Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) (102 page)

‘Oh nonsense. Good Lord, Beckenham did some dreadful things to me. As I did to him, I daresay. Have you not heard about it all?’

‘A – a bit,’ he said, a grudging smile on his face.

‘Of course. Family legend now, quite amusing, the housemaids. But at the time, when I was a young woman, a bride, in love with my husband, it was appalling. He first got into bed with someone else a month after our honeymoon. I was pregnant with James, and he was having an affair with some woman, not a housemaid, I could have coped better with that, some woman in London. But – I did forgive him. The misery eased and I came to appreciate the other things, what he was, what he did for me. And then there were all the housemaids, think of that, under my roof, knowing the staff were watching, highly amused by it all. A couple of illegitimate babies as well, to be dispatched, with their mothers, to cottages I had to find for them, with discreet financial allowances which I had to organise. Not easy, Kit, actually. But – I would say we had a pretty happy marriage. A pretty good one. Marriages don’t stay in neat, tidy shapes you know; they sprawl about, very messily sometimes. The important thing is not to let them get out of control. Which I think is what your mother did.’

‘Oh.’ He didn’t feel exactly better; but there was just a slight easing of his misery. ‘And then – my father. Or rather, Oliver, what could it have been like for him?’

‘Oh, Kit,’ she said, ‘Kit you really don’t want to worry too much about Oliver. He is an extremely tough nut, far more able to take care of himself than all that vague, frail helplessness implies. He had his own way of dealing with the situation, I do assure you. I’m not saying he wasn’t exactly happy with it, but – well, he hasn’t been weeping into his pillow for the last few years. Why don’t you talk to him about it? Mind you, you won’t get much out of him. I have never known a man more able to avoid confrontation.’

‘I – see,’ said Kit. ‘Well, I might – talk to him. One day. Yes.’

‘Two things I’d like to say, and then we’ll go back and have a stiff drink. I do admire you for keeping it from Izzie. Very brave indeed. I understand it was entirely your own wish. One day you may feel you can tell her, but she’s much too young now. And the other thing is I never heard such rubbish about you not having a home. Of course you have. It could be argued you have two. Three, if you’d like to count this one in.’

‘Thank you,’ said Kit. And realised that he thought he rather would.

CHAPTER 51

‘They’ve agreed in principle,’ said Oliver.

‘Good. I thought they would. After all, if it hadn’t been for you, there would be no New York office. You have a half share in it.’

‘I know that, my dear. So you have often said. Just the same, it was far from being a foregone conclusion. They’re sending someone over to draw up the agreement. Go through our figures, all that sort of thing.’

‘Oh, really? Who?’

‘Stuart didn’t say. Just that someone would be coming. And bringing a lawyer, of course.’

‘It sounds a little – high-handed.’

‘Well – I could hardly object. And they could have called one of us over there. They didn’t.’

‘Well – it would have had to be you. And they could hardly expect that.’

‘And Barty is coming with him.’

‘Barty!’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought she was in a responsible enough position to attend such a meeting.’

‘Well, I imagine she will make things easier all round. She knows us so well, knows the company and its history, and of course its plans, and now she’s working there, she’s familiar with the personnel—’

‘Only the editorial personnel, surely.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, for whatever reason, she’s coming. It will be nice to see her. I miss her.’

‘Oliver, she’s only been gone a little over a month.’

‘I know. I’m allowed to say I miss her, aren’t I?’

‘Yes of course.’

‘I miss Kit too, I have to say. Very much.’

‘So do I. Oliver—’

‘I think I might have a rest now. And then I shall telephone our solicitors and alert them to the date and so on, what we might need. I wish we still had Peter Briscoe. I liked him much better than this new young chap. I suppose it’s a symptom of our age, that we like the old chaps more than the young.’

‘That may be so for you, Oliver, but I like the new young chap as you call him. Very quick, very smart. I always found Peter Briscoe a little – dilatory. When exactly is this happening?’

‘Next week. Next Wednesday. The nineteenth. Just inside our period, which is a relief. It will all be settled before quarter day. They’re flying over.’

‘Flying! Good God.’

‘Well, it’s much quicker. Takes about twelve hours. Rather than five days.’

‘Oliver—’

‘Yes, Celia?’

‘You really shouldn’t feel too badly about this. Lyttons may be going through a bad patch, but it is still one of the great publishing houses. And we did that. We made it that. We mustn’t forget it, and we certainly mustn’t let some upstart from New York forget it. They aren’t bailing out some hapless incompetent company, they’re getting a chance to be more closely involved with a brilliant publishing house, one with a fine past and a brilliant future. Just remember that, won’t you?’

He smiled at her. ‘You always were very good at stiffening my sinews, Celia. Anyway, you’ll be there, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Celia felt unaccountably nervous as the day of the meeting arrived. She had cabled to suggest that Barty and the other two might stay at Cheyne Walk, but Barty had cabled back politely to say that they would be exhausted, and she would prefer to stay in a hotel so that they could go straight to bed and sleep off the journey.

‘Maybe dinner Wednesday evening,’ the cable had ended, ‘love Barty.’

She didn’t know why she was so nervous; she was more than a match for any publishing executive, and certainly for any lawyer. Their own solicitor, who she had professed to like but actually considered quite dreadful, a pushy young man called Michael Talbot, was coming to Lyttons at two; the Americans and Barty were due to arrive at two-thirty.

She dressed with great care; in a dress she had ordered from Hartnell, a soft jersey sheath, swathed across the body, with one of the new clusters of tiny felt flowers pinned to the shoulder. Her hair was swept back off her face and piled up in a chignon; she spent twice the usual time on her make-up. When Celia’s back was to the wall, she liked it to be elegantly clad.

Venetia alone knew that the Americans were coming and why; Celia had asked her to keep it to herself.

‘Giles will start clucking about like an old mother hen, wanting to muscle in on things, and Jay will want to know exactly what, when and why. But come to dinner in the evening, will you, they’re joining us, and Boy too.’

‘Yes, of course. It’ll be fun. Surely someone will see Barty, though?’

‘They’ll assume it’s a social visit. Anyway, by the time she’s been seen it will be more or less over.’

‘I suppose so. Well, good luck.’

‘I don’t think we exactly need that,’ said Celia coolly.

Michael Talbot was sitting in Oliver’s office when the visitors’ arrival was announced; ‘We’ll go to the boardroom,’ Oliver said to the receptionist, ‘please escort them there.’

‘Miss Miller says she’d like to see you alone first. In your office, if that’s all right.’

‘Oh. Yes, of course. Please send her up. Mr Talbot, would you be kind enough to go along to the boardroom. We won’t be long.’

‘Of course, Mr Lytton. Now do please remember, we don’t want to give too much away. You can always negotiate forwards, but never backwards.’

‘I don’t think there is any danger of our giving too much away. Now – Barty, my dear. How lovely to see you.’

She came in smiling, kissed them both. She was looking extremely chic: she must have spent most of her salary on that suit, a bright print tweed, Celia thought. If she hadn’t known it was impossible, she would have said it was by Adele Simpson. It was certainly a very good copy.

‘It’s lovely to see you too.’

‘How was your journey?’

‘Oh amazing. It only took about twelve hours. We stopped in Reykjavik, to refuel you know. Of course it’s not fun, like the ships, but for just getting here it’s so much better. And we had wonderful food, and some very nice wine, I slept like a baby last night, quite caught up with myself.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘At Claridges.’

‘Very nice.’ They must think a lot of her, to be spending all this money on her. ‘We’re so looking forward to dinner tonight. Adele is coming, and Boy, I hope that’s all right.’

‘Of course.’

‘We can catch up on gossip then. Is Jenna well?’

‘She’s absolutely fine. Loves it.’

‘It must be very hot over there now.’

‘Oh, no, it’s all right. Where we are, anyway—’

‘So your colleagues are in the boardroom, are they?’

‘My colleague, yes.’

‘Oh.’ Celia frowned. ‘I thought you were bringing two people. A solicitor and someone from Lyttons.’

‘It’s just me from Lyttons. And our lawyer, Marcus P. Wainwright.’ She giggled. ‘Isn’t that a marvellous name? All Americans, American professionals anyway, have these terribly important initials. Which I sometimes think don’t stand for anything at all.’

Celia ignored this piece of flippancy. ‘Barty, I do hope this isn’t all going to be a waste of time, we were expecting someone empowered to negotiate.’

‘It won’t be a waste of time. I can do any necessary negotiating.’

‘Are you sure?’ Oliver frowned. ‘It’s quite – high powered, you know. Stuart led us to believe—’

‘Wol, don’t worry. I have full authority. Very full. Now, just tell me quickly, before we go in there, exactly what you need.’

‘A – sizeable sum.’

‘Ye-es. How sizeable?’

‘Oh – Barty, is this really necessary? Now, without—’

‘Yes, it is. I need to know. I really do.’

‘Barty, I’m sorry, but—’ Celia was becoming impatient.

Oliver interrupted her. ‘Celia, I think we can trust Barty.’

‘I’m sure we can trust her. But—’

‘We need, I estimate, a quarter of a million pounds. To see us through this patch.’

‘A quarter of a million? That doesn’t sound enough to me. From what I’ve seen of the figures, I’d have thought twice that. If you’re going to turn yourselves round, give yourselves room to manoeuvre, it takes time, you need—’

‘Barty, I think we should go into the boardroom now,’ said Celia. Her voice was very cold. ‘This is not a discussion we ought to be having in here, on this informal basis.’

‘Well – all right. In a minute. They can wait. I’m sure they’re talking lawyer-talk.’

‘I daresay they are. I was not concerned about them. More about us.’

‘Look.’ Barty stood up suddenly, walked over to the window, then turned to face them both. She smiled at them; silhouetted against the window, she looked faintly threatening. ‘I have my own ideas on this. And they’re very clear.’

‘Barty—’

‘Celia, please listen to me. I have a proposition for you. I want you to sell me the remaining half share in Lyttons New York. For a price that we can negotiate, but I would say in the area of two million dollars. That will give you plenty of working capital. Oh, and Marcus P. thinks we should have some shares in Lyttons London as well. But we can discuss that. In there.’

‘Barty—’ Oliver pushed his hand through his hair; he looked bewildered. ‘Barty, forgive me, but I don’t quite see – you say we should sell you the remaining half share in Lyttons New York?’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s what I said.’

‘But – the forty-nine per cent or whatever surely doesn’t belong to – Lyttons.’

‘I didn’t say it did.’

‘I understood it had been left to – to Laurence Elliott’s – that is to – to the wife.’

There was a very long silence. Then, ‘Oliver,’ said Barty, ‘Oliver, there’s something I haven’t told you. Probably should have done. Sorry. I am – or rather I was, the wife.’

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EPILOGUE

Autumn 1946

The Directors of Lyttons London request the pleasure of your company on Wednesday, 11 September 1946 at Lytton House, Grosvenor Square, to celebrate the launch of
Opium For the Few
by Mr Geordie MacColl.

Champagne.

6 – 8 p.m.

It was the first party in the new office; it was considered very appropriate. Not that anyone had spelt it out of course: that it was American money which had rejuvenated Lyttons and an American author who was to be fêted.

‘Thank goodness,’ said Venetia, ‘we’re not in that horrible Clarice Street. Imagine having a party there. If only I wasn’t so huge. Do you know, I couldn’t even get into my little car today.’

‘Well, it’s time you got rid of it.’

‘I couldn’t possibly. I love it far too much. We got that car for our birthday when – when—’

‘Yes, I remember when,’ said Boy, ‘and you were nearly as beautiful as you are now.’

‘You do talk rubbish, Boy. Oh dear, and I hear Geordie MacColl is terribly sexy. He won’t have any time for me at all. Great sailing ship of a woman bearing down on him.’

‘I think, Venetia, a woman who is eight months pregnant should hardly be worrying about whether a sexy man is going to have any time for her.’

‘You will come, Boy, won’t you?’

‘Of course. Try and keep me away. And I think it’s frightfully nice of them to ask the boys.’

‘Isn’t it? They’re both terribly excited. You must read the riot act to them about drinking. Roo was sick all night after Izzie’s – well after Izzie’s evening.’

‘I will. And I hear Izzie is coming.’

‘Yes, with Sebastian. She telephoned me last night, so full of her trip, of Barty’s house by the sea, Barty’s wonderful office, Barty’s other house—’

‘Barty’s other house?’

‘Yes. There’s this mansion on Long Island, which is amazing by all accounts, and then some palace on Park Avenue. Only she’s selling that. Getting some little place in the city.’

‘I do love it all,’ said Boy, ‘this Cinderella story. There she is, little Barty, rescued by your mother from the slums, the queen of Lyttons New York.’

‘Well – yes,’ said Venetia, who found the story slightly harder to love. Especially the fact that Barty could now be said to own a slice of Lyttons London.

‘Don’t be a puss in the manger. She’s suffered for it, she’s done her time. I think it’s wonderful. When is she arriving? On Monday, I think, bringing the little princess?’

‘I don’t know, Boy. Sorry. I do hope this baby is a princess, incidentally. I don’t think I could stand another boy.’

‘I hope so too. I want an exact replica of her mother. Exact.’

‘Jay, how do I look? Good enough for you?’

‘Just about. Wow. You look terrific, Tory. Absolutely terrific. You look marvellous in any colour—’

‘As long as it’s black.’

‘What?’

‘Sorry. Being silly. Misquoting Henry Ford. Anyway, black’s all right, is it?’

‘It’s perfect. I like that sort of tail thing, falling off the skirt.’

‘Train, Jay, train. Oh, I’m really excited. I hear this man is terribly charming and attractive.’

‘So am I.’

‘I know, but I’m married to you. A girl likes a change. Just occasionally.’

‘Tory! That’s not very nice.’

‘Sorry, darling. I just spoke to Venetia, she’s so fed up. She says she feels like a beached whale. And told me never to get pregnant. I said too late.’

‘Did you, darling? Jolly – Tory, what did you say? What?’

‘I said I told her it was too late. That I was.’

‘You’re what? Really? Oh Tory. Tory, my darling. Oh, heavens, how do you feel? Oh God. Look, do you think you ought to come, you mustn’t drink anything, when, I mean how long, I mean – oh God.’

‘Jay,’ said Tory coolly, ‘it’s the woman who’s supposed to turn into a mindless cretin when she’s pregnant, not the man. Do calm down. In April. Or thereabouts. I feel fine. I plan to drink – in moderation. And I also plan to flirt monstrously with Geordie MacColl. It may be my last opportunity for a long time.’

‘Maud! Oh, Maud, it’s so, so lovely to see you. You look absolutely marvellous.’

‘Adele! You look marvellous too. So chic. Is Lady Beckenham here? I’d so love to see her again.’

‘No, she stayed at home with Kit. He – well, he doesn’t like parties terribly.’

‘I don’t suppose he does.’

‘Is that handsome man over there, with the grey hair, your husband?’

‘Yes. That’s Nathaniel. I’m glad you think he’s handsome. So do I.’ She smiled, the sweet, careful smile that Adele remembered from her childhood. She looked lovely: very elegant as always, in black draped jersey, her red hair drawn back in a chignon.

‘I’m so glad you and Barty made it up,’ said Adele impulsively. ‘It was so sad when you – well when—’

‘I know. And I think I was terribly at fault myself. It’s so wrong to be judgmental. These things are so very far from being one-sided. Anyway, now we’re good friends again. Communicating really very well.’

She was so American, Adele thought, so serious and analytical.

‘Good. Well, we’re all delighted.’

‘And I thought, what an opportunity for Nathaniel to meet all my English relations. When Barty asked us. So here we are.’

‘Wonderful. You must excuse me, I’m supposed to be taking photographs. I’ll see you later.’

‘Yes, at your mother’s dinner.’

‘Giles, hallo. It’s nice to see you.’

‘It’s nice to see you, Barty.’

He clearly didn’t quite mean it; his jealousy of her was painful. His jealousy and anger.

‘How could she have done that?’ he had said to Helena, ‘not told us, not told us she was married to the man, that she had those shares, it was so devious—’

Helena looked at him; for once she was on Barty’s side.

‘Personally, Giles,’ she said, ‘if I’d had the chance to – hoodwink you all like that I would have done so. It must have been great fun.’

Giles hadn’t spoken to her after that for several days.

He looked tired, Barty thought; tired and depressed. Poor Giles. His life was not very fulfilling.

‘Have you met Geordie yet?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Well, come and meet him. He’s so nice.’

He followed her over; he had very little choice.

‘Geordie, this is Giles Lytton. Oliver’s eldest son. He and I grew up together. I told you.’

‘Yes, you did. Lucky chap. I wouldn’t have minded growing up with Barty. Was she terribly clever even then?’

‘Yes,’ said Giles shortly.

‘Do please excuse me,’ said Barty, ‘I have to talk to the gentleman from the London Library.’

Geordie MacColl looked after her and smiled. ‘She told me how it was you and her against the world quite often, and that you played the most wonderful games together. And she used to long for you to come home from school for the holidays. Count the days.’

‘Did she?’ said Giles. He was surprised; he felt better suddenly. That Barty had such happy memories of him, that she should have shared them with this person. She needn’t have done that after all.

‘Yes. She also told me about your war record. The Military Cross! My God.’

‘Well – you know.’ Giles shrugged modestly. ‘Not a lot of use in civvy street. Peace time, that is.’

‘It’s a hard adjustment. I know. Of course it’s a problem
Opium
addresses. Are you writing about it?’

‘Writing? No, I’m not a writer, I’m a publisher.’

‘You can be both. My father’s brother was.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes, he had a passion for travel. In his vacations he travelled and then the rest of the year, after hours, he wrote travel books.’

‘Oh,’ said Giles. ‘Oh, that’s interesting.’

He often said that; but this time he meant it. He had thought about the war so much, the extraordinary achievements of the most ordinary men and women, the power that patriotism, duty and training had to bring out such courage and endeavour. He had thought of writing about it, of writing a history of the Second World War from the ordinary soldier’s point of view, interspersed with interviews; Celia had pooh-poohed it absolutely. Maybe he should just write it and present it to her; it would be something he would enormously enjoy doing, in any case.

‘I – might think about that,’ he said to Geordie MacColl.

‘Do. Oh, now I have to go and talk to that lady, I believe, she’s from the
Observer
newspaper. Excuse me. I understand we’ll meet at dinner tonight. At your mother’s wonderful house?’

He moved off. Giles looked after him.

‘Nice chap,’ he said to Barty.

‘Isn’t he?’

‘He suggested I wrote a book. About the war. I had – thought about it, as a matter of fact. From the ordinary soldier’s point of view. With interviews and so on.’

‘Giles, that is such a good idea. I could give you some marvellous ATS people to talk to. Why don’t you do it?’

‘I might,’ he said, and smiled at her. He suddenly felt a lot better.

‘Could I take a photograph of you together? No, no need to move, just carry on talking. Thank you. That’s wonderful.’

‘Hey,’ said Geordie MacColl, as the
Sunday Times
critic moved off, ‘you’re not the beautiful twin photographer, are you?’

Adele laughed. ‘Well, let’s see. I’m a twin. And a photographer. Don’t know about the beautiful . . .’

‘Oh, I do. Now then. Barty told me all about you. She said you were terribly talented. And famous even, pictures in
Vogue
and – did she say something about
Life
?’

‘I did sell them something, yes. A series, actually. I mean they used them as a series. A day in the life of an English village. They seemed to like them.’

‘My God,’ said Geordie MacColl, gazing at her, ‘that
is
something. That is
really
something. You must feel you can die happy now. Or something like that.’

Adele looked at him consideringly. Not many people reacted so appropriately to what had been the most important event in her life for many months.

‘I do. That’s exactly how I felt at the time, anyway.’

‘Well, I’m very honoured to be in your camera. You know
Life
is the Bible in the States. What am I saying, much more important than the Bible. Well to some of us, anyway.’

‘Oh I do know,’ she said and laughed.

‘Are you doing any more for them?’

‘I hope so. Could I just take you over there, look, take a shot for the
Tatler
?’

‘I didn’t know they did literary pages.’

‘They don’t, I’m afraid. It’s for their social pages. Would you mind?’

‘Not for you. Like I say, it’s an honour to share your lens.’

‘A big success, Oliver.’

‘Yes, it does seem to be. How nice to have Lyttons hosting a party like this again. I thought such delights were over. I suppose strictly speaking I shouldn’t be here.’

‘Of course you should. None of these people would be here if it hadn’t been for you. Not even I.’

‘Now that is ridiculous, Celia.’

‘No, it’s not. I mean it.’

‘Well, I think you’d have made your name anyway. Incidentally, I didn’t get a chance to tell you, I got a letter from Jack today. He’s fearfully amused by the whole thing.’

‘Really?’ said Celia.

‘Yes. He says he and Lily are coming home at last. Sick of Hollywood, it seems.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Celia.

‘So would I. Nice young chap, MacColl, isn’t he?’

‘Very nice. Charming. Quite an old family it seems.’

‘Indeed. Don’t sound so surprised, Celia. You know perfectly well they exist in the States. Look at Felicity, she—’

‘I never quite believed in the age of Felicity’s family,’ said Celia coolly,

‘Really?’

‘No. You know, he seems rather taken with Adele.’

‘Who?’

‘Geordie MacColl. Every time I look at her, she’s talking to him. That would be nice—’

‘Celia, you sound like Mrs Bennett.’

‘I hope not,’ said Celia briskly, ‘she was an excessively silly woman. Now look, I have to make my speech. I’ll see you later. Don’t drink too much, it’s not good for you.’

‘And that is your redoubtable mother, is it?’ whispered Geordie to Adele. ‘She’s very beautiful.’

‘She is, isn’t she?’

‘You look very like her.’

‘Thank you. You’d better be quiet, she gets furious if people talk over her speeches.’

‘Sorry. I have to reply to it anyway, so I’d better listen. See you later.’

‘Barty, this is such a nice party.’

It was Izzie, in her pink crêpe dress, her golden-brown hair drawn back, Alice-style, from her face.

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’

‘I am. Mr MacColl is so lovely. I really like him.’

‘Good. Well he told me he thought you were a very interesting young lady.’

‘Really?’ She blushed. ‘Gosh.’

‘Hallo, Izzie.’

‘Hallo, Henry.’

‘Enjoying the party?’

‘Yes, terribly.’

‘Roo and I are going to a jazz concert on Saturday. Would you like to come?’