Wicked Pleasures (99 page)

‘He’s fine,’ said Charlotte, not even attempting to analyse how she felt at the prospect of coming back to New York, but experiencing a rush of pleasure that it was so clearly a possibility, ‘he’s doing really well, at Mortons. He’s on the money desk. Making a fortune. He’s just bought a Porsche.’

‘A Porsche? I thought he was hard up,’ said Fred. He looked rather cross. ‘Or did your father buy it for him? I imagine not, the way things –’ He stopped suddenly.

‘Way what things, Grandpa?’ said Charlotte. ‘What were you going to say?’

‘Oh,’ he said quickly, ‘I don’t approve of fathers buying toys for their grownup sons.’

Charlotte let it pass. But she was faintly intrigued.

‘Yes, well all the traders have Porsches,’ she said. ‘They leave a trail of them everywhere. Porsches and empty champagne bottles. They’re like a lot of very overexcited little boys. At an endless party.’ She realized she sounded rather prefectish and tried to lighten her tone. ‘But it’s all good fun. And very good for business.’

‘I don’t know that I like the idea of my grandson making a fortune for Mortons,’ said Fred slightly petulantly, ‘it doesn’t feel right at all. If he’s any good at what he does, he should be working for Praegers. I might tell him so.’

‘I don’t know that he’d want to change,’ said Charlotte carefully; she knew that Max’s prime ambition these days was to move over and work for Praegers.
‘He loves Mortons. And like I said they’re paying him a lot of money.’

‘Money isn’t everything,’ said Fred as if he had spent his entire life working for a pittance himself. ‘What about family loyalty, eh? Doesn’t that count for anything?’

‘Well, but Grandfather, you said he couldn’t have a job at Praegers,’ said Charlotte. ‘He asked you. It’s not his fault.’

‘Well, he was still doing that bloody silly modelling then,’ said Fred crossly. ‘He’s proved himself now. Is he still going out with Old Daddy Morton’s daughter?’

‘Yes,’ said Charlotte, struggling not to sound disapproving. She didn’t like Gemma, she thought she was self-centred and empty-headed. ‘Yes, they spend a lot of time together. How did you know anyway?’

‘Your father told me,’ said Fred.

‘Daddy! When on earth did you see Daddy?’ said Charlotte, amazed. Alexander and Fred’s dislike of one another was legendary. There was something going on here, clearly; Fred’s earlier remark was more significant than he was going to admit.

‘Oh – last time he was over here,’ said Fred briefly. ‘Didn’t you know about that?’

‘Well, I knew he came. I thought it was – well, I didn’t really know what it was,’ said Charlotte lamely. ‘You know Daddy. You can’t get him to talk about anything if he doesn’t want to.’

‘Quite right too,’ said Fred. ‘And it’s no business of yours that he came.’ He looked a little uneasy. ‘Now then, who’s this coming upstairs? Oh God. Geoff, not again. I told you not to come back until I was ready for a game of golf.’

Charlotte caught Geoff Robertson on the stairs as he was leaving.

‘How is he?’ she said.

He smiled at her rather distantly. ‘He’s OK.’

‘Not in any danger?’

‘No. As long as he’s sensible.’

‘So will he be able to go back to the bank?’

He looked at her as if she was extremely stupid.

‘No of course not,’ he said. ‘Well, only in the most minimal capacity. He had a heart attack, you know. It wasn’t a very major one, but at his age, any one at all is serious. It’s a miracle he’s recovered to the extent he has.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. ‘Oh, I see.’ She felt very helpless suddenly.

Geoff Robertson looked at her. ‘They’re a very good loyal bunch of men at that bank,’ he said suddenly. ‘Almost every day I get a call from one or other of them. Mr Drew, and Mr Hill. And young Freddy of course. Asking me how he is. Very concerned, they all are.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Charlotte. ‘They are all very concerned. It’s true.’

Gabe suggested they had a drink after work.

‘Harry’s Bar,’ he said, ‘six. I may be late,’ he added, ‘and I almost certainly won’t be able to stay long.’

‘Oh, fine,’ said Charlotte.

She had drunk two large spritzers and was already feeling slightly light-headed when he finally came in at a quarter to seven. It was two years since she had seen him, and she realized, with the sweet pang of pleasure that began in her head and moved by a circuitous route through every possible area of her body, that she should abandon any thought that she might have had of falling out of love with him, or even of growing immune to the intense assault he launched on her senses by the simple fact of entering the same room as herself. He looked exactly the same; quite how she might have expected him to have changed she could not imagine, but against all logic she had. The same towering body, huge shoulders, long long legs that he never seemed quite able to find a satisfactory resting place for; the same wild dark hair, brooding brown eyes, rather full mouth; the perfect teeth, the reluctant smile, the crushing handshake (Charlotte, submitting her hand to the handshake, found herself shrinking from it even despite the considerable pleasure of being in at least some physical contact with him), and then, as he sat down opposite her, winding his legs carefully round the chair legs, the voice, the deep, dark, almost gravelly voice, God, she had missed that voice, oh God, she’d missed it: ‘Hi,’ it said, the much-missed voice, the much-loved voice, ‘you’ve put on weight.’

Charlotte felt sick: with disappointment, with anger, with shame. She stared at him, and could think of nothing, nothing to say that wasn’t foolish, self-denigrating, crass. She felt a blush rising in her neck, right up to her forehead; tears of sheer misery rose up behind her eyes. She looked down, looked away; then forced herself to meet his gaze. He was grinning at her now, his eyes dancing with evil mischief at her; he reached out and picked up her glass.

‘Let me get you another. White wine?’

‘Yes please,’ said Charlotte.

While he was gone, she blew her nose, composed herself as best she could; when he returned she was smiling at him coolly.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘only three-quarters of an hour late. Not worthy of an apology, obviously. Don’t worry, Gabe, I don’t have too terribly much to do this evening.’

He looked genuinely puzzled.

‘I said I might be late,’ he said. ‘How’s Grandpa?’

‘Not very well,’ said Charlotte. She was very nervous; she realized her hand was shaking. She took a swig at her glass, almost gulping it down; then realized with horror it was half empty.

‘You’ve obviously been drinking halves of bitter,’ he said, noticing. ‘How’s England?’

‘Wonderful,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s marvellous to be back home.’

She looked at him and smiled radiantly; he smiled slightly uncertainly back. There was an expression at the back of the dark eyes that she couldn’t begin to read.

‘And the London office? Everything OK for you? I’m sorry it’s not doing better.’

‘Gabe,’ said Charlotte with an effort at dignity, ‘I just don’t know why you have to say things like that. Knock everything that isn’t Praegers New York. The London office is doing just fine, we’re making loads of money, and I’m personally –’

‘Hey,’ said Gabe, ‘get down off that extremely high horse, will you? I’m not knocking anything. I’m just playing back information. I genuinely thought you were having a tough time over there.’

Charlotte stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘Well, that’s what the word is. All over our building. London isn’t making out. May have to close. Send over reinforcements, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Well it’s a filthy lie,’ said Charlotte. ‘I just don’t understand it.’

‘I think I could begin to,’ said Gabe. ‘Cheers. It’s nice to see you. Even if you have rounded out a little.’ He grinned at her. She scowled back at him.

‘You certainly know how to make someone’s evening,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ he said. ‘You haven’t got any less touchy, have you?’

‘Gabe, I’m not known as touchy in any other company,’ said Charlotte with an effort at sounding lighthearted. ‘I do assure you it’s entirely a change that you wreak in me.’

‘Well I’m extremely sorry,’ he said, and clearly didn’t mean it. ‘It just slipped out. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘Perhaps we’d better change the subject,’ said Charlotte.

‘Perhaps we had.’

There was a silence. Then she said, ‘Freddy is definitely up to something. He told Grandma he’d told me about Grandpa.’

‘Did he? Little squirt.’

‘And there’s something else,’ she said, ‘Geoff Robertson, that’s the family doctor, says he gets called almost every day by Chris Hill or Chuck Drew or Freddy, about how Grandpa is.’

‘How sweet,’ said Gabe.

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Chris Hill is definitely negotiating with Gresse,’ he said. ‘Definitely.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I have a girlfriend who works there.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. She felt sick again, and drank the rest of her wine very quickly.

‘Apparently he’s about to sign.’

‘I just can’t make it out. Why should he move now?’

‘God knows. But they’ve got some incredible package for him, and their chief trader’s talking to Lehman.’

Charlotte sighed. ‘Well, maybe he’s on the level. Maybe he’s a good guy.’

‘If he was a good guy, he’d stay on.’

‘That’s true. What does your dad think?’

‘He doesn’t think anything. Keeps his nose clean, my dad does. Always has. Retirement only a few years off, you see.’

‘That’s not a very nice thing to say about your father.’

‘Charlotte darling, we’re not all loyal little family sycophants like you.’

Charlotte stood up. Her eyes were blazing. At that moment she could happily have killed him.

‘How dare you,’ she said, and her voice was shaking, and for once she didn’t care. ‘How dare you. I am not a sycophant, and I might say, Gabe Hoffman, I have never noticed you turning down the opportunity to work at Praegers, to take the King’s shilling, and follow in your father’s footsteps. If you disapprove so much of nepotism, why aren’t you working at Lehmans or First Boston? It isn’t just natural brilliance that’s got you where you are, in fact, I’d say natural brilliance was probably the least crucial ingredient in the extremely nice little brew you’ve concocted for yourself at Praegers. I’m going home, Gabe. I don’t know why you ever bothered to arrange this evening. You obviously don’t want to see me. Please let me know if you hear anything else about my grandfather. Or perhaps if you do you’d better pass it on to somebody quite different. Nothing to do with my family. I’d hate you to feel you’d furthered the Praeger nepotistic cause any further.’

She turned and half ran out of the door, and up the steps into Hanover Square. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so distressed: she supposed she had simply forgotten how vile he was, how deeply he could hurt her. She had hoped, without realizing she had hoped it, that he had in some way come to reciprocate the way she felt, had actually wanted to see her, was concerned for her as well as for her family and the bank. Hurt pride was added to the usual pain. She started walking very fast in the direction of Wall Street and Broadway. She would get a cab home quickly and sit and talk to Betsey and Fred. That would make her feel better, soothe her battered ego. They loved her.

She cut into New Street and then suddenly realized that it was quite deserted, very dark and that she was being followed. A tall youth in a donkey jacket and a woollen hat was uncomfortably hard on her heels. Oh for God’s sake, Charlotte, she thought, you’ve just got reinfected with New York paranoia. In England this would just have meant there was someone walking very close behind you.

Nevertheless she speeded up her pace; the youth did likewise. She felt fear now, start in her belly, clutch at her guts; sweat broke out in her armpits. She walked still faster, stumbled, almost fell; he was virtually on top of her.

She righted herself, pulled her coat round her: ‘Hey,’ said a voice, ‘hey lady, what’s the hurry?’

She ignored him, walked on; he was beside her now, tall, threatening. He looked down at her, and his eyes were very glittery, evil in the lamplight.

‘I said what’s the hurry.’ He put out his hand, took her arm.

She shook it, trying to get free. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Ah!’ he said, in a phoney British accent. ‘You’re English. How is the dear old mother country?’

‘It’s fine,’ said Charlotte. She was still hurrying along. Maybe if she could keep him talking, she could get up into the comparative safety of Broadway.

‘Good.’ Suddenly, with a speed and force which shocked her, he pushed her into a doorway. She tried to scream; he put his hand over her mouth. It smelt. She twisted her head, backwards and forwards.

‘Please let me go,’ she mumbled against the hand. ‘I have some money. Please let me go.’

He moved his hand from her mouth, put it round her throat, pinning her to the wall. He reached with the other hand for her bag, pulled out the wallet, stuck it in his pocket.

‘Can I go?’ said Charlotte. ‘Please. I won’t say anything.’

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘you’re a real upper-crust little lady, aren’t you? I always fancied a bit of class. I’m in no hurry. No hurry at all.’ He still had her pinned to the wall of the doorway by her throat; he pushed his face into hers. His breath was foul; his lips slobbery. She screamed briefly, and then his hand was on her mouth, silencing her. His hand was groping at her jacket now, seeking out her breast; panic engulfed Charlotte.