London, New York, Los Angeles, Nassau, 1985
IT WAS CANDY who voiced the nightmare: Candy who took the dark, ugly shape from the recesses of all their minds, shook it, held it up to the light, and ultimately managed to dispel it for all of them. Candy, who was the only person sufficiently detached from it all to be able to face it and to wonder that they could not.
Miles had flown into Nassau ten days after he had left, and Candy had met him, radiant with relief and delight to have him back.
‘Hey,’ she said, ‘you look wonderful. Kind of tired and a bit old, but wonderful.’
Miles put his arm round her, looking down at her pretty, freckled little face, and moved his hand appreciatively down over her small firm backside. ‘You feel wonderful,’ he said.
‘I missed you too. Do I really look tired and old?’
‘Yeah but –’ she looked at him consideringly – ‘it kind of suits you. You look grown up. I love the clothes.’
‘Candy, I tell you the shops in London are just something else. You have to come and see them.’
‘Well, they certainly look it. Where’d you get that jacket?’
‘In Harrods. It’s by this guy called Armani. I got a whole load of stuff of his.’
‘What’d you get for me?’
‘Oh, baby, just you wait and see what I got for you. Well, apart from this. This is the most important present –’ he looked round to make sure no one was looking, then took her small hand and pressed it over his erect penis, bulging at the fly of his (mercifully baggy) linen trousers – ‘this is what I really can’t wait to give you.’
‘Well, I think I want the other things first,’ said Candy, smiling up at him. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the hotel. Daddy’s out till tonight and Dolly has a new boyfriend, I really think she might take off with him.’
Later, lying blissfully sated beside him, her head cradled on his chest, the floor beside the bed covered with packages and bags from Harrods and Harvey Nichols and St Laurent and Chanel, spilling silk shirts and satin lingerie and belts and bags and earrings and chains, she said, ‘Why did you come back so soon?’
‘For this,’ he said, stroking her pubic mound, smiling as she squirmed against his hand, kissing the top of her golden head. ‘I couldn’t stand not having you any longer.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Well, what was the other reason? This was a pretty expensive screw.’
‘Worth it, though.’
‘Well, I guess you can afford it now.’
‘Not really,’ he said, ‘I don’t have any cash at all, until I sell my share. But, well, Henry Winterbourne arranged with the bank to make me a loan against the capital. So I do in a way.’
‘Good.’
‘So why did you come back? There must be women in London.’
‘There are,’ he said, ‘but not like you. No, I needed to get away. It’s pretty rarefied air over there. I needed time to think. I said originally I’d stay till I’d decided, but it was all really getting to me.’
‘Tell me about them. Maybe I can help.’
He sighed. ‘It would be nice if you could. It’s a real cesspit of emotions. I mean first there’s Roz, she’s really nice, uptight as hell, incredibly frustrated . . .’
‘Hey,’ said Candy. ‘I don’t know that I like the sound of this. What does she look like?’
‘Oh, she’s pretty sexy,’ he said, patting her bottom fondly. ‘Not beautiful exactly, well not at all, but the most amazing figure, very very tall, she’s really hot stuff.’
‘Uh-huh . . .’
‘Yeah, I could do a lot with her. Well anyway, then you should see her mother. She’s nearly fifty, and she really is a hot pants. Knockout looking, too. She’s married to this really neat old guy, he’s a lord, and he has a castle . . .’
‘A real castle?’
‘Well, it sure as hell isn’t made of cardboard. But anyway, it’s Roz who has one share. And then there’s Phaedria, who was married to the Creep, as we now know – Jesus, what a pantomime.’
‘That’s a wild name. What’s she like?’
‘I’m not sure. She seems real nice, but you can’t tell. She’s very beautiful too, she has the most incredible hair. And she has this little baby –’
‘Is that the Creep’s baby?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s sad for her.’
‘Yeah, it is. Well anyway, she lives all on her own in this great house in London, with God knows how many servants, and she has a few more scattered about the globe. And she’s been having an affair, well I think she might have been, with Roz’s bloke.’
‘My God, Miles, this is worse than Dallas.’
‘I know. And then there’s Letitia. Roz’s grandmother. Mother of the Creep. How she managed that I’ll never know. She is a really fun old lady. She’s eighty-seven, and she is just wild. She was nearly Queen of England,’ he added.
‘Queen of England? What, instead of this one?’
‘No, instead of her mom. She had this huge affair with that old guy who used to live here, you know, the Duke of Windsor, and she would have married him if he hadn’t met Mrs Simpson.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Candy. ‘This is really amazing. Can you imagine what the de Launays would say if they knew? So anyway, you have to choose between these two women? The sexy one and the one with the funny name?’
‘Yup. It’s awesome, Candy, it really is. I just can’t begin to make up my mind.’
‘Do you absolutely have to?’
‘Well, there are options. I could not sell at all, but then we wouldn’t have any of the money. I could sell to someone else, which is quite an attractive notion, because then I wouldn’t have to decide. But God knows where I’d find someone with x zillion pounds who’d take this lot on.’
‘Er, how many zillion is it, Miles?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘I have to ask.’
‘About eighty million.’
‘Shee-it.’
‘I know. Well anyway, I could sell one per cent to one of them, and keep the other. But then I’d still have to choose, so it wouldn’t help me. God, it’s awful. What do you think?’
Candy was silent, contemplating what eighty million dollars could do for her. Then she said, ‘I don’t know, Miles, I really don’t. Which of them do you think needs it more?’
‘I guess Roz, in a way. She’s more desperate. But the old lady, Letitia, the Queen you know, she said I should think real hard about it, because Phaedria has the little baby, and so that makes a difference. I mean maybe she has more of a right to it. The other thing is that Roz hates Phaedria so much I think she’d kill her if she did get hold of it. I really do.’
‘Jesus,’ said Candy. ‘What a mess.’
‘I know. And it’s all such a mystery. I mean, why did it all have to happen at all? Why did I have to be involved?’
She turned in the bed and looked up at him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, Miles, I can’t believe you haven’t worked it out. You’re not that dumb.’
He looked at her, dreading what she was going to say, longing to confront it, to get it over with.
‘Maybe I am. You tell me.’
‘Well, it seems absolutely clear to me.’
‘What does?’
‘Well, that you were Mr Dashwood’s son.’
Miles was silent. Hearing it spoken, acknowledged as a possibility, made it feel just a little less dreadful, a lot more unlikely. He stared at Candy, smiling rather uncertainly.
‘Oh, no. No, that is just dumb.’
‘It’s not dumb, Miles. Why else should he have done such a thing?’
‘I don’t know about that. I just know my mom wouldn’t have – couldn’t have – anyway, he would have said, she would have said –’
‘What? When?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. But what I do know is, that is just absolutely impossible.’
‘OK.’ She shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. Seems quite possible to me. Shouldn’t you at least – talk to them all about it?’
‘Candy, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. They’re upset about it enough as it is.’
‘I bet they’ve thought of it. I bet you one of those eighty million they did. I think you should ask them.’
‘Well, maybe.’ He was silent, meditating on what she had just said. ‘Jesus, I can’t think of anything more awful. Being the Creep’s son. My mom and him. Jeez, Candy, you just have to be wrong.’
‘And you never thought of it? Really?’
‘Well,’ he said, with a rather shaky smile, ‘actually, I sort of did. And then wouldn’t let myself think any further.’
‘I bet you they all did the same. I really think you should talk to them about it.’
‘Oh well, maybe I will. When I get back.’
She looked at him. She had never seen him so strained, so unhappy. She decided to try and change the subject a little, distract him.
‘I do have one kind of an idea.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If you went and worked for this company, you’d have some money, wouldn’t you?’
‘I guess so. But I don’t intend to.’
‘Hang on. I mean, you’d be a pretty rich guy that way too. And you could keep your shares, and then you wouldn’t have to choose.’
‘Candy, that is really dumb. I don’t want to work for the company. It’s awful in there. Believe me. Anyway, I don’t want to work for any company.’
‘Oh, all right.’ She sighed. ‘It just seemed a kind of a solution. And I’d quite like to live in London for a bit.’
‘We could do that anyway, if you want to. But I am not going to go and work in that hellhole.’
‘Not even for a while? I’d kind of like being shacked up with a tycoon.’
‘Candy, I’m getting jacked off with this. Just shut up, will you? I’m not going to work there, OK?’
‘OK.’ She looked up at him, and smiled and then slithered slowly down in the bed, kissing, licking his chest, his stomach, and then with exquisite slowness and delicacy, began lapping at his penis with her tongue. She would change his mind. She always did. And this was one of the ways she did it.
Roz was riding in the park when she had the idea. She had taken to riding early in the morning recently; it cleared her head for the day, made her feel better, and in any case she loved horses: she had forgotten quite how much until she cantered along the Row the first morning, savouring the uniquely satisfying pleasure of feeling a powerful, well-schooled horse beneath her; she resolved to make the time to find a house in the country for the weekend, and take possession of the horses her father had left her. It would be lovely for Miranda, too, who was nearly old enough to ride, and was proving a tough, courageous little person (more me than her father there, Roz thought with satisfaction).
Then she sighed and her heart dropped leaden-like to the bottom of her new riding boots. Any thought of the future led her to thoughts of Michael, and thence into depression; she had not heard from him again, and she knew she would not, that this time she had gone too far, abused their relationship, doubted his word, humiliated him publicly. She had decided with hindsight that probably he and Phaedria had been telling the literal truth; it would have been unlike him to have started what amounted to an adulterous affair without at least some kind of an early warning to her; and it would have been so crass, so insensitive to have started it with Phaedria of all people at this particular time in all their lives, that it really didn’t bear too close scrutiny.
And here it was, two weeks before Christmas, and they were in the middle of this nightmare and no immediate hope of it being resolved in any way. If ever. The more she thought about it, the more she got to know Miles, the more hopeless a prospect that seemed to be. He was so transparently nice and guileless, he wasn’t going to be able to bear to do the dirty, as he saw it, on either of them. What he really wanted was a small sum of money, nothing like the eighty million he was going to inherit, and to be left alone. Roz would gladly have given it to him anyway, just handed it over to put him out of his misery, but that wasn’t going to solve anything for Phaedria and herself. Someone, somehow, had to break this deadlock before they all went mad: but how?
A thought suddenly came to Roz that was so petrifyingly obvious that she froze rigidly on her horse. He sensed her withdrawal, her sudden lack of empathy with him, and tossed his head, pulling at the bit. ‘Sorry, old thing,’ said Roz absently, reining him in, leaning down, patting his neck. ‘Sorry.’
She walked him very slowly along the Row, thinking, her mind racing furiously. Suppose, just suppose, that someone else offered to buy Miles’ share. An outside bidder. Someone nobody knew. Well, it was possible. Why shouldn’t they? Nobody really knew about it at the moment, but someone could have got to hear. Miles would sell gladly. He couldn’t wait to get back to California and shake the dust of the whole thing off his feet. And he wouldn’t have to make any decision. He would be spared all the trauma and he would simply get the money. It would be marvellous for him. Roz suddenly saw, very vividly, Miles’ glorious heartbreaking smile, and smiled herself. She also found herself dwelling briefly on Miles as a man. She did find him horribly disturbing. It was his sexual self-confidence that really got to her, more than his charm or his looks, the way he so overtly put himself on the line, told her, quite frequently (with a look, a smile, a remark, a touch) that he could, should she wish it, take her, please her, delight her. And the slight regret he always managed to convey each time she turned down his tacit, delicious invitations. Probably, she thought, if she had in fact accepted them or even one of them, he would be horrified, would close up, turn away, hurry home to Candy, and in her present state with her own self-confidence at a low ebb, she was not about to put it to the test. Nevertheless, he remained there, in her subconscious and her sub-senses, a source of turbulence and odd pleasure. Keeping company with her fear . . . So: present him with an escape route, in the form of a buyer for his share of the company, and he would breathe a sigh of relief and escape. And the escape route could be so extremely anonymous, and probably very formal, a small merchant bank or consortium of people, that he would never dream of looking into it, behind it, he would simply, gratefully sell. At a very good price: Roz had no intention of depriving Miles of a cent of his due. And then, in the fullness of time, the small merchant bank or consortium would be persuaded to sell its share back – for an even better price – to its rightful owner. The person who should have had it in the first place. Who was the true heir to the company? Who could run it with more skill, more understanding, more creativity, than anyone? The daughter of the founder. Rosamund Emerson. Née Morell.
Oh, God, it was brilliant. Brilliant. But would she get away with it? Would anyone suspect? What if they did as long as it was after the sale had gone safely through? It wasn’t fraudulent. Well, maybe morally, but not technically. She was going to give Miles the best possible price. The consortium or third party would genuinely exist. It would emerge out of nowhere, probably from another country, maybe Switzerland, with an eye on the potential of the company. It was an entirely natural acquisition. The board probably wouldn’t oppose it. People like Freddy Branksome and Richard Brookes might even welcome it. They were very weary of the current situation. Even if they did oppose it, they couldn’t do anything. The company was a private one. It was entirely up to Miles. The difficult thing would be ensuring he didn’t suspect anything. But then, he would be trying not to. He would be grateful, eager to get out of the stranglehold. So he might not look at it too hard. Phaedria wouldn’t be able to do anything. They were Miles’ shares. Nobody, nobody at all would be able to do anything.
There was no doubt about it, it was a stroke of genius. She knew it would work. It had to. And then, then it would all be as good as hers.
Miles flew back into London two days later. Having had to confront the awful fear, he felt he had to force the others to do the same. Candy was right, it was very unlikely, totally unlikely that none of them had already thought of it. They might even have discussed it amongst themselves, decided he would have not considered it, and that he should not be party to any of those discussions. The thought both irritated and amused him.
He phoned Letitia as soon as he had checked back into Claridge’s.
‘Hi, it’s Miles. Could I come and talk to you?’
‘Miles! How nice. I thought we’d lost you for a while. Yes, of course. I’ve had my lunch, I’m afraid, but I’m sure we can find you something.’
‘Thanks.’
Letitia put down the phone with a sense of foreboding. He had sounded uncharacteristically purposeful. She had a horrible feeling she knew what he wanted to talk to her about.
‘Mrs Morell,’ he said, lounging (none too purposefully) on her sofa, his long legs thrust out in front of him, ‘there’s something I really think we should all look at.’
‘Yes?’
‘It – well, it may seem a bit – well, upsetting for you.’ His blue eyes were wide, troubled. ‘But I really have to talk it through.’
‘Miles,’ she said, smiling at him gently, ‘I’ve learnt, over a long life, that you can’t run away from being upset. It’s better to confront it and get it over with.’
‘Yeah, well, I wish I’d confronted this a bit sooner. And got it over with. And you’re the only person who can help. At least at this stage. Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘OK. Well – that is – oh, hell, this sure is hard.’
Letitia smiled. ‘Let me see if I can help you. Would it have anything to do with you and – my son?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it would.’
‘You think maybe you might be – his son?’
He stared at her, very seriously at first, then his face slowly softening into relief and humour.
‘You really are a great person. I thought you might have the vapours or something.’
‘I don’t have the vapours very easily. Besides, why should I have the vapours at the thought of you being my grandson? It’s a delightful thought. I agree, with certain complications attached.’
‘Yeah, well . . . Anyway, yes, I do think that. That he might be my father. I hate the idea. I can’t tell you how I hate it, but – oh, I’m sorry, that sounds really gross . . .’
‘Not at all. You loved both your parents. They were obviously very special people. You want to belong to them.’
‘Yeah. That’s exactly right. It’s kind of nice of you to understand. But – well, it does seem to make some sense of it all. That’s all. And I thought you might be able to help me find out how likely it was.’
‘I think I can. I shall have to talk to the others, though. Is that all right?’
‘Of course.’
‘I have thought about it too. In the end, however logical it might seem, I decided it was unlikely. You certainly don’t look like Julian. But I’m sure we can establish the truth beyond any doubt if we really put our minds to it.’
‘All right. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much better I feel already.’
‘Good,’ said Letitia, ‘I think I do too. Now, you pour yourself a glass of wine, and one for me, I got some Californian chardonnay especially to make you feel at home, and I will ring Eliza. First of all, though, just tell me again when your birthday is.’
‘January second, 1958.’
Eliza and Peveril were just finishing a very late lunch when Letitia rang. Peveril was anxious to be off, he had planned to spend the whole day with the gamekeeper stalking his deer, and Eliza had detained him that morning in bed, and then right through lunch discussing the possible colour scheme for the morning room she was redecorating; he heard her greeting her mother-in-law with great relief, knowing the call would be a long one and afford him ample time to escape. There were times, even in flagrante, when he felt it might have been better to have married someone slightly more in sympathy with his way of life, although he always tried to crush the feelings immediately as ungrateful.
‘Darling, of course I’d love to come down, but I really have to ask Peveril,’ she was saying. ‘Just a minute, he’s trying to say something.’
‘You just go ahead and do whatever you want, my dear,’ said Peveril, walking with what he hoped was not indecent haste from the room. ‘Fine by me. Plenty to do.’
Eliza blew him a kiss and returned to Letitia.
‘He says he doesn’t mind. I think actually he finds me a bit of a strain, Letitia.’
‘He wouldn’t be the only one, darling.’
‘Thank you. When do you want me to come?’
‘Tomorrow if you can. I have Miles here. He’s worried about something.’
‘Ah,’ said Eliza. ‘All right, Letitia. If it means I can see something of Miles, just try and keep me away.’
She arrived the following night for dinner, looking radiant and chic in a white damask jacket and tapestry trousers, her silvery hair coiled up on top of her head.
‘Eliza, you look divine,’ said Letitia. ‘Where on earth did you get those clothes, marooned up there in the Highlands?’
‘I didn’t get them in the Highlands. I’m surprised at you, Letitia, even thinking such a thing. They’re from Crolla. I just popped in on the way over. I knew you’d be looking marvellous – which you are, I don’t know quite what Chanel would do without your custom – and I wasn’t going to be outdone. Do you like it?’
‘I love it. I shall go tomorrow. Drink, darling?’
‘Champagne, please. Where is Miles? I hope I haven’t gone to all this trouble for nothing.’
‘No, he’s coming over later. I wanted to have a word with you first. Eliza – have you – that is, yes of course you have, you must have done – have you – thought that Miles might be . . .’
Her voice tailed off. Eliza looked at her in amusement, taking the glass of champagne she held out.
‘Can I guess what you were going to say? That Miles is Julian’s son? Yes, of course I’ve thought it. Straight away. It seemed such an obvious solution. But I didn’t want to worry anyone in case none of you had thought it too. Yes, I’ve thought about it a lot.’
‘And? How do you feel about it? Does it upset you? And do you think it’s possible?’
‘Well, I’m afraid nothing Julian did has any power to hurt or worry me any more. I think it’s just ridiculous, the whole thing. But yes, I suppose it’s very possible. Quite likely in fact. What about you? Does it hurt you?’
‘A bit.’ She looked troubled and very old suddenly. ‘He’s just turning into more and more of a villain before my eyes. And I loved him so much.’
‘Oh, darling, don’t be sad. Of course you loved him. He was worth loving. That doesn’t change the fact that he was – well, difficult.’
Letitia smiled a little weakly. ‘I think difficult is a serious understatement. But all right, I’ll accept that for now. I just do hope it’s not true. But I think we have to try and find out. Miles has been worrying about it. And I daresay Roz and Phaedria have too. And we’ve none of us said a word, afraid to frighten each other. Silly, really. It has to be faced.’
‘Yes. Anyway, what do you want me to do?’
‘Well obviously, darling, try and help me work out where Julian was in – let me see, in late March, early April, in 1957, the year before Miles was born. Nobody else can. With the possible exception of Camilla.’
‘Oh, God, I’d hate to have to ask her.’
‘Well, we may have to. We can get C. J. to do it.’
‘Of course. Well, let’s think. March. March. He went in – when – very early spring, didn’t he? No, it wasn’t. It was actually the autumn before. So he was definitely spending most of his time there. My birthday is in April. I know he was home for that. I can remember being so pleased that he came back. Roz was only tiny. But that’s the middle of April. And he was there pretty solidly before that. Goodness, Letitia, I don’t know. I don’t seem to be able to help at all.’
‘I feel very much afraid,’ said Letitia darkly, ‘we may be driven to Camilla.’
C. J. was in his study when Eliza phoned. He was happy these days, happier than he had been for a long time. He felt he was gradually re-establishing himself as a person in his own right, the sort of person he would more have wished to be; he was happy with Camilla, he was planning on moving to New York to be with her, he was gradually shedding his associations with the Morell family with a sense of great relief, as he might have done a badly fitting, unflattering suit of clothes.
‘C. J. How are you, darling?’
‘I’m well, thank you, Eliza. What can I do for you?’
‘Well, darling, something madly intriguing, actually. It’s something to do with Miles. And Camilla. Listen, C. J., have you ever wondered exactly who Miles might be? You have? I thought so. Well, now listen . . .’
‘Yes? Yes, this is Lady Morell? Who? Oh, yes, of course I’ll take it. Michael? Hallo, how are you? Good. Yes, of course I’m missing you. What? No, Michael, I just can’t come for Christmas. I’m sorry. I’d love to, but I can’t. What? Well, because I’ve arranged to have my father down to Marriotts, and although I could easily tell him it’s still June and put him off for several months, everybody else might notice. Yes, I do want to see you, terribly, but it can’t be at Christmas. Sorry? Well, what about Roz? Don’t you think she might hear about it? I just can’t contemplate a showdown with her now, Michael, not with everything at fever pitch. Yes, I know you’re at fever pitch, but you’ll just have to wait. What? Well of course you can wait. Try a cold shower or two. Anyway, what about Little Michael and Baby Sharon? They won’t be too pleased to find me there, at the bottom of the tree on Christmas Eve. Nor will their mother. It’s just a hopeless idea, I’m afraid. Lovely but hopeless. Anyway, I don’t want to be away from Julia, her first Christmas. No, I know she won’t know anything about it, but I will. Oh, God, Michael, just stop it, will you? I’m not coming. Yes, I know I’m a hard woman. What? Oh, now that just might be possible, I suppose. Oh, God, it would be so lovely. I wonder, I just wonder if I could. What do you think? Do you think anyone would know? I suppose not. They’ll all be staying up in Scotland for Hogmanay. Yes, I really, really think I could. Oh, it would be so exciting. No, I think I’ll leave her behind. It’ll only be two days or so, won’t it? She’s going off me now anyway. She’s hit the bottle. I’ve gone down three whole sizes. Well, you may have preferred it, but that wasn’t the object of the exercise. Yes, all right, I do promise. I’ll book – no, on second thoughts, you’d better do it, book the flight right now. New Year’s Eve. Early. Early as you can.’
C. J. had phoned Camilla hesitantly. He hated reminding her of her early days with Julian Morell; it did not upset her in the least, but it certainly served to upset him. Apart from anything else, he did not greatly care to reflect that he had been a very small boy at the time. It made him feel somehow foolish and seriously disadvantaged.
Camilla, however, was quite unmoved. ‘Dare I ask you why you want to know what he was doing that year?’ she said with what was for her a considerable flash of humour. ‘I wonder, could it be anything to do with Miles Wilburn’s birthday?’
‘So you’ve wondered too?’ said C. J.
‘Well of course I have. It would require a fairly low IQnot to wonder.’
‘Didn’t you think I might have?’ asked C. J.
‘Well, I decided in the end you couldn’t have,’ said Camilla with her usual earnest truthfulness and lack of tact, ‘or you’d have mentioned it.’
‘Oh,’ said C. J.
‘Well anyway, what period are we talking about?’
‘Early April. Late March.’
‘Well, I hadn’t known him long. It’s hard to say. I would have to look it up.’
‘Look it up?’ said C. J. in astonishment. ‘You mean you have diaries going that far back?’
‘Of course,’ said Camilla. ‘I have them all filed, since I was a very small girl. You never know when a date is going to prove significant. I mean, this proves it.’
‘I suppose so,’ said C. J. ‘Er – where are these files?’
‘In the office,’ said Camilla. ‘I’ll have a look and call you in the morning. Good night, C. J.’
‘Can we really spend Christmas in London?’ Candy’s voice was ecstatic. ‘That sounds just wonderful.’
‘Sure,’ said Miles. ‘Just spin your father some good yarn, about staying with the Creep’s mother or second cousin twice removed, and come. You’ll like it.’
‘Where’ll we stay?’
‘It’s pretty nice here.’
‘Is that a real smart hotel?’
‘Real smart.’
‘Will I get to meet the Women? Or the Queen Grandmother?’
‘Possibly. Don’t see why not.’
‘Miles, you’re the greatest.’
‘Where is Mrs Emerson today?’ asked Phaedria, halfway into her first full week back at work.
‘She’s away for a couple of days, Lady Morell. She’s gone to Washington, to check out the office there, and the hotel. She’ll be back on Monday.’
‘Good. Is Mr Brookes in today? Find out, will you, and ask him if he can lunch with me.’
‘Of course,’ said Sarah Brownsmith.
‘Oh, and Sarah, give me a line, would you? I want to make a call.’
‘Yes, Lady Morell.’
‘Hallo. Is Doctor Friedman there?’
‘No, she isn’t. She’s away, I’m afraid. Who is it calling? Can I help?’
‘I don’t think so. No, thank you. This is Phaedria Morell. When might Doctor Friedman be back?’
‘Not until mid January at the earliest. She’s visiting her sister in Australia.’
‘Doctor Friedman said urgent matters could be relayed to her partner, Doctor Mortimer. Would you like his number?’
‘No, really, this isn’t urgent. I’ll call Doctor Friedman in January. Thank you.’
‘C. J., is that you?’
‘Yes, Camilla. How are you this morning?’
‘I’m fine, C. J. Missing you, of course. Looking forward to Christmas.’
‘I am as well, Camilla.’
‘Now then. I have looked in my diary. If it’s any help to you, I can confirm from early March right through to April we were all working flat out. Julian, Paul Baud and myself. It was a crucial time. There was no way he could possibly have popped over to California then. All right? And the last few days of March we weren’t even in the States, we were in Paris, with Paul Baud, looking at the stores there.’
Ah,’ said C. J. ‘Now that does sound interesting. What about – the week before that?’
‘No, C. J. definitely not. I did see him every single day.’
‘Even the weekend?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Camilla with a touch of complacency in her voice, ‘certainly the weekend. We’d only just begun our relationship. Now, C. J., I have to go. I have an appointment with my analyst. See you in two weeks.’
Goodbye, darling.’
‘Goodbye C. J.’
‘Eliza? Letitia. Listen, we seem to have a watertight alibi for Julian. The early part of March he was very much in New York, with Camilla.’
‘Ah. Is she sure?’
‘Oh, yes. Apparently she has filed all her diaries from birth.’
‘She would have done. Sanctimonious bitch. Well, I suppose we should be grateful.
‘So all we have to worry about now is that first week in April. Which could be crucial, I suppose. After that he was with me in London,’ said Eliza.’
‘Yes. I do feel awfully glad about it, I have to say.’
Phaedria leant across the table earnestly at Richard Brookes. He looked at her appreciatively.
‘I need advice,’ she said.
‘Ah. Of a legal nature?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Legal nature is very precise, my dear Lady Morell. Sort ofs don’t have a huge place in it.’
‘I suppose not. But it isn’t all that precise. It’s quite difficult, really. But it struck me the other night that Julia is actually a most rightful heir. To the company and everything.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I do not think legal precedent would bear you out. But please continue.’
‘The thing is that Julian didn’t know about her. If he had, it would all have been very different.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Well anyway, morally obviously she has to have a claim.’
‘Possibly.’
‘And – well, I thought I might present this thought to Miles. And offer to buy his share on her behalf. So that he wouldn’t be choosing between me and Roz, he would be solving the problem by letting Julia have his two per cent. I think it might appeal to him.’
‘Hmm. It would clearly appeal to you.’
‘Well, of course it would appeal to me,’ said Phaedria irritably. ‘She’s my child. I want her to have her rights. But she’s also Julian’s. He would have wanted her to inherit the company. Or a substantial share of it. What most appeals to me is getting this deadlock shifted.’
‘It wouldn’t really though, would it?’ Richard was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘It wouldn’t ease the day to day situation at all.’
‘No. Not yet. But at least Miles would be off the hook.’
‘Yes.’ He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Phaedria, could I ask you if you have ever considered the possibility that Miles might be –’
‘What?’ she said, and her eyes were full of panic. ‘Who?’
‘Oh,’ he said, unable to continue in the face of her patent fear. ‘Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Well, this plan of yours is certainly a possibility. Let’s think about it a bit. You’d have to form a trust fund for Julia. To buy her share.’
‘Yes, I’d thought of that.’
‘And you’d have to raise a lot of money.’
‘I’ve thought about that too. I can.’
‘Right. It would make Roz exceedingly angry.’
‘Richard, she couldn’t be angrier. At least this way she’d be kind of beaten. Impotent.’
‘I don’t think Mrs Emerson would ever be that.’
‘Well, you know what I mean.’
‘I do. Well, it’s an interesting idea.’
‘Is it legal though?’
‘Oh, perfectly. As long as Miles knew what you were doing. And he agreed to it. You might well be right, it could be a huge relief for him. He could welcome it.’
‘So should I suggest it, do you think?’
‘By all means if you want to. Only perhaps you should imply that while he considers it, he doesn’t talk to Roz about it. There is no great point in meeting trouble halfway. No, as I say, I do think it’s an interesting idea. I only see one really big stumbling block.’
‘Roz?’
‘No. Miles himself. I may be wrong, but I have a hunch that he may in the end decide to hang on to his legacy.’
‘Richard, you are absolutely wrong. All Miles wants is to get the hell out of here and lie on the beach with Candy McCall for the rest of his life, eating her daddy’s sweeties. Believe me, I know.’
‘Well, I think you’re screwy,’ said Candy. She had arrived in London and was settling into Miles’ suite at Claridge’s with patent pleasure. ‘Just plain screwy. Just think, you could be a real powerful big businessman, and you’re throwing it all away, just like that, without even thinking about it.’
‘Baby, I don’t need to think about it. I hate the idea. I told you.’
‘Of what? Money? Power? Success? Don’t be silly, Miles, it would be great.’
‘I don’t want power, and we can have the money. I just want you.’
‘Well,’ she said, looking at him, her eyes appraising him rather coolly, ‘I’m not sure that I want a man who turned down something so exciting.’
‘Candy, baby, you don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘I do, Miles. I know exactly what I’m saying. You’re clever and you’re smart and you’ve had a fantastic education and you’ve spent most of your life wasting yourself. I went along with it before, because there didn’t seem any choice, but now there is. I think you should take this opportunity, Miles, and make something of it.’
‘Candy, if that’s what you think I don’t know that we have a future together after all.’
Candy looked at him, trying not to show how scared she was. She changed her tactics.
‘Miles, it’s not just for you I want you to be a success. It’s for me. I’d be so proud of you. It would be wonderful.’
‘Candy, it wouldn’t be wonderful. You don’t know what these people are like. They’re eating one another alive. It’s really sad.’
‘Well, I think it’s really exciting.’
‘Candy, it is not exciting. It’s sick. I might have known the Creep would do something awful like write that will. He was a psychopath, he must have been, putting everyone through this. Honestly, Candy, I just want to get rid of the lot of them fast.’
‘Won’t you just think about it?’
‘No.’
She played her trump card. ‘Dad was really impressed by it all. He said he’d let us get married if you took up with this company.’
‘What, straight away?’
‘Yes.’
He looked at her. ‘Candy, I can’t. Not even for you. I just can’t. I’m sorry. It’s not for me.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you obviously don’t love me at all.’
‘Candy, baby, I do love you.’
‘You can’t. Otherwise you’d at least consider doing what I ask.’
‘Candy, I can’t and I won’t.’
‘So you don’t love me.’
‘I do. I swear I do.’
He looked at her as she stood there, her eyes filled with tears, her lips quivering, he thought of the secrets, the intricacies of her body, the glorious explorations and discoveries he had made within her; and he remembered her loyalty to him, how she had helped him, given him money, comforted him, reassured him, gone to Hugo’s office for him, lied to her father, stood by him when he had had absolutely nothing in the world to offer her, and he knew he could not let her down, could not leave her without at least seriously considering what she was asking him to do. He was angry, resentful, but he could see he must go along with her at least a little way. She had meant too much to him for too long; he owed her too much, she deserved, as she had said, that at least he tried.
‘All right,’ he said with a sigh. ‘All right, I’ll think about it. Seriously. Talk to them about it. For you.’
‘Oh, Miles,’ she said, throwing herself into his arms, kissing him, pressing herself against him. ‘Thank you. Thank you. I’m sure you won’t regret it.’
‘Maybe not,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid you might.’
Letitia was sitting alone eating her supper when she suddenly thought about the cars. She had been oddly moved by the fact that Julian had left them all to her, with the exception of the Bugatti. It had been such a gesture of faith in her, in their closeness, in his faith in her apparent immortality. They told a lot about Julian, those cars; where he had been, what he had done. He had bought them all over the world. And the collection of logbooks Henry had handed to her after the reading of the will would chronicle it all. Why hadn’t she thought about that before?
Letitia’s heart was beating rather fast. She got up, walked through into her dining room and unlocked the escritoire she had bought when they had moved into the house. The logbooks were all in an envelope in the top. She sat down rather abruptly and started thumbing through them. So many lovely machines, such a lot of care and attention and money lavished on them. And he had acquired them over such a long period of time. The 1910 Rolls. The Napier. The 1912 Chevrolet. The Delage. That was her own favourite. And oh, the Bugatti. She shouldn’t have the logbook for that. The Bugatti was Phaedria’s. Or rather Julian’s again now. Letitia’s eyes blurred with tears, suddenly remembering the keys placed so tenderly amongst the lilies on the coffin. She opened the tattered old book carefully. When had that been – 1957? Letitia’s brain suddenly shot into overdrive. She leafed feverishly through the documents, the bills, the insurance certificates. And then her heart seemed quite to stop, and she sat staring down at the piece of paper in her hand.
She sat there for a long time, and then walked back to the drawing room and picked up the telephone.
‘Eliza? It’s Letitia. Listen, I have some news. Nice news, I think, really. Julian was home that week before your birthday. The first week in April. He was at the car auction at Sotheby’s. He bought the Bugatti.’
‘Miles,’ said Letitia gently. ‘Would there have been any question of your mother going to New York to visit Julian, do you think? Did she often go to New York?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘absolutely not. My mom only went to New York once in her life and that was with my dad, oh quite a while before I was born. She was always talking about it. She used to show me the pictures they took, and the souvenirs she’d bought, over and over again. She loved it. She said she would have given anything to go again, but it was really expensive. They didn’t have much money, Mrs Morell, I think you have to realize that. And anyway, he wouldn’t have let her, he was real possessive. All her family were in California, except her mom in Ohio, and she and my dad used to have real arguments if she wanted to go and stay with her. He never let her. No, I’m really sure she could never have gone to New York on her own. It would have been like leaving my dad for good. If you know what I mean.’
‘Well, in that case,’ said Letitia, smiling at him radiantly, a great weight lifted from her own heart, ‘I think you need have no fears that you are not actually your own father’s son. Julian was in New York at the beginning of March and in Paris for the last few days, the year before you were born. And in April he was in England. We can confirm all that.’
‘Oh wow,’ said Miles. ‘I hate to sound rude, but that really is the most terrific news. Thank you very much, Mrs Morell.’
‘It’s fairly terrific news for me too, Miles. We are no nearer solving the mystery, but it is still terrific news.’
Letitia sent for Roz. She wanted to tell her herself, to have the pleasure of sharing the news. They had never discussed it, but she knew, from certain expressions in Roz’s eyes, an avoidance of entering into any discussion about Miles, that she had thought of it, been afraid.
Roz came into the house at First Street late in the evening, after supper. She was wearing a long-sleeved jersey leotard, under a tight, short jersey skirt in dark beige from Alaia. It emphasized her breasts, flattered her lean rangy body, made her legs, in black tights, look awesomely long.
‘That’s lovely, darling, you do look nice.’
‘Thank you. It is so nice to be able to wear short skirts again.’
‘You’re very lucky to have those legs. You and Miles both look like race horses.’
Roz looked at her with the taut edgy expression she wore whenever she felt threatened.
‘Does Miles have specially long legs? I’ve never noticed.’
‘Pretty long. Roz – tell me something – no, first let’s have a drink. What do you want?’
‘Perrier. I’m on the wagon till Christmas.’
‘Very commendable.’
‘Not really. I thought I was getting fat.’
‘Not terribly, darling. All right, help yourself. Now then –’ as Roz settled opposite her, in the love seat. ‘I want to talk to you about Miles.’
‘What about him?’ said Roz truculently.
‘Well, I – and your mother, and indeed Miles himself – had all been worrying about something. I wondered if you had too?’
‘I can’t think of anything.’ Roz swallowed. ‘I mean, there’s lots to worry about, but I can’t really imagine the same thing bothering us all.’
‘Can’t you? Good. Then you’ve been spared a great many sleepless nights which I have not. Can I tell you about it?’
‘Of course.’ Roz was sitting very straight, her eyes fixed on her grandmother’s face. She looked pale.
‘Well you see, I thought – we all thought – that there might be an explanation for your father leaving Miles that legacy which was fairly logical. Obvious even.’
‘I can’t think what.’
‘Can’t you?’
Roz looked at her with her blank, wall-eyed expression. ‘No.’
Letitia laughed. ‘Sometimes you look exactly like your father. Well anyway, what we all thought was that Miles might – well, have been Julian’s son.’
‘Oh.’ Roz tried to sound calm, disinterested, but her voice came out sounding rather shaky and weak. ‘How – how odd.’
‘Yes, well, it didn’t seem that odd to us. Quite likely, really. At least it would have explained a lot. But obviously we had to check it out.’
‘I – I suppose so.’
‘Well –’ the silence seemed very long. Roz was motionless, she put down her glass to conceal the fact that her hand was shaking. Letitia stood up, smiling at her. ‘Well, we were all wrong. Quite wrong. Your father was in New York and Paris during the relevant period. And then at home in London. I think that’s probably quite good news, don’t you?’
‘I suppose it would be,’ said Roz, still sounding odd. ‘If you’d been worrying about it. Yes. Thank you for telling me, Granny Letitia.’
There was another very long silence. Letitia went over to Roz and put her arms round her; Roz was smiling at her and crying at the same time.
‘That’s the thing I’ve been most afraid of,’ she said, ‘ever since I can remember, all my life.’