CHAPTER 42

‘Jenna—’

‘Yes?’ She spoke absently, she was leafing through some books.

‘Can I maybe talk to you about something?’

‘Of course you can.’ She looked at Charlie; he was clearly embarrassed.

‘What is it?’

‘Well – the thing is, I’m – I’m in a bit of a jam. Financially.’

‘A jam? How could you be? Oh, you mean with your business. I thought that was better, now you’d cut back, got the small office, just deal in the cars—’

‘No,’ he said, ‘not just the business. I – the thing is, Jenna, I have debts now. I couldn’t worry you with them before, I never wanted to, I was hoping the money from the will would come through. But it’s taking such a time.’

‘I know that,’ she said, ‘and I’ve asked Kyle and Jamie to help, so many times, you know I have. If I could lend you the money myself I would, but I can’t.’

‘Darling, I know that. You’ve been absolutely sweet and wonderful, and I couldn’t be more grateful. But – the fact remains, I’m in debt.’

‘But – why? I don’t understand.’

‘I lost a lot of money, selling the cars. You should never sell anything quickly, you get a lousy price. And then – well, I don’t know, I found myself having to borrow money. From the bank. For this and that.’

‘Yes, but for what, Charlie? As I understand it, the trustees pay all the money you need to keep us, the upkeep of the houses, Maria and Mr and Mrs Mills, my school fees. They’ve put it up twice, they told me.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly right. But – that doesn’t cover my own expenses. Or Cathy’s. She’s developed some pretty expensive tastes over the years; the school fees are high, she has to keep up with her school friends, do the extras. Then there’s her clothes, all that stuff – anyway,’ he looked down at his hands, ‘it’s got so bad I’m going to have to take her away from Dana. She’ll have to leave after this term.’

‘Oh Charlie, no, that’s terrible.’

‘It would – it will be. The two of you being like sisters all this time.’

She was silent; then, ‘I’ll ask the trustees again. I think they might make an exception over that.’

‘Well – from past experience they won’t. I guess that’s why I – well, never mind. There’s more, though.’

‘More? Oh, Charlie, what?’

‘I – well, I did something a bit stupid.’

‘What?’

‘I borrowed some money. At a very high rate of interest.’

‘What froma – a moneylender, someone like that?’

‘Someone like that. And now they’re after me. I’ve been trying to fob them off, I sold a few things, a watch your mother gave me—’ He stopped, bit his lip.

Jenna sighed. ‘Oh, Charlie, I can’t bear this.’

‘Sweetheart, neither can I. But you know I do need a little money of my own. Just to – well, to buy drinks for friends, clothes, that sort of thing. And I don’t have any. That’s quite – hard.’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘I mean, I can only spend what comes with the monthly cheque. And there isn’t much left over. You girls don’t come cheap.’

He managed to smile at her. ‘Anyway, that’s how it all began. Me lying awake worrying, wondering what to do, when I could tell Cathy about leaving school, these guys virtually sending in the heavies—’

‘You should have gone to Jamie, and told him.’

‘I tried. He made it pretty plain he wasn’t going to help.’

‘I just find that so hard to believe,’ said Jenna.

‘Sweetheart, it’s true.’

She sighed. ‘I’ll go and see him again.’

 

This time, and very reluctantly, moved by her distress, Jamie agreed that he would ask the other trustees to take over Cathy’s school fees.

‘Thank you. And – what about Charlie’s debts?’

‘I’m afraid those are his affair. Nothing to do with me or you.’

‘Of course they’re to do with me. You don’t seem to understand. Charlie has looked after me, all this time. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. Nobody else has been anything like as good to me.’

‘Jenna, listen to me—’

‘No. You listen to me. Jamie, do you really think my mother would approve of what you’re doing to Charlie, and therefore to me? Do you think she’d want me worried and upset, do you think she’d want her money to be just sitting there in some lousy bank account while I was worrying about Charlie being beaten up?’

‘Beaten up? Jenna, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You don’t understand. He’s had to go to some kind of moneylenders. OK, I can see you think that was a dumb thing to do. How else was he going to cope? Can’t you see, just living with me, looking after me, exposes him to expense. And now he can’t pay these people back and they’re threatening him. I just can’t stand this, it’s really getting to me, getting in the way of my studies. If my mother knew about it, knew I was so upset, she’d be absolutely furious. With you, I mean, not Charlie. Does that make you feel good? I don’t think so. Now will you please, please do what I ask. There’s enough money there, for God’s sake, bloody millions—’

‘Jenna!’

‘I’m sorry. But I’m just so upset. If Charlie wasn’t so good to me I’d kind of understand how you felt. But he’s never, never let me down, not for a moment. And I won’t let him be let down in return.’

Deeply reluctant, but persuaded by her anguish, Jamie agreed to see Charlie and, ‘possibly make him an advance.’

‘Not possibly, Jamie. You’ll make him one. I really need you to do this. Please don’t let me down.’

Jamie met her eyes, and saw Laurence; heard him too, in Jenna’s clear voice, in the words and phrases which Laurence would have been proud of, a mixture of high emotion and tough logic. Where had she learned that: where and how?

‘Yes, all right, I’ll put it to the trustees,’ he said.

 

Keir had left Lyttons. He had gone to see Giles and told him he was leaving Elspeth and that it would be too painful and awkward for him to stay. Giles and Jay agreed there was no point holding him to his notice period, it was only going to increase the problems with Elspeth. She was so miserable.

She had absolutely forbidden anyone to let word get out to Marcus Forrest; the last thing she wanted was him feeling responsible, and offering to marry her. She didn’t think he would, and she was sure he wouldn’t want to, but he was such a gentleman, he might feel he had to. And she had enough to worry about.

Venetia, torn between sorrow for her and a conviction that it was the best thing in the long run, found herself unable to help very much, apart from offering to have her and the children to stay. ‘You don’t want to be alone all the time.’

Elspeth said she seemed to have been alone for years, and it wasn’t going to make much difference; ‘I’m thinking of getting a live-in housekeeper. That way I can work more easily. Although I don’t want to disappear all day and every day suddenly; the children have lost their father, they shouldn’t lose their mother too.’

Her sense of having only herself to blame didn’t help. ‘It was hardly rape,’ she said to Amy, who was commiserating with her one day, ‘I encouraged Marcus, I can’t pretend I didn’t.’

‘Yes, and you had every reason for it. I’d have had an affair if I’d had a husband like Keir.’

‘He was a very good husband,’ said Elspeth fretfully, ‘just not right for me.’

‘I don’t think he was a good husband at all. Think how mean he was when you were up in Glasgow. Honestly, Elspeth, I think you’re deceiving yourself. And blaming yourself too much. I think you did awfully well, sticking it out for so long.’

She missed Keir horribly. Even his brooding, scowling presence was better than no presence at all; in contemplating a life without him, she felt, above all, panic. It was one thing to complain about a husband, wish him away, even; quite another to find the wish granted.

During the first few days after his departure, she did feel a certain relief; life was simpler, she could do what she liked, go to Lyttons, plan her future. All without fear of complaint, interrogation, contradiction. But it didn’t last very long. Then she found herself lonely, and quite frightened.

She could see, in spite of everything, that she did still love him: she had loved him so much and so fiercely in the early days; such a feeling was not to be easily dissipated. You simply could not love someone, marry them, bear their children, share every intimacy of life with them, and then walk away, say right, that’s over, nice while it lasted, gone wrong now, though.

Her very self had changed, become part of Keir, too much had been shared, enjoyed, endured; and even if her marriage was over, her feelings for him, however mixed, were not, they were still passionate, strong, even violent. And she felt a dreadful sense of failure as well as regret, remorse as well as anger: it was a second bereavement, the death of her marriage, as fierce and as painful as that of her grandmother. She missed Celia terribly, her clear-sighted wisdom, her tough common sense, the uncritical love she had always given her.

During the last few months, Celia had been totally accessible to her, a swift walk away, across Albert Bridge. Elspeth had leaned on her more and more, drawn from her strength, sought her out, far more than she had her mother. Looking back, she was shocked to think how much she had taken her for granted.

 

Keir was in his bedsit in Balham, wondering if there was a publisher left in London he had not already approached about a possible job, and wondering, also, if even at this stage, he might be forced to consider a change in his career, when there was a tap at his door.

‘Mr Brown? Telephone.’

‘Oh – thank you, Mrs Dudley. I’ll be right down.’

Who was it? Very few people had his phone number, only Elspeth, in case there was a crisis with the children, and his parents. He didn’t want to speak to either of them; Elspeth because he was still so angry and sickened by her, and his parents because they had been very reluctant to take his side.

‘Takes two hands to clap, laddie,’ his father had said, ‘she’s a good lass, she put up with a lot on your account. She was very, very plucky. You should ask yourself why she went off with this man.’

It was not what he had expected.

‘Hallo?’ he said cautiously, now.

‘Keir? Sebastian.’

‘Sebastian!’

‘Yes. Look I—’

‘How did you get my number?’

‘From Elspeth.’

‘I see. Well – what can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to see you. Buy you a drink or something.’

‘What for?’

There was a silence; then Sebastian said, ‘I’ve had more gracious responses to an invitation.’

‘Sorry. But I’m not feeling very – gracious.’

‘I can tell that.’

Another silence.

‘Well – would you be kind enough to meet me or not? I’ve got a message for you.’

‘Can’t you give it to me on the phone?’

‘No, it’s a bit more complex than that.’

‘In what way?’

‘Look,’ said Sebastian, then stopped; after another moment or two the phone went dead.

He had obviously hung up. Silly old bugger. If he thought he could put in a word for any of the Lyttons, he could think again. His overriding emotion, apart from hurt, was a fierce near-hatred of the Lytton clan and the way they had tried to manipulate him.

 

Sebastian stalked into the kitchen, pulling on his coat.

‘I’m going out, Mrs Conley,’ he said, ‘and if there’s a call from a Mr Brown, tell him I have nothing to say to him. Rude young bugger. She’s well shot of him, I’d say.’

Mrs Conley agreed; she had never liked Keir, he was what she called a rough diamond, and on the rare occasions when she had seen them together, she had been very struck by the way he treated Elspeth. He seemed to be permanently cross with her.

 

Sebastian was still shaking with rage when he reached the ponds at Hampstead Heath an hour later. All he’d wanted to do was help the stupid young fool. Celia had been wrong about him; he was a bad lot. Poor little Elspeth. She deserved better. Although, if it was true about her and Marcus Forrest, she deserved better than him as well . . .

 

Celia’s memorial service was to have been held at St Bride’s Fleet Street, the journalist’s church and one of Celia’s favourites. It was going to be an occasion of immense grandeur; the invitation list read like Who’s Who. Not only all the great names of the publishing world, Jonathan Cape, Jock Murray, Michael Joseph, André Deutsch, the brilliant young publisher George Weidenfeld, Celia’s own authors, Lady Annabel Muirhead, Nancy Arthure, and, of course, the great Sebastian Brooke, but others who had been her friends, John Betjeman, Somerset Maugham, Dame Edith Sitwell and Dame Jean Conan Doyle. Then there were the booksellers, Basil Blackwell, Christina Foyle, and the venerable John Wilson of Bumpus.

The family alone would fill several pews; apart from the English branch, the American Lyttons would be coming, including Jack and Lily from California, and all the American associates, the Brewers, Jamie Elliott, Mike Parker and Nick Neill, of course. The Millers must also come and Jenna, obviously, and therefore, Charlie and Cathy. As the list grew, as everyone added names, declared it was essential that so and so was invited and such and such attended, it became clear that St Bride’s would simply not be big enough and someone suggested it be moved to St Martin-in-the-Fields. Celia had loved it there too, had always gone to the candlelight carol service, accompanied by her ever-growing band of grandchildren.

This caused a further delay, St Bride’s had been booked for September, but it was November before a suitable date could be found for St Martin’s. It needed to be early, rather than late in the month, since Clementine’s baby was due at the beginning of December.

The form of the service caused considerable argument. What music, which readings, how many of them, who should read, which representatives of which generation? The young being, of course, as important as the old. Weekly meetings were held from August onwards, chaired by Giles and the twins; all suggestions were considered, none cast aside without careful discussion. Thus a suggestion from Clio that she read from Alice in Wonderland, the first book her grandmother had read to her, and from Lucy that she read ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’ for the same reason, led to the rather charming agreement that there should be an anthology, read by the young – young being defined as anyone under sixteen: several short pieces rather than one long one.

Another suggestion that the leading authors should read from their own works was dismissed as verging on the narcissistic, but clearly there must be a major reading from Meridian and this great honour fell to Rupert Lytton, Tory and Jay’s younger son, an angelic-looking child of nine. And then there were the eulogies: who would give them? Sebastian was an obvious choice, and yet his position was slightly delicate; Kit was another, but he had said he would find it impossible.

‘And this time, I mean it, I simply could not stand up there in front of all those desperately important people and talk about her,’ he said, ‘sorry.’

Jay, for all his easy social charm, was not a natural speaker, said he would rather not; and Giles said that he himself would be hopelessly stiff and nervous.

‘You two?’ he suggested to the twins; they considered it carefully but rejected it again.

‘We’d just sound silly. Girls shouldn’t do that kind of thing.’

‘Of course they should,’ said Giles, ‘you’re supposed to be modern and forward-looking.’

‘I think,’ said Venetia, ‘we should have two eulogies. One from someone quite young, and one from someone quite old. Which means it could be Sebastian. Somehow, if he wasn’t the only one, it wouldn’t be so – difficult. And I know he’d love to do it, he’s such an old ham.’

‘And the young?’

‘Goodness, I don’t know. Elspeth, maybe?’

‘Possibly. If she’d do it. She’s a bit fragile at the moment.’

‘Is Keir coming?’

‘He’s been invited, obviously. You’re not suggesting—’

‘Of course not. I just wondered.’

‘I think it should be a woman, Giles is quite right. She was such a champion of women. And Elspeth’s the only suitable Lytton. The others are too light-weight—’

‘Even Noni?’

‘Even Noni.’

‘I’ll ask Elspeth,’ said Venetia.

Elspeth said she couldn’t possibly.

‘I might, if everything was all right, but I feel a bit – on shaky ground. People will sit looking at me, thinking I’ve been abandoned by my husband—’

‘I’m sure they wouldn’t.’

‘Mummy, they would. I’d think they were, anyway, which is what matters.’

‘Have you heard from him?’

‘He wrote and thanked Giles for inviting him to the service.’

‘Good,’ said Venetia brightly.

‘Well – not really. He doesn’t feel he can accept.’

‘That’s understandable, I suppose. Unusually sensitive, under the circumstances.’

‘Mummy—’

‘Sorry. Any other news?’

‘No. Except that he’s found a proper flat, in Fulham, not just that awful room in Balham—’

‘Good.’

There was a silence; then Elspeth said, slightly tentatively, ‘I have got one suggestion for the young person.’

‘Yes?’

‘Jenna.’

‘Jenna! But she’s not even a Lytton.’

‘Well – she is, in a way. She’s Barty’s daughter. Barty was an honorary Lytton, she was brought up with you. She was more of a Lytton than Sebastian. I think she should be represented. And she’s very impressive. Jenna, I mean. Hugely self-confident, has that wonderful voice, sort of husky, like Barty’s—’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Venetia, ‘and maybe ask the others. But I don’t think they’ll like the idea.’

To her surprise, after the initial shock, they did: Jenna was a great favourite, she cut a swathe right through all the family complexities, she had been one of Celia’s pets.

‘But she might not agree,’ said Giles.

‘Well – we’ll write and ask her, shall we, Dell? Ask her from both of us. That’ll make it easier to say no, if she doesn’t feel she can cope.’

‘Why?’ said Giles.

‘It just—’ said Venetia.

‘—will,’ said Adele.

 

Jamie Elliott and Kyle Brewer faced Charlie across Kyle’s office. It was plain from both their expressions that they were finding the situation distasteful.

‘We understand from Jenna,’ said Jamie, ‘that you have financial problems.’

‘That is correct.’

‘And that you might have to take your daughter away from Dana Hall.’

‘Also correct.’

‘Jenna is finding this rather distressing,’ said Jamie.

‘I think that’s natural, don’t you? It distresses me and she’s quite fond of me, you know. Cathy is like a sister to her—’

‘Of course. We appreciate all that. And she has asked us to help you. Financially.’

‘She didn’t have to do that,’ said Charlie earnestly.

‘She didn’t?’ said Kyle, his eyes gimlet-hard. ‘I’m afraid I rather think she did. Having heard of your plight. She’s a very tender-hearted, very loyal girl. It might have been better if you hadn’t told her—’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Charlie, dropping his guard suddenly, ‘I was married to her mother. I’m her legal guardian. I’ve been looking after her ever since Barty died. It hasn’t been easy.’

‘We’re aware of that. And of how fond of you Jenna is. And, incidentally, what a very good job you have done.’

‘Well, thank you so much,’ said Charlie, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘Clearly I’m not all bad. Even by your impossibly high standards.’

‘Charlie, we want to help you—’

‘No you don’t. You absolutely hate the thought of helping me. You want to help Jenna. Well, that’s OK by me. Help is help, however you dress it up.’

‘Indeed. Now, it has been agreed by the trust that it will pay your daughter’s school fees, and her attendant expenses there, these to be defined in writing very carefully.’

‘Oh really? How do you mean, exactly?’

‘Well, her extra lessons, her clothes, her travel, that sort of thing. We would want receipts, obviously, from you—’

‘To make sure I won’t be slipping any gold watches in, handmade suits, that sort of thing? You guys disgust me. What kind of generosity is that?’

‘Charlie, I would advise you not to start cutting up rough,’ said Kyle, ‘it really isn’t very sensible.’

‘Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. Would you like me to lick both your asses, or just one of ’em?’

They ignored this.

‘We are also prepared,’ said Kyle, ‘to pay off your debts. We understand you have got into the hands of some rather unpleasant people—’

‘Yeah!’ said Charlie. ‘They have something in common with you guys.’

Kyle looked steadily at him.

‘Charlie, I do warn you, we could still change our minds about this.’

‘No, you couldn’t, Jenna wouldn’t let you.’

‘She doesn’t actually have the choice. Anyway, we are prepared, out of Jenna’s trust fund, to pay off those debts. We will do it for you, we want all the details, names, addresses, bank accounts—’

‘You mean you’re not letting me get my hands on anything really dangerous. Like the money.’

‘That’s about the size of it, yes. This to be set against your inheritance from Barty’s will.’

‘What?’

‘You heard,’ said Kyle.

There was a long silence: then Charlie said, ‘Jesus, you guys do take all. Fucking millions in that fucking fund and the guy who’s done most for Jenna over these past two years gets fucking peanuts out of it.’

‘Charlie—’

‘Oh for God’s sake. Listen to me, you two sanctimonious pricks. Two things here: one is that my debts are rather larger than my inheritance, as you call that chicken feed Barty’s chucked at me. The other is that unless you pay this honestly and fairly, that is to say, without setting it against any fucking thing, I’m off. Leaving. Turning my back on that poor benighted kid, leaving her at the mercy of that anally retentive tribe in England, and indeed you two charming heaps of shit. What do you think that’d do to her? She really does care for me, you know. I keep her going. She’d be pretty well done for if I went. That plucky little heart of hers would break. Oh, and by the way I do care for her too. A lot.’

‘We do – realise that,’ said Kyle. He spoke with difficulty.

‘Oh, you do? And you’re not prepared to do anything for me in return? I see.’

‘Charlie, please.’

‘No. I won’t please. I want what’s due to me, what anyone with an ounce of decency could see that I should have. OK? So do I get it or not? Huh?’

‘Would you give us a moment, please?’ said Jamie.

‘Sure,’ he said, suddenly more himself again, ‘sure. I’ll wait right here. I’ve got nothing else to do. My business has collapsed. Largely because I had to sell it in a hurry, thanks to you. No, you go ahead, take as many moments as you like.’

 

Ten minutes later they came back and told him they would unconditionally clear his debts, and that his legacy from Barty would be unaffected.

Charlie thanked them, gave them the information they had asked for and left.

At the corner of the street, using a public box, he put in a call to Jonathan Wyley.

‘I’m sorry I never answered your last letter,’ he said, ‘family problems. I’ve decided though, I’d like to go ahead. If you’re quite sure there’s no need for Miss Elliott to be involved at this stage.’

‘Absolutely no need. Provided you can give me written evidence that you are indeed her guardian. I’m delighted. Shall we make a date for you to come in, then?’

‘Yes, fine. I’ll call you when I’m home, and have my diary. Thanks.’

Charlie walked the several blocks home. Half relieved that his debts were to be settled and he’d get the loan off his back, half so angry still he could hardly see.

He’d show those fuckers. All of them. Lyttons, Elliotts, Brewers, the whole fucking lot of them. He wasn’t quite sure how, but he would.