Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (3 page)

‘I know,’ said Venetia, giving her a kiss. ‘I just thought that too.’

‘How did you know—’

‘I saw you looking at his place. And thought—’

‘It seems so soon,’ said Adele, ‘that’s what I keep thinking. So soon. A year, that’s all. And—’

‘When you get to my age, Adele, years are in shorter supply. You might think about that. It is one of the things I was going to speak about later.’

Adele turned. Her mother was smiling at her, apparently good-naturedly. Celia was pale but perfectly composed; she showed no sign of the intense emotional trauma she had just endured.

‘I have just heard that Kit can’t come. Such a pity. But – he’s very busy.’

And very, very shocked and distressed, Venetia thought; hardly surprising that he had refused to attend.

‘I’m – afraid Lucas can’t come either,’ said Adele. ‘I’m so sorry. He’s working terribly hard at school, and he’s tired and – here, he’s written you a note—’

Celia looked at it briefly, her face absolutely expressionless, then walked over and tossed it in the fire.

‘Very rude,’ she said, returning to Adele, ‘to you, as well as to me. He has no manners Adele. You should teach him some.’

‘Mummy—’

‘Adele I don’t want to hear yet again about Lucas’s tragic childhood, the loss of his father, all that rubbish. Noni had exactly the same, with the difference that she could actually remember her father. Lucas trades on the whole thing quite disgracefully. And you shouldn’t allow it. Tell him we didn’t miss him for a single moment. Boy, dear, I think we should go in at once, everyone’s here.’

Everyone except Kit, thought Venetia, following her mother into the dining room, taking her usual place in between her and Jay. With Giles at the other end of the table and Helena next to him, it was all so clearly prescribed by Celia that they never questioned it. The only changes came with death. Once Jay’s mother had sat where he was now, and Oliver – of course – opposite her mother. Kit’s place remained empty; Celia told Mrs Hardwicke, the housekeeper, to leave it.

‘He may still come,’ she said briefly, and then as Mrs Hardwicke continued to hover over it, ‘Mrs Hardwicke, I said leave it laid.’

She didn’t like Mrs Hardwicke very much; she couldn’t forgive her for not being Brunson, the butler who had looked after the household for almost fifty years, and who had died, as if it was the only decent thing to do, a very few weeks after Oliver.

But Kit would not come. He was too angry, too shocked, his last shreds of faith in his mother’s virtue finally destroyed.

‘I don’t feel I can ever meet her or speak to her again,’ he had said to Izzie on the telephone, his voice raw with pain. ‘I simply cannot understand her, Izzie. Is she absolutely wicked or absolutely mad?’

‘Neither,’ said Izzie, ‘she’s just your mother. Doing what she feels she must. A law unto herself.’

‘A bad law. How is Sebastian?’

‘Very very upset. And baffled, like you.’

‘Should I come—’

‘I don’t know. I could ask him. If you like.’

‘Yes. Would you, Izzie? Thank you.’

Izzie put the phone down, went into her father’s study. He was sitting at his desk, staring out at the darkening sky, white, drawn, his eyes redrimmed.

‘Father—’

‘Yes, what is it Isabella? I don’t want to be continually disturbed, I know you mean well, but—’

‘Kit’s on the phone. Would you like him to come and—’

‘No, no.’ He shook his head, sighed heavily, managed to smile at her. ‘I don’t think so. But thank him for offering. I just want to be alone. Maybe in a day or two. Shut the door would you?’

‘Yes father.’

Kit was getting drunk, he told her.

‘Oh Kit. Shall I—’

‘No. No, better not. Stay there with—’

‘Yes of course. But tomorrow we could—’

‘Yes, fine. About one?’

They communicated in half-sentences, rather like the twins. It was interesting, especially to those who did not know their history.

‘Now I hope you will understand.’ Celia had risen to her feet; dinner was over. ‘And forgive what appears to be my rather shocking haste. As I said to Venetia, time is in short supply at my – our age. I loved Oliver very much. Very, very much. We had a fine marriage. And I think I made him happy.’ She looked round the table, daring anyone to dissent. ‘I certainly tried. But – now he is dead. And I am very lonely.’ She paused; clearly feeling very strongly the need to explain, thought Adele. Celia hated admitting to any kind of weakness. And she would certainly perceive feeling lonely as that.

‘But I do know,’ said Celia, ‘Oliver would have wanted me to be happy. Generosity was one of his many virtues. And I am quite certain that I shall be. I have known Lord Arden for a long time, I am extremely fond of him, and we have a great deal in common. We can have a few – I hope not too few – very good years. And having decided it was the right thing for me – for us – to do, I also decided there should be no delay. As you know, having made a decision, I like to act. You are all adults; how I arrange my private life should not greatly affect you.’

Another silence; someone should say something, thought Venetia; even as the thought drifted into her head Boy stood up. ‘I think we should all raise our glasses to you Celia. You deserve every happiness. To Celia.’

‘To Grandmother,’ said Henry Warwick, smiling, ‘from our generation.’ Celia smiled back at him, blew him a kiss down the table. A dutiful murmur of ‘Grandmother’ went round the room.

‘Thank you,’ said Celia. ‘Now, there are some practical details. We plan to marry very quickly – perhaps even within the month. Just a quiet ceremony, in a register office, family only. Anything more would be – distasteful, we thought.’

And when did she ever do anything quietly, thought Helena. She’d manage to make a grand opera out of it somehow; tell half the press, invite a hundred friends . . .

‘And I also wanted to explain more fully why I am leaving Lyttons. I feel I owe it to Lord Arden to be at his side, sharing his life fully. That is what he wants, that is why he asked me to marry him.’

God, thought Giles, she sounds like some foolish girl, not a matriarch of nearly seventy. Does she really think we’re all going to believe in this claptrap? He felt almost sick with it, and wondered if he was the only one.

‘And besides, I feel it is time for me to go. Oliver and I created Lyttons, in the same way we created this family. Together.’

A bit too far, Mummy, thought Adele. This borders on nauseating. She’d be weeping in a minute.

‘I find doing it alone, running Lyttons without him, rather – unsatisfactory.’

And that’s how she sees it, Jay thought, as ‘doing it’ still. Running Lyttons. After – what? He’d been there fourteen years. The implication being that they all, still, did what she said. Even if it wasn’t quite the way things really were, it was strangely emasculating. He felt Tory’s hand slide into his under the table; he squeezed it and smiled at her quickly. She always understood.

‘Anyway, you can take it on now. You – three. I won’t interfere, I assure you.’ She looked round the table again, looking for dissent, her eyes amused. ‘I dare say you will find that a little hard to believe. Time will convince you, I hope. And I won’t be here much of the time. I intend to spend a lot of time in Scotland, and Lord Arden and I plan to travel a fair amount.’

So odd, the way she refers to him as ‘Lord Arden’, thought Venetia. As if we were children. She was reminded sharply and sadly of Celia’s own mother, who had always addressed and referred to her own husband as ‘Beckenham’ throughout their entire married life.

‘Obviously you will be wondering,’ said Celia, ‘about my share of Lyttons. Which Oliver and I held jointly until his death and which he left to me. I have thought long and hard about this. Whether I should relinquish that share. It would clearly make things easier for you. Otherwise you would always know that I could exercise my voting rights whenever I wanted to. Continue to interfere. Of course I do realise – ’ she paused, an expression of strong distaste on her still-fine features, ‘ – that they only represent a tiny fraction of their old value. In purely financial terms. But from the point of view of the day-to-day running of the company, they are important.’

So for the love of God, let them go, thought Giles. And give them to me, let me at last, finally, at the age of forty-nine, as your oldest son, take my rightful place at the head of this publishing house. Running it, as my father did. She was looking at him now, yes, that must mean, mustn’t it, it was to be his. God, it had been a long wait, but worth it—

‘Now I’m not at all sure that is what your father would have wished. Lyttons was always his first concern; he would have wanted it, I know, to remain mine.’

Well, we know what that means, thought Venetia, it means that you’re not retiring at all. You’ll still be there. Day after day. This retirement is a farce. And she wondered why she felt a perverse and very slight stab of relief. Celia reached for a cigarette, lit it, inhaled deeply, and then smiled; an odd, self-satisfied little smile. ‘On the other hand, Oliver always found it more difficult to move forward than I did. To recognise the need for change. I recognise that need now. I can see it would be hard for you to accept my decision to leave Lyttons while I still hold my shares. And I do want you to accept it – very much. So – I propose a compromise. What might be called a short-term solution. For just one year, I shall keep my shares. During which time I will play no part in the conduct of Lyttons. Either from an editorial or a commercial point of view.’ She half smiled again; an ironic, self-mocking smile. ‘I realise you may find this hard to believe; you will simply have to trust me.’

Very, very hard: impossible in fact, thought Giles.

‘And after that year?’ he said, as calmly as he could.

‘After that year, I will distribute the shares.’

‘Provided we run Lyttons to your satisfaction, I presume. And to Barty’s, of course.’

That at least had hit home, had hurt. Celia visibly flinched; then ‘I really don’t think we have to consider Barty too much in this,’ she said finally, her voice ice-edged. ‘New York has always been perfectly happy to leave us to our own devices. Indeed they have very little choice, in my opinion. I shall distribute my shares after a year. I have very little doubt that I shall feel happy by then to do so. You are all extremely well equipped to run Lyttons, you have considerable talents and you complement one another.’

‘But that’s not quite enough,’ said Jay. He was almost surprised to hear the words; he hadn’t meant to speak.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Celia.

‘You don’t regard our talents as quite sufficient. To take over now, from the start of your retirement.’

‘Jay, you haven’t been listening,’ said Celia patiently. ‘I want you to take over now. Immediately. I am tired, I want to do other things with my life. Lord Arden and I want to travel, to spend time on the estate.’

Had it really happened, wondered Venetia. Had she really, finally, tired of it, the ebb and flow of the publishing year, the balance of it all, seeing the new books making their faltering way against the background of the great stalwarts, discovering the literary works required to maintain the gravitas of the house, searching constantly for new biographical subjects, meeting the need to get out the new catalogues, fighting the battle for bookshop windows at Christmas . . . all the things that Celia had seemed to regard as more important and indeed more exciting than anything else in the world? Were they really to be set aside in favour of trips down the Nile with an elderly peer, or even days on the moors peering down the barrel of a gun?

‘Let me try to explain more fully,’ said Celia, stubbing out her cigarette, reaching for another. She smokes too much thought Adele, it isn’t good for her.

‘This is not a game I’m playing. I am absolutely serious. I’m sixty-eight years old. For almost fifty of those years I have sat in my office at Lyttons. Enthralling, exciting, rewarding years. But with perhaps as little as ten left, I suddenly feel – what shall I say – daunted by what I have not done and not seen. I would go so far as to say it seems a dereliction of duty. A failure to discover and explore as much as I can. You will not find me at my desk tomorrow morning, nor on the telephone, nor at any publishing meetings, and nor will I be checking out Lyttons’ position in any bookshops. I dare say I shall continue to take an interest in the overall publishing business, it would be difficult for me not to, but that is as far as I intend to go.’

‘Then why not let your shares go?’ said Giles.

‘Because I feel I would be betraying your father’s trust. He left his share in Lyttons to me; he was very clear about it. Almost his last words – ’ she stopped suddenly, her voice close to breaking, inhaled fiercely on her cigarette, ‘ – his last words were about the company. How proud of it he was and – ’ her voice had steadied, and she looked around the table at each of them in turn, her dark eyes defiant, ‘ – and of me. Of what we had done together. I cannot walk away entirely. Not yet. I have to reassure myself that Lyttons is in good hands and in good shape.’