Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) (18 page)

The beauty editor from
Vogue
said she wanted the lighting to be what she called very high contrast, ‘a bit like the latest shots Paul Tanqueray did of Gertie Lawrence, really dramatic and high key’, and Cedric clearly didn’t like this, he said he would decide how he wanted the lighting, which the beauty editor, in her turn, clearly didn’t like either. She kept wanting to look through the camera herself, which Cedric wouldn’t allow; he got increasingly edgy and difficult as the morning went on. The lights were very bright indeed and Adele could feel her face getting hot and, she feared, shiny, and started worrying about poor Venetia who was clearly not enjoying herself at all, and had already had to ask if she could go to the lavatory twice. The beauty editor had been very patient with her, but Cedric was clearly irritated (while struggling to hide it), and started shouting at the hairdresser to resettle the curls and the beauty editor to repowder their faces. Poor Venetia: such bad luck getting pregnant again so soon . . .

‘Right, girls, that looks perfect. Very, very still now, very, very serious, no smiles at all, please.’ Cedric squeezed the bulb at the end of the camera’s extension lead.

‘Lovely,’ he said, straightening up, smiling at them, ‘perfectly lovely. And another one please – yes, very nice and now – ’ he did a few more; it was all extremely slow, the assistant rushing about nervously, doing things to the camera, removing and re-fixing plates from the back of it, moving the lights infinitesimal distances. The hairdresser, meanwhile, tweaked at their curls and the beauty editor dabbed at their noses and Cedric examined the whole thing intently through the camera – and then Venetia said she was sorry, but she really did have to ask them to excuse her again for a moment, slithering off her stool and disappearing in the direction of the dressing room. Adele could see Cedric physically struggling to remain calm; to distract him, she said, not too seriously, that it might be fun if they had a mirror behind them. ‘So that we’d be doubled up again.’

‘Again?’ said the beauty editor.

‘Yes. So there’d be—’

‘Four of you, not just two,’ said Cedric. ‘Quite wonderful. Beauty to the power of four. Let’s do it, it will show more of the hair as well. It won’t be easy making sure the camera doesn’t get in the picture, but it will be infinitely worth it.’

Venetia had come back into the room, settled herself patiently on her stool; Cedric stood staring at the two of them, his head on one side.

‘I just had this idea,’ said Adele, rather apologetically, because she could see how tired Venetia was getting, ‘for using a mirror. So there’d be four of us.’

Venetia stared at her. ‘I can’t see that, I’m afraid,’ she said, ‘there are only two of us. Surely that’s the whole point about us being twins. We’re not quads.’

‘Unfortunately,’ said Cedric, ‘then we could have eight of you. My God, I wonder if we could use two sets of mirrors and do that . . . of course, we’d have to completely rethink the lighting. Michael! Michael, come back. Another thought. Fabrice, what does that do to our lovely hair – start with Mrs Warwick, would you?’

Barty opened the door herself; he felt a stab of relief. He had half expected the rather aggressive Abbie to be with her. She was wearing a very old and shabby jersey and a long skirt; she was pale and her eyes were dull and heavy.

‘Hallo,’ she said.

‘Hallo, Barty, can I – that is, please may I come in?’

‘I really don’t think there’s the slightest point,’ she said, ‘in fact I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘Barty, please – I only want to – to apologise.’

‘Well, you don’t need to come in to do that,’ she said, ‘do you?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘no I suppose not.’

‘Well, then.’ She stood looking at him, her eyes dull and disinterested.

Giles took a deep breath. ‘I’m – I’m so desperately sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

‘Well, thank you for that.’

‘Please forgive me.’

There was a long silence; then ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said eventually, quite calmly and politely.

Giles felt a stab of panic. ‘Barty, please – I know what a dreadful thing it was, what I said. Well, all of it, but especially – well, you know – about – about—’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, I do know what about.’

‘Couldn’t I just – come in for a moment?’

‘Giles, I’m sorry, but I’d really rather you didn’t.’

‘But I want to talk to you. Try to explain—’

‘You just don’t understand, do you?’ she said. ‘There’s nothing you can explain. Or at least explain away.’

‘But I didn’t mean it. I really, really didn’t mean it. It was cruel and terrible, but I only said it because I was upset.’

‘I know,’ said Barty consideringly, ‘but it was true.’

‘Barty, of course it wasn’t true.’

‘Yes, it was. Dreadfully true. I don’t mean about me going to – to your mother, talking about my ideas. We could argue about whether I should have done that for hours. But saying – well, the other thing. That was true. And – well, I don’t know how I can – well, how I can come back to Lyttons at all. Not now you’ve made me see that.’

Giles felt as if he might actually be sick; the ground seemed to heave beneath him. He put out his hand to steady himself, swallowed hard.

‘Barty—’

‘No, Giles. Don’t say again that you didn’t mean it. Whether you did or not, lots of people would agree with you. Probably do agree with you, probably say it all the time.’

‘They don’t. I swear they don’t.’

‘Well—’ She sighed. ‘They wouldn’t actually say it, not to you. You’re a Lytton, aren’t you?’ She made the word sound derisive, a slur of some magnitude. ‘But, well, that’s why I feel the way I do. Because you’ve made me see. Lady Celia Lytton’s social experiment, that’s what I am. And how clever of her, that she’s made me turn out so well. Oh dear—’ Her lip suddenly trembled, her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed, looked at him. ‘How do you think being that person makes me feel? I – I really would like you to go, Giles. I need to be alone. I’m trying to think what to do. Please. Please go away.’

Giles left. He couldn’t remember ever being so unhappy.

‘Oh, that was fun! Just the best fun,’ said Adele, smiling at Cedric, holding out her hand. Venetia had gone, exhausted and anxious to get back to Henry before he had his bath. The session had taken almost all day.

‘I’m so glad you thought so,’ said Cedric. He smiled at her; the photographs taken and the beauty editor departed, he was quite restored to the sunny charm that Adele had so enjoyed at the party. ‘Most ladies get terribly bored and restive. You were very patient. And wonderful. The mirrors – such a good idea.’

‘Did you really think so?’

‘I really thought so.’

‘Well, I loved the whole thing.’ She pulled out her cigarette case, offered it to him. ‘I suppose you use professional models most of the time. So you don’t get people being tired and falling off their stools and things.’

‘Sometimes,’ said Cedric, putting his cigarette in a long ebony holder. ‘But it’s very hard to get the right look. To find the right girl. A lot of these professionals have rather – what shall I say – mundane faces. And there really aren’t very many of them. It isn’t a very – aspirational profession, I’m afraid. I do prefer to use real-life beauties, when I can. Like yourself.’ He smiled at her. ‘Of course, for the big fashion sessions, we do tend to use the professional girls.’

‘How do you find them? Do you meet them at parties?’

‘No, they usually come to us via the editors of the magazines. They know them all, of course, through seeing them at the fashion shows. But then they’re not always photogenic. In fact, very often they’re not photogenic at all. And sometimes we use young actresses, they can be fun. You can spend an inordinate amount of time just looking for a face, the right face. As, of course, looking for the right props—’

‘Props?’

‘Yes. Like your mirror today. We were lucky, in that we had something here. But it doesn’t often happen. I like to use all sorts of objects in my photographs, small tables, vases, flowers, maybe an ashtray or a lamp. I don’t quite go for all those draperies Cecil likes, just a few things – they lend a picture interest and character. But they all have to be found and it takes a lot of time. Tomorrow now, I’m taking another beauty photograph, more hair, not nearly as lovely as yours I fear, and I want a figure – quite a small one, but very stylish – to stand on the table beside the model. Her hair will be straight, quite different from yours, and I want the figure to echo it. I just haven’t had time to find it yet. In fact, you must excuse me now—’

‘No need,’ said Adele, standing up, smiling at him, ‘no need at all. I’ve got exactly the right thing for you. At least, I think I have. Bronze. Chiparus. Yes? Thought so.’ Her voice was triumphant. ‘I’ll bring it in first thing tomorrow. Or later today, if you’d rather—’

‘My dearest Adele,’ said Cedric Russell. ‘You seem suddenly to have assumed the proportions of a divine visitation. How simply wonderful. I would adore to borrow it. But not today. I would hate the responsibility of having something so extremely valuable in my studio overnight. And – would your parents be happy for you to lend such a thing? To someone they do not know?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ said Adele lightly, ‘they won’t mind a bit. She just sits in the morning room, hardly looked at. Anyway, I’ll bring her over in the morning. Don’t give it another thought.’

She drove home rather fast, still excited by her day, and ran upstairs to the morning room where the figure stood – an exquisite creature in bronze and ivory, wearing a catsuit and cloche hat, poised mid-dance. It was dark already; she switched on the light, went over to the small table where she stood, and spoke aloud.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, you would be just perfect.’

There was a cough from behind her; she looked round, saw Giles.

‘Heavens! What on earth are you doing here, sitting in the dark, why aren’t you saving the fortunes of the house of Lytton?’

‘Fat chance of that,’ said Giles, gloomily, ‘I’m doing more for it, staying away.’

‘Oh, Giles,’ Adele’s face softened in sympathy, ‘I’m sorry. Isn’t it any better? I mean, aren’t you enjoying it better?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘no, I can’t say I am.’

And then suddenly he dropped his head into his hands; there was a strange sound, half cough, half sob. Adele looked at him horrified, went over, and put her arm round him.

‘Oh, Giles! Poor old boy. Whatever is it?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Of course you could. Whatever it is. Come on. All those confessions I used to make to you, watching Miss Davis sitting on the lav through the crack in the door, listening at the door while Mummy and Daddy were having their special talks, being beastly to Barty when Nanny wasn’t looking—’

‘Oh Christ,’ said Giles, ‘Christ, don’t talk about being beastly to Barty.’

‘Well, we were horrid to her. Both of us. But she’s all right now, more all right than any of us, I’d say.’

‘She’s not,’ said Giles. ‘She really isn’t. Far from it. And it’s all my fault.’ He got out his handkerchief and blew his nose. Adele looked at him.

‘I think you’d better tell me what this is about,’ she said.

God, oh God, thought Barty, he’s come back. It could only be Giles. Abbie had been to visit her, had tried to comfort her and had left for the theatre with her parents; no one else would be here at this time of night. It was almost eight o’clock. She decided not to answer it. The bell rang again, and then again: hard. She’d get into trouble with her landlady if it went on. She sighed and went downstairs.

‘Look,’ she said, opening the door, ‘look, just go away would you, I told you—’

But it wasn’t Giles. It was Adele.

‘Awfully nice your flat,’ she said, wandering round it, shedding gloves, hat, coat, smiling sweetly at her.

‘Thank you. Look, Adele, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m awfully tired and—’

‘It’s all right. I won’t stay long, I promise. And Giles doesn’t know I’m here. He’d kill me if he did. Cigarette?’

Barty shook her head, fetched an ashtray from the kitchen.

‘Look,’ said Adele, inhaling hard, blowing out a cloud of smoke, ‘look, I know what Giles said to you. And it was awful. Awful.’

‘You think so, do you?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘It was true.’

‘’Fraid not,’ said Adele cheerfully.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You mustn’t be so – so touchy, Barty. Of course people aren’t going round saying you only do well because Mummy took you in and took you over.’ Barty winced at the words, but managed to remain silent. ‘I rather wish they did. It would let us off the hook a bit.’

‘I – don’t know what you mean.’

‘I mean that nobody thinks you’re doing well because of that. Nobody at all. They think – well, they know – it’s because you’re so clever and work so hard. I mean, if you were doing something easy, like – oh, I don’t know, sitting in Boy’s art gallery all day talking to dealers or whatever that woman does – well, then they might. But you can’t do that at Lyttons. You have to prove yourself all the time. It’s why I wouldn’t work there for anything. Golly, then people really would be able to say it. That I was only there because I was a Lytton, complete hash of it I’d make, in no time at all.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Barty carefully.

‘Of course they would. Anyway, it’s the same as your degree; I mean, a whole lot of old dons or whatever aren’t going to give you a first just because – well, you know what I’m saying. I hope.’

Barty said nothing.

‘Look,’ Adele leaned forward. ‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but just think what it’s like for Giles. I mean, he really isn’t doing very well at Lyttons, and it must be agony for him, seeing you such a star.’

‘I’m not a star,’ said Barty fretfully.

‘Well, a starlet, then. Doing well, having lots of ideas—’

‘But—’

‘Barty, don’t be an idiot. Please. Let Giles see you. He’s so sorry. He was – well, he was dreadfuly upset this evening. And he does absolutely adore you—’