Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (85 page)

‘Sorry. Well, I’m hitting the brandy.’

He was already quite drunk. Cathy looked at him interestedly. Then she said, ‘What’s in the cellar, then?’

‘Oh’ – he took a big swallow of brandy – ‘wine. More wine. More and more wine—’

‘And—’

‘Oh – nothing. Curiosity killed the kitten, young Cathy.’

‘This house makes you curious. It’s full of secrets,’ she said, taking a glass of wine from Nick.

‘Oh Cathy, of course it’s not,’ said Jenna.

‘Yes, it is. People whispering in corners, shutting doors tight, crying—’

‘Who was crying?’

‘Adele.’

‘When?’ asked Izzie anxiously.

‘This afternoon. We’d just got back from shopping, hadn’t we, Jenna, and she was crying.’

‘Really? I wonder why.’

‘She’s upset about Granny, I expect,’ said Noni quickly. She had come back into the room, was struggling to open a magnum of champagne.

‘Of course she is,’ said Izzie, ‘Celia was her mother, don’t forget.’

‘Sorry,’ Cathy flushed. ‘I didn’t think. Sorry.’

She drained her glass, held it out for more.

‘You sure do put it away, young Cathy,’ said Mike. ‘This bottle’s dry. I’ll get another.’

‘You should have some of this brandy, Parker,’ said Lucas, ‘it’s fantastic.’

‘I’d rather go for the Krug, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh, I’ll have some of that,’ said Cathy.

‘Cathy—’ said Jenna.

‘What?’ She looked at her fiercely.

‘Nothing. Sorry.’

‘That’s OK. Now, then, what next? Charades?’

‘Oh spare me,’ said Noni, ‘GGM’s charades at Christmas, I’ll never get over them.’

‘Who was GGM?’ asked Nick.

‘Great-grandmama,’ said Noni. ‘Lady Beckenham. Granny’s mother.’

‘You ever feel you walked through the looking-glass?’ Nick said to Mike.

There was a silence; Cathy spoke into it.

‘Anyone know anything about some diaries?’ she said.

Lucas had said far too much, Noni thought, lying in bed afterwards, wishing the room would stop spinning round. Far far too much. If he hadn’t been so drunk; if they hadn’t all been so drunk . . .

But somehow, he’d started, saying a bit; then, in trying to shut him up, she’d said still more; he’d said she didn’t know what she was talking about, he’d heard the phone call, for God’s sake; and by the end of the conversation, what had emerged was that Celia’s diaries had been found and they were full of every single family secret there ever had been; a few of them were in the house, and the rest were in a safe in her office, and Giles was terrified they’d fall into the wrong hands.

‘So what if they did?’ Cathy interjected at this stage.

‘You don’t understand,’ Noni had said, ‘this is quite a well-known family. Everyone has heard of my grandmother. And Sebastian. And Kit too. And quite extraordinary things have happened to us. Like my mother and my brother and I had to escape from occupied France, in a stolen car—’

‘It wasn’t stolen.’

‘Well – it wasn’t really hers. And our father was shot, by the Nazis. And then Barty being adopted—’

‘She was never adopted properly,’ said Izzie. It was the only thing she had said; she had been growing quieter and quieter, stiller and stiller, clinging to Nick’s hand.

‘Well, all right, taken away from her family. And doing better than any of us, owning all of Lyttons.’

‘And then giving it back,’ said Jenna just slightly defensively.

‘Of course.’

There was a long silence; then Izzie said, ‘I think we should go, boys. If you don’t mind.’

‘Of course. It’s been great. A really great evening. Can we thank you, Noni and Lucas, as your mother isn’t here?’

‘Of course,’ said Lucas, adding rather belatedly, ‘you won’t talk about those diaries, will you? It’s quite – private stuff.’

‘Of course not,’ said Nick.

‘Of course we won’t,’ said Mike.

‘Any of you, I mean?’

Jenna said nothing, just shook her head; she was clearly disturbed by the whole thing herself. Cathy’s big blue eyes met Lucas’s in outraged innocence.

‘Of course not,’ she said.

CHAPTER 46

Keir woke up very early, and lay awake staring into the dark morning, gathering his courage together. He had decided to go to the memorial service. The more he thought about not going, the more cowardly it seemed. There was no reason, really, why he should feel unable to face the Lyttons. It had been his decision, after all, to leave; he hadn’t been fired, rather the reverse, he had nothing to be ashamed of, it had been Elspeth who had committed adultery, not him – he had come to regard his fling with the girl in Birmingham as a moment of foolishness which Celia had taken the most disgraceful advantage of – but if he didn’t go, then he would be guilty of bad manners and ungraciousness.

He did feel bad about one thing, and that was his rudeness to Sebastian on the phone. Several times he had tried to write a note to apologise, but then found it impossible, torn it up; he told himself it had been Sebastian who had put the phone down on him, but he knew that was no excuse.

It was just that in his misery, his isolated misery, at being without Elspeth, knowing she didn’t love him any more, contact with Sebastian had been the last thing he could face. Sebastian had been hand-in-glove with the Lyttons, part of the family, in more ways than one, certainly part of the publishing house; there was nothing he could say to Keir that would not be biased, probably a further attempt at manipulation.

Just the same, he could have written a very brief note, apologising, but every day that passed made that seem more difficult. Now, swept up in the general emotion of this day, he felt he would be able to do it. And it would have the great advantage that Sebastian would be too busy to want to talk to him.

He still had his invitation to the service; they were surely not going to tell him he couldn’t go in? He could slip in at the back, when all the Lyttons had arrived, and make the briefest contact with them afterwards; everyone would be terribly busy, including Elspeth, and then he could find Sebastian and say his bit and leave. After that he could walk away from them all with a clear conscience. And carry on being utterly miserable.

He wondered if he ought to buy a new tie.

Venetia’s very first thought on waking was of the diaries. She had slept badly and had had troubled dreams; twice Boy had shaken her awake, her face wet with tears, her head full of shadowy, threatening thoughts.

‘What do you think we should do?’ she said, as he held her and comforted her.

‘Burn them,’ he said, ‘they’re very dangerous, and a dreadful temptation for anyone who gets hold of them.’

‘Are we really that interesting, though?’

‘I’m afraid we are. Think of that business with your mother meeting Hitler, just for starters. And the episode with Barty’s mother’s baby. I mean, if that got out it would be a sensation.’

‘I know. It must have been so ghastly for her. Poor Mummy, poor, poor Sylvia. Oh dear.’

‘Yes. Now she
did
have a hard life. And then her daughter comes to rule Lyttons. Astonishing. What a story it is,’ he added, ‘all of it, I mean. What a family I married into. Good God. My father would be turning in his grave.’

She looked at him and smiled for the first time: a curvy, sexy smile.

‘Do you think it’s all there, Boy? All of it?’

‘If you mean my misdemeanours, I expect so. I’d say from what you told me, everything is. Including our rather sudden marriage.’

She shuddered. ‘If you ever find me taking up diary writing, stop me straight away. Oh, Boy. What a mess.’

Izzie also woke up thinking about the diaries; she had thought of little else all night and slept hardly at all. As far as she could make out they were painstakingly thorough; there was every possibility that it would all be there, her and Kit, her and Henry – and her and the baby. And the abortion.

‘Oh God,’ she said, and sat bolt upright, pushing her hair back. Nick looked up at her.

‘Whatever is it? It must be terribly early.’

‘It is. Sorry. Bad dream. Go back to sleep.’

‘You OK?’

‘I’m fine.’ Thank goodness she’d told him; how terrified she would be now if she hadn’t. Just the same, all the other things—

She got up, went quietly downstairs into the kitchen. She would make a cup of tea and—

‘Hallo, Isabella.’

‘Father! Hallo.’

‘I couldn’t sleep. What with one thing and another.’

He looked at her and tried to smile; his dark-blue eyes were very sad.

She went over to him, and put her arms around him.

‘Poor Father. Not an easy day for you.’

‘No. She seems very – near, suddenly. And very far.’

‘I’m so sorry. So very sorry.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Father, I know about – about Celia’s – the diaries.’

‘You do!’ He looked very shocked. ‘Who told you?’

‘Lucas.’

‘How the hell does he know about them? Adele promised she wouldn’t say a word—’

‘I – think he heard her on the phone. And it came out quite slowly, in dribs and drabs, he was very drunk, we all were.’

‘All? Who was in on this briefing?’

‘Rather a lot of us, I’m afraid.’

She told him; he pushed his hand through his hair.

‘Dear God. What a nightmare. Cathy, of all people. And Lucas isn’t much better. Stupid young fool. I’ve a good mind to—’

‘Father, don’t say anything to him. Please. It can’t help. The secret’s out and that’s all there is to it; you can’t lock it up again.’

He sighed. ‘No, I suppose you’re right. Oh, Isabella. I don’t like to overdramatise this, but those diaries are very dangerous. I think we should destroy them, I really do.’

Clementine woke up feeling dreadful. The baby, this vast child she was carrying, seemed to have invaded the whole of her, not just her womb. Its legs seemed to be wrapped in some way round her ribs, its head pressing down into her thighs, its feet and hands to be engaged night and day pummelling her stomach, her bladder, even her breasts. It was awful. She was never doing it again. And she felt so sick all the time, she’d never really stopped feeling sick: and she was so, so tired.

Actually, yesterday she’d been feeling much better, had a burst of energy and had gone for a walk with Kit; but today she felt exhausted again. She wished they’d gone up to London last night, so she could have recovered from the journey; the thought of sitting first in a taxi then on a train and then in another taxi, and all that before lunch, was horrible. When was she going to fit her rest in, for heaven’s sake?

She was so, so glad Kit couldn’t see her; apart from her huge stomach, her ankles and hands were swollen, and even her face was puffy. They said it was all right, quite normal, but she had begun to worry.

Then there was this wretched business of the diaries: Kit had been terribly shaken by that. She could see why, in a way; it was one thing to know your father was your mother’s lover, and that you had been in love with your half-sister, but quite another to have it written down in black and white for all the world to see. Not that all the world would see it. She kept telling Kit that, but he seemed convinced something might happen to them. ‘It’s such a temptation,’ he kept saying, ‘anyone who got hold of them, anyone at all, would see they were dynamite.’

‘Are you sure? Why would they matter so much? We’re not film stars or anything.’

‘Clemmie, have you seen the list of who’s coming to that service tomorrow? We may not be film stars, but my mother was extremely well-known and for a few days, will be even more so. Then there’s Noni, face on every magazine cover, name in every gossip column. My father is a household name. And Lyttons have also been in the news lately, one way or another, regaining the company, Barty’s will, all that rubbish about the deer woman – no, I think some newspaper or magazine would love to publish the diaries. Or some other publishing company.’

Jenna woke up feeling absolutely petrified, her entire mind a white-out of fear; how was she going to survive today? Even the morning’s rehearsal, with all the family there, was going to be terrifying, never mind the thing itself. All those people, about four or five hundred of them, famous, clever, distinguished people, all sitting there, looking at her, listening to her, she – God, she was going to be sick. She leapt out of bed, got to the bathroom, emerged white and shaking to see Charlie on the landing.

‘You all right, my darling?’

She managed to smile at him.

‘Not really.’

‘Scared?’

‘Not scared, terrified. I really do feel like running away. Charlie, I can’t do it, I can’t, all those important people, I shall just dry up, fluff my lines, be sick again—’ she started to cry.

‘Hey, hey,’ he said, taking her hand, leading her into his own room, sitting down on the bed with her, putting his arm round her. ‘You just listen to me, Miss Jenna Elliott. You are going to be fantastic and you know why?’

‘No.’

‘You’re going to be fantastic for your mother. She would have so loved to see you today, hear you today, know you’d been chosen. So proud. Almost as proud as me.’

She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Oh Charlie. You’re so sweet.’

‘And I tell you something else. There are all these people, sure, all these grand, important English people. But you are very important too, today. Just as important as any of them. You’re saying a lot about Celia, just by being there.’

‘How?’

‘You’re saying that she did something wonderful, taking your mother home with her that day, bringing her up, doing all she did for her. She saw something very special in Barty. And you’re the proof of it. You’ve got that specialness too. Now, I don’t know what your dad was like, I’m sure he was a great guy, but you certainly seem very like your mother to me. Brave, clever and strong. And beautiful, of course. Mustn’t forget that. All right? Understand?’

She nodded, managed to smile.

‘You’ll be just fine. You’ll be more than fine. And I’ll be there, rooting for you, cheering you on. I loved your mother very much, Jenna, and I love you, too. You’re not going to let either of us down. I know it.’

‘Oh, Charlie. Thank you. Thank you so much. And no, I won’t let you down. Of course I won’t.’

Elspeth woke up rather late; she and the children had spent the night at her mother’s house. Venetia had invited Lord Arden to dinner, not wanting him to feel left out of the great rush of Lytton activity; it had been a full sixline whip, as her father called it, everyone there, the whole noisy, argumentative mob. Lord Arden had clearly enjoyed himself immensely, and then before he left, Jack and Lily had arrived home full of stories of their own dinner party at Adele’s. Jack and Lord Arden had started swopping a whole lot of new stories, about the First World War, and somehow it had been one in the morning before they had all got to bed.

And throughout it all, chatting determinedly to Lord Arden, greeting her brothers and sisters, running through the arrangements for the next day, listening indulgently to tales of derring do from the trenches, she kept thinking of Marcus Forrest and his suggestion that they see more of each other, now that she was free.

It should be easy, of course, easy and delightful: to enter into a proper relationship, with a charming, handsome, amusing, hugely attractive, if distinctly shallow, man, who found her not only desirable, but extremely clever. Not just easy but irresistible. But – somehow it wasn’t. It was very difficult. And at the bottom of her heart she knew why. It was because of another man, not conventionally charming or handsome, certainly not amusing, but bad-tempered, authoritative and selfish, but who she could only assume that, in spite of everything, she still loved. Only he didn’t love her any more; that was the point. The awful, miserable point.

Joe and Billy were milking, very early. They had to leave by nine, Joan had said, she wasn’t having them being late. Although Billy said if they left at nine, they’d be there by twelve, a bit early for a service at three, she said they had to find Venetia’s house; she had very kindly offered to give them lunch, so they had to be there by then anyway.

‘And then we’ve got to get tidied up, I’ve got to get my hat on—’

‘Tidied up!’ said Billy. ‘We’ll be tidy enough as it is.’

Joan had had the foresight to write to Venetia and ask her what they should wear: Venetia had written back and said just a smart suit or dress and coat and a nice hat for her. ‘The men will mostly be in morning suits, but some will come in dark suits, of course.’

Joan knew what that meant, they’d nearly all be in monkey suits, and she’d insisted they got them, all three.

‘We can afford it, goodness knows, with what Barty left us, and I’m not having everyone looking down on us, calling us the poor relations.’

Billy had said why not, since they
were
the poor relations, and Joan said rubbish, they were quite rich relations now, by anyone’s standard and they owed it to Barty to look it.

‘Wonder if she’s changed,’ said Joe thoughtfully. ‘Jenna, I mean. I expect she’ll be real grown-up and smart and that.’

Billy looked at him. ‘You’re not holding a torch for her, are you son?’