No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) (11 page)

‘The only way is to be patient, my dearest. Patient and understanding. He is only a child, only fourteen. He loved his father very much. We must try to see it his way.’

What Robert wanted to talk to her about though, was nothing to do with Laurence. It was about himself. He wanted her backing in an enterprise of his own. He wanted to found his own business. It wasn’t that he wasn’t doing well at Lawsons; he had risen fast, and was already vice-president of the private client division. He had a good salary, an impressive office, and a burgeoning client list. But he knew that having his own business was the only way, he would achieve the kind of success he had always wanted. It certainly wasn’t going to happen at Lawsons: there were two further generations of the family rising in the hierarchy, and they would take the company over. Neither did he wish to work at Elliotts: under the eye and aegis of his new wife. That would not be a pleasant experience.

In any case, it was not further into the area of banking that Robert wished to move. He was growing bored with that: with the predictability of it, the ebb and flow of money, the rise and fall of the markets. He had developed a new passion, an interest in property. He had watched the high speed rise of New York over the past decade, the way that buildings, endless rows of buildings, were growing into a sturdy forest, covering what had been the outskirts of the city, converting them into an ever-growing centre, and knew he wanted to be part of it. That was where the future lay, that was where the money was being put down, that was where it could be harvested. He had a client who was in the real estate business; five years earlier Robert had helped him raise the capital for two modest buildings off Wall Street. Today he was a rich man. Not a millionaire: but rich. And he had suggested that Robert might be interested in joining him in his business. In helping him to expand. Robert wanted to do that very much. Every time he thought about it, he felt excited, emotionally as well as intellectually. It was quite a long time since he had felt like that. He had already done some research, investigated the potential of the area west of Broadway, down to the docks. It seemed limitless. One of the streets he had earmarked, in fact, was already being built on. That had given him confidence. He was convinced he could make a success of it. And it would be very nice to be a success. A proper success. In his own right. Not just a shadow of his wife’s former husband, not just a shadow, indeed, of his wife.

Not that he was not very fond of Jeanette: of course he was. He was extremely happy with her. She was as warm, as amusing, as passionate, as he had hoped. She was also witty and very stylish; mostly bought her clothes in New York, but she shopped in Paris, too and patronised Poiret who was the first to introduce the narrow hobble skirt, in daringly simple moulded silks and satins, she had a wonderful collection of evening gowns, all cut very low to reveal her unarguably splendid bosom, and she was always first with every new hairstyle; her remarkable, still vibrant red-gold hair being one of her greatest vanities. Robert was truly and genuinely proud of her, and to be seen with her.

They shared a great deal, not only a love of good food – Robert had gained at least ten pounds since their marriage – but also art, music, travel, and good company. They sought people out; they entertained constantly. The magnificent house on Fifth Avenue with its ballroom, its music room, its drawing-room, its galleries and its superb grounds, had been designed as a show place; and Jeanette loved to show it off. She was tireless and tirelessly imaginative; she gave not only dinners and luncheon parties, but concerts and garden parties, and such novelty affairs as the treasure hunts and fancy dress balls which were so popular in London at the time.

She often said she wished she had a house in London; her honeymoon visit there, when she and Robert had stayed with Oliver and Celia, had made her love it more than ever. There was high society and a season in New York and Washington, of course: but they somehow lacked the careless arrogance of London, they were more watchful, more self-conscious. And New York was so far from Europe, from the exotic glittering play-palaces of France and the artistic treasures of Italy: nor did it have a King and Queen to grace it. Jeanette was obsessed by royalty. She was far more impressed that Celia had been presented to the King and Queen at Buckingham Palace, than by the fact that she was a senior editor at Lyttons and had published a great many successful books.

But the highlight of the visit was meeting Lady Beckenham, who had arrived at Cheyne Walk with a distinctly malicious light in her eyes, had talked about house parties at Sandringham and Windsor, revealed various bits of titillating gossip about the King and Little Mrs George as Mrs Keppel was called in royal circles, and told Jeanette that she had a box at Ascot. Jeanette was gently amused by Celia’s socialism, sceptical of her claims that people like Jenny and Sylvia Miller were her friends; Robert told Jeanette that she was more of a snob than Lady Beckenham herself.

‘Nonsense,’ Jeanette said, but he persisted, adding that in his experience there was no more snobbish creature on God’s earth than an over-privileged American, ‘And you are very over-privileged.’

Jeanette accepted this with her usual good humour, adding that she had not noticed any particular reluctance on his part to share that privilege. He managed to smile; but he actually hated such observations. They were her revenge whenever he crossed her, in however small a way; he felt put in his place; diminished. It was a sensation he had learned to tolerate very early in their relationship.

‘My darling,’ Robert said again now.

‘Yes, my dearest. I can see you’re not interested in my earrings. And why should you be? I shall wear yours, in that case. Did you want to talk to me about something? Ah Laurence, there you are. My darling boy, you look so handsome. I’m looking forward to having you at our luncheon party today. I want you to sit next to me and impress everyone. Doesn’t he look handsome, Robert, in that suit?’

‘Thank you, mamma,’ Laurence turned his dazzling smile on her, looked briefly and coldly at Robert and then picked up a book that was lying on the table.

‘He does, yes,’ said Robert with difficulty. And Laurence did: he was a handsone child, with his father’s fine features and his mother’s colouring; he was tall for his age, yet without any of the unpleasant physical characteristics of adolescence, his skin was clear, his voice unbroken, and he moved with grace and confidence. Robert frequently found himself wishing passionately for the first outbreak of pustules on that high, aristocratic forehead.

‘Now Robert, what was it, my dearest? I’m sorry I interrupted you.’

‘Oh – it’s nothing,’ said Robert. He had no desire to launch into a discussion about his prospects and a request for financial backing in Laurence’s presence.

‘No, I insist. It’s not fair, you’ve been trying to talk to me all morning. Laurence won’t mind, will you darling, if we talk grown-up for a bit?’

‘Of course not,’ said Laurence. He looked at Robert, his eyes amused. He knows, Robert thought, he knows I don’t want to discuss whatever it is while he’s here.

‘You see. Go on, Robert, do. I’m quite intrigued.’

‘No really,’ said Robert firmly. ‘It’s only about a client of mine I thought you might meet.’

‘Yes? Which one?’

‘Oh – name of John Brewer. Very clever, runs a real estate company. Look, it isn’t important. I have to get ready for luncheon myself.’

‘Yes, but dearest, why especially did you want me to meet him? I do want to know.’

‘Jeanette—’

‘Mama,’ said Laurence, his voice more drawling than usual, clearly amused, ‘I don’t think Robert wants to have this discussion in front of me. That’s perfectly all right. I understand. I have plenty of other things to do.’

‘Well that’s absurd,’ said Jeanette. ‘Why should Robert not want to have a discussion in front of you? I can understand you not wanting to listen to it, of course, client talk is very boring. But—’

‘No, Mama, I can see it would be better if I weren’t here. I’ll see you at luncheon.’ He stood up, walked out of the room, with the same malicious expression in his pale eyes as he looked at Robert.

Jeanette smiled after him. ‘He’s so sensitive isn’t he? Which is precisely why he’s a little difficult at times. I mean, I had no idea you would prefer to have this conversation in private.’ She smiled encouragingly at Robert. ‘What is it about? You have my absolute attention, and I am highly intrigued now.’

Robert took a deep breath. If he didn’t tell her now, it would become a big issue between them. Jeanette couldn’t bear to be kept from information – of any kind.

‘I – have developed an ambition to – to have my own firm,’ he said. Jeanette smiled at him encouragingly, her expression eager, interested, inviting. But her pale eyes were glassy-hard.

‘Yes?’ she said. ‘That sounds very interesting to me. I’ve always liked your ambition, Robert. I am attracted by ambition. As you must realise. Jonathan was hardly a low-achiever.’

‘No indeed. Well, I’m pleased to have your support at least. You see, I – I feel I have reached a plateau at Lawsons. I can’t get much further there. It is very much a family-based firm. And I have been developing other interests.’

‘Other interests?’ Her expression was amused.

‘Yes. Other business areas.’

‘Which area precisely?’

‘Real estate. The client I mentioned, John Brewer, has done extraordinarily well, from quite a modest base. He has built what amounts to several streets now, in the financial district.’

‘That sounds most interesting,’ she said, ‘I look forward to meeting Mr Brewer.’

‘I look forward to it, too. He’s very amusing. The thing is, Jeanette, it is in real estate now that I feel my future lies. That I have a real instinct, a proper feeling for. There’s something about bricks and mortar that I like, it’s real, substantial, not some notional substance existing largely on paper.’

‘Hardly,’ she said coolly, ‘we may not be quite on the gold standard like Great Britain – a huge mistake on their part, in my opinion, to cling to that – but the notional substance, as you call it, certainly exists. It can be called from any bank at any time.’

‘Yes, of course. But I just feel a great sympathy for the property business. I feel I could get properly to grips with it. Make it a field of my own.’

‘As you have failed to do in banking. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘No,’ he said sharply, ‘no I’m not saying that. I don’t think I have failed in banking.’

She smiled suddenly. ‘Neither do I, Robert. I know you are extremely highly thought of at Lawsons. Extremely.’

It was an arrogant, patronising remark. He didn’t like it.

‘Jeanette,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you quite understand—’

She interrupted him. Smiled her sudden, brilliant smile, disconcerting him as she often did with a switch in emotional temperature.

‘It’s all right, I think I do. You are a young man.’

‘Not exactly young,’ he said, ‘that’s why—’

‘Thirty-nine is young. In my view. Anyway, we won’t argue about that. You want to make your own way. That is exactly as it should be. And I have some – sympathy – for your wishing to change fields. And I would have thought that real estate certainly has a great deal of potential. Yes, in principle, it sounds a splendid idea. Most commendable.’

Robert wasn’t quite sure if he liked commendable, it smacked of a school report; but he was encouraged by her enthusiasm.

He looked at her; she smiled again.

‘Is there any more?’

‘Yes. Yes there is. I have naturally done some work on this. Budgets, forecasts, where one might look for the most growth, both geographically and financially.’

‘Yes?’

‘And of course we are in a period of rapid financial growth at the moment. A good time to proceed with such a venture.’

‘Ye-es. Very possibly. I could ask one of the partners, if you like. Now, what would the next step be?’

‘Well,’ said Robert, taking a deep breath, both metaphorically and literally, ‘well, John Brewer has suggested that we go into partnership.’

‘I would be much in favour of that. He has an established business, he is familiar with all the areas you are not. And I imagine what you would bring to the arrangement would be, among other things, some financial input. Contacts, know-how, all that sort of thing.’

‘Yes, indeed. But—’

‘Yes?’

‘John wants to expand. Naturally. That would be the basis for my joining him.’

‘Naturally.’

‘And so – we would be – that is, initially we would be looking for backing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Indeed I could not proceed without it.’

‘Of course.’

‘I have put out several feelers. Nothing more than that. But I – well, I wondered if you – that is, if Elliotts might be able to—’

‘To what, Robert?’

He felt himself beginning to sweat. This was precisely what he had been afraid of; that the obtuseness which she could summon at will, which she had made an art form, would confront him at this stage. That he would have to make a long, painful journey of the conversation, say every single, difficult word: rather than be allowed to take a blessed short cut.

‘To, well to put up some of the money. Not all of it of course. But a – a proportion of it. On a strictly business basis, of course. I wouldn’t be looking for any kind of – of favourable treatment.’

There was a long silence; then she walked over to the window, stood looking out. He watched her: her slightly broad back, her long neck, her elaborate hair. She seemed to stand there for a long time. Then she turned round and faced him.

‘Robert,’ she said.

‘Yes?’

‘Robert, I am finding this very difficult.’

‘If you find it difficult, then please, don’t even think about it any further. Without talking to the board. I understand.’

‘I don’t think you do. It’s not the concept that I find difficult, not the idea of your having a real estate company, it’s that you should have asked me for the money.’

‘Not you, Jeanette, Elliotts.’