No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) (60 page)

‘Good. So life’s all a bit of an uphill struggle is it?’ Her dark eyes were thoughtful as she looked at Celia.

‘You could say so. Yes.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t help more. You can always send me more stuff down here, you know. Incidentally, would you earmark an extra First Edition of
The Buchanans
for me.’

‘Of course. Why?’

‘Oh – I have a friend, who collects First Editions.’ Something in her voice made Celia look at her sharply

‘A friend, LM? Do you mean a gentleman friend?’

‘Well – yes. Exactly that. A gentleman friend.’

‘LM! How lovely. Who, where – ?’

‘It’s not lovely at all,’ said LM, sounding ruffled, ‘not in that way—’

‘Sorry, it’s nothing to do with me. And I don’t usually ask such questions, but you so deserve some – well some fun. Has Jay met him?’

‘You could say that,’ said LM and then met Celia’s eyes and laughed. ‘All right. I’ll tell you about it.’

‘It’s too lovely,’ Celia said to Oliver in the library later. ‘She obviously really likes this chap. He sounds eminently suitable. Very charming.’

‘Celia, you really are ridiculous,’ he said slightly stiffly, ‘you talk like one of those penny dreadfuls you were so keen on us publishing.’

‘I was not—’ she began and then stopped. It wasn’t worth arguing with him. Trying to defend herself. ‘Anyway, he collects First Editions,’ she finished rather feebly.

‘Really? Well that sounds more interesting. A man after my own heart.’

‘Yes, I thought so. I said he should come in, have the run of the archives. LM was rather pleased.’

‘That sounds a little dangerous. We know nothing about him, and there are a great many valuable things in there.’

‘Oh Oliver!’ said Celia, losing her temper suddenly, ‘you’re impossible. What harm could it do? He’s a highly respectable person. He is a solicitor. He’s a friend of your sister’s. And he’s not going to make off with anything valuable. Why do you have to be so negative about everything?’

She went out of the room, slamming the door and found she was in tears. She was standing in the corridor, staring out of the window at the parkland, trying to control herself, when her mother appeared.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘It’s Oliver. He’s so – so impossible. So down on me and everyone, all the time. It’s so depressing.’

Lady Beckenham looked at her. Then she said, surprisingly gentle, ‘I think you have some decisions to make, Celia. Come on. Time for a stiff gin, if you ask me.’

‘I don’t think I shall marry Giles,’ said Maud over breakfast when they were all back at Cheyne Walk.

‘Why is that, Maud?’ said Celia, slightly distractedly. She was pale and seemed tired, Felicity thought. A pity, after such a lovely restful weekend.

‘Because I think Jay would be a better husband.’

‘Maud, you’re obsessed with this thing,’ said Felicity laughing, ‘and don’t you think Jay is a little young for you?’

‘No. He’s nearly seven. I’m only nine. He’s much bigger than me, and he’s so clever, and so much fun. He can climb trees like a monkey. He taught me to do it. And to fish. And I do want to get it nicely arranged, so I don’t have to worry about it any more.’

‘Well, you’ll have to see what Jay thinks about that,’ said Felicity.

‘I already have. He thinks it would be a very good idea, as long as I come to live in England.’

‘Fine. Although we shall miss you, of course. And why don’t you want to marry Giles any more, what’s wrong with him suddenly?’

‘Nothing’s wrong with him,’ said Maud, ‘he’s really very nice indeed. But he’s going to marry Barty, that’s the thing. He likes her more than anyone in the world. Any girl anyway. He told me so.’

Celia stood up, pushing her chair back rather violently. There was an odd expression on her face.

‘Maud, I am getting rather tired of all this silly talk about marriage,’ she said, ‘in England, little girls don’t think of such things and certainly don’t discuss them. Now, will you all excuse me, please, I have a great deal to do at the office.’

Felicity watched her, fine eyebrows raised gently.

‘Come along, Maud,’ she said, ‘we have a lot of shopping to do.’

Howard Shaw, of Collins, Collins and Shaw, took the unusual step of communicating with Professor Lothian at breakfast time at his Cambridge home that Monday morning, and asked him if he would like to come into the offices to discuss whatever it was that was causing him concern; Jasper Lothian, aware that Vanessa was listening to the conversation, because their telephone was in the dining-room, said that yes, perhaps that might be a good idea.

‘I would be most grateful for your opinion. And as soon as possible.’ Howard Shaw found a space in the diary for that afternoon, and asked if Jasper Lothian could give him some indication as to what the matter was about.

‘Oh – it’s rather hard to explain over the telephone. My anxiety was – prompted by an article in a publication.’

‘Indeed?’ Howard Shaw, who was an ambitous young man, and had developed a particular interest – so far purely theoretical – in the laws of libel, felt a brush of excitement.

‘Well – be so kind as to bring the publication with you when you come in this afternoon, Professor.’

Jasper Lothian said he would; and then told his wife that there was no need for her to accompany him.

‘I am perfectly capable of dealing with this on my own,’ he said.

Vanessa Lothian rather doubted this, but decided for the time being to accept his judgement.

Robert had hugely enjoyed the weekend. Apart from anything else, it had been very good to see so much of Oliver; he had dragged him on to the tennis court on Saturday afternoon, and had gone for a long walk with him and the children on Sunday morning after church. They had then sat with a stiff whisky each in the seclusion of the high-walled Dovecot garden.

‘This is the life,’ he said, stretching out his long legs. ‘Lucky chap, having this for – what am I supposed to call it – Saturday to Monday?’

‘Lot of nonsense,’ said Oliver, laughing. ‘But yes, Celia tells me that is the correct term. How are things over there with you? I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you properly before now. Is it really as good as it sounds? I’m very impressed.’

‘Oh, pretty good now. We’ve had a couple of rough patches, but – yes, we’re very pleased.’

‘Good. I wish I could say the same.’

‘Really? Trouble in the literary world?’

‘With the finances of it. I won’t bore you with the details, but – well we’re all up against it. Not just Lyttons. The thing about publishing is, it’s hard to cut back. You have to keep publishing, can’t afford not to; otherwise you lose books to other publishers, lose ground generally. And at the moment, it’s very expensive to do that, and at the same time not quite financially rewarding enough.’

‘Sounds like any other business to me,’ said Robert.

‘I suppose so. Yes, of course. And one has to keep planning forward as well. Anyway, I have a big success – please God – coming up this autumn. A saga, rather like the old
Heatherleigh Chronicles
, remember—’

‘Oliver! As if I would ever have been allowed to forget. They were the religion I was brought up with. So what’s this one about?’

‘Oh – it’s rather marvellous. The first volume anyway. A family again, each member with a story of his or her own to tell. The background pulling them all together. It’s beautifully written. I’m very excited about. I’m keeping it under wraps for as long as possible; I’ve actually delayed publication of our catalogue, to keep the other fellows guessing. I’m gambling on it considerably as a matter of fact, put Lyttons’ shirt on it, so to speak. I’m printing a very large number of copies.’

‘That’s very unlike you. Cautious fellow that you are.’

‘I know. But I don’t think I can go wrong.’ He smiled and reached out to touch the table with crossed fingers. ‘I may be eating my words in October.’

‘And how is young Jack working out? He seems very keen.’

‘Oh, he is indeed. Working very hard.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought it was quite his bag.’

‘This area suits him,’ said Oliver firmly, ‘But anyway, enough of all that. I must come over to New York again soon. They seem to be doing very well over there, but it doesn’t do to leave them too much to their own devices. Young Bailey is very ambitious.’

‘Yes, indeed. You haven’t heard anything from Laurence, I suppose?’ Robert’s voice was casual.

‘Nothing, no. Why?’

‘Oh – no real reason. He’s a difficult young man, that’s all, he might have been trying to muscle in on things.’

‘Let him try,’ said Oliver. ‘No literary instincts of any kind, it seemed to me.’

‘That wouldn’t necessarily stop him,’ said Robert, ‘but, with luck, there’s not a great deal he can do. Kyle is certainly very excited about Lyttons. He’s talked of nothing else all weekend.’

‘He’s a nice young man. He has a real feeling for publishing. I’d take him on gladly myself, if he was in London. I don’t think we have any vacancies in the New York office, it’s too small.’

‘I don’t think he’d take it if you did,’ said Robert, ‘he’s very proud.’

‘But miserable at Brewer Lytton?’

‘Yes. Very. And not much good either. I’d go so far as to say he was something of an embarrassment. Or will certainly become one. He really would love to move into publishing, but—’

‘Well – there are other people he could talk to in New York. Contacts of mine. I could make a few enquiries. Tactfully. God knows, we all need a helping hand. It’s a hard world. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘We would all be extremely grateful,’ said Robert. ‘Especially Felicity. You like her, don’t you? I’m glad, I’m terribly fond of her myself.’

‘Yes, she’s very – charming,’ said Oliver. He appeared slightly flustered. ‘We had better go into luncheon now, Lady B gets awfully cross if we keep the servants waiting.’

Robert was amused by the fluster; Oliver obviously admired Felicity. He had been talking to her a lot over the weekend. But he had always been shy with women. It had astonished Robert at the time that he had been so successful with the ravishing Lady Celia. And indeed that the marriage had been so long-lived and faithful.

‘Now then,’ said Howard Shaw, ‘perhaps you would like to tell me what is troubling you, Professor.’

Jasper Lothian, who was half wishing he had left sleeping dogs snoring by the fire, said it was a little hard to explain.

‘Take your time. In your own words. Cigarette?’

‘Thank you.’

He took one, fitted it into the long ebony cigarette holder he always used, and sat back in his chair.

‘As I say, it’s rather – complicated. But I was reading this article in the
Spectator
, about a book, or rather, a series of books that are to be published.’

‘Ye-es? Are the books fictional or otherwise?’

‘Fictional.’

‘Go on.’

‘They concern a family. Living in Oxford and in London before during and after the war.’

‘Yes.’

‘The – the head of the family is the master of an Oxford college.’

‘I see.’

‘He has a wife – and two children. A son and a daughter.’

‘As do you?’

‘Yes. Yes indeed. In the book the daughter has a fiancé who is killed in the war.’

‘And your daughter—’ Howard Shaw’s voice trailed off tactfully.

‘She does – or rather did – indeed have a fiancé. He was not killed in the war. But he was injured, rather seriously, and the engagement was broken off. It was difficult for her, she was dreadfully distressed. But there seemed little future in the relationship—’

‘Professor Lothian, this need not concern us now. Or need it?’

‘I think not.’

‘And the son?’

‘No similarities. The boy in the book was a conscientious objector, my son was decorated.’

‘I see.’

‘But—’

‘The wife?’ said Howard Shaw carefully.

‘The wife is a – a rich woman. In her own right. She has a house in London, where she spends a considerable amount of time.’

‘And – ?’

‘My wife does have independent means. Although she has no house in London, she does spend some considerable time there.’

‘I see. Well – forgive me Professor, but so far I see nothing remotely libellous about this. Nothing that could worry you.’

‘Ah. Well, but you see – look perhaps I should give you the article to read.’

‘That might be helpful. Thank you.’

Howard Shaw read the article carefully, twice. Then he looked at Jasper Lothian.

‘You refer, I imagine, to the question of the master’s affair?’

‘Yes. Yes indeed.’

‘I imagine, of course, and you must forgive me, that there has been no such impropriety.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Then—’

‘But I feel the similarities are enough to attract attention. For those who know us, that is. And the authorities in the university. And could therefore do me great harm. My wife is very much of the same view. Oxford – Cambridge – the link is clear. Master of a college, wealthy wife, two children, the daughter’s future ruined by the war—’ he stopped, looked at Howard Shaw ‘—and then he is not unlike me in personality, I feel: a trifle eccentric in his dress, a high-profile figure about the university – but perhaps you think there is no cause for concern.’