No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) (57 page)

‘Of course it can wait. It was just that all that gore, in your great-grandfather’s diaries you know, I wasn’t sure how much to cut.’

‘About half,’ said Celia, ‘or even three-quarters. I must go, Jack, I’ll miss my train. ’Bye. Give my love to Oliver.’

‘Of course. ’Bye, Celia. See you tomorrow.’

Silly bugger, he thought; ringing her like that. Thinking about her like that. If – when – Lily knew her better, she’d realise it was all a lot of nonsense. Absolute nonsense.

CHAPTER 22

‘I wish you could be married to two people at once.’

There was a silence. Don’t look at Oliver, Celia, don’t.

‘Can you be married to two people at once? Does anyone do that?’ Everyone laughed then: the tension was broken.

‘I’m afraid not, Maud,’ said Robert, ‘not allowed. But why do you ask? Who do you have in mind?’

Maud’s small face was earnestly intent, her green eyes very large. ‘Well, I used to think I wanted to marry Jamie.’

‘Maud, Jamie is your brother.’

‘My half-brother. That might make a difference. But now I want to marry Giles, as well. Well, judging from his photograph. He’s very handsome.’

More laughter: ‘It’s just as well he’s not here,’ said Celia, ‘he would be very embarrassed. Flattered as well, of course, but he’s very shy. You’ll have to be a bit careful when he comes on Saturday, Maud.’

‘I’m afraid you can’t marry your cousin, either,’ said Felicity, ‘so it’s back to the drawing-board, Maud. Or the marriage bureau.’

‘You can in England, actually,’ said Oliver. ‘It’s not thought advisable, I believe, purely on health grounds. But it’s not illegal.’

‘How extraordinary. It’s quite illegal in the States.’

‘Clearly Americans are more law-abiding than we are,’ said Oliver, ‘or something like that.’ He smiled at her, then frowned and went back to his newspaper.

His attitude towards Felicity was rather odd, Celia thought. He was both edgy and affectionate with her; it was as if he found himself fond of her almost against his will. Probably that was exactly the case; he was increasingly anti-social these days, shying away from any engagement that was not at least semi-professional. ‘Oh, I haven’t got the time any more for that sort of thing,’ he would say or, ‘Oh, I really don’t have the energy these days to make conversation with those kinds of people.’ Anyone who drove him to make an exception to such rules was bound to inspire slightly contradictory emotions.

She could see why he did like Felicity: she was the sort of soft, gentle woman he approved of, living entirely for and through her family, deferring to men in all things. He should have married someone like her, Celia thought rather sadly, not an overbearing, over-ambitious creature who – well he had married her. Or rather she had married him. She often thought that, left to his own rather nervous preferences, Oliver would have quietly removed himself from her wilful, eighteenyear-old self. But he hadn’t. And meanwhile, thank God for Felicity; it would help to ease the weekend.

‘If you will excuse me,’ Oliver said, putting the paper down again, ‘I have to get to the office. What are your plans for the day?’

‘Oh, we’re going to show Maud the sights,’ said Robert, ‘the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, try and get her locked up in the Tower—’

‘You mustn’t do that,’ said Venetia, her eyes very large. ‘It’s horrible there.’

‘Venetia, of course we won’t. Just teasing. They wouldn’t have her, anyway.’

‘I wish you two could come with us,’ said Maud, longingly.

‘We could,’ said Adele, ‘of course we could, we could miss school, just for one day, Mummy, please, please may we, please . . .’

‘No,’ said Celia firmly, ‘absolutely not. If your last reports hadn’t been so bad, I might consider it. But you need every moment that you can get at your desks. Look at you, you haven’t even got your boots on yet. Barty, go and get your coat and tell Daniels the twins will be five minutes.’

‘Yes, Aunt Celia.’ Barty stood up. ‘I’ll see you all later. I hope you have a lovely day. My special favourite place is St Paul’s Cathedral,’ she said to Maud, ‘right up in the whispering gallery. Be sure to go there if you can.’

‘She’s nice,’ said Maud watching as Barty left the room, ‘I really like her.’

‘She’s enchanting,’ said Felicity, ‘such a lovely story, Celia. You must be very proud of her. Now don’t let us keep you, I know you have to get to the office as well. Kyle dear, are you coming sightseeing with us? Or do you want to go to Lyttons, see around there with Oliver?’

‘I’d love to go to Lyttons,’ said Kyle, ‘if that’s all right. With Oliver.’

He had joined their party: it had been Felicity’s idea. John had told her that he was performing badly, that he had offered more than once to resign, that he even seemed depressed and she had suggested and John had agreed that he probably should look again at the world of letters.

‘But some kind of pride, I suppose, keeps him from using the Lytton connection as a last resort. I know you said Oliver was willing to help, but—’

‘Well, he has developed an understandable – and rather admirable – nervousness about nepotism. But it could be that visiting Lyttons London, talking to Oliver and Celia, might change his mind. Would you mind if I wrote to them and suggested he came with us?’

John said that he would not; and Kyle, presented with the twin delights of a visit to London and what Oliver described as a tour of duty at Lyttons, found himself quite unable to refuse the invitation.

‘But I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ he said with a sigh, ‘I’m getting very sick of that.’

Felicity told him not to be ridiculous; ‘You are hardly going to be a nuisance over the space of four or five days.’

‘I manage it pretty well at Brewer Lytton,’ said Kyle gloomily.

‘If you will excuse me, Felicity,’ said Celia now, ‘I should go as well. And I’ve arranged for you to meet a girl who does a lot of design work for us, Gill Thomas, to discuss your jacket and illustrations on Tuesday. I’ll bring your proofs down to Ashingham with me, you can look at them there.’

‘I can’t wait to see them. Although it doesn’t sound as if I’ll have much time for proofs,’ said Felicity, laughing. ‘Your mother obviously has the most wonderful time planned for us.’

‘Oh, she’s terribly good at house parties,’ said Celia, ‘she adores them. She missed doing them more than anything else during the war. She turned Ashingham into a convalescent home, you know, so it wasn’t possible. It won’t be large, probably only about twenty people, including us. You’ll have a lovely time, Felicity. I hope so anyway.’

‘Won’t I have a lovely time too?’ asked Robert.

‘Of course you will,’ said Celia She was very fond of Robert, she liked the way he teased her. He took life less seriously than Oliver. ‘How are your charades?’

‘Oh – pretty good.’

‘Charades!’ said Kyle. ‘Oh dear.’

‘I don’t suppose they’re compulsory,’ said Felicity.

‘Not quite. What about jigsaws?’

‘Oh – I like jigsaws. Nice and quiet.’

‘My mother has a huge table, set with a jigsaw, and people do a bit each time they pass. And quite a lot after dinner. She says more romances have started over that table than anywhere else. Now, I must go. Have a wonderful day all of you. Kyle, you can come with me, that’s a much better idea. If you’re brave enough to risk my driving.’

‘I’m sure it’s excellent. What car do you have?’

‘Oh, it’s heaven. I thought you saw it last night. It’s a dear little Morris, I love it to death.’

‘She always has small cars,’ said Venetia, who had come back into the room, ‘so there’s no room for her children in them.’

‘Quite right. Venetia, do go and get in the car, for heaven’s sake. I can hear Daniels hooting. Your father will be late for work.’

‘Why does it matter?’ said Adele, appearing behind her, ‘I never understand, when he’s the boss.’

‘Because everything depends on him, that’s why. So he can’t be late. And don’t let your grandmother hear you saying anything so vulgar as the boss tomorrow, or she’ll send you home again. Last time we were there, one of them started talking about weekends,’ she said to Felicity, ‘my mother’s blood pressure soared. She’s a terrible snob,’ she added slightly unnecessarily.

‘I can see I shall have to be very careful, myself,’ said Felicity, ‘what’s wrong with saying weekend?’

‘It’s extremely vulgar. Saturday to Monday is what you say in England. God, I’m only teasing, Felicity. Only she isn’t, I’m afraid. Come on Kyle. Time to go.’

‘And you, Maud,’ said Felicity, ‘and I think you should wear a hat. It’s very cold.’

‘The twins have some lovely clothes,’ said Maud, ‘they were showing me last night. They get them at a shop called Woollands. Could we go to Woollands do you think?’

‘Maybe in the morning. Today is sightseeing. Off you go and fetch a hat, it’s very cold. And some gloves.’

Celia was writing copy for the autumn catalogue when Sebastian came into her office. She looked at him and tried to smile. He shut the door behind him, leaned against it.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said, ‘it’s so – dangerous.’

‘Of course it’s not. You coming to my house, that’s dangerous. Us dining in the country, the other night, staying in Oxford, that was dangerous. This is very safe.’

‘I – suppose so,’ she said. But she didn’t really think so. Every day, every risk brought them closer to the final denouement; she was sure it had to come. The close shave that afternoon in Scotland, when Caroline had rung the hotel in a near-panic, to tell her Jack had phoned almost an hour earlier – she’d been scared then. Jack was sharper, so much more worldly than Oliver – but it had been all right, the call seemed genuine enough. Just Jack being over-keen as usual. And it had been good to be able to send her love to Oliver, making sure Jack would tell him that he’d spoken to her. God, she would never have believed she could be so devious.

‘I have every right, every reason to visit Lyttons, Lady Celia,’ said Sebastian now, ‘I bring you my new oeuvre. Which against considerable odds, largely of your making, I have been able to complete.’

‘Sebastian! I don’t take up that much of your time.’

‘Possibly not my time. But you consume my attention. That is far more disruptive. Anyway, here it is. Don’t you want to see it?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’

He came over to her, kissed her quickly.

‘You look tired.’

‘I am tired,’ she said.

She did indeed feel it: heavily, achingly tired. The energy, which had been one of her greatest gifts, had deserted her. It was, she knew partly emotional trauma: she was beginning to find herself very unhappy. It shocked her this unhappiness: that something begun so joyfully, as a self-indulgence, a bid for pleasure, should have converted so swiftly into the reverse. All she seemed to feel these days was, at best, a deep longing, a yearning to be with Sebastian all the time, and, at worst, a mixture of discontent and sadness.

When she was not with him, she thought only of when she would be, counting days, hours, until they were together; the moment they were alone, she felt only distress that it was passing too swiftly, and dread at the inevitable parting. Sebastian teased her about it at first, became irritated with it later.

‘We are doing this because we love one another,’ he said, ‘because we want to be happy. What is the point, if all you do is cry?’

She said she was sorry, she would try to be more positive, to enjoy it, thinking of her mother’s words as well, so like Sebastian’s: ‘Enjoy it, there’s no point in it, if you don’t.’

But it didn’t quite work. Guilt was added more and more to her emotions: perversely, Oliver seemed changed, more patient with her, less criticial, increasingly loving.

‘It isn’t fair,’ she said to Sebastian, ‘it just isn’t fair, I came to you because I felt he didn’t love me any more; that made it all right, somehow, or at least not so bad. Now he seems to love me more than ever.’

He wanted to make love more often too, these days; that was difficult. ried to welcome him, to respond, to enjoy him even, but it was difficult, however hard she struggled; and there were times when she simply could not go through with it, would plead exhaustion, distraction, feign sleep. She looked back on the early days of their marriage, the days before the war, when lovemaking with Oliver had been a constant delight, when she had welcomed him into her body night after night, had been not merely responsive but creative in bed with him. Now it was all she could do to accept him, pretending pleasure, feigning orgasm; he appeared content with what she offered him, but that troubled her, too. Was she really so faithless, so duplicitous that she could deceive him, so thoroughly?

‘I think he knows,’ said Sebastian one day, when she complained to him of Oliver’s new sweetness and tenderness. She stared at him.

‘Knows? What do you mean, Sebastian? Surely not, he can’t.’

‘Oh, he doesn’t realise he knows. He’s only aware of a change in you. A distancing. He doesn’t want to examine it, or the causes, but he does know. So he’s fighting back. Poor sod,’ he added lightly.

‘Don’t talk about Oliver like that,’ she said, ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just so hard for me too. Have you thought of that? Thinking of you always with him, waking with him, sleeping with him, talking to him, sharing your life with him?’

‘Yes,’ she said soberly, ‘yes, I have thought of that, Of course. But – he has a right to it, Sebastian. You don’t. He is my husband, the father of my children. You can’t fight that.’

‘I could,’ he said, ‘if you would let me.’

‘No!’ she said, the word an explosion of fear. ‘No, I won’t. You are not to.’

But in the sleepless nights, she did think of it; of letting him. Letting him force things through, of making her divorce Oliver. And then would turn her mind away from it, quickly, fearfully. It was too beguiling a vision, too great a temptation, to allow herelf to consider.

To escape from her unhappiness, she had launched herself into a fever of social activity; went to every party, every dinner, patronised the new nightclubs. Nightclubs were where the new life, the frantic frenetic post-war life was most potently lived. The favourite of that particular hour was the Grafton Galleries which had a negro band and was open until two am; the Prince of Wales was a member – although seldom seen there, I have to admit – Celia said. Anyway, that was where she was going: every night. Or nearly every night. With crowds of friends. Crowds of friends and Jack. And Lily, who very often joined them after her show. Celia liked Lily. She was fun. She was a bit spiky, and very sharp; but she was great fun and seemed genuinely fond of Jack. She had been introduced to Oliver now; he was charmed by her. Most people were; she was very charming.