Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (88 page)

‘Come along,’ he whispered to her, taking her hand, half standing up. ‘Time to go, I think. You all right?’

She nodded, feebly, breathing deeply, visibly easing back into herself; it was over for now.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘I’ll be—’

‘No,’ he said, ‘come on, now! Do as you’re told.’

A few people had noticed, were staring; obediently she stood up, whispered to Kit that she was fine, and followed Sebastian meekly down the aisle. Halfway down, another pain; the effort of trying not to bend double was absolutely monumental.

Outside, he took her arm; ‘Come along, my darling. By happy chance, there’s a hospital just there, two hundred yards away. We can walk there. Next pain, just lean on me and breathe very, very deeply.’

‘Sebastian, no, you’re about to speak,’ she said, ‘get someone else, please, and go back in.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘absolutely not. That will waste time, and besides, what do you think Celia would say to me if I left you to bear our grandchild with some stranger? Now, this way—’

‘Oh!’ She almost cried out with the pain this time; violent, tearing at her, longer, rising faster, fading more slowly. ‘Oh, Sebastian—’

Somehow he got her there, walked her into the admissions hall, stayed with her while they put her into a wheelchair and, stroking her hair, told her not to be afraid, she would be all right, she would survive, went with her into the lift and along the corridors, walking beside the chair, holding her hand, even made her laugh once – ‘What would that old fruit in the church have said if you’d had it there? On his rather over-polished flagstones.’

‘Jenna, you’ll have to speak now,’ Giles’s voice was very calm, very authoritative, as the strains of the next hymn finally faded. ‘It doesn’t look as if Sebastian’s coming back. All right?’

She took a last look at Charlie, her eyes very large and scared, and he gave her the briefest kiss on her cheek and then she stood up and walked very steadily to the lectern and began.

God, he was proud of her. So proud. She looked beautiful standing there, her large eyes looking round the church, speaking to them all with a sweet half-childish authority.

‘I am not quite related to Lady Arden,’ she said, and there was only the mildest tremor in her voice, ‘or rather to Celia, which is what she told me to call her. But my mother, as most of you know, was brought up by her. That is why I am here. I represent my mother, who loved her very much, and I loved her very much too. She was, it seems to me, a shining example to everyone. Certainly to me: I hope to grow up and live long enough to be very like her. Not in quite the same way, but to be clever, and brave and greatly loved, and also to set the kind of examples which even the youngest person can follow . . .’

They had allowed him to stay. He was there with her through it, through the almost shockingly short but fierce labour, soothing her, helping her, bathing her face, giving her sips of water, holding the mask for her when she tried to push it off, encouraging her to push, push her daughter, her red-faced, furious, wailing, flailing daughter, into the world. ‘We must call her Pandora,’ Clementine said, ‘how lovely, how lovely—’

Jenna had finished; with a sweet, final tribute to Celia, which had brought a choke of emotion to almost everyone in the church: ‘She helped me so much when my mother died. She talked to me about her as much and as often as I wanted, no matter how tired she was or how upset herself. She brought her alive for me again, sitting with me hour after hour, comforting me with stories of my mother, stories I had never heard, but will never forget. I call that courage, and I call that love. I am very proud to be her honorary granddaughter.’

She smiled then, very sweetly, and returned to her seat. Charlie put his arm round her shoulders and hugged her and Cathy squeezed her hand; ‘Well done,’ whispered Lord Arden; ‘Very well done,’ both the twins said; and everyone around her was smiling at her and Noni was blowing kisses to her across the aisle and, after a few moments, Lucas did the same; and further back, Joan’s face was streaming with tears, and Billy was blowing his nose very hard.

And Elspeth turned and looked behind her to smile at Keir; only to see that he was not there.

A few hundred yards away, Sebastian watched, first puzzled and then anxious, as Clementine’s face, so serene and so happy, suddenly distorted with pain again, and she cried out. And, as the final anthem soared in the church, a second baby was born, a boy; and no anthem, Sebastian thought, laughing and weeping at the same time, no eulogy, no words that he could possibly have spoken, could have been a better celebration of Celia’s life and his place in it than twin grandchildren, born in his presence, to him and to her.

CHAPTER 48

Where had he gone? Why had he gone?

The hurt, the disappointment, was almost unbearable. She had really thought he had come back, had decided he might be able to forgive her. Now it was over again. And he was gone.

Elspeth sighed heavily, turned to pick up her things, smiled brilliantly and bravely at everyone, and followed the rest of the family out of the church.

Outside, it was almost dark, and the fog was coming in again, swirling around the lights of the buses and cars in Trafalgar Square; everyone was talking at once, saying how lovely it had been, how wonderful Jenna had been, how touching Lord Arden’s words had been, and, of course, above all, where were Clemmie and Sebastian, was she all right?

Sebastian was walking out of the lift and into the reception area of the Charing Cross Hospital, feeling exhausted and slightly shaken now as well as elated, his mind fixed firmly on a drink, when he saw Keir, sitting by the door, looking nervous.

‘Hallo,’ he said, rather warily.

‘Hallo, Sebastian. Is she – is she all right?’

‘She’s fine. Two babies. Two healthy babies.’

‘Two!’

‘Yes. Boy and a girl. Wonderful, isn’t it?’

‘Wonderful. Congratulations.’

‘No reason to congratulate me,’ said Sebastian firmly. ‘She did all the work. Now I must go and find Kit. How did you know I was here?’

‘I – followed you. When you left the church.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes. I wanted to speak to you. Then I realised you had more important things to worry about—’

‘Just slightly—’

‘So I waited.’

‘Right. Well, I can’t stop now.’

‘No. Of course not. But this won’t take long. I wanted to say I was sorry. For being so rude, when you phoned. I really am very sorry.’

Sebastian stared at him. In all the time he had known Keir he had never known him express any kind of apology for anything. It was quite unexpected.

‘Oh – that’s perfectly all right,’ he said, ‘you were upset. I understand.’

‘It’s very nice of you. Thank you.’

‘Look,’ said Sebastian suddenly. ‘Look, there was a reason for my phoning. I had a message for you. From Celia.’

‘From Celia?’

‘Yes. But – it might require a bit of explanation. Especially as it’s reaching you a bit late. I’ve got to go to this damn fool dinner at Venetia’s tonight. But I don’t intend to stay very long. Why don’t we meet for a drink after that. Like to come to my club? The Reform. At say – ten.’

‘Well – yes,’ said Keir. ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you very much.’

‘Good. Well I must go now. They probably visualise Clemmie having her baby in the gutter somewhere or other.’

‘He must have taken her to hospital,’ said Venetia. ‘Don’t worry, Kit, she’ll be perfectly safe with him, it’s just a question of finding out where.’

‘He’ll let us know as soon as he can,’ said Adele, ‘probably the best thing is to go home, where he can phone us.’

But Kit was distraught, said they must not leave, Clemmie might come back, looking for them, Sebastian might come for him, take him to her, he simply must stay.

Boy volunteered to go home to wait for news there, Jamie to visit all the hospitals in the vicinity, Jay to go to the nearest police station and put in a call to all the hospitals which might, he said, be quicker, Kyle to telephone Clementine’s consultant in London and see if he had any news.

Only Charlie said nothing and did nothing; just stood there, frustrated by the delay, longing for them all to disappear, to go to Venetia’s, so that he could plead a worsening headache and a need to go back to Cheyne Walk. Then make his way to the completely deserted Lytton House. And Celia’s office. And Celia’s safe. And the rest of Celia’s diaries.

‘Look,’ said Jenna, pointing. ‘Look, there he is. There’s Sebastian.’

And there he was, striding through the thickening fog, waving cheerily, smiling, looking suddenly years younger.

‘Kit,’ he shouted, ‘Kit, she’s fine. She’s – you’ve – got twins.’

‘Twins!’ said Kit, and he looked not pleased but shocked, almost stricken. ‘My God, girls, boys—’

‘One of each. Not a repetition of your sisters, thank God. Both well. No wonder she was so huge, poor darling.’

‘It must have been terribly quick,’ said Adele.

‘Is she really all right?’ said Venetia.

‘How big were they?’

‘What’s she going to call them?’

‘Stop it, you two, for heaven’s sake. Your mother always said you never knew when to stop talking. Clemmie’s fine. Very pleased with herself. It was quick, the doctor said, exceptionally so. Even he didn’t realise it was twins, until the second one decided to arrive. Something about one lying on top of the other so he couldn’t hear the second heartbeat. She did wonderfully. You’ll have to ask her the rest of your questions yourselves. Now they might let Kit in, but not the rest of you. Plenty of time for that. Come on, old chap, take my arm. We’ll come to your place, Venetia, in a little while. OK?’

‘Of course. Of
course
. Oh – let me give you both a kiss. Congratulations, both of you. It’s truly wonderful.’

They watched them go off together, through the fog, father and son, arm in arm, to inspect the new generation; it was an oddly touching sight.

‘How lovely,’ said Adele, ‘how very, very lovely.’

‘Come on then,’ said Venetia, ‘our guests await. Where are the cars, Boy? Oh, there, come on, everyone, pile in.’

Charlie released Jenna’s hand.

‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’m feeling pretty rough. My headache’s come back with a vengeance. Would you mind if I didn’t come to Venetia’s – at least not until this evening? I need to get my head down.’

‘Oh, Charlie. I’m so sorry. Shall I come with you?’

‘No, no, of course not. You go and have fun. Everyone will want to congratulate you. And so they should. ’Bye, darling. I’ll see you later.’

He hailed a cab and directed it to Grosvenor Square.

‘Oh, and is there a medical suppliers we could call in on the way? I’m a doctor, I need to buy a new stethoscope, I’m not at all familiar with London. And while we’re about it, I need a holdall. Any suggestions for that?’

The cabby said he certainly had, John Bell & Croydon in Wigmore Street for the stethoscope, Selfridges for the holdall, and swung his cab round. Charlie looked back; people were still pouring out of the church as they drove away, a great mass of rich, glossy, well-dressed, self-important people, all talking, no doubt, about Celia and her wonderful life and family. He wondered what they would say if they knew she had once conspired to murder a baby.

There was a large crowd at Venetia’s; Jenna, flushed with excitement, found herself in the centre of it, kissed, hugged, congratulated. But only two of the tributes meant anything to her.

‘You were marvellous,’ said Lucas. He put his arms round her and hugged her. ‘I’m not just saying it, either, you really were. I was very, very proud of you.’

And, ‘Well done, Jenna,’ said Joe, smiling at her awkwardly, blushing furiously, ‘you were really very good. Very good indeed.’

‘Very good,’ said Billy, kissing her, ‘given a lot to have your mum hear you, I would. Eh, Joan?’

Joan was speechless, flushed with excitement, her eyes brilliant; all she could do was hug Jenna and kiss her on both cheeks.

It was nice to hear from all the others, but it meant very little to Jenna. She settled herself in a corner with Joe and said she wanted to hear all about his veterinary training. A lot of other people had said that to him today: like Jenna, he felt very few of them meant it. But she did. He launched into a day-by-day account; she listened intently, her eyes fixed on him, occasionally asking a question. From across the room, Lucas watched them and felt a stab of something he recognised quite clearly as jealousy. He told himself it was absurd, she was only talking to her cousin, her dull, acutely shy, country bumpkin of a cousin. He didn’t feel any less cross.

Elspeth still felt quite horribly upset. Upset, angry and incredibly foolish to have thought, as she had, that Keir had come back. What a fool she was; she hoped no one had noticed, her sitting there all alone, so conspicuously alone, craning her neck round, looking for Keir, smiling foolishly at the place where he had been.

Keir, who so obviously, so publicly, didn’t love her any more.

‘Hallo, Elspeth. You’re looking lovely. Can I get you a glass of champagne? Nobody seems to be looking after you.’

It was Marcus Forrest.

‘I’m used to that,’ she said. And smiled at him. At least he would save her from being alone.

‘Thank you for today, Helena,’ said Giles.

‘What did I do?’ She sounded genuinely surprised.

‘Gave me my courage back.’

‘Oh.’ She smiled again, remembering. ‘Good. You were marvellous, Giles. I was so proud of you.’

‘Thank you.’ For the first time since he could remember, he felt a little proud of himself.

He had them. It had been absurdly easy. The safe had been child’s play; they were there, the diaries. Now they were all in the very nice leather holdall he had bought at Selfridges. Good thing it was so big; it was quite a haul. He was desperate to read them.

Charlie hailed a cab, driving slowly and cautiously through the fog.

‘The Savoy Hotel, please,’ he said.

He didn’t know many London hotels, but he’d been to the Savoy and he’d noticed some very good, quiet telephone kiosks there, away from the main reception area, where you could sit and talk in peace. They even had a ledge for writing. And of course space at your feet for your bag. That was what he needed: a good, quiet telephone kiosk. That was all he needed now, in fact.

Venetia had decided on a buffet dinner for the evening; there were too many people to sit round a table and it would make moving around, making sure everyone was all right, much easier.

Elspeth felt, therefore, that her request that Marcus should stay was not unreasonable; there was no table plan to disturb, no numbers to upset. Her mother did not, however, see it like that.

‘I’m sorry, Elspeth, but I don’t want him here. I don’t particularly like him as a person and he caused great distress when he was in charge of Lyttons London, not just to me, but to Giles and Jay and several of the other editors. This is a family gathering and, quite apart from anything else, it would show disrespect to your grandmother’s memory if you failed to attend.’

Elspeth said that she had every intention of attending, walked out of her mother’s room and slammed the door as loudly as she dared. Which wasn’t very loudly at all; at the age of twenty-six, she was still in awe of her mother. Venetia had felt much the same about Celia, to the day she died.

She went to find Marcus; he was chatting to Kyle about the success of two best-sellers,
Lolita
and
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
.

‘We are obviously becoming a more permissive society,’ Kyle was saying. ‘I’m delighted, of course, but I do wonder where it will end. I suspect we shall see a vast boom in books like this thing everyone in the business is talking about,
The Carpetbaggers
. You had a sight of that yet?’ Marcus said he had; ‘I tried to buy it, but we couldn’t afford it of course. Simon & Schuster paid an absurd price for it. Although I dare say they’ll get it back. Funny he’s gone that way, I thought that Harold Robbins was a serious writer once. I loved
A Stone for Danny Fisher
, I thought it was a great book.’

‘There’s more money in sex,’ said Kyle, and then saw Elspeth and smiled.

‘Hallo, darling, you OK?’

‘I’m fine. What was that about sex?’

‘I said there was money in it.’

‘Certainly seems like it. Lyttons are still a bit virginal, I’m afraid.’

‘Would you have wanted to publish
Lady Chatterley
?’ asked Marcus, laughing.

‘Of course I would. Wouldn’t you?’

‘I guess I would.’

‘We’ll have to find a new D.H. Lawrence, I suppose. Kyle, would you be awfully sweet and come and talk to dear Billy Miller and his wife. He’s Barty’s brother, you know, and they’re a bit out of their depth.’

‘Sure, honey. Lead the way.’

‘I’ll be back,’ Elspeth hissed at Marcus over her shoulder, ‘don’t go away.’

‘As if I would.’

Five minutes later, half despising herself, she had arranged to meet him for a drink later that evening: ‘Say about ten? I’ll leave here early, say I’ve got a filthy headache.’

‘Not too filthy, I hope?’ he said.

She knew she’d asked for it, but she found the remark offensive at such a time; she found it hard to smile.

This was incredible; absolutely incredible. If he did have to sell – and he really didn’t want to – these would be worth a fortune. A small one, anyway. Of course the diaries were worth more to the Lyttons than they were to anyone else, but either way it would pay a few bills.

He’d found out why 1919 had been hidden away with 1909. It had been quite a year, he thought: Celia pregnant with Sebastian’s baby, planning finally to leave Oliver, Lyttons in serious danger of financial ruin. But it was also the year Sylvia had died, of acute septicaemia. She had been at Cheyne Walk, delirious:
She thinks she is having the baby, that baby, and she’s said some rather dangerous things, which Barty has heard. I pray it makes no sense to her.

It seemed it had:
Barty went to see Mrs Jessup, the midwife, to make some enquiries of her own. And came back here distraught, understandably so, and accused me of killing the baby. It was dreadful. Only Oliver was able to calm her, persuade her that it had been, in fact, an act of mercy; they have a very close relationship, painful for me to observe. She said some very harsh things to me, many of which, I have to admit, are true.

It was that intervention, it seemed, Oliver’s passionate defence of Celia and what she had done, that had persuaded her to stay:
I cannot leave him now, in spite of everything. It would be too great a betrayal
. Barty had never told him any of that: too painful, he supposed, although every other story about her was familiar to him, even those that did her discredit, like renewing her relationship with Laurence while her fiancé, John Munnings, was away in Italy during the war and her machiavellian trouncing of the Lyttons.