Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) (14 page)

‘Aunt Celia was sort of expelled from the Fabians,’ said Barty, ‘for what she did to me.’

‘I bet she was,’ said Abbie.

Abbie was a teacher; the best school she had been able to get was a rather prim little girls’ school in Kensington, but her dream was to become the headmistress of a large intellectual girls’ school like the City of London, where she had been educated, and to instil in her pupils her dreams and beliefs about equal rights for women, which included not just the vote, but equal work opportunities with men and even more incredible, equal salaries.

‘One day, the decision of a woman not to marry but to pursue a career of her choice, in medicine, let’s say, or at the bar, won’t earn her derision, or worse still, pity, but admiration and a life of freedom and fulfilment. And if she does marry and have children, she will continue with her career, and continue to compete with her husband in the outside world. Doesn’t that sound wonderful to you?’

Barty said slightly apologetically that it did, but that she had grown up with just exactly such a role model; ‘And don’t look like that, Abbie, I do happen to know she battled every inch of the way. It really wasn’t easy for her.’

Defending Celia was a novel situation for Barty; so novel indeed that when she went into Lyttons the next morning she found herself looking at Celia with new and almost indulgent eyes. Only hearing her contemptuous dismissal of an idea of Giles’s for Lyttons to endow a couple of scholarships restored her more usual view of her. So upset was she for him, that she reversed her refusal to attend a family dinner at Cheyne Walk that night for Venetia and Boy, to mark the arrival of Henry. She knew her presence would be hugely comforting to Giles; he told her so repeatedly that he missed her, and that he found Lytton life unbearable without her that she had ceased to find it flattering and found it irritating instead. Nevertheless, she was extremely fond of him; and told herself that attending the dinner would really do her no harm. Sebastian and Pandora were coming, and she adored them both; especially Pandora. She so admired her independence, her refusal to become a chattel; her insistence on keeping her house in Oxford, so that she could carry on with her job at the Bodleian, and that they share their time between Oxford and London seemed to Barty the most splendid thing.

Celia had not failed to notice Venetia’s low spirits after Henry’s birth; at first she thought it was an entirely natural post-natal depression, but her intuition was as sharp as her eyes and Venetia’s over-eagerness to explain away Boy’s almost constant absence from the house provided a more satisfactory explanation.

She grieved for her daughter; the fact that her instincts over the marriage had been proved right was absolutely no consolation. She longed to intervene, to speak to Boy, to discuss it openly with Venetia; Oliver, in a spirit of rare authority, forbade it.

‘It is nothing to do with you, what goes on within that marriage; it is Venetia’s, and she must cope with it however she sees fit.’

Celia said that Venetia was absolutely unable to cope with it and that she was not only inexperienced, but surprisingly timid; Oliver looked at her and smiled.

‘You were inexperienced once, my dear, although most assuredly not timid; you handled your marriage in your own way. She must learn to do the same.’

‘Our marriage, Oliver,’ said Celia, ‘not mine. And we handled it together.’

‘If you say so, Celia,’ said Oliver. ‘I seem to remember some fairly uncompromising decisions. Anyway, our marriage is not under discussion. To interfere with Venetia’s would be not only unwise, but destructive. Give her time; she is only nineteen. And quite clever really; I think when she matures she will be more than a match for Boy. He is extremely selfish, self-obsessed almost; that tends to lead to a certain blindness as to what is actually going on.’

Celia stared at him; he smiled back at her the sweet, rather blank smile with which he closed subjects, ended discussions which he no longer wished to pursue. She knew what he meant, what he was referring to; and it was safer left where it was, in their past, which however stormy and difficult, had at least led them safely to where they stood now – a couple, much admired and revered, long married, clearly happy. Such images worked their own magic, had the power to rewrite history; they were fractured at great peril.

‘You’re so very clever, Oliver,’ she said now and went over to kiss him.

Boy was at his most charming that evening, smiling, chatting easily, flattering everyone, enquiring after Lyttons, after Barty’s job there, after Sebastian’s latest book, discussing new books and authors with Celia – ‘I thought Rosamund Lehmann’s was one of the most interesting of the season, and as for Barbara Cartland, such fun and so pretty’ – and Pandora’s painting (her new passion), Kit’s progress at school, and, most tactfully of all, Giles’s golf, also a new passion, rather than his job at Lyttons. ‘I’ll give you a game, old boy. Next Saturday, if you’re free. And if my wife can spare me, of course.’

‘And if I said I couldn’t?’ said Venetia. Her tone was light, but her eyes were hard; Boy blew her a kiss across the table.

‘Then of course I wouldn’t play.’

‘You should go too, Venetia,’ said Pandora, ‘it’s a lovely game, I used to play a little.’

‘Now that is a marvellous idea,’ said Boy, ‘I’d like that so much, darling. Sadly though, no ladies on the course on Saturday.’

‘Why not?’ said Barty innocently.

‘Barty, darling, the ladies can play any time. Saturday is for the boys. They wait all week for the chance.’

‘Only the ones who work, surely?’ said Barty, sweeter still. My God, thought Celia, she’s developing claws. Well done.

Boy smiled at Barty, lounged further back in his chair. ‘Well – yes, of course,’ he said lightly. ‘But it means us slothful individuals have more people to play with.’

‘Boy’s not slothful,’ said Venetia quickly, ‘he’s very busy, managing his affairs and the gallery, various charitable committees, boards he’s on—’

‘My darling, you’re so sweet,’ said Boy, blowing her another kiss. ‘I fear Barty has a point. I don’t work very hard at the moment. Disgraceful, is it not, for a young man of today?’

‘I have a friend who thinks that everybody should work, whatever their sex,’ said Barty, ‘and that in another generation they will. She thinks work is what gives life its purpose and gives us our individual dignity. Especially women, as a matter of fact.’

‘Indeed!’ said Boy. ‘Well, it’s an interesting view. Most interesting. I should like to meet your friend. Discuss her ideas. Anyway, I do have plans for myself—’

‘Really?’ said Celia. ‘Do tell us. We had no idea.’

‘Well, my father can’t go on for ever. It was always understood I would move into the business when he was ready for me. I’ve been spending an increasing amount of time there recently, haven’t I, Venetia?’

‘Yes,’ said Venetia, flushing, ‘yes of course.’

That was mean, Celia thought, that was unforgivable. To have presented her with that as an excuse for his absences in retrospect, announced it without warning; she looked at him now, steely-eyed herself.

‘I’m very surprised not to have heard more about that,’ she said. ‘I saw your father only the other day, at a dinner. He didn’t mention it.’

‘Naturally not,’ said Boy. ‘He is a little – mortified by it. By not being able to carry the entire firm on his own slightly less young shoulders. Something which you and Oliver must surely have thought about yourself, Lady Celia? So wise to involve Giles in good time.’

Game, set and match to Boy, thought Barty: beastly man. She had no great love for Venetia; she had suffered too much at her pretty little hands. But she deserved better than this. She could bear it no longer, she felt Venetia’s humiliation and it hurt; she stood up, smiled apologetically round the table. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I think I ought to go. I’ve got to get up early in the morning, lots of work to do, would you excuse me?’

‘Of course,’ said Oliver. ‘We mustn’t keep you. Do you have your car?’

‘No, I came from Lyttons with Giles—’

‘I’ll drive you home,’ said Giles. ‘I’d like to.’

He had been quiet, almost morose, during the evening; refusing to be drawn even by Boy’s attempts to charm him. Their friendship, already uncomfortable, had virtually foundered on Giles’s discovery of Venetia’s pregnancy. Quite apart from a sense of outrage that Boy could have behaved so badly, he felt a greater one that his parents were so apparently willing to accept the situation; not even Adele could tease him out of his distress.

‘Absolutely no need,’ said Celia now, smooth as ice, ‘we don’t want the whole party disintegrating. Daniels will take Barty, he’s not busy. Goodnight, my dear.’

Celia lifted her cheek to be kissed. If I was Giles, Barty thought, kissing her dutifully, then Wol, hurrying off with an awkward wave before further such exchanges were necessary, if I was Giles, she’d be asking me what extra work, why, did I need help with it; in spite of her place in the sun at Lyttons, she felt sad for him.

It was a novel sensation to be in a happier situation than the family, but she seemed to be; oddly, she really didn’t enjoy it. She supposed she must actually love them all more than she had thought. And wondered if she should take up Boy’s suggestion that he meet Abbie: that would really be fun. She would make very short work of him.

CHAPTER 6

Sebastian was very, very angry. Pandora looked at him, dark, brooding, hostile, hunched over the morning papers, speaking only in monosyllables, refusing egg, bacon, toast, coffee even, and felt a pang of first remorse and then irritation in return.

It was an outrageous way for him to react. To what she had told him. Childish, absurd, spoilt behaviour. But then he
was
childish, absurd and spoilt. Those things were all part of what she loved about him: uncomfortable as they were.

‘Sebastian—’

‘Not now, Pandora. I’m reading.’

‘Well, I’m very sorry,’ she said, ‘to have interrupted you. But—’

‘Pandora—’

‘Oh really!’ She was silent. They had never had a row. Unless you counted the odd argument over a house, a garden, where they should spend Christmas. It just didn’t happen. She didn’t know how to cope with it.

He looked up her and scowled. ‘I think I’ll go out. For a walk.’

‘Fine, I’m going to work.’

‘Don’t forget I’m lecturing tonight. In London.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ She looked at him, absorbing his hostile eyes, the hard line of his mouth. ‘I think I won’t come,’ she said.

He stared at her. Then he said, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ And got up and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Pandora, half amused, half upset, went to work; he would appear, she was sure, at lunch time, his arms full of flowers, apologising, telling her he loved her, that he had been wrong. He didn’t. The afternoon ended; surely when she got home he would be there. Waiting for her, asking her to come to London with him. He wasn’t. There wasn’t even a note. Well, he would phone; he would arrive in London, stricken with guilt, would ring to say he was sorry, that he loved her.

She ate supper, listened to the wireless, read a book; no phone call came. She had a bath, then went to bed. She was beginning to worry now. At the silence. And of course at his reaction. So angry, so violently angry. As if she had done something terribly wrong.

Which of course, of course she hadn’t. It was ridiculous. She had simply told him. Thinking he would be pleased. As pleased as she was. That she was going to have – that they were going to have – a baby.

‘He is just heaven! Heaven,’ said Maud. ‘Truly the most beautiful little boy I ever saw. May I hold him?’

‘Of course you may,’ Venetia smiled at her. The quickest – indeed the only – way to her heart these days was through Henry. ‘I hope he isn’t sick or anything down you. He’s just had a feed and – oh God, Maud, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry!’ Maud smiled, mopped at her dress with the napkin Venetia passed her. ‘All babies do it. I’m told,’ she added carefully. ‘I have no personal experience of course.’

Venetia looked at her, as she sat there, nursing Henry. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she was terribly attractive with her red hair and green eyes, and her figure was wonderful, so tall and slim, yet with a full bosom. Her skin was exquisite, very pale, almost translucent, lightly freckled, and she had the most beautiful hands, very white and slender. She gave Henry one of her long fingers to hold; he gripped it tightly in his chubby fist and smiled at her.

‘There now. I have a friend for life. Oh, it’s so good to be here, Venetia. I should have come earlier.’

‘How was your trip?’

‘It was quite wonderful. I do love those liners. I’ve never quite got over how grand they are. I remember the first time Daddy brought me over when I was tiny and I thought I was in a palace floating on the sea. The terribly grand dining room, and the orchestra playing through dinner, and the steam room – goodness, I love the steam room – and – well, it was all just marvellous.’

‘Did your father enjoy it?’

‘Yes, but he always gets so seasick, poor Daddy. He said to tell you he’d be round, probably tomorrow, when he’s recovered. But I couldn’t wait.’

‘Well, we’re very happy to have you, aren’t we, Henry? Is Adele coming over later?’

‘Yes, she said to tell you she’d be here by teatime. And your darling little brother, he is just so special, he said he would be coming to tea as well. Adele is shopping or something.’

‘Shopping, I expect,’ said Venetia. ‘She’s a little bored, I’m afraid. And lonely. We miss each other.’

‘I can see she must miss you,’ said Maud, ‘but I wouldn’t have expected you to miss her.’

‘Of course I do,’ said Venetia slightly impatiently. It always astonished her that people didn’t understand about twins. ‘She’s much more important to me than anyone. Except Henry of course.’

‘Well, and your handsome husband, I imagine. Goodness, he is handsome, Venetia. Adele showed me some of the wedding photographs.’

‘Yes, he is,’ said Venetia. ‘Very handsome.’

She didn’t look at Maud; there was a momentary silence, then Maud said, ‘Not as handsome as Giles, though.’

‘Giles! You think Giles is handsome?’

‘Terribly, yes. He’s very like your mother, I suppose. Those wonderful dark eyes, and marvellous nose. And he’s so charming and – and English.’

‘You always did have a soft spot for him, didn’t you? I’d forgotten,’ said Venetia. ‘When you were nine or whatever, when you first came, you said you were going to marry him.’

‘I did? Well, that was very sensible of me. Sadly, of course, I can’t, as he’s my cousin. In America, anyway, that’s not allowed. This house is superb, Venetia, I love it. Who did it for you? The interior, that is.’

‘Gerald Wellesley.’

‘I thought so. I recognised his style. All that silver leaf, so terribly chic. How clever of you to choose him.’

‘Maud, how very well-informed you are,’ said Venetia, laughing. ‘I’m amazed you’ve heard of him.’

‘Well of course. You forget I aim to be an architect.’

‘Yes, I did forget. Oh, hallo, Adele, how lovely to see you. And Kit’s coming too, apparently. Isn’t it heaven to have Maud here?’

‘Heaven,’ said Adele, kissing her sister, ‘good afternoon, Henry, how are you today? Venetia, I’ve bought us the most divine blouses from Woollands. Silk and very long. You’ll love them. I know you’re a married woman, and should choose your own things now, but they were just too much to resist.’

‘Feeling better?’ said Oliver, looking up at his brother as he came into the drawing room.

‘Much, thank you. God, it’s a curse, this thing. It really does cast a blight on visits here. It wasn’t even specially rough.’

‘Soon you’ll be able to fly,’ said Celia, ‘Look at Mr Hinkler, flying to Australia. In fifteen days! It’s amazing, however long would that take by ship, Oliver?’

‘Six or seven weeks at least,’ said Oliver. ‘Yes, I’m sure there will be commercial flights to America before long, Robert. Tea? Or brandy?’

‘Tea please,’ said Robert. ‘Now tell me, how are things at Lyttons? God, it’s nice to be able to feel an interest in things other than my stomach.’

‘Pretty good, I’d say,’ said Oliver. ‘Our own list is very lively, we seem to manage to keep up a pretty broad base. Funnily enough, the educational books are providing a very solid foundation, aren’t they, Celia?’

‘Yes,’ said Celia shortly. She didn’t like the rather mundane list of school certificate literature, atlases and logarithmic tables; she had put Giles in charge and he managed it very competently. Inevitably this did not please her either, confirming her view of him as it did as a dull, uninspired editor.

‘We’re getting rather a lot of competition from Germany,’ said Oliver, ‘they are the new force out there all over the world. Ironic, really.’

‘I hear from Felicity that the New York office is doing well.’

‘Yes, indeed. Stuart Bailey is a very clever young man. But then everything in America is doing well, isn’t it? How many millionaires are there in your country now? Eleven thousand, I think I read. This boom you’re enjoying, quite extraordinary. I think I would feel a little cautious if I were you. Things are very hard here still, you know, we have dreadful unemployment, and that was triggered many years ago by our own postwar boom and the overheating of the economy.’

‘Of course. But that was surely a direct result of the war,’ said Robert, ‘the sudden release of all those wartime bonus shares and so on. We’ve had years of stability and growth now. I think things will steady. The stock market can’t go on rising like this, of course, but I feel reasonably confident there won’t be a serious problem.’

‘Is that the generally held view?’

‘Well – yes, it is. There are a few scaremongers, but—’

‘Well, we’ve had a few tremors here, you know. Look at Clarence Hatry a few weeks ago and the collapse of his vending machine empire. The stock exchange didn’t like it at all. Quite a little tumble it took. The whole thing, I mean.’

‘Oh, I know, but that was an isolated incident,’ said Robert.

‘Of course. But it’s how panics start.’

‘What does your stepson think? From his rather privileged position on Wall Street?’ said Celia.

‘I have no idea,’ said Robert. ‘Laurence and I are still hardly on speaking terms. Unfortunately.’

‘That must be so distressing for you,’ said Oliver.

‘Oh, I’ve got used to it. He’ll never forgive me for marrying his mother and there’s nothing I can do to change that. Jamie is a great joy to me, and I have my darling Maud. We’re a pretty happy little family. Anyway, my own business is certainly booming. Slightly against the trend, I must admit but – well, John and I feel pretty confident. We’ve been business partners for a long time now, after all.’

‘How is he? And Felicity? Still the perfect wife, no doubt,’ said Celia. There was a new edge to her voice.

‘Oh, both pretty well. Felicity is doing splendidly. Her poetry sells to all sorts of people, and she’s always giving readings to ladies’ luncheon circles and so on.’

‘How very satisfying for her,’ said Celia. ‘I’m so glad. It must be nice for her to have an interest.’

‘I think it’s a little more than an interest,’ said Robert, ‘she’s really rather successful. She won some award last week—’

‘Oh, those poetry awards,’ said Celia, ‘so many of them, there seems to me to be one every week—’

‘Celia,’ said Oliver mildly, ‘I don’t think that’s quite accurate. Felicity has done wonderfully well and we shouldn’t begrudge her her success.’

‘Of course I don’t begrudge it,’ said Celia, ‘what an extraordinary thing to say. I discovered Felicity and her poetry for heaven’s sake, Oliver.’

‘Indeed you did,’ said Robert, ‘and she has never forgotten it. Young Kyle is doing awfully well, incidentally. A senior editor now at Doubledays, really considered a great talent. John and Felicity have never forgotten what you did for him, getting him that first job. And neither has he, I might add.’

‘Good Lord,’ said Oliver, ‘it was only a letter I wrote as I recall.’

‘Well, there are letters and letters,’ said Robert, ‘and that one was lifechanging for Kyle. Anyway, Felicity constantly says she wishes you would both come over to New York so that she could offer you some real hospitality.’

‘Oh, I think it’s far better for Oliver to go to New York on his own,’ said Celia. ‘We can’t both leave Lyttons London at the same time after all.’

‘Not even with LM there? And Giles, of course. How is he doing? He seems very competent to me.’

‘I would like to agree with you,’ said Celia with a sigh, ‘but I’m afraid that, professionally anyway, Giles is a disappointment. Unlike young Mr Brewer. He has no real – vision. No feeling for the creative side of the business. Wouldn’t you agree, Oliver?’

‘You know it is more than my life is worth to disagree with you, Celia,’ said Oliver. ‘Over anything.’ His tone was light, and he smiled, but his blue eyes meeting hers were cold and very hard.

‘My darling, please please forgive me. I’m so desperately sorry. To have behaved like that, like an appalling spoilt child – I can’t quite believe it of myself.’

‘Well,’ said Pandora coolly, ‘that was exactly how it seemed. Really, Sebastian! Anyone would have thought I’d told you I was taking a lover.’

‘But darling, darling Pandora, don’t you see, that’s what it felt like. In a way. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m trying so hard to be – good.’

‘Well, I think you should try a bit harder. And you could start by getting me some warm milk. Expectant mothers need a lot of milk. And a lot of care.’

‘Of course. And I didn’t even ask you how you felt. Oh God, darling, how do you feel?’

‘I feel fine,’ said Pandora cheerfully. ‘A bit tired, but nothing worse than that. Now go and fetch the milk and then perhaps we can talk about it sensibly.’

‘I am trying to be sensible. I really am,’ said Sebastian, settling on the bed beside her, his hands playing tenderly with her long golden-brown hair. He had come in very late from London and his reading, and left his Primrose Hill house the following morning while she was still asleep; she had finally arrived home from the library at teatime to find him waiting for her with an enormous bouquet of white roses, a bowed head, and an expression of dramatic contrition that would have put Henry Irving to shame. She had greeted him rather coldly and gone upstairs to have a bath and to lie down on their bed; he had come in to see her, having first knocked tentatively on the door.

‘Well, you’d better try harder,’ said Pandora, sipping at the milk. ‘I cannot understand you, Sebastian. I suppose you’re not under an illusion that it’s not your baby?’

‘Oh, don’t be absurd. Of course not.’

‘Well, then, what is the matter? Most husbands are delighted when their wives tell them they’re expecting.’

‘I’m not most husbands,’ said Sebastian, ‘and please don’t use that horrible expression.’

‘Well, what am I to use? In the club? Preggers? That’s what the twins call it.’

‘They’re all horrible expressions. The only one I can bear is the French.
Enceinte
, that has a passably attractive ring to it.’

‘Oh, very well. I shall be
enceinte
. Now try to explain to me quite why you are so upset.’

‘I don’t want to share you,’ said Sebastian simply. ‘I love you too much. I want you all to myself, as you have been for the past year, I don’t want you distracted, half your mind on someone else. I know it’s foolish, but I can’t help it. I’m sure I shall get used to the idea and learn to love the little sprog, but at the moment I just feel so afraid of losing you.’