. Yes, I have. I’m – I’m sorry, Keir. Very sorry. I do regret it terribly.’

‘Right,’ he said, ‘well, I’m glad you’re sorry. And I’m glad we’ve established it as an absolute fact. I know where I stand now.’

And he turned on his heel and walked out of the room; a few minutes later she heard the front door slam.

He didn’t come back until the following morning; when he did, he told her he was leaving her.

‘And I shall be leaving Lyttons, too. I won’t be an embarrassment to you any longer. Maybe you can continue your relationship with Mr Forrest. Although it might be a little difficult, now that he won’t be coming to London quite so often.’

Elspeth was silent; there really seemed nothing at all that she could say.

CHAPTER 42

‘Jenna—’

‘Yes?’ She spoke absently, she was leafing through some books.

‘Can I maybe talk to you about something?’

‘Of course you can.’ She looked at Charlie; he was clearly embarrassed.

‘What is it?’

‘Well – the thing is, I’m – I’m in a bit of a jam. Financially.’

‘A jam? How could you be? Oh, you mean with your business. I thought that was better, now you’d cut back, got the small office, just deal in the cars—’

‘No,’ he said, ‘not just the business. I – the thing is, Jenna, I have debts now. I couldn’t worry you with them before, I never wanted to, I was hoping the money from the will would come through. But it’s taking such a time.’

‘I know that,’ she said, ‘and I’ve asked Kyle and Jamie to help, so many times, you know I have. If I could lend you the money myself I would, but I can’t.’

‘Darling, I know that. You’ve been absolutely sweet and wonderful, and I couldn’t be more grateful. But – the fact remains, I’m in debt.’

‘But – why? I don’t understand.’

‘I lost a lot of money, selling the cars. You should never sell anything quickly, you get a lousy price. And then – well, I don’t know, I found myself having to borrow money. From the bank. For this and that.’

‘Yes, but for what, Charlie? As I understand it, the trustees pay all the money you need to keep us, the upkeep of the houses, Maria and Mr and Mrs Mills, my school fees. They’ve put it up twice, they told me.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly right. But – that doesn’t cover my own expenses. Or Cathy’s. She’s developed some pretty expensive tastes over the years; the school fees are high, she has to keep up with her school friends, do the extras. Then there’s her clothes, all that stuff – anyway,’ he looked down at his hands, ‘it’s got so bad I’m going to have to take her away from Dana. She’ll have to leave after this term.’

‘Oh Charlie, no, that’s terrible.’

‘It would – it will be. The two of you being like sisters all this time.’

She was silent; then, ‘I’ll ask the trustees again. I think they might make an exception over that.’

‘Well – from past experience they won’t. I guess that’s why I – well, never mind. There’s more, though.’

‘More? Oh, Charlie, what?’

‘I – well, I did something a bit stupid.’

‘What?’

‘I borrowed some money. At a very high rate of interest.’

‘What froma – a moneylender, someone like that?’

‘Someone like that. And now they’re after me. I’ve been trying to fob them off, I sold a few things, a watch your mother gave me—’ He stopped, bit his lip.

Jenna sighed. ‘Oh, Charlie, I can’t bear this.’

‘Sweetheart, neither can I. But you know I do need a little money of my own. Just to – well, to buy drinks for friends, clothes, that sort of thing. And I don’t have any. That’s quite – hard.’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘I mean, I can only spend what comes with the monthly cheque. And there isn’t much left over. You girls don’t come cheap.’

He managed to smile at her. ‘Anyway, that’s how it all began. Me lying awake worrying, wondering what to do, when I could tell Cathy about leaving school, these guys virtually sending in the heavies—’

‘You should have gone to Jamie, and told him.’

‘I tried. He made it pretty plain he wasn’t going to help.’

‘I just find that so hard to believe,’ said Jenna.

‘Sweetheart, it’s true.’

She sighed. ‘I’ll go and see him again.’

This time, and very reluctantly, moved by her distress, Jamie agreed that he would ask the other trustees to take over Cathy’s school fees.

‘Thank you. And – what about Charlie’s debts?’

‘I’m afraid those are his affair. Nothing to do with me or you.’

‘Of course they’re to do with me. You don’t seem to understand. Charlie has looked after me, all this time. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. Nobody else has been anything like as good to me.’

‘Jenna, listen to me—’

‘No. You listen to me. Jamie, do you really think my mother would approve of what you’re doing to Charlie, and therefore to me? Do you think she’d want me worried and upset, do you think she’d want her money to be just sitting there in some lousy bank account while I was worrying about Charlie being beaten up?’

‘Beaten up? Jenna, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You don’t understand. He’s had to go to some kind of moneylenders. OK, I can see you think that was a dumb thing to do. How else was he going to cope? Can’t you see, just living with me, looking after me, exposes him to expense. And now he can’t pay these people back and they’re threatening him. I just can’t stand this, it’s really getting to me, getting in the way of my studies. If my mother knew about it, knew I was so upset, she’d be absolutely furious. With you, I mean, not Charlie. Does that make you feel good? I don’t think so. Now will you please, please do what I ask. There’s enough money there, for God’s sake, bloody millions—’

‘Jenna!’

‘I’m sorry. But I’m just so upset. If Charlie wasn’t so good to me I’d kind of understand how you felt. But he’s never, never let me down, not for a moment. And I won’t let him be let down in return.’

Deeply reluctant, but persuaded by her anguish, Jamie agreed to see Charlie and, ‘possibly make him an advance.’

‘Not possibly, Jamie. You’ll make him one. I really need you to do this. Please don’t let me down.’

Jamie met her eyes, and saw Laurence; heard him too, in Jenna’s clear voice, in the words and phrases which Laurence would have been proud of, a mixture of high emotion and tough logic. Where had she learned that: where and how?

‘Yes, all right, I’ll put it to the trustees,’ he said.

Keir had left Lyttons. He had gone to see Giles and told him he was leaving Elspeth and that it would be too painful and awkward for him to stay. Giles and Jay agreed there was no point holding him to his notice period, it was only going to increase the problems with Elspeth. She was so miserable.

She had absolutely forbidden anyone to let word get out to Marcus Forrest; the last thing she wanted was him feeling responsible, and offering to marry her. She didn’t think he would, and she was sure he wouldn’t want to, but he was such a gentleman, he might feel he had to. And she had enough to worry about.

Venetia, torn between sorrow for her and a conviction that it was the best thing in the long run, found herself unable to help very much, apart from offering to have her and the children to stay. ‘You don’t want to be alone all the time.’

Elspeth said she seemed to have been alone for years, and it wasn’t going to make much difference; ‘I’m thinking of getting a live-in housekeeper. That way I can work more easily. Although I don’t want to disappear all day and every day suddenly; the children have lost their father, they shouldn’t lose their mother too.’

Her sense of having only herself to blame didn’t help. ‘It was hardly rape,’ she said to Amy, who was commiserating with her one day, ‘I encouraged Marcus, I can’t pretend I didn’t.’

‘Yes, and you had every reason for it. I’d have had an affair if I’d had a husband like Keir.’

‘He was a very good husband,’ said Elspeth fretfully, ‘just not right for me.’

‘I don’t think he was a good husband at all. Think how mean he was when you were up in Glasgow. Honestly, Elspeth, I think you’re deceiving yourself. And blaming yourself too much. I think you did awfully well, sticking it out for so long.’

She missed Keir horribly. Even his brooding, scowling presence was better than no presence at all; in contemplating a life without him, she felt, above all, panic. It was one thing to complain about a husband, wish him away, even; quite another to find the wish granted.

During the first few days after his departure, she did feel a certain relief; life was simpler, she could do what she liked, go to Lyttons, plan her future. All without fear of complaint, interrogation, contradiction. But it didn’t last very long. Then she found herself lonely, and quite frightened.

She could see, in spite of everything, that she did still love him: she had loved him so much and so fiercely in the early days; such a feeling was not to be easily dissipated. You simply could not love someone, marry them, bear their children, share every intimacy of life with them, and then walk away, say right, that’s over, nice while it lasted, gone wrong now, though.

Her very self had changed, become part of Keir, too much had been shared, enjoyed, endured; and even if her marriage was over, her feelings for him, however mixed, were not, they were still passionate, strong, even violent. And she felt a dreadful sense of failure as well as regret, remorse as well as anger: it was a second bereavement, the death of her marriage, as fierce and as painful as that of her grandmother. She missed Celia terribly, her clear-sighted wisdom, her tough common sense, the uncritical love she had always given her.

During the last few months, Celia had been totally accessible to her, a swift walk away, across Albert Bridge. Elspeth had leaned on her more and more, drawn from her strength, sought her out, far more than she had her mother. Looking back, she was shocked to think how much she had taken her for granted.

Keir was in his bedsit in Balham, wondering if there was a publisher left in London he had not already approached about a possible job, and wondering, also, if even at this stage, he might be forced to consider a change in his career, when there was a tap at his door.

‘Mr Brown? Telephone.’

‘Oh – thank you, Mrs Dudley. I’ll be right down.’

Who was it? Very few people had his phone number, only Elspeth, in case there was a crisis with the children, and his parents. He didn’t want to speak to either of them; Elspeth because he was still so angry and sickened by her, and his parents because they had been very reluctant to take his side.

‘Takes two hands to clap, laddie,’ his father had said, ‘she’s a good lass, she put up with a lot on your account. She was very, very plucky. You should ask yourself why she went off with this man.’

It was not what he had expected.

‘Hallo?’ he said cautiously, now.

‘Keir? Sebastian.’

‘Sebastian!’

‘Yes. Look I—’

‘How did you get my number?’

‘From Elspeth.’

‘I see. Well – what can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to see you. Buy you a drink or something.’

‘What for?’

There was a silence; then Sebastian said, ‘I’ve had more gracious responses to an invitation.’

‘Sorry. But I’m not feeling very – gracious.’

‘I can tell that.’

Another silence.

‘Well – would you be kind enough to meet me or not? I’ve got a message for you.’

‘Can’t you give it to me on the phone?’

‘No, it’s a bit more complex than that.’

‘In what way?’

‘Look,’ said Sebastian, then stopped; after another moment or two the phone went dead.

He had obviously hung up. Silly old bugger. If he thought he could put in a word for any of the Lyttons, he could think again. His overriding emotion, apart from hurt, was a fierce near-hatred of the Lytton clan and the way they had tried to manipulate him.

Sebastian stalked into the kitchen, pulling on his coat.

‘I’m going out, Mrs Conley,’ he said, ‘and if there’s a call from a Mr Brown, tell him I have nothing to say to him. Rude young bugger. She’s well shot of him, I’d say.’

Mrs Conley agreed; she had never liked Keir, he was what she called a rough diamond, and on the rare occasions when she had seen them together, she had been very struck by the way he treated Elspeth. He seemed to be permanently cross with her.

Sebastian was still shaking with rage when he reached the ponds at Hampstead Heath an hour later. All he’d wanted to do was help the stupid young fool. Celia had been wrong about him; he was a bad lot. Poor little Elspeth. She deserved better. Although, if it was true about her and Marcus Forrest, she deserved better than him as well . . .

Celia’s memorial service was to have been held at St Bride’s Fleet Street, the journalist’s church and one of Celia’s favourites. It was going to be an occasion of immense grandeur; the invitation list read like
Who’s Who
. Not only all the great names of the publishing world, Jonathan Cape, Jock Murray, Michael Joseph, André Deutsch, the brilliant young publisher George Weidenfeld, Celia’s own authors, Lady Annabel Muirhead, Nancy Arthure, and, of course, the great Sebastian Brooke, but others who had been her friends, John Betjeman, Somerset Maugham, Dame Edith Sitwell and Dame Jean Conan Doyle. Then there were the booksellers, Basil Blackwell, Christina Foyle, and the venerable John Wilson of Bumpus.

The family alone would fill several pews; apart from the English branch, the American Lyttons would be coming, including Jack and Lily from California, and all the American associates, the Brewers, Jamie Elliott, Mike Parker and Nick Neill, of course. The Millers must also come and Jenna, obviously, and therefore, Charlie and Cathy. As the list grew, as everyone added names, declared it was essential that so and so was invited and such and such attended, it became clear that St Bride’s would simply not be big enough and someone suggested it be moved to St Martin-in-the-Fields. Celia had loved it there too, had always gone to the candlelight carol service, accompanied by her ever-growing band of grandchildren.

This caused a further delay, St Bride’s had been booked for September, but it was November before a suitable date could be found for St Martin’s. It needed to be early, rather than late in the month, since Clementine’s baby was due at the beginning of December.

The form of the service caused considerable argument. What music, which readings, how many of them, who should read, which representatives of which generation? The young being, of course, as important as the old. Weekly meetings were held from August onwards, chaired by Giles and the twins; all suggestions were considered, none cast aside without careful discussion. Thus a suggestion from Clio that she read from
Alice in Wonderland
, the first book her grandmother had read to her, and from Lucy that she read ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’ for the same reason, led to the rather charming agreement that there should be an anthology, read by the young – young being defined as anyone under sixteen: several short pieces rather than one long one.