Wicked Pleasures (68 page)

Jeremy looked at her, and his eyes were very dark, very searching. ‘I think I can promise you,’ he said, ‘that if we were to find love, you and I, then I should want to change things very quickly. Very quickly indeed.’

‘Well,’ said Charlotte, confused, almost frightened by the turn the conversation, their evening, was taking, telling herself he was a master at such pretty speeches, even while she enjoyed it, ‘well Jeremy, I don’t imagine it’s going to happen.’ She stood up rather purposefully. ‘It’s been lovely. Really really lovely. But it’s –’ she looked at her watch – ‘five o’clock. I have to be in the office by seven. Will you have your very discreet driver take me home?’

He looked at her and sighed. ‘Dear me,’ he said, ‘the English schoolgirl again. So sensible.’

Charlotte felt stung, horribly hurt, thinking how this quality she projected hung about her, how often Gabe had taunted her about it, and her brother too. She flushed, and felt tears rising behind her eyes. Her head cleared suddenly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry to be so English, so sensible.’ She turned away. ‘I don’t always mean to be.’

‘Charlotte,’ said Jeremy, and his voice was very soft, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I like the Englishness, really I do. I think it’s very – sweet.’

‘Do you?’ said Charlotte with a sigh. ‘Most people don’t. Most people think it’s awful.’

‘Well I don’t. And I’d like to say thank you for listening to me. Being with me. It’s been a wonderful – evening. Will you join me here again? Some time?’

‘Well – perhaps,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure that it’s entirely a good idea.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ he said, standing up, looking down at her rather sadly. ‘Very self-confident. I envy you.’

‘Oh, Jeremy,’ said Charlotte, smiling at him in a genuine disbelief, ‘how can you say such a thing? You aren’t exactly a poor shy blushing violet yourself. As we say in England,’ she added.

‘Well, now there you’re wrong,’ said Jeremy, and the dark sadness was behind his eyes again. ‘Very wrong. I would give the world to be self-confident, to know what I really want to say and do. As you so clearly do. That’s very difficult, you know, when you have a father like mine. Even when he’s dead.’

‘You must miss him,’ said Charlotte suddenly.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, I do. Very much. He might have been domineering and demanding, but he was the kindest person I ever knew. I feel – very tired, very weighed down without him. And it’s such a special relationship, isn’t it, with one’s father?’

Charlotte stared at him, and felt an overwhelming sadness herself, not just at his loneliness, his clearly genuine grief, but at her own sad half-father, whom she loved so much, lost to her also for so much of her life these days; and she thought of her other father, and all the years they had spent without one another’s company, and her eyes filled with tears again, and Jeremy stood up, and took her quite quietly and gently in his arms, and said, ‘Charlotte, poor sweet Charlotte, don’t cry, don’t,’ and the sadness, combined with her exhaustion and with the strangeness and excitement of the situation she found herself in, and her earlier, disturbing exchange with Gabe, all suddenly blended, transformed into something intense and overwhelming, and before she could even begin to analyse it, she felt it, felt it in her body, warm, liquid, almost shocking, and Jeremy recognized it, felt it too, and he drew her more strongly against him, and said her name just once, again, very quietly and then he started to kiss her, tenderly, sweetly, and Charlotte, afraid suddenly, cautious, anxious, drew back. Whatever happened, however hurt, however angry he was, she must not, could not let this thing go any further. It was wilfully, stupidly dangerous, and she had to get away, quickly, at once, before any harm was done.

‘There you go again,’ he whispered, very quietly, his hands in her hair, ‘the cool, self-contained little English girl,’ and a shock of anger and of pain shot through Charlotte, in some strange way increasing her hunger, and in that moment she forgot everything, all sense, all caution, and as much to rid herself of that label, that awful, bossy, schoolgirly label, as to satisfy her aching need, she drew herself against him again, her own mouth searching, soft, not in the least self-contained.

And then without knowing quite how, she was lying on a bed, in the room beyond the studio, and Jeremy was very tenderly, very carefully, in between kissing her with increasing urgency, removing her clothes with a swift, clearly highly practised skill, and again without analysing how, she was naked, quite quite naked, and so was he, kneeling above her, smiling at her, and her body was crying out for him, longing to feel him, to have him there, there in her; she could feel her hunger for him growing, burgeoning, like some slowly opening flower, she was soft, warm, liquid for him, longing to be filled, she could no more have denied him and herself than leapt out of the great window into the night sky. She opened her arms, and he came into them, and lay above her, gently, carefully; she could feel his penis growing now, pressing against her, towards her, beginning to be in her, and she moved gently, thrusting at him, and he began to kiss her breasts, very lightly, carefully, slowly, teasing the nipples with his tongue, drawing back, looking at her, and then down again, kissing, warm, languorous, infinitely tender, and each time the hunger darted down, down through her body, trailing heat and something that was almost pain in its wake; and she opened to him, on and on, drawing him into her, insistently, urgently, and she could feel the great depths of her desire lighten into something nearer pleasure, a rising, a reaching to him and for him. He was kissing her mouth now, his own slow, gentle, and his hands were beneath her, holding, moulding her buttocks; she was quite quite lost to everything, everything but a fierce concentration that was not just physical, but emotional as well, a longing, a desperation for release. She was sweating, thrusting at him frantically, in a swift, almost jerking rhythm, her body arched, her head thrown back, careless of everything but her own need; her entire physical existence concentrated into the approach of her climax, and she saw it as a brilliance before her, heard it as a thunder in her ears, and she cried out again, and again, and thrust frantically on and on, and it was there, there, granted to her, a sweet, fierce, nearly painful thing, tumbling, falling endlessly, spreading out and out in great circles of pleasure within her, and finally finally it was over, fading into quiescence, and she opened her eyes, and saw Jeremy above her, smiling at her, tender, but strangely triumphant; and with a pang that abruptly and hideously removed all the pleasure, at a single stroke, in a single moment, she realized exactly, precisely, what a dangerous thing she had done.

Baby, early spring 1985

Baby was sweating slightly. The doctor seemed to be taking a phenomenally long time over his examination. He was peering into his eyes now, first one then the other, grunting and hmm-ing. Baby felt a strong desire to make a silly face at him.

‘Yes well. Nothing too serious – hopefully. You’re probably just tired. You work too hard. And we mustn’t forget you did have that coronary – what? – two years ago. Look, I’ll arrange for you to see a neurologist later this week, and he can check you over. Now when did you first notice this numbness? A couple of months ago, did you say?’

After he left the consulting rooms Baby wandered down Harley Street, feeling marginally better. The guy had to know what he was talking about. If it was something really serious that he suspected he would have had him into hospital that day. Doctors worked like that. The more time they took over doing things, the less serious the things were. And really he had no serious symptoms. He wouldn’t have been able to leave seeing anyone this long if he’d been worse. It was several months now, and it certainly hadn’t got any worse. Well it was maybe a little worse. Just a little numbness in his right hand sometimes, a difficulty in handling his keys. The coronary had made him a hypochondriac, that was his real problem. And he was working very hard, with Praegers’ London launch coming up in April. Very hard. Life wasn’t easy at the moment. He hailed a cab and went to his office in St James’s.

Thinking about the launch reminded Baby about Angie, and the fight they had had the night before. Baby had complained that she wasn’t giving him the support he needed, and he felt her work could go at least on the back burner. She had security now, she didn’t need it, it wasn’t so much to ask. Angie had said it was a great deal to ask, she loved her work, it was as important to her as his lousy bank, which (she would like to remind him) he had only inherited rather than created himself, and she would like to know what security she had. Mary Rose was flatly refusing to give Baby a divorce, and she was no nearer being Mrs Praeger than she had been ten years earlier. She had the twins to consider, and she was absolutely not going to put herself in a vulnerable position by becoming totally dependent on some man.

Baby had said that he was not some man, he was her husband elect, the father of her children, and as such he had some right to her support. Angie had told him if he wanted her support he could make some supportive gesture, like making over some Praeger shares to her. Then she might just possibly feel a little more secure.

It was not the first time she had made this suggestion, and Baby replied, not for the first time, that it was so far out of line as to be purest fantasy. Whereupon Angie told him to go fuck himself and went to bed in the guest room.

No wonder, he thought, he was feeling the strain.

His secretary, a pretty girl called Katy Prior, with awe-inspiring legs, was waiting for him with a large jug of fresh coffee – ‘Making fresh coffee is your major job, I cannot drink that lousy instant stuff,’ he’d said when he’d hired her – and some messages.

‘Dr Curtis phoned. Could you make Friday for the appointment. And your wife called.’

‘My wife? Would that be –’ Baby’s voice trailed away awkwardly. ‘It was a London call, Mr Praeger,’ said Katy helpfully.

‘OK. You’d better get her. She’ll be at her office. You have the number, don’t you, honey?’

‘Yes, Mr Praeger. Oh, and a Mr Soames-Maxwell rang. He wants to talk to you.’

‘Oh Jesus,’ said Baby.

Angie was very chilly; she was going to be out that night. She hoped Baby had no objections. Baby said, almost equally chilly, that he had none, and told her he was going to New York at the weekend, for a main board meeting.

Then he rang Soames-Maxwell.

‘Baby! Hi. Nice of you to call. I wondered if we could meet?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Baby wearily. ‘What did you want to talk about?’

‘Oh – I’m a little worried about Max. I didn’t want to bother his – Alexander. Of course I may have to. But I wondered if we could talk first. I’m very happy to buy you a drink.’

‘Thanks,’ said Baby, ‘but I can buy my own.’

‘Well maybe I should call Alexander. Charlotte tells me he isn’t too well …’

‘When did you talk to Charlotte?’

‘Oh, a few days ago. I try to stay in touch. Or I could talk to Georgina. She might –’

‘No,’ said Baby, suddenly seeing Georgina’s white face and large, haunted eyes looking at him on the morning after the party as she and Charlotte told him what they had found out about Virginia. He had a duty to look after those children. Virginia’s children. ‘No, don’t do that. I’ll come and meet you. Where do you suggest?’

‘The American Bar at the Savoy. Where else?’

Baby walked to the Savoy from the office. For the second time that day he felt he needed the fresh air and exercise. He dreaded these encounters with Soames-Maxwell. This was the third. It wasn’t just that he intensely disliked the man, and disliked still further the corner he had them all in; he found the
thought of him having a relationship with Virginia literally nauseating. He had fought it fiercely at first, despite all the corroborating evidence: had sat in the Savoy, where Soames-Maxwell always insisted they met, and told him and tried to believe it, that he felt there was nothing established, no proof, that he had no claims on them. And Soames-Maxwell had leant forward, a slightly sympathetic smile on his face, and said, ‘Oh, but I think I do. Your brother-in-law, Lord Caterham, certainly is not Max’s father. Max told me that. Your sister and I had a very – what shall we say – intense relationship. For many years, but particularly at the time when – well, Max would have been conceived. He looks like me. He is like me. The more I know him, the more I see it.’

‘Well, I’m afraid –’said Baby.

Soames-Maxwell smiled at him. ‘I’m not afraid. In fact I’m delighted. But we can have some tests done if you like. If that would make you feel more – cooperative towards me.’

‘What kind of tests?’

‘Oh, blood tests, tissue typing. I believe that’s very accurate.’

‘Well,’ Baby had said, ‘we can discuss that another time perhaps.’

There was a silence. Then he said, because he was too curious not to, ‘When – when did you last see her? My sister?’ The words seemed to come out against his will.

‘Oh – the summer she died. She flew down to Key West for a couple of days. We took a boat out, did some snorkelling. She was still extremely beautiful.’

‘Was that your boat?’

‘Oh, no. I sold her in what – seventy-five. My money was just sailing away in that boat, much as I loved her.’

‘Was that when you went to Vegas? To conserve your assets?’

‘No. No, I was hanging between Key West and Nassau for a long while. I sold my house on Cuba the year after the boat. Stayed with friends, mostly, you can do that for a long while, you know. Then they started moving off, dying off. Life was changing. But your sister was a constant. Fun, loyal, she was so good to me. And now – well, I have Max. It’s very nice for me. Very nice indeed.’

‘Yes,’ said Baby. ‘Yes it must be.’

‘I know,’ he said, with another dazzling, flashing smile, ‘I know you think I’m going to try and milk the relationship. Milk Max.’

‘Oh,’ said Baby, looking at him with contempt. ‘I cannot imagine what can have given you that idea.’