Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (89 page)

‘Boy,’ said Charlie aloud, ordering a second whisky from the hovering waiter, ‘they certainly lived, these people.’

He found other things, wonderful stories: a trip booked on the
Titanic
’s maiden voyage, only missed because Barty contracted pneumonia; Oliver, the supposedly saintly Oliver, having an affair with that irritating other saint, Felicity Brewer; Celia’s involvement with the Fascist movement in England, before the Second World War, actually dining with Hitler – ‘A marvellously inspiring man’ – he was only dipping into it, there was no time for more, but every week, almost every page yielded something. And then finally poor old Lord Arden, Bunny to his intimates, who she had married in the full knowledge he was impotent: all written down, with an almost nonchalant detachment.

How dreadful it would be for them, if this came out. Charlie drained his glass, and picked up the bag. Time to make the phone call . . .

‘Oh Kit, I wish you could see them. They’re both so tiny—’

He was sitting by her bed, holding Pandora, occasionally reaching out to take Clementine’s hand.

‘But not too tiny, I hope.’

‘Of course not, I told you, five pounds each, they’d be in an incubator otherwise; no wonder I was so uncomfortable. Both with lots and lots of red hair—’

‘Which has more?’

‘Sebastian. Feel—’ she took his hand, passed it over the other baby’s head.

‘Both with big blue eyes. And both so hungry already. I hope I can cope.’

‘And do they look alike?’

‘Well – they’re both babies. But not very alike, no. Pandora’s much longer and skinnier, and she has a very full mouth, Sebastian’s kind of chunkier—’

‘Chunkier! How can a baby be chunky? Here, take this little one and let me hold him. He doesn’t feel any different.’

‘Well, he is. You’ll have to believe me. And his face is – rounder. I think he’s going to look exactly like you.’

‘That’s fine. And if Pandora looks like you, then everyone will be happy.’

‘Yes.’ She was silent for a while, then said, ‘Your father was so kind, Kit. I couldn’t have done it without him. He really is the most wonderful person.’

‘I know it.’

‘Kit—’

‘Yes?’

‘Kit, I think we should move back to London. To be near him.’

A silence: then, ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

‘Fine by me. I worry about him too.’

‘And I know Oxford is lovely, but so is Primrose Hill—’

‘Primrose Hill! That sounds a little too near.’

‘Why not, Kit? Just tell me why not.’

There was a silence; then Kit smiled and said, ‘I don’t think I can.’

Jamie was telling Adele about the house he was thinking of buying on the coast of Maine – ‘It’s absolutely lovely, what they call a cottage, built of clapboard and right on the ocean. You’d love it’ – when Boy came over to him.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Jamie. Phone call for you. It’s Charlie. Charlie Patterson.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Not your fault. Apparently he’s hoping to come over later, feeling better, very apologetic but – he wants to talk to you.’

‘Please excuse me, Adele.’

‘Of course.’

She watched him leave the room, wondering why he had told her she’d love his cottage in Maine, as if it would matter, while reproaching herself for thinking that yet another man she hardly knew could become really important to her. It was Geordie all over again. She had married him much too quickly and look where that had got her. And why was she thinking about marriage, for goodness sake? She’d only really got to know Jamie over the past two or three days, it was pathetic.

She looked round the room, saw Lucas laughing with Jenna, he was besotted with that child, it was really rather sweet, then noticed that Joe, on the other hand, was looking helplessly awkward and lonely, and went across to introduce him to Lucy. Lucy could literally talk to anyone for ever.

‘Elliott?’

‘Yes. Where are you? Jenna was worrying about you.’

‘I’m at the Savoy.’

‘The Savoy. What on earth are you doing there? I thought you were ill.’

‘No. Never better, actually.’

Jamie sighed. God, he was irritating.

‘Well – what can I do for you?’

‘Quite a lot, actually. I’ve got the diaries.’

‘The diaries?’ Jamie could hear his own voice sounding quite normal, only mildly interested. As if the importance of what Charlie was saying hadn’t quite registered. Maybe it hadn’t.

‘Yes. You know, Celia’s diaries.’

It was beginning to register now; somewhere in his stomach rather than his brain.

‘I don’t quite understand. Why have you got them?’

‘Because I wanted them. I thought they could be useful to me.’

This was getting nasty; icily, creepily nasty.

‘I – don’t quite see why.’

‘You don’t? I’ll explain, shall I?’

Jamie said nothing. A tight band had settled round his head, a very hot, tight band.

‘I want to sell them to you.’

‘Oh, now don’t be ridiculous, Patterson. They’re not yours to sell.’

‘I think that’s open to discussion. Possession being nine tenths of the law. I’ve got them. Right here. At my feet.’

‘How? How have you got them?’

‘Irrelevant at the moment, I’d say.’

‘Not really,’ said Jamie, his brain beginning to move out of its straitjacket, to function more efficiently. ‘How do I know you’ve got them? They’re in a safe. In Celia Lytton’s office.’

‘Not any more, they’re not. They’re in a really very fine leather bag. I’m looking at them right now. Shall I read you an excerpt? Let me see. Oh, now this is quite a nice one: 16 June 1916.
Darling Jack, home on leave. Such fun to see him. So different from Oliver, so gay, so full of life. And so beautiful. There was some very serious temptation this evening, which I admit to. He started to kiss me, really kiss me, and I
really
kissed him back. I longed and
longed
for him and so very nearly took him upstairs. Not quite – but it was a very near thing. My own husband’s brother. Oh dear.

‘Now, I couldn’t have made that up, could I, Elliott? Or – here’s another. This is quite long, you’ll have to be patient: November 1916.
Oliver home on leave. He told me a dreadful story this evening, of how a moment of sheer terror on his part cost another man his life. They were leaving the trenches to go over the top and Oliver suddenly lost his nerve; he hesitated, and this man, Barton, sneered at him, said, “You’re not afraid, are you sir?” Clearly recognising that he was. And who would not have been, sometimes? Oliver pulled himself together and followed him out, but Barton paid for that few seconds’ delay; a shell that would have caught Oliver hit him instead, ripped his leg off, and his arm too. He died in agony after many hours. Oliver wrote to his family, told them as he has to tell all the families, that Barton had died instantly. He said he would blame himself for ever.
’

There was a pause; then Charlie said, ‘How would Barton’s family feel, I wonder, reading that? Couldn’t have made that up either, could I?’

Jamie was completely silent, transfixed with terror himself; he waited until he felt slightly calmer, then took a deep breath and said, ‘So – how did you get them? I still don’t understand.’

Charlie chuckled; ‘Oh, if you grow up the way I did, Elliott, with the sort of friends I had, you learn a lot of useful things. Cracking a very old safe is one of them. And of course the first three were put back in their hiding place at Cheyne Walk. Very odd thing to do, that. I got them out this morning. Ask Elspeth, if you don’t believe me, she saw me coming up from the cellar.’

‘Yes. Yes, I see. So – where is this leading? I still don’t quite understand.’

‘Of course you do. I want some money. If it wouldn’t pain you to part with it too much. Barty’s money.’

‘Jenna’s money.’

‘Yes, all right. Jenna’s money. There’s plenty there, I’m not intending to make her destitute. I wouldn’t dream of it. But I reckon you could let me have a million dollars. Without anyone noticing too much.’

‘I don’t think I could.’

‘OK. Two million.’

Jamie was silent for a moment; then he said, ‘Charlie, this is ridiculous.’

‘No it’s not. It’s completely reasonable. And one million would be fine, actually. Just joking then. And don’t suddenly start calling me Charlie, as if we were best buddies. You hate and despise me, as much as I hate and despise you.’

‘You are not going to get a million dollars,’ said Jamie, trying to sound confident.

‘Well, if I don’t get it from you, I’ll get it from someone else. Another publisher, maybe. Or a newspaper. I think the press would be delighted with these diaries. They’ve got everything. Sex. Power. Incest. Murder—’

‘Oh don’t be absurd,’ said Jamie, ‘you know that’s not true.’

‘I think you’d find it was, if you’d read them all. A good editor could easily make it seem true. The newspaper placards certainly would. Anyway – it’s up to you. But look, I don’t want to put any pressure on you. I’m not in any great hurry. Although I’ve booked myself on to a flight tomorrow evening. I’d like it settled by then. You’ll want to talk to some of the others, I expect. That tight-assed lot you seem to get along with so well.’

‘Charlie, they are Jenna’s family.’

‘No, they’re not,’ he said, and his voice was suddenly angry, ‘
I’m
her family. I looked after her when she was broken-hearted over her mother. I’ve cared for her through it all, sat with her hour after hour, listening to her, drying her tears, helping her through it. I really have. That’s what makes people family, Elliott, care and love. And none of them spent much time worrying over my own loss. That was fucking hurtful, I can tell you. It’s possible, you know, to love someone rich and successful while you’re poor and a failure. Nobody seems able to believe it.’

He stopped.

Jamie was silent; just for a moment, he felt a flash of remorse. It didn’t last. ‘So, you’re so fond of Jenna that you’re prepared to drag her family into the gutter? Is that right? Sell all their secrets. At a time when they’re trying to come to terms with their own grief?’

‘Yes,’ said Charlie, ‘yes, if you want to put it that way. I am. But I trust it won’t be necessary. I trust you’ll do it my way. And just in case you’re thinking of telling the police, I really wouldn’t. The publicity – and I’d make sure there was a great deal – would be pretty unpleasant.’

Jamie realised the telephone was slippery with his sweat. He could feel something running down his face. More sweat. And he felt sick.

‘Of course we’ll need to talk about it,’ he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky to Charlie as it did to him, ‘I presume you’re prepared to give us a little time.’

‘Yeah. Within reason. Oh, and there is something else.’

‘Yes?’

‘If one word of this gets out to Cathy or Jenna, those diaries go straight to the
Sunday Times
. Or the
Daily Mail
. Or whichever paper will give me the most money. I don’t want them caught up in this, I don’t want them hurt. Understand?’

Jamie actually laughed then; at the sheer hideous double-thinking.

‘Yes, I understand,’ he said finally. ‘I can’t think how you imagine you’re going to get away with this, and not involve them, but – yes, I understand what you’re saying.’

‘Good. Now can I speak to Cathy, please?’

‘Sure,’ said Jamie. He put the phone down and stood up; his limbs felt very heavy, it was difficult to move them at all. He walked slowly back into Venetia’s dining room, looked around for Cathy. She was standing very close to Fergal, gazing up at him, her eyes fixed on his; as he got closer he heard her say, ‘I’d just love to go out dancing. Any hope of slipping out, would you say?’

‘Cathy,’ he said, and was amazed at how normal he sounded, ‘your dad’s on the phone. He wants to speak to you.’

‘Hi, Dad. Where are you? Aren’t you coming over?’

‘No, sweetheart, I can’t. I tried, I got all dressed up even, but I feel really bad. I’m going to go to bed, try and sleep it off. I’ll see you in the morning. You having fun?’

She hesitated. ‘Not much.’

‘That’s a shame. Now listen, there’s something else. Something’s cropped up with my business, I have to fly back tomorrow. You and Jenna can follow on at the weekend, as arranged. That OK?’

‘Sure,’ said Cathy.

‘Good. Now give my love to Jenna and tell her again she was great, won’t you?’

‘Sure, Dad. I love you. Sleep well.’

‘Love you too, darling.’

‘What on earth was that about?’ asked Boy. ‘You look dreadful. Want a drink?’

‘Oh God. Yes, please. A stiff one. Thanks. Boy – we need to talk. How soon can we do that?’

‘Who’s we? If you mean me, right now. I’ve had quite enough of this lot. Any port in a storm and all that.’

‘No, I mean the family. You, Giles, the twins, Kit, if possible. Can we get him over here? And Sebastian, definitely. Is he still here?’

‘No, he’s gone to meet someone at his club. Said it was important. What is this, can’t it wait till tomorrow?’

‘No, I don’t think it can. If I told you it was to do with those diaries and Charlie Patterson, would you wait till tomorrow?’

Boy’s face changed. ‘Christ. Probably not. Look – I’ll see what I can do. And we’ll try and get rid of everyone. Give me half an hour.’

‘Mummy, I’m going to go, if you don’t mind. I’m very tired and the fog’s awful.’

‘You can’t drive in this, Elspeth. Why don’t you stay?’

‘I can’t possibly stay, I have two children at home. Not everyone has live-in nannies, you know.’

‘You sound like that wretched husband of yours,’ said Venetia irritably. ‘But all right. Leave your car here, though, I’ll get someone to find you a taxi. Everything seems to be breaking up, anyway.’

‘Oh – all right. Thank you. Well done, Mummy. Lovely evening.’

‘Cheers,’ said Sebastian. He raised his glass to Keir and smiled. Keir looked around him: the Reform was everything he disapproved of, a bastion of blue-blooded privilege, from its grand staircase and its marble pillars, its book-lined walls and vast leather chairs, to the rather grand humility of its staff and the opulent silence. He tried to ignore a feeling that he quite liked being there.