The Decision (13 page)

‘Oh, I thought it would – suit me better.’

‘And she is a wonderful stewardess,’ said Mrs Berenson.

‘Yes, Mother told me, Miss Shaw, how you comforted her and made her feel so much more confident. In fact she hasn’t stopped talking about you since. And now I can see why.’

He smiled at her, the green eyes probing hers. Scarlett felt dizzy again; and something else, a squirm of sexual excitement, reaching into her. Scarlett Shaw for God’s sake, pull yourself together.

‘You know I just had the nicest idea,’ said Mrs Berenson. ‘Would you be free to join us for dinner, my dear? It would be so nice to have your company, and you could tell us what shows we should see, and so on. Don’t you think so, David?’

‘I think it would be wonderful,’ said David Berenson, ‘but I’m sure Miss Shaw will have better things to do than have dinner with two old people like us.’

‘Oh – no! I’d love it. I—’ She stopped herself. Stay cool, Scarlett, don’t look too keen. ‘I’ll have to make a phone call, that’s all, I had a vague date with a girl friend.’

‘Oh, you mustn’t change anything on our account.’

‘No, no, it was very vague. Really. Perhaps you could excuse me for a moment.’

‘Yes, of course. There’s a phone booth in the lobby.’

She returned from a visit to the ladies, smiling.

‘That’s fine. She hadn’t even remembered. So I’d really like to have dinner with you both. Thank you. But I should go now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to do.’

Like – get her hair done, beg Andre Bernard in Dover Street, the salon she used for special occasions, to fit her in, press her black shift dress, maybe buy one of those long strings of pearls in Fenwicks, and some new black stockings while she was about it, ring Diana about what she thought was good at the theatre – so much to do.

‘You sound very excited,’ said Diana, her voice amused, ‘what’s going on, who are you having dinner with? And where?’

‘Oh – just that nice American lady I met last autumn, remember I told you about her? She was very nervous and I sat with her through some turbulence. She sent me a Christmas card, care of the airline, and now she’s in town and she invited me to tea—’

‘Sounds lovely. Well, tell her
Luther
is amazing. Bit heavy, maybe, but Albert Finney is incredible. Oh, and on the lighter side,
Oliver
. Think they’ve got that over there now, actually. ’

‘I will. Thanks, Diana.’

‘And where are you dining?’

‘The Connaught.’

‘Goodness. Well, enjoy it. The food’s wonderful.’

Scarlett supposed the food was wonderful; she wouldn’t have noticed if they had served up porridge with chips. She carefully didn’t drink very much, although David Berenson, who had ordered three different wines for the three different courses, urged her constantly to ‘drink up’. She devoted herself for the most part, they both did, to listening to Mrs Berenson talk and reminisce, answering any questions that were put directly to her, suggesting they saw
Luther
and also
Oliver
while carefully making it clear that she hadn’t actually seen either herself – no point pretending – and through it all, every time she dared to meet David Berenson’s eyes, feeling the same slightly whirling dizziness, the same sweet light-headed warmth.

And then, ‘I might leave you young people,’ said Mrs Berenson, as coffee was ordered, ‘I’m a little tired.’

‘Oh – and I must go,’ said Scarlett, ‘I have to be on the coach at seven in the morning.’

‘The coach?’

‘Yes, to go to the airport. I’m flying out to Milan first thing.’

‘Don’t go.’ David Berenson’s voice was suddenly rather intense. ‘Stay for a coffee. It’s only just after ten.’

‘Oh – well, yes, that might be nice But then—’

‘Of course. I won’t detain you. It’d just be nice to – well, to chat a bit more. I’m feeling rather wide awake now. It’s only – what – six or so in Charleston. Goodnight, Mother.’ He stood up as she did, went round to her chair, helped her into her fur stole. ‘I’ll see you to the elevator. Don’t turn into a pumpkin will you, Miss Shaw?’

‘I won’t. And please call me Scarlett.’

He was back in a few minutes, summoned the waiter. ‘A brandy and soda. What about you, Scarlett?’

‘Oh – no, thank you.’

‘Very well. Now – why don’t we take our coffee in the lounge?’

‘Fine. Yes. Why not?’

Why did he make her feel so flustered? She just wasn’t a flustered sort of person. Usually.

The lounge was half empty; he led her to a large sofa by the fireplace, with its back to the room, sat down beside her. Rather close, she couldn’t help noticing.

‘So,’ he said, ‘let’s talk about you, now. Are you a very independent single girl? Or is there someone in your life? Do you have a boyfriend? I’m sure you do.’

‘Well – several, you know, but no one special.’

‘Ah. And your family – do you have brothers and sisters?’

She began to talk, decided to be completely honest, describing her childhood, told him about Matt, how proud of him she was, how well he was doing.

‘It seems to me you’re doing pretty well, too. Your parents must be very proud of you both.’

‘Well – I think they are, quite.’

‘It must be great,’ he said suddenly, ‘to have made your own way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well – you know. It’s all very well heading up some big concern, but it’s been rather horribly easy for me. I just did what my father told me when he was alive, and now I just go on doing what he told me, more or less, even though he’s dead.’

‘I’m sure it’s not that easy. And it’s obviously a very large and successful company, real estate, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, that’s right. How clever of you to know.’

Brian had checked this out for her, intrigued by her friendship with Mrs Berenson. ‘Mr Berenson was a millionaire, darling, died of liver disease rather young, that means an alcoholic to you and me.’

‘Well, it may be a large company, but I inherited the success along with everything else. I doubt if I would have made it on my own.’

‘I’m sure you would,’ said Scarlett.

‘Now why do you say that? You don’t know anything about me?’

‘Well – no, but I can see you’re very clever—’

‘How can you see that?’

He had her there, it had been a ridiculous remark.

‘All you can see is someone rather spoilt, someone clearly with a bit of money, running a company that frankly would run itself for quite a long time, given a following wind.’

‘Well – it’s obviously silly to argue with you,’ said Scarlett.

‘Very silly. Are you sure about that brandy?’

‘OK – maybe just a small one.’

It was all so predictable after that, really, predictable and corny, the fact that he felt if not a failure in his business career very far from a success; and only a partial success as a person; and certainly a failure in his marriage.

‘It is not a terribly happy one I’m afraid; we rub along OK, and we love the children and put on a good show for them, but Gaby very much leads her own life, and I think she cares more about her charities than she does for me. We’re just biding our time for a while, until the kids are grown, and then we’ll go our separate ways. It’s very sad, but I guess that’s the way of the world these days.’

And why did she believe that, Scarlett wondered, half-amused half-shocked at herself, and how many times had she heard it before? Because she wanted to believe it, she supposed; and because looking into those extraordinary green eyes, and the sadness in them, alternating with what she could see was an attraction, a drawing towards her, together with the leaping excitement in herself, was just too much to resist.

They sat there on the deep sofa, close, so dangerously close, talking for quite a while; he was a wonderful listener too, she discovered, was charmingly amused by her stories of her life as a stewardess, of her passengers, the nice ones like his mother, the tiresome ones, the awkward ones, the spoilt brats.

Time disappeared, into some odd, confusing place; one moment it was half past ten, the next almost midnight. Occasionally he would move, not exactly nearer, for that would scarcely have been possible, but so that the closeness would become somehow rearranged, deliciously different; at one stage he put his arm along the top of the sofa, and then it drifted down to rest on her shoulders. ‘Is that OK?’ he said and the acknowledgement of it, that there was a need to ask, her laughing affirmation that of course, yes, it was perfectly OK, took them further into an intimacy that was yet perfectly respectable, and not the crustiest, most disagreeable Connaught guest could have complained. And all the time, his eyes were on her, attentive, appreciative, sometimes smiling, sometimes thoughtful, and now and again so intense, so probing it was like a physical touch, an embrace indeed, and she had to look away lest she did something unseemly.

And then, ‘David, I must go,’ she said, ‘it’s long after midnight, and I’m flying tomorrow,’ and he said, ‘How sad, how very sad for me, but yes, of course you must go.’

And he picked up her hand and studied it, as if it contained some important message for him, and then raised it and very briefly brushed it with his lips.

‘I will see you safely on your way,’ he said. ‘Come along, my lovely Cinderella, let us seek out your pumpkin,’ and stood up and pulled her to her feet, and then kept her hand in his and walked her to the front lobby.

‘Coat?’ he said, and ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I did have a coat, thank goodness you reminded me, I’d have forgotten it otherwise,’ and he fetched her coat from the cloakroom and helped her into it, and very gently, almost imperceptibly, stroked her shoulders and the tops of her arms as he did so and then ushered her towards the swing doors and told the doorman to get a cab.

‘It’s been lovely,’ he said, ‘so lovely. You are an enchanting companion and you have given me an enchanted evening, and I am very, very grateful to you. And I would like to do it again, next time I come to London. Which is fairly frequently. Do you think you might be available for dinner?’

And Scarlett, so dizzy with excitement, so confused with desire, so lost in this new, strange, overwhelming emotion, said that yes, she might well be available for another dinner and gave him the telephone number of her flat and got into the cab, having been kissed on the cheek most properly, and sank back in her seat and closed her eyes and wondered how she could be so stupidly, so absurdly, so dangerously happy.

Eliza was eating a sandwich at her desk when Lindy called her into her office; she was leaving Woolfe’s at the end of the year, she said, in order to marry a Swiss banker and move to Geneva. Eliza felt rather as if she had announced the earth was flat.

‘But you can’t! What about your career, what about—’

‘I know, I know, Eliza,’ said Lindy, reaching for a cigarette, ‘but last time someone asked me to marry them, it was ten years ago and I turned him down because I cared so much about my career, it would have meant moving to Edinburgh, and – well, maybe I wasn’t in love with him. Anyway, I can’t risk another ten years. Jean-Louis wants a proper wife, he says, and I want to be a proper wife. Don’t look at me like that, Eliza, I’m thirty-seven, getting a bit old to be having babies even, if I’m not careful. I don’t want to end up like some of the women in our profession, lonely and bitter, with only a set of tatty press releases for company.’

Eliza was so shocked she was unable to do more than stammer out a few words of congratulation and then retreat to her own office, where she burst into tears. She wasn’t quite sure why: except that Lindy had been her pattern in life, she had had it all, everything Eliza wanted, success, recognition, money, independence, and now she was giving it all up for a man. A man! And for being a stay-at-home wife. She sounded like Juliet.

Later, she went in and apologised and said she was really happy for Lindy and after all, she’d obviously achieved everything she possibly could, so it was time to move on; and Lindy had said she hadn’t actually achieved everything, but she supposed it had been quite a lot.

‘Now you’re not to worry, Eliza, I’m sure whoever takes over will be delighted to have you working for them.’

Eliza hadn’t worried until that moment; but then she began to.

She went back to her desk, worrying; worrying about her own future, worrying about what she could do. And grieving that she had lost her role model.

She’d always sworn she’d never put a man before her career. But if Lindy could …

‘Eliza? Jeremy Northcott.’

‘Oh – hello, Jeremy. Yes. How are you?’

‘I’m absolutely fine, thanks. Look – I wonder if you’re doing anything on Friday?’

She ought to say she was; Friday was only three days away, and as well as that, it was Friday. When any self-respecting girl was booked up. Saying you weren’t made you look like a bit of a disaster. So—

‘No,’ she said, ‘no, I don’t think so.’

‘Excellent. Well, I know we never made that night of it at the Saddle Room but I thought we might make a visit to the Establishment instead. I’ve spoken to Charles and he says he and his girlfriend – Juliet, is she called?’