Wicked Pleasures (72 page)

Angie, 1985

Alexander became her friend. Right through that spring, when she was negotiating for, buying, refurbishing Watersfoot Priory, when Baby was increasingly detached from her and involved in launching Praegers – the inaugural party at Spencer House had been finally booked for early June, that being the first available date – she saw him almost weekly, sometimes merely lunching at Hartest with him, occasionally staying overnight there (still more occasionally with Baby, who had nodded briefly over Watersfoot and told her to go ahead). It was a strange friendship, she could see: he was a cultured, upper-class Englishman with a passion for country life and eighteenth-century architecture, she was a hustler from the East End of London, whose preferred reading, apart from her own balance sheets, was
Vogue
,
Vanity Fair
and the gossip columns, and who developed withdrawal symptoms twelve hours away from the shops. And yet, they had found a genuine interest in one another’s company. He admired her, and she admired him; he was even, vague and slightly careworn as he was, in his own way very sexy. She couldn’t quite analyse his sexiness, and it was clearly very different from Max’s swaggering variety, and Baby’s too, but it was there all right: a kind of grace, an easy self-awareness and an ability to appreciate, to acknowledge sensuality in others. And his life intrigued her; when Alexander talked of the house, the estate, and thus the broader aspects of his life, his horses, hunting, shooting, the ebb and flow of his year, she was, for some reason, not bored but intrigued. The intrigue was slightly detached, but it was genuine. And she liked to hear him talking about his children (trying to imagine a similar involvement in her own and entirely failing), his anxieties about Max, his pride and delight in Charlotte, his adoration for Georgina – ‘She’s your favourite, isn’t she, I can tell’ – ‘Not exactly my favourite, but the one I get on the best with, have most in common with.’ And by the same token, she found, she could talk to him about her own life, her sense of isolation from Baby and the bank, and indeed from Baby himself, and of being different from the other wives (while in no way wishing to be like them, to join them); her own business, her intense pride in what she had accomplished, the fascination of the property market and its ebb and flow within the country’s prosperity, the absolute necessity to catch it at the right moment; and her past, the past before Virginia, she found she liked talking to him about that, the early days with Johnny and Dee, her modelling, her friendship with M. Wetherly. She censored it a little here and there, coloured it up occasionally, but basically she could talk endlessly and happily with him.

‘Did you have fun with Virginia?’ she asked Alexander one Sunday in late May, as they walked round the lake. She had gone to visit him after her weekly
inspection of Watersfoot; she was discouraged by that as well, it was still a shell, and the swimming pool was certainly not going to be operational this summer.

Alexander looked slightly warily at her. ‘What sort of fun?’

‘Oh – I don’t know. Did you do silly things, tell each other jokes, give each other ridiculous presents?’

‘I – don’t think so, no,’ said Alexander. He looked rather sad and distant; Angie changed the subject. It had been a silly question anyway, anyone who had known Virginia could have seen that having fun was not one of her talents. Angie had liked Virginia, and she had been very sorry for her, but she had never been the sort of person Angie had aspired to be. Although knowing what she did about her now, sympathy seemed to have been a bit of a joke; envy would be a more reasonable emotion. All those lovers! Clever bitch. How the hell had she managed that? And why couldn’t she have been a little more careful about the consequences? The whole thing was a riddle that intrigued Angie increasingly as she got to know Alexander better.

‘How’s Georgina?’

‘She’s fine. She’ll be home in a month.’ He looked happy. ‘I miss her so. I understand she has plans to invite Kendrick and Melissa over to stay again. I presume that will be all right with you?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Angie, who very much wanted to establish more of a relationship with Baby’s children; they seemed much more interesting and agreeable to her than her own. ‘I had hoped of course that they would be able to stay at Watersfoot this summer, but that looks increasingly unlikely.’

‘Well, you must come for a longer stay here in that case.’ He smiled at her. ‘With the children.’

‘You like children, don’t you?’ said Angie carefully.

‘Oh I do,’ he said, ‘very much. My children have been a source of immense pleasure to me. I like them at all ages. Even as tiny as Spike and Hughdie. I would actually have liked some more, a real old-fashioned Victorian family, but –’

‘But what?’ said Angie very quietly.

There was a long silence. Alexander looked particularly remote, particularly sad; then he said, equally quietly, ‘Oh, well, you know, it was just not to be. Virginia was not – strong. It seemed selfish to insist on any more. And I – we – had Max by then, Hartest had its heir. That was the main thing.’

‘Yes. Yes of course.’ She looked at him. The veil of vagueness had dropped very heavily; no chance of any further confidences now. She tucked her arm into his and started walking just slightly more quickly.

‘Poor Alexander. You must be lonely too.’

‘Well.’ He smiled at her. ‘I am, in a way. But I do have the house to keep me company.’

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose you do. I can’t say mine is much use to me. I require something a little livelier.’

‘Never mind, my dear. When this launch is over, I expect Baby will have more time for you. What a beautiful watch that is. You know you really shouldn’t wear something like that on country walks, you might drop it in the mud, lose it.’

Angie looked down at her small wrist bearing the diamond and emerald watch from Tiffany, the first of the really good jewellery Baby had ever bought her, The First Fuck watch he had always called it, and she had worn it ever since.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘oh, it wouldn’t –’she hesitated –‘come off. It has a good clasp. Very good.’

She had nearly then, very nearly confided in Alexander about the watch, had nearly said it wouldn’t matter. What on earth was she doing, telling him – or nearly telling him – such a thing? He thought she was squeaky clean, a really nice, morally upright person. What on earth would he think of her if he had known that the Tiffany watch was a fake, copied for her in Hong Kong one weekend, so that she could sell the original and use the money to finance a particularly desirable (and expensive) vacation in the company of a particularly desirable (and expensive) young man? While Baby had been on one of those endless family trips of his. It had pleased her so much, that manoeuvre, it had been so simple to execute and so foolproof really. Baby had no idea about jewellery, he would never have realized the watch was a fake. And it was a very good fake, nothing tacky, she had spent money on it. And yet sometimes, when Baby had been especially tender, especially loving, had talked about the watch and the occasion it had marked, she had felt uncomfortable, as near to guilty as she knew how.

She looked up at Alexander and hesitated for a moment, and then she said, ‘Did you ever do something that you were proud and ashamed of at the same time? Something so neat and clever you could hardly believe you’d done it?’

Alexander, 1969–70

He could hardly believe he had done it. It had been so simple, so easy, and it had achieved so much, everything he had hoped for. And they did deserve it. All of them. He could scarcely believe the selfishness, the self-obsession of the way they had been behaving, using one another, upsetting one another, dragging one another down. It might have been all right, just might have been, if they hadn’t involved him. Well not exactly him, but his territory. His house. The London house. Used by Baby and his mistress, without his permission, without his knowledge. Or so they had thought.

He kept hoping, for days after he heard Virginia talking to Baby, that she would mention it, ask him if it was all right, say, even, that she hoped it was all right. But – nothing. Nothing at all. He found it very shocking. Nothing could have persuaded him more of her total disregard for his feelings – and her absurd regard for her brother’s – that she could deceive him quite so blatantly. He loved her so much, so very very much, and she knew he did – and yet she abused the love, and the trust, in this way.

He had listened to the telephone conversation between Baby and Virginia about Baby borrowing the house with a sense of growing distaste; he had picked up on it quite by accident, the phone had been ringing in the hall and he had answered it and the moment he heard the long-distance operator he had known who it was.

The two days he had known Baby and Angie were there, in the house, had made him almost ill. He had kept out of Virginia’s way, saying there was a great deal to do on the farm (which was true). He hardly slept, those nights; he lay awake, beside Virginia, staring into the darkness, trying to calm himself. At three o’clock on the second night he got up, and went outside; it was a clear, starry night, with a soft, half-waned moon; he walked up the Great Drive a little way and looked back at Hartest, etched in all its perfection against the silver sky, and felt as always comforted by it, eased from his misery. There was a dim light up at the top of the house, on the nursery floor; he thought of little Max sleeping there sweetly, his heir, the heir to Hartest: no one would ever know, not even Virginia, how he had felt when he had finally held Max in his arms, looked down at the tiny crumpled little face and seen the succession finally safe. An odd tranquillity and a great triumph: he had been very supportive, very loving to Virginia over the girls, and over the other,
_tiny,
sad little Alexander, but until this moment, until this strong, beautiful boy had been born, he had not known any true peace of mind.

And now Virginia had to drag her family, her crass, womanizing brother into this idyllic world he had created with her and it hurt, it hurt badly. It was an abuse of his love and his trust for her.

He could see he was not going to be able to forgive Virginia. He went and inspected the house in Eaton Place: there was some superficial damage, a stain on the bedroom carpet, a couple of the large wine goblets missing, presumably broken. It was at least clean and tidy. He had stood in the master bedroom and wondered if they had been using his bed: the thought made him physically sick.

He had to wait a year to sort things out. It was a long time, but he was used to being patient.

The affair between Baby and Angie seemed quite serious. He wasn’t surprised. Baby would be attracted by cheapness. He was basically cheap himself. He found a letter to Baby that Virginia had written, lying on her desk, waiting to be posted; he steamed it open. Baby seemed to have set Angie up in an apartment in what Virginia referred to as ‘The Village’. Greenwich presumably. ‘Please please be careful,’ Virginia had written, ‘I know you’re very fond of her, but there is so much at stake.’

Well, they were going to have to be very careful indeed, all of them, with him to deal with.

Virginia looked at him over breakfast one morning in early July. ‘Alexander, darling,’ she said, with that careful smile of hers that he had come to know meant asking a favour, telling him unwelcome news, ‘do you terribly terribly mind if I go to New York for a few days later this month? Before we go on to this new house of Baby’s on Sconset.’

‘Good gracious,’ he had said, forcing a smile, ‘this is very sudden. Whatever has happened?’

‘Oh – very exciting new client.’

‘Who is this exciting new client?’

‘I’m sure I mentioned him before. Very rich real-estate man. New house on Long Island. Quite near Beaches.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you did. What’s his name?’

‘Oh – Franklyn,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Ted Franklyn.’

‘Well darling, I certainly don’t want to come between you and your clients. You and success.’

‘Wonderful,’ she said. She was looking a little pale, he noticed suddenly, pale and heavy-eyed. It was a particular look that he had come to recognize.

‘Are you feeling all right, Virginia?’

‘What? Oh – yes.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘Absolutely fine. Tired, but fine. I could do with a break. You too. I know you don’t want to go to Sconset, but I do think it’ll do you good.’

Alexander sighed. The last thing in the world he wanted was to go off on some bloody seaside holiday with Virginia and her family; but Baby and Mary Rose had bought this new place, and they had been invited; he had said, naturally, that his family could go if they wished, but he would stay in England. Georgina had first begged and pleaded with him to go, and then cried when he said he wouldn’t and he had heard himself giving in, agreeing to spend ten days
there at the end, after which they would all come home; it still seemed to him an appalling waste of time but he could never bear to upset Georgina.

‘Well – maybe. I certainly don’t want to go. But yes, of course you must go to New York. Will you be staying with your parents?’