Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (82 page)

‘You’d noticed?’

‘Noticed? Adele, I’ve watched them grow ever more dreadful. She’s my half-sister, don’t forget. I’m the ghastly Teddy’s godfather, for my sins. Now – is there anything at all I can do? Or shall I just get out of your hair?’

‘Well – ’ she hesitated ‘ – you could sort out the wine. That’s the one thing I still find hard. Not having a butler, you know—’

‘Oh I do know. Can’t get one myself. Mind you, I am looking for a female one. Of course I will, Adele, it’s one of the very few things we men can cope with. Lead me to your cellar, I’ll do the rest. And I bet it is a real cellar, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ she said. ‘Down here. There’s plenty of everything, I think, fridge in the pantry through there, corkscrews and decanters in the dining room on the sideboard. That would be marvellous, Jamie, thank you so much.’

‘And what’s on the menu? Better know that, don’t you think?’

‘Goodness, you really do sound like a butler. Clam chowder, then steak, then pecan pie or cheesecake.’

‘Very, very American. This is so sweet of you. Anyway, I’ll know what to get up now. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’

How nice he was, she thought, going into the kitchen and filling half a dozen vases with water; and so very handsome. As her mother had often said, if Laurence had been anything like that, and she supposed he must have been, she could certainly understand Barty falling for him.

‘Jenna, hallo. You look very – grown up.’

It was Lucas; smiling down at her. He seemed taller than ever. He really was so handsome, she thought. Well not exactly handsome, but terribly romantic-looking, with his deep-set dark eyes, his mop of black curls, his rather pale thin face. He was wearing a camel-coloured duffel coat, with a big shaggy jumper under it, and he was carrying an armful of books.

‘Hi,’ she said quickly. Wishing she had brushed her hair and got a bit of make-up on.

‘When did you arrive?’

‘Oh – two days ago. Your mother’s been great.’

‘She is great. Where is she, do you know?’

‘In the dining room. She’s—’

‘Lucas! Hi. Oh my God, you’re so tall.’ It was Cathy, Cathy in tight jeans and a shirt, open one button too many, her hair tied up in a ponytail with a bright red ribbon, her big blue eyes, carefully mascara’d, sparkling up at him, her perfect mouth slicked over with pink pearly lipstick. ‘I love the duffel coat. Do I get a kiss? As your honorary cousin, or whatever I am? How annoying Jenna got to you first. I want to hear all about Oxford, it must have been so wonderful there, I’d so love to see all those beautiful buildings and Jenna said you’d been on one of those ban-the-bomb marches, I think that is just such a wonderful thing to do.’

On and on she went, with Lucas looking down at her and smiling; Jenna felt she would like to slap her. Extremely hard.

Jamie looked round the cellar in amazement. It was vast, running the whole width and length of the house; there was the usual clutter of trunks and boxes at one end, a couple of bicycles, and a rather fine rocking horse, but at least half of it was given over to wine, great racks set from floor to ceiling, white on one wall, red on the other, with a smaller set for brandy, port, and champagne. It was like a cellar in a film. Years and years of dust had settled on the bottles, cobwebs draped over the furthest shelves. They had probably not been disturbed since Oliver died. What a treasure trove: there was an absolute fortune sitting here. If it was auctioned, it would raise thousands. Better not let Charlie Patterson get his hands on it . . .

He wandered along the racks, looking at the labels: all the classics were here, Margaux, Latour, Lafitte, some of them going back to the Twenties, one bottle of Lafitte so old it almost creaked as he touched it: dated 1905. Wonderful whites as well, not quite so grand, Puligny-Montrachet – he might take a couple of those for this evening – and three bottles of Sauternes, Château d’Yquem, dated 1905, he could almost taste its rare sweetness, just looking at the bottles. And the champagne: magnums, even a couple of jeroboams, Krug, Roederer, Dom Perignon, all vintage, of course, as old and dusty as the Lafitte, several 1910s, a handful – or rather an armful – dated from the Twenties. He was getting drunk just looking at them. There were Napoleon brandies, over a hundred years old, and port too, vintages as far back as the Twenties, and beyond – it was quite incredible. Which to choose? Was it actually quite the thing to haul up from your hostess’s cellar bottles of wine which could be priced in tens, possibly hundreds of pounds? Probably not; he should go for more modest options, and perhaps go for broke on the brandy and port. That would be fun.

He began to rummage; spiders scuttled irritably away, outraged at having their territory disturbed, cobwebs got caught in his hair. He pulled out an armful of reds, set them down on the floor, simply to sort them: they were rather randomly stacked, the rare with the not so rare. This was going to be more of a task than he had expected . . .

‘Marcus, hallo!’ He was standing in her doorway. She smiled up at him, genuinely pleased to see him. She had forgotten, in her early misery over Keir, how altogether charming Marcus was. Now that all she felt for Keir was rage and outrage, a smiling, appreciative man seemed suddenly irresistible. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’

‘Lovely to see you too. You’re looking wonderful.’

‘Thank you.’ She knew she wasn’t, she’d forgotten he was coming in, had dragged on a skirt and sweater, was having her hair done later. She wasn’t even sure she’d put on any proper make-up that morning.

‘May I?’ He bent to kiss her, then pulled back, shaking his head disapprovingly. ‘Dear oh dear, Elspeth.’

‘What?’

‘No Number Five.’

She laughed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know you were coming. And I wouldn’t wear it for anyone else. Obviously.’

‘How busy are you? Any chance of dinner? Or tea? At the Ritz of course?’

‘Well – tea would be nice. But I’m afraid we have a surfeit of relations here, as you can imagine; I have to be at my mother’s for dinner, and then tomorrow it’s entirely family—’

‘Of course. I understand.’

‘It’s nice to see you. Now’ – she’d better tell him, get it over – ‘there’s something I have to tell you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Keir and I have – separated.’

‘Separated!’ There was an expression of absolute shock in his eyes: shock and something like fear. She just managed to be amused by it.

‘Yes. And he’s left Lyttons. Gone to Wesley.’

‘My God! I had no idea. Why, how – oh, Elspeth, I’m so sorry.’

‘Well – the marriage was pretty well over.’

‘I know but—’

A faint relief moved into his eyes; he hadn’t known anything of the sort, not really, he’d thought he was a diversion, an amusement . . .

‘It just couldn’t go on. And once he’d left me, well, he had to leave Lyttons, really.’

He was silent; clearly very shaken. Terrified she was going to make some claim on him, cite him, perhaps, even try to get him to marry her. She felt irritated: she’d expected better from him than this.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said again. ‘If only I’d known.’

‘And if you had, Marcus?’ she said, unable to resist it, ‘what would you have done? Rushed over here to comfort me?’

‘Oh, Elspeth,’ he said, and she could see him very carefully feeling his way, just beginning to relax. ‘Of course I would. Of course. Let me start today. Better late than never. Four at the Ritz, then.’

‘Lovely,’ she said.

‘How are you getting on?’ It was Adele, smiling at him through the gloom. ‘It’s amazing down here, isn’t it?’

‘Absolutely amazing. Your father was obviously an incredible connoisseur.’

‘Some of them were my grandfather’s.’

‘Good God. Well, there are certainly a lot of wines here much older than you are. Look at this, I’ve just been stroking it, a Château Margaux, 1912. Premier Grand Cru.’

‘Not older than me, I’m afraid. Tiny bit younger.’

‘It doesn’t look it.’

She laughed. ‘Well, don’t just stroke it, let’s drink it.’

‘Adele, you can’t cast pearls like that before swine like us. It would be a crime.’

‘Oh – well, all right. Maybe another night, when there’s not so many of us. How would that be? Not much point it sitting down here.’

‘Not really. That might be fun. Anyway, I’ve made a bit of a selection, do you want to vet it?’

‘Heavens no, just do whatever needs doing to it. I trust you absolutely. Let’s have a nice brandy, though. I do love brandy. Although I mustn’t have a hangover tomorrow, must I?’

‘Preferably not.’ He looked around him, indicated the rocking horse. ‘I see a few relics from your childhood over there.’

‘Yes, he’s lovely, isn’t he? He’s rather valuable. Mummy would never let us have him for our children. I can’t think why not, we were allowed to ride him. And there’s a dolls’ house somewhere – over here, under those sacks.’

‘A dolls’ house! I rather like dolls’ houses. I always think they first inspired my ambitions in the property market. My father had a scale model of Elliott House made once. We weren’t allowed to play with it, obviously, but it was a remarkable piece of work. And then Robert had one made for Maud, of Sutton Place. Is yours a model of this house?’

‘No, it’s just an ordinary dolls’ house. But it’s very pretty.’

‘Can I see? Would you mind?’

‘Of course not. Bit hard to get at, though—’

‘Let me help. Right – here we are. If I can just ease it out.’ He reached in, pulled the house out, removed the sack carefully. It was quite large, about three feet tall, Georgian-style, with curtains at the windows and a real brass door knocker.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ said Adele. ‘We adored it, Venetia and I. Oh – now there’s a shame, the chimney’s come off. I wonder if it’s there . . .’

‘I probably pulled it off with the sack. Sorry. Shall I look—’

He bent down, worked his way into the corner; the ceiling was lower there, and the light was very dim.

‘You haven’t got a torch, have you?’

‘Yes, here. Someone’s moved that house recently, there are tracks in the dust, see.’

‘So there are. Someone pretty determined, I’d say. Now then, I – ah. Here it is. One chimney. Very fine. And some window boxes, look. I’ll stick them all back on for you, if you like.’

‘I would, very much. If you have time.’

‘I do. I’ll just – good heavens. Did you know there’s a little wall safe here?’

‘No. How exciting. Do you think it leads to Narnia?’

‘Might do. Very intriguing. I wonder if it’s locked. I can’t find a handle or anything.’

‘Oh, do let’s try,’ said Adele. ‘It’s really exciting. I suppose there can’t be anything in it of value, but it would be fun to look.’

‘I’m trying to find something to open it with. I can’t—’

‘Let me look. I’m smaller than you.’

‘Sure.’ He eased his way out backwards, dusted himself down.

‘Oh dear, you’re filthy.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Let me hold the torch for you.’

She wriggled in, felt the safe with her fingers. There was a lock, she could feel it, but she could just get her nails under the door, and – it eased open very slowly.

‘It’s not locked,’ she called to Jamie. ‘Can I have the torch?’

Feeling rather like Howard Carter, opening the tomb of Tutankhamun, she pulled the door open slowly and peered inside.

‘The flight was wonderful.’ Lily Lytton lay back on Venetia’s sofa, stretched out her still-shapely legs, and smiled with pleasure. ‘Absolutely wonderful. So smooth and quiet.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Jack, poking at his ears. ‘It was dreadful. Can’t get my hearing back. Dreadful things, those planes. Wish we’d come on the boat. Only good thing, air hostess looked after me, pretty little thing, got me an extra gin to calm my nerves.’

‘One gin too many,’ said Lily briskly. ‘That’s why you don’t feel too good, Jack, you’ve got a hangover.’

‘You both look marvellous,’ said Venetia, and indeed they did, Jack so straight and slim still and extremely dapper, dressed in a blazer and flannels, his old regimental tie a little battered, but perfectly knotted, Lily alarmingly pretty, her once-red hair now dark blonde, perfectly coiffed, her huge brown eyes carefully made up. They were both in their seventies, but if it hadn’t been for Jack’s gnarled finger joints and Lily’s stiffness they could have passed for fifteen years younger.

‘California obviously suits you.’

‘Well, it’s such fun!’ said Lily. ‘We have a wonderful time, you know, lots of parties, we have so many friends there, and the climate is perfect for us. Of course we miss the family, and’ – she lowered her voice – ‘Jack’s hearing isn’t what it was, makes him bad-tempered.’

He glared at her. ‘You talking about me?’

‘Of course not. I was saying how much I was looking forward to Adele’s American dinner party tonight.’

‘Don’t know that I’ll be able to face it,’ said Jack, ‘not after that flight.’

‘Well, you stay and rest, dear,’ said Lily, ‘I’ll go. Venetia was telling me there will be lots of young there—’

‘Very pretty young,’ said Venetia. ‘You should see Jenna, Barty’s daughter, she is just heaven, and then there’s Noni, now the international model that she is, and – oh, excuse me. The phone. It never stops at the moment.’

She came back looking rather upset.

‘I’m so sorry. That was Adele. She’s got a – well, a bit of a problem. She wants me to go round there for an hour or so. Would that be all right? Mrs Hardy will get you anything you need. And if Jack doesn’t want to go tonight, we’ll be here—’

‘Of course he wants to go,’ said Lily, ‘he just said he thought a good meal might make him feel better. What he means, of course, is a pretty girl or two. No, you run along, Venetia, we quite understand.’

‘Thank you. We’ll have the car ready at seven-thirty. It’s not far, you’ll remember the house, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Jack, ‘beautiful old place. So glad Adele’s got it. Pretty little thing, she was.’

‘She still is,’ said Venetia firmly; and set off to see her.