No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) (77 page)

‘Barty, hallo dear. What are you doing?

‘Oh – Mrs Scott. I just came to get a few things. Things that Mum was specially fond of.’

‘Of course. I’m so sorry, dear. Oh, I shall miss her myself. She was the best friend and neighbour anyone could have. Such a shame. If only she’d gone to the doctor earlier. But she was so stubborn. I don’t want you to go thinking it was your fault, she told me you tried lots of times to persuade her, and the lady too. Proud, she was, your mum. So proud. And so brave.’

‘Yes,’ said Barty, ‘yes, she was brave.’

‘You’ll let me know about the funeral won’t you dear?’

‘Of course I will. It’s going to be next Monday, I think. We were going away this week, but we’re staying now till it’s over.’

‘Billy up here, is he?’

‘Yes. He came up to say goodbye, but – well – oh, dear—’

‘Come here, my lovely. That’s right. Come and have a cuddle. There we are. That’s right. You come on in to my place, I’ll give you a nice cup of cocoa. And a bit of cake, just baked it is.’

Two pieces of cake and a cup of cocoa inside her, Barty suddenly said, ‘Mrs Scott can I ask you something?’

‘Course you can. What about?’

‘Mum had a baby. One that died.’

‘Oh yes?’ Mrs Scott’s face had changed, become wary. ‘What about it?’

‘Well – could you tell me about it?’

‘Nothing much to tell. Born dead, it was. She was. It was a little girl.’

‘Yes. Um – she was definitely born dead was she? She didn’t die – afterwards?’

‘No,’ said Mrs Scott firmly, ‘she was born dead, your mum said.’

‘Oh. Because you see she was talking about it the other night, when she was so ill. It all sounded a bit – odd somehow. Aunt Celia was there, it seems when she was – when she was having the baby.’

‘Yes, I think I knew that.’

‘And she said some very strange things. Like – well like – “don’t tell Ted”, and, “be quick, be quick”, and, “I want to look after this one.” And then she said, “It’s all over now, she’s gone.” I just – well I just couldn’t understand it.’

‘No, well nor could you,’ said Mrs Scott, ‘nothing for you to understand, Barty, the baby was not right, and it was as well it didn’t—’

‘Didn’t what?’

‘Didn’t live.’

‘So it was alive? Was it?’

‘Barty, don’t keep on about it. It’s not important.’

‘It is to me,’ said Barty and she was very flushed, ‘it’s terribly important to me. I think something happened. I think there was something strange about that baby and what became of it. And why did she have a midwife? She never had a midwife, you always looked after her.’

‘Because there was complications,’ said Mrs Scott, ‘no need to go into them now.’

‘But I want to, really I do, what sort of complications?’

‘Barty,’ said Mrs Scott firmly, ‘there’s no point raking it all over. Really. It was all for the best what happened. Your mum was very upset at the time, but afterwards she said she knew it was for the best.’

‘Yes, but what? What was for the best?’

‘Well, that it – she – didn’t live. Your poor mum and dad had enough problems, you and five more already. It was before you went to the lady, don’t forget; another one, and crippled too she was and a lump on her back as well, how would they have managed?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Barty. She clearly wasn’t going to get any further with this just now. She put down her cup. ‘Anyway, I think I ought to be going now, Mrs Scott. There’s Daniels hooting. Thank you so much for talking to me. And for everything you did for Mum. And of course we’ll let you know about the funeral. And everyone else in the street who’d like to come.’

‘That’ll be most of them,’ said Mrs Scott, ‘everyone round here loved your mum. Very special she was. Very special indeed.’

‘Yes, I know she was,’ said Barty.

‘They are claiming,’ said Peter Briscoe, ‘That we didn’t reply to correspondence, so they were forced to seek a hearing at short notice.’

‘But we didn’t know about it.’

‘I know that. But they wrote a letter. It did, in fact, arrive this morning. Second post. Asking why we had not come back to them. They were able to show a copy of it to the judge, who was, not too surprisingly, displeased. And they could put their case unhindered by any contradictory evidence.’

‘I see,’ said Oliver.

‘I have written to the judge, protesting, and applied for a further hearing to be inter partes. Which would take place in ten days’ time. If he grants it. Which I think he will,’ he added.

‘By which time our own deadline will be long past,’ said Oliver. He ran his hands through his hair. ‘This is a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. We can’t win now, LM. We really can’t. I had a call from Matthew Brunning today. He has some provisional contracts drawn up for Friday’s meeting.’

‘Well he may have them drawn up,’ said LM, ‘but I shall certainly not be signing anything.’

‘LM, we don’t have any choice. Whether we completely rewrite or pulp
The Buchanans
, or go ahead and fight to get the injunction withdrawn, we shall be as good as bankrupt. So it’s Lyttons as an imprint of Brunnings, or no Lyttons at all. Oh God. For the first time, I’m deeply relieved that Father is dead. What would he have said to all this?’

LM was silent. Then she said, ‘Have you talked to Celia yet?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘Oliver, you must.’

He sighed. ‘But whatever she says, or thinks, we have to sign with Brunnings.’

‘Well, Celia and I don’t actually know that. And, if you don’t talk to her, I will.’

‘Very well. I’ll do it this evening.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said LM.

‘Will you be in?’

‘No, I have an appointment,’ said LM. She looked rather pink.

‘I see.’ Oliver almost smiled. ‘Well I won’t keep you. Have a good evening.’

The Bartletts were all sitting down to supper when the telephone rang. Roger Bartlett answered it; he was gone quite a long time. He came back into the dining room, looking rather harrassed.

‘It’s Professor Lothian,’ he said to Susannah, ‘he wants to talk to you.’

‘Roger,’ said Mary, ‘is that a good idea?’

‘He seems to think it’s essential.’

‘Oh, I see. Well – don’t be long dear,’ she called to Susannah.

‘I hope he’ll be gentle with her,’ she added, as the door closed behind her.

‘He promised he would.’

Susannah wasn’t gone for long; when she came back she was looking quite calm. ‘I understand much better now,’ she said, ‘what this is all about. I can see why he was so anxious for me not to talk to this young man. Who has been rather – underhand, I must say.’

‘Well, dear you don’t have to talk to him.’

‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘Good,’ said Mary Bartlett, ‘well, why don’t you let me telephone him and tell him not to come. It will be far better, and then everything can get back to normal.’

‘Yes. What a good idea. I’ll go and get his telephone number now.’ She left the room.

Mary Bartlett smiled happily at Roger.

‘Thank goodness. What a relief. I really was so worried. I—’

‘So stupid,’ said Susannah, coming back into the room. ‘I can’t find his number anywhere, I’ve got an awful feeing I threw his note away. I wish I wasn’t so scatty. Why don’t you intercept him for me, Mother, when he gets here in the morning. I’ll stay up in my room. Or, better still, I’ll go out for a little walk. That might be better.’

‘Of course, dear. I think you’ve been very sensible. Now why don’t you go and sit down with your father and have a read, and I’ll bring you some coffee. And, if I were you, I’d go to bed early, you look terribly tired.’

‘Yes, I think I might,’ said Susannah, ‘it has all been a bit of a strain.’

‘You’re going to sell out to Brunnings? Just – sell out?’

‘I don’t have any choice, Celia. Really. You have to believe me.’

‘You don’t have a choice!’ Her voice was hostile, scornful. ‘It’s not your decision, Oliver alone. As I understand it.’

‘Very well, we don’t have a choice. Does that suit you better? Don’t you understand? We are virtually bankrupt. We will be bankrupt, even if we get this injunction lifted. Lothian can still sue for libel. Or, alternatively, we don’t publish. The cost of printing those books, plus the cost of losing Brooke, the loss of—’

‘Yes, yes, you’ve said all that before,’ said Celia impatiently, ‘but you must have considered other things. What about a bank loan?’

‘It would have to be extremely large. And we’re not exactly a good bet at the moment.’

‘Have you tried?’

‘I’ve made enquiries, The responses I’ve had were not encouraging.’

‘Your brother? He has plenty of money. Couldn’t he help?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking him.’

‘Well I would. I will, if I have to. To save Lyttons. He’d want that surely, he’s a Lytton too.’

‘Celia, no. I forbid it.’

She ignored him. Then! ‘Why Brunnings? They’re a miserable house. No style, no vision. If we have to merge with someone, what about one of the others, someone we could live more happily with—’

‘But Brunnings have the money. They may be miserable, as you put it, but they’re also very rich. And successful. In their own way. Their offer is the only one worth considering.’

‘And why,’ said Celia, her voice very hard suddenly, ‘why have I not been involved in all this? How long has it been going on?’

‘A couple of weeks.’

‘A couple of weeks! And you’ve kept it from me.’

‘Not at all,’ said Oliver. He sounded angry suddenly, ‘you knew all the problems. About Lothian, the Mutiny book, Brooke’s defection. The only thing I haven’t discussed with you is a merger.’

‘Oh really! Such a small thing. The end of Lyttons. Nothing really. Hardly worth mentioning, even. Good God, Oliver, how could you? When Lyttons is everything to me; you know it is, when I’ve spent my entire life working for its success, when I am a Lytton – you betray me, keep me out of the decision—’

‘It’s not your decision,’ he said icily, ‘it’s mine. I shall make it. And you are not a Lytton. Not in that sense of the word. Goodnight.’

If he wanted revenge, Celia thought, too angry, too outraged even to cry, he had surely found it. And wondered if this, finally, was the sign she had been looking for.

Up on the nursery floor, Giles and the twins heard the angry voices, the slammed doors. Giles tried to ignore them, but the twins hung over the bannisters, struggling to hear more.

Barty was not there; she was spending the night in Balham, with Frank and his family and Billy. She had accepted the invitation without a great deal of enthusiasm, since Frank’s wife was wary of her, difficult to talk to. But Frank had wanted her to go, and so had Billy and besides, she had thought, if she was there, she could easily, first thing in the morning, go and see Mrs Scott again. And talk to her about what was becoming an obsession, troubling her almost as much as her grief over her mother’s death.

‘LM—’ said Gordon. He looked nervous, uncomfortable. He ran his hands through his white hair.

‘Yes, Gordon?’

‘I – wondered if we – that is if you – could – oh, dear, I’m finding this very difficult.’

LM smiled at him.

‘Would you like me to help? Or would that be presumptuous of me?’

‘No. No, of course not. I mean—’

‘You wondered if we could be more than friends. Is that right?’

He blushed bright red. His forehead was damp. His expression was almost desperate. Then he said, ‘Well – yes. If we could consider that. One day.’

‘One day! Do we have to wait such a very long time?’

He looked embarrassed.

‘I’m not sure. I wouldn’t want to rush you in any way. But if you could think about it—’

‘Gordon,’ said LM, ‘I don’t need to think about it. It would be marvellous, I think. Really.’

‘Oh. Oh well. Oh, I say. My dear—’

Even in her happiness, LM was struck by how absurdly different he was from Jago, how extraordinarily different his courtship had been. She had made love with Jago that first night; Gordon Robinson was proposing it after many weeks – months. Well – it was perhaps as well. It would avoid comparison. Of any kind – She allowed her mind to roam forward a few hours and felt a pang of such violent pleasure and delight she could hardly bear it. She lifted her wine glass, took a large sip and leaned forward to tell him.