No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) (73 page)

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, well, I can understand that. But I thought you were so pleased with Lyttons.’

‘I was. Desperately pleased.’

A funny word to use; but then she supposed they were both talking in riddles now.

‘Well then – long term surely—’

‘Miss Lytton, there seemed to be no long term with Lyttons any more. It is hard to explain but—’

‘I don’t think you have to,’ she said, ‘actually. And of course money is very important. Well, if I really cannot persuade you . . .’

‘No,’ he said, ‘no, I fear you cannot.’

‘A pity.’

‘Yes. A great pity and I do appreciate all that Lyttons have done for me.’

‘If you did,’ she said, and her voice was cooller now, ‘if you properly appreciated it, you would not be leaving.’

‘Well there are you wrong, Miss Lytton. There you are terribly wrong. I’m sorry.’

She was silent.

Finally he said ‘Is – is Celia there?’

‘No,’ she said without thinking, ‘no, she’s ill.’

‘Ill?’

‘Yes.’ Damn. That was a mistake. She really, really didn’t want to tell him in what way and why. Not now. Didn’t want to think about it, even.

‘Is it serious?’

‘Oh no. No it isn’t serious. Just – just a cold.’

‘Oh. Her cough. She did have a cough.’

‘She did indeed. She does still.’

‘Yes. Well give her my best wishes.’

‘I will. thank you. And enjoy your new publishers, won’t you?’

‘I’ll try to.’

Sebastian rang off; he felt rather sick. There was no doubt the old girl had worked it out. She was very sharp. Now what? Oh, what did it matter? It was over, everything was over. People could think what they liked. He didn’t care. Life was so hideous already, it couldn’t get worse.

He was sorry Celia was ill, though; she hadn’t seemed well for a few weeks. She smoked too much. He’d told her she had to stop when she came to live with him. He hated smoking. Especially women who smoked. She’d gone to the doctor that morning; the morning she was supposed to arrive. That was when all the trouble had started – with that visit to the doctor. She’d been coming straight on to him and she’d never arrived. She—

A sharp shard of suspicion suddenly pierced Sebastian’s brain. More than suspicion, revelation. Bright, hard revelation. Revelation and anger. That was it: of course. It all made sense. The sudden withdrawal, the refusal to talk, to see him. The panic, the near-fear in her voice. It had baffled him at the time; but – would she have done that? could she have done that? Not told him, hidden herself and it away? Surely, surely not. It was unforgivable. If it was true. He picked up the phone again, dialled Lyttons’ number, asked for LM. She answered, sounding wary.

‘Yes.’

‘Miss Lytton,’ he said, and his voice sounded very strange, even to him, ‘Miss Lytton, is Celia – is she pregnant?’

‘I’ll tell you whose baby it is,’ said Lady Beckenham.

‘Oh Mama, don’t be absurd. How can you tell me, how can you know?’

‘It’s Oliver’s. And I do know.’

‘But how?’

‘He’s your husband. He’s lived with you all these years. He’s kept you, looked after you, fathered all your children and oh, yes, I know, bored you to death, criticised you, all those things. This is his baby, Celia. There can be no doubt about it.’

‘Mama—’

‘Celia,’ said her mother and her blue eyes were very hard, ‘Celia, Beckenhams don’t have bastards. Well—’ she added, with a rather cool smile, ‘Beckenham women don’t have bastards.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Celia. She reached out, took a drink of water.

‘It is not ridiculous. It is common sense. It’s about values and standards and society and keeping your family intact. So you think this child might be your lover’s. What are you doing to do? Rush off to him with it, bring it up illegitimate, break up your own family, tear your chidren apart.’

‘Well—’

‘For God’s sake. Pull yourself together. You’ve had your fun, Celia. Now get back to real life.’

Celia sat staring at her; her eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip, took a deep breath.

‘You don’t know—’ she said, ‘you just don’t know how bad I feel.’ Lady Beckenham looked at her and her face softened. She went over to her, sat on the bed, took Celia’s hand.

‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell you something. I never thought to, but this is the time for you to hear it. I was once – in your situation. Well, you know about Paget, but – it went further than that. I was pregnant. But I didn’t even consider that it might be his. Not for a moment. I just put it out of my head. And when you were born—’

‘Me!’

‘Yes, you. I knew I was right. I looked at you, Beckenham to the last black eyelash – Paget had those awful pale things – and I knew I’d been right all along. You were Beckenham’s child and this child is Oliver’s. Whatever happens. Now you put the rest behind you and just get on with it. It’s not just good advice, Celia; it’s the only advice. Oh, Lord, I can hear those dreadful children of yours. What are they doing?’

‘Sliding down the bannisters,’ said Celia. Her voice was so thick with tears she could hardly get the words out.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. You can’t allow that. It’s dangerous. I’m going to stop them. Venetia! Adele! Get off there at once. At
once
do you hear me. You know I don’t allow it at Ashingham, and your mother shouldn’t allow it here. Where’s Jay?’

‘Up there,’ said Adele. Lady Beckenham looked up and saw Jay’s sturdy backside descending towards her at a great rate from at least fifteen feet above her head. She closed her eyes briefly and thanked God that LM was several miles away.

‘I think we should all go out for a long walk,’ she said, when he was finally safely down. ‘Come along, I’ll tell Cook to make up a picnic.’

Sylvia sat in her chair, quite literally doubled up with pain. She had never experienced anything like it: not ever. It was like fire – no more like hot blades – inside her. She felt dreadful altogether, terribly sick and she had a bad headache. And she was hot. Barty was coming with the car to take her to the doctor. Well she couldn’t go. She just couldn’t. She shifted slightly and even that small effort made her groan aloud; it was terrible, truly terrible and—

‘Mum! We’re here. You all right?’

‘Not – not too good,’ said Sylvia. Even speaking somehow hurt. Barty appeared in the doorway. ‘Mum, you look awful. Oh, dear, what can I do, how can I help—’

‘Oh I’m all right’ said Sylvia, ‘but Barty, I don’t think I can go today. I told you it was bad timing.’

‘Yes, but I can’t leave you here. Like this. Look, everything’s changed anyway, Aunt Celia’s at home in bed, she’s not very well, so Dr Perring is coming this afternoon and he can see you there. That’ll be much better, won’t it? And he’ll know what to do, I’m sure he can help. Oh, Mum – you’re so hot—’

Daniels came down the steps. ‘Everything all right, Milady?’

‘No. Not really. My mother’s not at all well. But I still think we should take her home, don’t you?’

‘Oh, rather.’

‘But I can’t move,’ said Sylvia, ‘I really can’t.’

‘I’ll carry you,’ said Daniels, ‘come on, Miss Barty, hold the door open, and now the car, that’s right. There you are, Mrs Miller, let’s lie you down on that seat. That’s the way. Here, use this rug as a pillow. Brandy?’

Sylvia shook her head feebly.

‘Right then, off we go.’

‘You ought to have been an ambulance driver, Daniels,’ said Barty.

‘Funny you should say that. I’ve often thought of it. My brother was one in the war. Money’s bad though. And I’m trying to save for a place of me own.’

‘Are you Daniels?’ said Barty. She sounded quite upset. ‘I hope you won’t be leaving us.’

‘Don’t worry, Milady. If I leave, I’ll take you with me.’

‘Lady Celia, there’s a gentleman to see you.’

‘A gentleman?’ Who was it, Jack, Dr Perring?

‘Yes. A Mr—’

Mary was interrupted; Sebastian appeared in the doorway. He looked completely dishevelled, his hair wild, his eyes shocked, his tie loosened, his jacket undone. It was over three weeks since Celia had seen him; the violence of what she felt made her literally faint.

She lay back on the pillows, briefly closed her eyes.

‘Lady Celia if you’re not feeling well—’ Mary looked anxious.

‘It’s all right, Mary. Really. Mr Brooke may come in.’

‘Shall I bring you anything?’

‘Oh – no. No it’s all right, thank you. Unless Sebastian, you’d like something to drink?’

‘No,’ he said, impatiently. ‘No, nothing. Thank you.’

Mary withdrew; Sebastian closed the door behind him. He stood looking at her for a long time; his face absolutely tender, totally concerned.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he said.

Then he came over to the bed, and took her hand and kissed her on the forehead.

‘I love you,’ he said, ‘I love you so very, very much. More than ever now. So much more than ever.’

For the second time that morning, Celia started to cry.

CHAPTER 29

‘Ovarian cyst,’ said Dr Perring, examining Sylvia’s abdomen as gently as he could. And adding in a lower voice to Celia, ‘infected, I would say. She should really be in hospital.’

Sylvia’s eyes, already wide with pain, filled with terror as well.

‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘not hospital, please not hospital.’

‘Well – we’ll see.’ He patted her shoulder gently, pulled the bedcovers up. She had been put to bed in Jack’s old room; Barty sat outside, waiting while he examined her. ‘Lady Celia, you should be in bed.’

‘I know. But she seemed so ill and so upset, I thought I should be with her for a bit. And Barty.’

‘Let’s go outside and talk about it.’

He led her out to the landing; Barty jumped up. ‘Is she – all right?’ ‘She’s not very well, I’m afraid. But we shall make her better. Now, the best thing you can do is sponge her down for a little while and get her to drink plenty of water. Can you manage that?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Good girl. I’ll come up again before I leave. Don’t worry, your mother’s very strong.’

‘Which you are not,’ he said sternly to Celia, following her to her own room, settling her back into bed. ‘I told you, any exertion and you’ll lose that baby.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He looked at her; she seemed very upset, had obviously been crying. She was pale, and her eyes were heavy and shadowed.

‘You must try to be calm,’ he said gently, ‘it’s important. Nothing matters more than this baby, you know. Try to rememer that.’

‘I will,’ she said, ‘really, I will.’

‘Good. Now, any more pains?’

‘No. None.’

‘No bleeding?’

‘No.’

‘Backache? Headache?’

‘No, really.’

‘Good. Well, we seem to be keeping him there for the time being.’

‘Him?’

‘Or her. Actually if it’s her, there’s more of a chance, you know. Girls are tougher.’

‘They certainly are in this family,’ said Celia.

‘I think I would agree with that,’ he said, smiling at her gently, ‘Now then, Mrs Miller. I’m afraid she is very ill.’

‘I was afraid so, too.’

‘She has a very large ovarian cyst. Infected. And I fear, indeed I suspect, peritonitis developing. The abdomen is very hard. She has a high temperature. Really she should be in hospital. Although there is little that can be done, except possibly draining the abdominal cavity. I would like another opinion on that ideally.’

‘She’s terrified of hospitals. Always has been,’ said Celia ‘Couldn’t she stay, at least a little longer?’

‘It could be dangerous. But I suppose if she’s frightened and upset it won’t help. I think at the very least she should have a nurse here, I could arrange it if—’ he paused.

Celia smiled at him. ‘Of course. Whatever she needs. Please. Just organise it. And do get a second opinion, by all means.’

‘Well,’ he said, folding up his stethoscope, smiling down at her, ‘I was afraid we might have to get a gynaecologist for you. That is beginning to seem unnecessary, at least. So let us be thankful for small mercies.’

Mercy! That was the word Sebastian had used to her.

‘For God’s sake,’ he had said, ‘show me some mercy.’

And she had lain there, crying, staring at him, telling him she could not.

‘I don’t understand,’ he kept saying, ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.’

‘I couldn’t, Sebastian. Really, I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to think, what to say to you.’

‘But – it might be mine? It surely might be mine?’

She was silent; willing the words out. They wouldn’t come.

‘Celia! Tell me. Don’t retreat from me like this, I can’t stand it. You’re pregnant, quite possibly, quite probably, indeed, I would say, with my child. How can you just – desert me like this?’

‘I – don’t know,’ she said and the effort, even of saying that, was intense.

She had until Friday. Then Sebastian was leaving for the United States. ‘I will be at home until then,’ he said, ‘and you can come to me. In which case I will stay here and take care of you. Otherwise I shall be gone and you will not see me again. For a very long time, at any rate. But obviously this is your decision, although I find it very hurtful that you should have tried to keep it from me.’

She had said nothing – again. And now she was entirely absorbed in her indecision; waiting for something to help her end it.

‘I was wondering,’ said Guy, ‘if there was any point in going to see the Bartletts.’

‘How could there be?’

‘Well – they might not have got the letter.’

‘Very unlikely.’

‘Or she might not realise how important it is.’

‘That’s true. Although you did say it was urgent.’

‘She might be away. The girl, I mean.’

‘In which case, there’s nothing to be done until she gets back. Is there any great hurry?’

‘Huge. Publication is in less than a month. A decision has to be made, whether to pulp the books or not. Whether to risk it, or not. Oh, Jeremy, it’s such a beast of a thing. My hour of glory: my first novel – all come to nothing. I – I know it’s mostly my own fault. But it’s not fair.’

‘No,’ said Jeremy, looking at his tortured face, ‘no it’s not fair.’

‘So – what do you think?’

‘I think,’ said Jeremy slowly, ‘that we just have to wait. It’s quite a delicate situation. We can’t afford to antagonise them. Here, have another drink.’

‘Thanks,’ said Guy.

Jack had made his decision. He was going to do it. Ask Lily to marry him. Somehow talking to Harry Cholmondley had cleared his mind: made him realise what he really wanted. All right, so, he didn’t have any money and he was lousy at publishing and he behaved like a spoilt child, just as his brother had said. Getting married, having Lily with him, would sort all that out. She’d set him straight, tell him what to do; she might even agree that he should go back into the army. Although he didn’t want to. He just needed something steady in his life. Seeing what had happened to Celia and Oliver had shaken him badly. He hadn’t realised how badly. He’d believed so much in their marriage; it had been there practically all his life. He’d felt very lost suddenly. But – well, at least Celia was still there. That was something. As long as she stayed, he could just about cope with it. Oliver’s attitude to it was so strange. Either he didn’t know, which he must surely, or if he knew, he was just ignoring it. How could you do that? When you loved someone as much as he knew Oliver loved Celia. It was really strange. Well that was their marriage. It didn’t mean it would happen to him and Lily. Of course not.

He had gone out that afternoon, down to Hatton Garden and bought a nice little ring; nothing special, but it would do for the occasion. It looked quite impressive, in its square leather box. He’d get her something better later, something she could choose herself. He tidied his desk, feeling quite cheerful and went out to meet Lily.

‘Are you in for dinner?’ said Oliver. ‘I’d like to talk to you.’

LM had got back to Cheyne Walk to find that Jay was engrossed in a game of spillikins with the twins; he refused even to consider going to the house in Hampstead.

‘What for? There’s no one to play with there.’

‘Where’s Barty?’ said LM, trying to ignore the criticism implicit in this remark.

‘Upstairs with her mother,’ said Venetia.

‘And a nurse,’ said Adele.

‘She’s very ill,’ said Venetia.

‘She might even die,’ said Adele.

They were both enjoying the drama hugely.

‘Nonsense,’ said LM, ‘she’s a very strong woman. I’m going down to see your father.’

As she walked past Celia’s room, she heard her call; she had hoped to avoid a confrontation.

‘How are you?’ she said abruptly. She felt dreadfully upset, disturbed by her discovery, her lifetime’s loyalty to Celia badly shaken.

‘All right, thank you,’ said Celia with a sigh. ‘It seems to be all right. Touch wood,’ she added, reaching out to her bedside table.

‘Is your mother still here?’

‘No, she’s gone to Clarges Street.’

‘I see.’

‘LM, is something the matter?’

‘No, nothing,’ said LM, ‘I’m just a little weary. That’s all. How is Sylvia?’

‘Not at all well. But the nurse is very good, and a gynaecologist is coming first thing in the morning. She’s sedated now and in less pain. Poor Sylvia, she hasn’t had much of a life.’

‘No indeed,’ said LM, ‘well, I hope you continue satisfactorily. Is there anything you need?’

‘No,’ said Celia, ‘LM something is the matter?’

‘No, really. I’m a little weary that’s all. Good night, Celia.’

She saw Celia’s hurt face, ignored it. She really didn’t care. Celia was inflicting a great deal of pain on a great many people.

She didn’t want to spend the evening talking to Oliver; she knew what the conversation would be about. Celia and the state of their marriage. Yet she supposed, it would all be, in a way, a relief. She was no use at dissembling, and besides, she needed to know how Oliver felt about it, what he planned to do, his attitude towards the baby. She wondered if any of them knew whose it was: it was an extraordinary and very complex situation. And then what about the future of Lyttons, how was that going to be affected? If Celia were to leave Oliver, and it must be a consideration, she could hardly stay at Lyttons. Yes, it was an essential discussion.

Nevertheless, she would have given a great deal to have a genuine alibi to save her from it. But Gordon Robinson always had supper with his mother on Mondays and Jay was here, so she had no reason to go anywhere.

‘Yes,’ she said now, mentally squaring her shoulders, ‘Yes, Oliver, I’m in for dinner.’

Celia stared after her, a new curl of panic rising inside her. Sebastian had said he’d been rather tactless to LM. She was very sharp; clearly she’d guessed. The thought of losing LM’s friendship was almost worse than losing Sebastian.

‘Oh God,’ she said aloud, ‘oh, dear God.’

There was a tap at the door; it was Barty. ‘Aunt Celia, Mum’s very bad. I’m worried.’

‘What does the nurse say?’

‘She says there’s nothing we can do for now. Just wait. If she gets worse, she says we can get the doctor back.’

‘Well, we can. Of course. Is she lying quietly?’

‘No, she keeps talking, but it doesn’t make any sense.’

Delirious, thought Celia. Oh, dear. ‘Well, Barty darling, she is in good hands, honestly. Look, you go and have supper with the others, and then pop up and see her again. If you’re still worried, come and get me.’

‘I don’t want any supper.’

‘Now, you must try and eat. You need to be strong yourself, to look after your mother.’

‘All right.’ She walked out of the rom slowly. Celia watched her, wondering how on earth she would cope if her mother died. Stop it, Celia, you’re being morbid. She supposed it was hardly surprising.

Jack had taken Lily for an early supper to the Trocadero; she was appearing in a late-night cabaret at the Piccadilly Hotel, until her new revue opened.

‘You work too hard,’ he said.

‘I need to,’ she said briskly, ‘I have to earn money.’

It sounded rather like criticism to Jack; he was silent.

They ordered supper: Lily wanted fish. ‘I can’t cope with much food if I’ve got to work later,’ and only drank water. Jack was sorry; he had ordered some champagne to suit the occasion. He set to drinking it anyway. The atmosphere was rather strained.

‘How are things at Lyttons?’ asked Lily politely.

‘Oh – pretty bloody. This libel case is getting worse. And it’s going to cost thousands and thousands. Which Oliver keeps saying we haven’t got. Partly due to my book,’ he added gloomily.

‘Is it really serious? For Lyttons I mean?’

‘I don’t know exactly. LM – my sister you know – has been called up to London.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘To discuss things. So it must be quite bad. And Sebastian’s gone to another publisher.’

‘Has he now?’ said Lily, ‘I wonder why that should be. What does Celia have to say about that?’

‘I have no idea. She’s ill, anyway.’

‘Ill? Doesn’t sound like her. What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know. She has to stay in bed for a bit.’

‘Has to—’ Lily stopped in mid-sentence. She stared at him, flushed.

‘What, Lily?’

‘Nothing. Really.’

‘Yes, there is. I can tell.’

‘No there isn’t.’

‘Lily, come on. I’m not that stupid.’

‘Well – when women have to stay in bed – well usually—’

‘Yes? Usually what?’

‘Oh Jack. Usually they’re in the family way.’

‘Oh,’ he said. He felt very bleak suddenly.

‘Yes. My God. What a mess.’

‘Yes. What a mess.’

‘Oh – come on,’ she said, ‘let’s not worry too much about them. Perhaps it isn’t that at all. Let’s talk about you. Or me.’

‘Yes,’ he said pulling himself together, ‘yes, let’s. Let’s talk about you and me. Lily, there’s something I want to ask you.’

‘Now then,’ said Oliver, ‘we must talk.’

He poured LM a glass of white wine. ‘Sorry, I can’t drink red. Would you like some?’

‘No thank you. This is very nice.’

He was silent for a moment, clearly putting off starting the discussion. Then,

‘This is all rather – difficult,’ he said.

‘Yes, I can see that.’

‘Can you?’ He looked surprised.

‘Yes of course. I’m not stupid, Oliver.’

‘No. Well there are so many things to be taken into consideration—’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘It’s very complex.’

‘Of course. Of course it is.’

‘But there’s still a chance. I think.’

LM looked at him. It was extraordinary, she thought. That he should let himself be walked over in this way. Just put up with it, swallow his pride. Such a public humilation. And with the baby—

‘I think you’re being marvellous,’ she said.

He looked surprised. ‘You do?’

‘Yes, I do. It can’t be easy. Especially now—’