CHAPTER 31
Ana
Ana and Harry shared their news first with Megan and Charles, who themselves had had a baby girl, Francesca, two months ago. Already Ana was picturing summers in Italy, their children splashing together in the pool of the sprawling Tuscan villa they would buy.
“You’ll need to move again—this place isn’t child friendly,” said Megan. The former wild child was surprisingly into all things domestic.
She was probably right. There was so much white and so much glass. Having a child would mean relaxing her neat-freak tendencies. Did she mind that she’d need to change? She was mildly astonished to discover that she didn’t.
“You should come and live near us,” said Megan. She and Charles had moved to a pretty town house in Islington. Megan loved it there, but Charles, a staunch Tory, disliked the champagne socialists who’d colonized the area. The leader of the opposition, Tony Blair, was a neighbor, and apparently the gentrified street was full of “sun-dried tomato eaters.”
“Chelsea would be more you, Harry,” said Charles. “But you’ll have to move fast. The Russians are buying it all up. They’re coming off the plane from Moscow with suitcases full of cash. Of course, we’re encouraging them to invest all their lovely rubles with us, but they’re also snapping up property like nobody’s business, especially round here.”
“Where are they getting all their money from?” asked Ana.
“Asset sales, oil—much of it highly dodgy, but the bank hears no evil, sees no evil. Harry, far be it from me to talk business tonight, but seriously, let me know if you’re looking for investors.”
“Interesting,” Harry replied. “Are your Russian buddies likely to be interested in satellite TV, perhaps in the sports area?”
“Undoubtedly. Especially if football’s involved.”
“Then we should have lunch next week—I’ll get Janette to ring you and we can set the footballski rolling.”
News of Ana’s pregnancy made no difference to Katie’s stance on divorce. Ana tried not to care that her child would be born “out of wedlock,” as her father insisted on calling it when they told her parents the happy news.
They were in Kent for the weekend, and Ana and her mother were peeling vegetables for Sunday lunch.
“At least you won’t be one of those brides waddling down the aisle in the nick of time,” said Liz. “Such a vulgar look. Just make sure everything’s in place for when the divorce finally comes through. You want to move fast when it’s someone like Harry.”
Ana stopped peeling and looked at her mother. “What do you mean, ‘someone like Harry’?”
“Don’t play the ingenue, darling. There will always be women keen to take your place, and men are easily led. You’ll be up to your neck in nappies and exhausted from lack of sleep. It’s all too easy to let things slide.”
They already have.
Ana had been mortified when Harry stopped wanting sex, fobbing her off with one lame excuse after another. Finally he’d confessed to an irrational fear of harming the baby, following his traumatic experiences with Katie. It had been a relief to find out the reason. All she could hope was that after the baby was born, he’d be ready, if not desperate, to resume normal relations.
“I intend to employ a nanny, Mum.”
“That’s good. Just make sure she’s not too pretty.”
Really? What century was her mother from?
“Ana, we’ve never talked properly about Merry. Do you ever think about how she must be feeling?”
Ana’s stomach dropped. Her sister had been on her mind, but she’d been putting off dealing with the situation.
“I thought not.”
“It was just a fling, Mum. They were both married.”
“He led her on. She thought he’d get a divorce and marry her, after Will died.”
“He didn’t lead her on, and he never said he’d marry her.”
“Right, well. I’ve only heard her side of the story, but he broke her heart. And look what’s happened to your relationship with her. Can’t you make it up, darling? It’s so upsetting for your father and me. You used to be so close.”
Her mother was right. Ana missed her sister, and whereas Harry seemed to have wiped her completely from his conscience, Merry had been playing on hers.
“I thought you were a feminist, Ana. How does the way Harry treated Merry—and his wife, actually—fit in with that whole sisterhood idea?”
Her mother was pulling her up on her feminist principles. How had it come to this?
“Look, I’ll get in touch. She’ll probably hate me even more now that I’m having his baby, but I’ll try my best.”
“Good. There’s one more thing, before the men get back from the pub.”
“Well, they say bad things come in threes. Fire away.”
“They aren’t bad things, darling, I just worry about you. I met Helen Worthington in town last week, and she told me Percy North’s getting married. I wasn’t sure if you knew?”
Ana had hardly thought of Percy recently. “That’s nice, Mum. I’m pleased for him.”
“No regrets? I was fond of Percy.”
“Lucky escape!” said Ana’s father, appearing with Harry in the kitchen doorway. Their cheeks were ruddy after their walk back from the Henry VIII.
“I concur,” said Harry. “North was not worthy of such a prize.” He kissed Ana, and she wafted the air, saying, “Pooh, beer.”
“Obsequious chap, always insisted on calling me Sir Tom.”
“That’s because you scared him, Dad.”
“The best man won, eh, Harry?” said Tom, clapping him on the shoulder.
“All’s fair in love and war.” Harry winked at Ana.
The men went to hang up their coats.
“What did Harry mean by that?”
Ana wasn’t going to tell her mother the truth. She hardly wanted to acknowledge it herself. “Just the usual dick-waving stuff, Mum.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” And then she let out a loud snort. “Oh, gosh, that’s funny. I’ve never heard that expression before. But seriously, darling, as soon as you hold your own child in your arms, you’ll understand why I worry about you. It doesn’t stop when they leave home. I’m sure Harry loves you very much, but just be careful. And if you can see your way to getting in touch with Merry, well, you’d make your mum very happy.”
Ana dropped the final sprout into the saucepan and wrapped her mother in a hug. “I’ll try, Mum, I promise.”
Harry
September 1997
The intriguing thing about babies, Harry thought, as he returned his day-old daughter’s intense gaze, was that at the very start of their lives, there was something ancient about them. He’d felt it before, with Maria. For that first day or two, it was like meeting an old soul in a brand-new body. A knowingness in their eyes, like they’d lived before, like they knew you. And then it was gone.
He remembered Katie saying it was because their eyes couldn’t focus properly, they were making a huge effort to see and understand the blurry image filling their vision. That was why it was like having your soul searched. She was probably right. But when Harry stroked Elizabeth’s cheek and said, “Hello there,” it felt uncannily like he was greeting a long-lost loved one.
Ana smiled at them from her hospital bed. “A boy next time, maybe.”
“Don’t be daft, I couldn’t be happier.”
“She looks so much like you.”
“You mean she’s ginger.”
“Golden-haired. I thought maybe we should shorten her name to Eliza, otherwise it’s going to be confusing, with my mum.”
“Eliza. I like it. Happy with that?” he said to the little bundle.
She continued to gaze at him, a slight frown on her tiny face.
“She says it’s fine by her.”
“Katie sent flowers,” Ana said. “And . . . so did Merry.”
“Merry? Does this mean the olive branch has been accepted?”
“I’m hoping so. I don’t think she’s ready to see you yet, but she’s invited Elizabeth—Eliza—and me up to stay.”
“That’s good. Happy families again.”
Harry put Eliza carefully back in her bassinet and sat down on the edge of Ana’s hospital bed. Already, she was almost back to her immaculate self. He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re incredible, darling.” He grinned. “Not too posh to push after all.”
“I’m a lot more sore than I look.” She wriggled a little and winced.
“I have a small token of my appreciation.” He fished inside his suit jacket and took out a key with a Porsche fob attached. “It’s a 911. Red. I’ve road tested her; she’s a dream.”
As she took the key, openmouthed, he dropped a kiss on her head and stood. “Better go. Get some rest now, you deserve it. I’ll ring you. On this.” He fished in his jacket again and took out the latest Nokia mobile phone. “Press this button when it rings.” One of the youngsters at the office had shown Harry how to use it, and they’d set the ringtone to the William Tell overture for fun.
Back at the office, Harry got very little done. People kept dropping by to congratulate him, and he wanted to show them all the Polaroids he’d taken of Eliza.
As the latest visitor left, Janette appeared. “Do you want me to shut the door, Harry? You’d probably like to finish your work so you can get off home.”
“No, leave it. I can’t settle to it anyway. Did I show you the photo?”
“Yes you did. She’s so beautiful.”
“How about we wet the baby’s head?”
“We should! Shall I see who’s still here?”
Janette was so sweet. Even though she had feelings for him, she was still enjoying his excitement at being a dad again.
“How about a glass of champagne à deux, Moneypenny? We haven’t had a good chat in a while.”
“Oh! OK, then. That’d be nice.”
It was a relaxed evening, requiring little effort from Harry as Janette chatted away. She spent the first half hour sharing her grief at the recent death of Princess Diana. The mood at the office had been somber for days now, everyone shocked at the untimely end of a person who’d been so much a part of their lives. His editors had been reviewing their dealings with the paparazzi, feeling uncomfortable about their complicity in creating the demand for celebrity photos. Many had slipped out to add to the sea of flowers at Kensington Palace.
“I keep thinking of that Panorama interview,” said Janette. “She loved Charles all those years, but did he ever really love her?” She wiped away a tear. “Poor Diana.”
“She was a gem,” said Harry, who’d met her many times. He remembered her flirtatious smile, those big blue eyes looking up at him from beneath her fringe. She’d been funny, too, and exceptionally kind.
“I don’t like that Camilla,” said Janette. She didn’t hold back on her opinion of Mrs. Parker Bowles as the third glass of champagne took hold.
Harry watched her, amused. Janette’s style had changed over the past year. She now wore her hair swept up and had taken to wearing simple shift dresses. Harry suspected she modeled herself on Ana, perhaps subconsciously, as he knew she wasn’t a fan. This more sophisticated look made it all the more exciting when Harry remembered what had been revealed that time he’d unzipped her little black dress.
His conscience prodded him. What are you thinking? Your girlfriend and soon-to-be wife has just given birth to your child!
True, but it had been months since he and Ana made love. The problem had been his, a response to the sad endings to Katie’s failed pregnancies. It didn’t feel right. Babies were too fragile.
If he hadn’t had that moment in Manchester, he would let it go. Gone home with a clear conscience. But Janette was so cute, and that whole role-play thing she’d done kept coming back to tease him.
“I don’t know about you, Moneypenny,” he drawled as he waved the waiter over for the bill, “but I find dessert is best served on satin sheets.”
The blush was back! But she smiled, and he felt her toe tickle his calf.
“Home, James,” she said, and giggled.
It was just for fun, he told himself. He deserved a bit of that, didn’t he?
Ana
Motherhood was overwhelming. Even with a live-in nanny, it drained Ana in a way nothing ever had, both emotionally and physically.
Harry was besotted with his little daughter. He changed nappies, got up in the night, took her for walks in the buggy. Watching them together made Ana happy but, on the whole, motherhood hadn’t been great for their relationship. The return to bedroom normality was a relief, but there was something missing. She didn’t look too closely into what that was, for fear of finding out.
She hadn’t returned to work yet. They’d decided she could do with a decent break, after moving to their new Chelsea home and having a baby. So she didn’t have much of interest to talk to Harry about. She even bored herself, as she described walks in the park, sleeping patterns, baby milestones.
After nearly five years, Harry’s divorce had finally come through. Frustrated with Wolston’s failure to bend the law, he’d sacked his faithful old servant and employed a ruthless lawyer by the name of Cranwell. He was an obsequious snake who made Ana’s skin crawl, but he’d somehow managed to shave a few months off the waiting period. With her mother’s warning ringing in her ears, Ana had made sure everything was in place for their wedding.
They’d decided on a civil ceremony at the Chelsea Old Town Hall, followed by a reception at the Ritz. Harry had suggested keeping it simple, thinking Ana would be too tired to organize a big affair. Megan was too busy to help, having just had another baby, Helena, herself. But although Ana was prepared to downsize from the glorious castle she’d chosen for the aborted wedding to Percy, there was no way she was going to relinquish any of the pomp and ceremony appropriate for her marriage to Harry Rose.
It was the long- (so very long-) awaited day, and Ana took stock of her feelings as she climbed the town hall steps. There was triumph; she’d finally made it, after all these years. She would be Mrs. Rose, wife of a powerful man whose influence was growing daily.
Happiness? That was there too. Though it was so entwined with triumph and relief that she wasn’t sure it deserved its own heading.
She swept into the ceremony room on her father’s arm, and triumph surged as she smiled at the eminent politicians, the business tycoons, a carefully chosen bunch of celebrities, as well as relatives and a small group from the office. She saw Maria, sitting with Megan. She must have been the only ten-year-old in history who’d asked not to be a bridesmaid, because she thought bridesmaid dresses were “stupid.” Charles was best man, of course. Merry had made her excuses.
Harry turned, and she saw his intake of breath, heard others as she passed. She was wearing a simple ivory silk gown that forgave nothing. Her shoulders were bare, and the back was cut low. Her glossy black hair was piled on top of her head in curls, and she held a small bouquet of creamy flowers. She was the living embodiment of the less-is-more fashion philosophy.
She noted the look of dismay on Janette’s face as she swept past. Never mind, Moneypenny. Oh yes, she knew about the silly little nickname that still made the ridiculous secretary dissolve into giggles.
But now Janette and all the others were behind her, and here was Harry, indecently handsome in a dark blue suit, looking at her like he used to all those years ago, when she was still a challenge.
The ceremony was short. When the celebrant said Harry could kiss his bride, he pulled her into his arms as though it was the first time, and happiness inched ahead of triumph.
She linked her arm through Harry’s and they made their way down the aisle, past VIPs, grinning friends and relatives, and Janette, whose puffy red eyes were ringed with smudged mascara.
They honeymooned in Menton, in an achingly beautiful villa shared with Eliza, the nanny, and a local cook and housekeeper. Days in the pool with Eliza, sleepy afternoons when the heat was intense, a little light sex, delicious meals outside under the stars, walks in the old town.
“It’s so divine here,” said Ana. “I could happily live in Provence. Maybe we should buy somewhere.”
“La Vie en Ana Rose,” said Harry. “Funny you should say that. Welcome to your wedding present.”
“And baby came too. Not your traditional bonkfest, then,” said Terri, on Ana’s first day back at work, a month later.
“Not exactly, no. But it was lovely.”
“Glad to hear it. Welcome back, Mrs. Rose.”
Terri was the only person who seemed pleased to see her. “Fuck, you’re thinner than before you were pregnant. How’s that even possible?”
“Lack of sleep, probably. For new and less-fun reasons. Terri—what happened to your ‘fook’?”
“I’m turning into a southerner, innit? Anything you want to catch up on, babe, just buy me an expensive lunch and I’ll fill you in.”
Someone had taken over Ana’s old office, and she’d been allocated space on the finance floor. It was much bigger and had a great view over the Thames. But the department was silent, the accountants’ heads down, the only sound the tapping of keyboards and the ringing of phones, any conversation muted and murmured. Already she missed the buzz of the third floor, with its music and chatter, the creative vibe as people swapped opinions, ran ideas past each other.
Outside her door was her assistant Mark’s desk. He’d already disappeared on one of his fact-finding missions. In her absence he’d been seconded to the sales department, and she suspected he was back there, gossiping with his mates.
Next to her computer was a pristine notepad with neatly laid-out pens. She doodled a little artwork on the pad, just to put her mark on something. She needed to speak to Harry. Her managing editor role was a non-job, a sop. With the benefit of hindsight, she saw that clearly now. She didn’t want to be stuck up here shuffling papers while Rose forged ahead. She wanted to be part of it.
She picked up the phone. “Harry, please,” she said to Janette, fiddling with the cord as she waited.
“I’m sorry, he’s not here this morning. Can I take a message?”
“Where is he?”
A pause. “Shall I get him to ring you back this afternoon?”
“Does he have his mobile?”
“He’s in a meeting. I’ll tell him you rang.”
Ana put the phone down. She’d tackle him tonight.
Harry
You know my opinion, Ana. Stick with what you’re good at. We’re launching a new title, aimed at the executive woman. You could be art director.”
He really didn’t need this right now. What he needed was to relax with the paper and a glass of wine, while someone cooked him a decent meal. Today’s meeting with Charles and the Russians had been hard going; it was difficult to understand their thickly accented broken English. And there was an air of menace about them, in spite of the hearty smiles and backslapping. He hated to think where Sokolov’s billions had come from.
Thank heavens for Charles, who was brokering the investment for a dedicated football channel on Rose TV, his small but fast-growing satellite TV offering. The next step was apparently to procure the best seats for Chelsea’s forthcoming home game. Charles would need to come too, and in the meantime Harry intended to swot up on the offside rule.
“That’s it?” she said. “Art director? You think I’d be interested in going backward?”
“Look, Ana. What is it you actually want?”
“A role with teeth, Harry. A seat on the board. A directorship. You know I’m capable.”
“Leave it with me. Is there food? I’m starving.”
“Tegan left a lasagna. Can you put it in while I go and check on Eliza?”
“Why don’t you put it in and then check on Eliza. I’m bushed.”
“So am I! I had to brief Tegan before I left for work, then I was worrying all day about how Eliza would do without me, as well as trying to adjust to being back at work. Have a bit of consideration.”
He stood. “I’ll check on our daughter. You put the lasagna in. If you can manage it.”