Old Sins (107 page)

Pete pulled up outside the house. ‘Shall I wait, Lady Morell?’

‘Yes, please, Pete, I’ll only be a short while, and we may be able to give Mrs Morell a lift somewhere as well.’

She scooped the bunch of white lilies she had bought into her arms, walked up the steps to the front door and knocked three times very briskly. The door opened at once; Phaedria found herself looking up into the mournful face of Michael Browning.

Her first instinct was to bolt. Nobody (except perhaps Doctor Friedman) could have told her why, but it was extremely strong; however, it was plainly also ridiculous, and undignified. She stood there looking at him; he looked back at her in silence.

She was wearing a brilliant sea-blue silk dress, which slithered gracefully over her burgeoning stomach, and stopped at the knees; her long legs were bare, and she wore low-heeled blue pumps that matched her dress; her wild hair was tied back in a blue silk bow. With the lilies in her arms, the distress in her eyes, she looked exactly like a painting by Burne-Jones.

Michael Browning reached out and in an instinctive desire to comfort, to calm her, touched her cheek. Phaedria drew back as if she had been stung.

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘don’t look so frightened. I won’t bite you. Come along in. How’s the unfriendly baby? Grown, I see.’

‘Yes. Sorry. That is, well, I won’t stop. Not if you’re here. Just give Letitia these, I’ll be back another time.’

‘Now look,’ he said, his eyes exploring her face amusedly, ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to frighten you so much but I promise I’ll stop now. Don’t be silly, of course you must stay. I’m only here for a drink, and then I’m taking Letitia out to lunch. Why don’t you join us?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Phaedria, sufficiently recovered from her shock to smile, almost to laugh. ‘Thank you but no. Not in public, not with you.’

‘Well, thank you for the compliment. Maybe in private then,’ he said, returning the smile. ‘I don’t mind.’

Letitia suddenly appeared in the hall.

‘Phaedria, how lovely. Come on in, darling, and sit down. Are those for me? Thank you. I have a new maid, you know, Nancy finally decided to retire, and she’s hopeless with flowers, I’ll do them myself. Now then, what will you have? A drink?’

‘Oh, no thank you,’ said Phaedria, ‘and I won’t stop. You’re obviously busy.’

‘Nonsense. We have all the time in the world, don’t we, Michael? He’s taking me to lunch at Langan’s, so we can get to know one another better. Roz brought him over and introduced him to me last night, and I felt it couldn’t be left at that. After all he’s part of the family and he doesn’t know anything about me at all. Now don’t be so ridiculous, Phaedria, come along in and sit down. You look exhausted.’

‘I’m all right. Yes, could I have a cup of hot water with some lemon in it? And some glucose.’

‘Ah,’ said Michael, beaming at her delightedly. ‘I knew the lemon would help.’

‘Well, it didn’t, not exactly the way you said,’ said Phaedria with a sigh. ‘But I did find putting the ingredients in hot water was very good. Sorry, I meant to say thank you, but I couldn’t really without – well, without Roz knowing.’

‘And why should Roz mind you thanking me for a little ante-natal care?’

‘Oh, you don’t –’ ‘don’t know Roz’ she had been going to say, but it would clearly sound so rude, so offensive, she
stopped herself. ‘You don’t know how elusive you are,’ she finished rather feebly.

‘Yes, well, I haven’t been here very much. But I’m over for two weeks now, I’ve been trying to persuade Roz to take a few days off and show me the rest of England, but she won’t, so I thought I’d get to know Mrs Morell – Letitia – instead. Much more interesting.’

‘What’s all this about lemons?’ said Letitia. ‘I gather you two have met before?’

‘We certainly have,’ said Michael. ‘Phaedria took one look at me and was immediately sick. I seem to have a profound effect on her, this morning she looked as if she was going to faint, or even die on me.’

‘Yes, we met in my office,’ said Phaedria hurriedly. ‘And he told me a cure for pregnancy sickness. Which was very good in time,’ she added tactfully.

‘Right, well, come in and sit down, and tell me how you are. We have half an hour, don’t we Michael?’

‘We do. I’ve asked Phaedria to join us, but she says she couldn’t. I’m not too sure why. Maybe she feels she might be sick or die again.’

‘Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ said Letitia carefully, wondering how a man who had clearly seen a great deal of life, been married twice and lived with Roz on and off for more than a few months, could possibly not see that lunching with her detested stepmother in the most gossipy restaurant in London would not be the best course of action in the world.

‘O.K. You both win.’ He shrugged. ‘Here’s the glucose cocktail. Letitia, can I help myself to some more champagne, and you too?’

‘Of course, please do, I’m sorry to be so rude. Oh, I certainly do miss Nancy.’

‘Who is Nancy?’ asked Michael, handing Letitia a glass of champagne and then sitting down next to her and fixing upon her reply as if it contained the secret of the universe.

‘Nancy was my maid. She’d been with me since oh, 1954, when Julian married Eliza. And she was nearly as old as I am and she decided, it was nothing to do with me, that I needed someone younger and she needed a rest.’

‘And where has she gone to find this rest?’

‘To live with her sister in Oxford.’

‘And is this sister younger than her? What will she do all day? Will she be able to find something else to occupy her?’

He looked genuinely anxious for the fate of the suddenly unemployed Nancy; Phaedria, watching him, thought she had never in her entire life met anyone so unselfconscious, so unconcerned for himself and the impression he was making.

‘Oh, I expect so,’ said Letitia, ‘she is a very active woman. And the sister is younger, yes, how kind of you to take such an interest in an old lady you’ve never met.’

‘Oh,’ he said, sipping his champagne, leaning back on the sofa, ‘I find old ladies terribly interesting. Truly I do. And I do hope you have about three days clear for this lunch, because I suspect you and your life are going to be even more interesting than Nancy and hers.’

‘Well, I certainly hope so,’ said Letitia briskly. ‘Anyway, we can move on to my life later. Let’s talk to Phaedria while we have her. What have you been doing, darling? I hope you’re visiting Mr Pinker regularly.’

‘Oh, he’s heaven,’ said Phaedria, sipping her hot water. ‘I shall miss him terribly when it’s all over.’

‘Who is this Pinker guy? Is he a new admirer or something?’ asked Michael, looking at her, his mournful eyes lighting up in a way that reminded her suddenly and sharply of Julian.

‘No. I wish he was. He’s my gynaecologist.’

‘Ah. Some difference. Those guys always have a very sexy image. Tell me about him.’

‘Well,’ said Phaedria, laughing, trying to line up the distinguished, grey-haired, old-English charm of Geoffrey Pinker with a sexy image, and failing, ‘he is just very very charming and reassuring and nice. He delivered the Princess of Wales’s babies. And Princess Anne’s.’

‘So you’re in good company. Is this child going to be born at Buckingham Palace?’

Phaedria laughed again. ‘No, a very ordinary hospital in Paddington.’

‘And how much longer is it to B-Day now?’

‘Just over two and a half months.’

‘You look very thin,’ he said critically. ‘Are you eating all the right things? Taking vitamins? Getting enough fresh air?’

‘I certainly am,’ said Phaedria, determinedly cheerful. ‘Never was a pregnant lady so carefully looked after.’

‘I somehow doubt that,’ he said gently, suddenly serious; Phaedria, meeting the dark eyes, felt all at once confused, disturbed.

‘Well, you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘I go to classes –’

‘Oh, not those dreadful relaxation classes!’ said Letitia. ‘Not natural childbirth again, Phaedria, please!’

‘Again?’ said Michael. ‘This is not a first baby?’

‘Oh, this is,’ said Letitia briskly. ‘But surely Roz must have told you about her experiences in childbirth? No? My God, that poor child, she got in the grips of some extremely expensive lunatic who didn’t seem to believe in anything more powerful in the way of pain relief than a little light massage. I’m pleased to say she gave as good as she got. Even in childbirth, it seems, Roz is a formidable character.’

‘I have to tell you I believe it,’ said Michael. ‘I haven’t heard any of this, though. What did she do?’

‘Oh, kicked him very hard a few times. Swore so loudly and violently other women complained. Bit poor C. J. It was a very – what shall we say – active birth.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t know about all that,’ said Michael. ‘In New York they still more or less knock you out.’

‘Much better,’ said Letitia briskly.

‘Yeah, but I think it’s a good idea if the father can be there. If he possibly can. It’s kind of good for him, I guess, even if it doesn’t do the mother any good.’

There was a strange sound from Phaedria, halfway between a sigh and a sob; she was looking out of the window, fighting back the tears. Michael and Letitia looked at her, stricken.

‘Oh, my God, what a lousy, stupid goddamned thing to say,’ said Michael, jumping up, going over to her, sitting beside her, putting his arms round her. ‘Phaedria, I am so sorry, so terribly terribly sorry. Please forgive me. Here, look, have a cry, go on, don’t fight it, take my hanky, take two, I always have plenty to spare so I can lose them, go on, just cry.’

And she did, she sobbed for five minutes or so, on and on, like a child, all the stress of work, the anxiety of her pregnancy, the trauma of her morning with Doctor Friedman, breaking in her heart in a waterfall of grief. Michael sat holding her,
mopping what he could see of her face with his handkerchief; when she had finally stopped she looked up at him with half a crumpled, wounded smile and said, ‘I’m so sorry, and now look at your shirt.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about this shirt,’ he said. ‘It is quite an amazingly absorbent shirt, I always wear it just on the off-chance that some lady may burst into tears on it. There now, you see, it’s drying off already. Now take this handkerchief, and blow your nose, that’s better.’

She blew her nose, and then as unselfconsciously as he, sat there for a while, with her head on his shoulder, resting herself and her emotions.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said after a while. ‘Now I’ve spoilt your fun lunch.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Letitia, ‘but I really don’t think we can leave you now. I suggest, Michael, that you go down the road to Harrod’s and buy us a picnic. I’ll cancel the table at Langan’s. We can make sure Phaedria is getting her proper diet, and then send her back in the car with Pete.’

‘Fine. I’ll go right away. Phaedria, is there anything you don’t like?’

‘Everything.’

‘I’ll find something. It’ll be a challenge.’

When he had gone Phaedria looked at Letitia and smiled shakily. ‘He’s so nice,’ she said. ‘Much too nice for Roz.’

‘Indeed.’ Letitia looked at her ravaged face, and decided this was no time to give her even the mildest hint of what she had foreseen, with hideous clarity, as she watched Michael holding Phaedria in his arms on the sofa.

Two weeks later Phaedria flew to LA in search of Father Kennedy. C. J. was almost hysterical with anxiety at the thought of her going on her own; he said he would go with her, but Phaedria pointed out with perfect truth that Roz would be so angry if she found out that she would probably come after them, and would also guess the reason for their trip: ‘I can concoct a story about checking out the store, or doing some buying, or just taking a vacation, I deserve one for God’s sake, she’ll never know.’

‘But Phaedria, you’re seven months pregnant, you’re mad, you’ll make yourself ill, you’ll have a miscarriage.’

‘Oh, C. J., don’t be such an old woman. I’ll be fine.’

‘What does Mr Pinker say?’

‘Mr Pinker isn’t going to know.’

‘There you are, you see, you know it’s dangerous otherwise you’d tell him.’

‘C. J., I’m in a state of frenzy, it’s dangerous for me not to go.’

He saw her off at Heathrow with some misgivings. In the end she had had to tell Victoria Jones (Mr Pinker, perhaps fortunately, she thought, being on holiday); because she had to have a medical certificate before the airline would take her. Doctor Jones, who understood her distressed state all too well and felt she needed a break, dispatched her with her blessing and a warning not to do anything silly.

C. J. had still watched her go through passport control with a sense of deep foreboding.

She booked into the Bel Air Hotel. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the Beverly Hills; besides, the peace and the lush quiet beauty of Bel Air suited her mood much better. She spent the first twenty-four hours resting, recovering from the flight, wandering through the flower-filled grounds, standing on the bridge and watching the black and white swans drifting lazily beneath her. Her bungalow opened almost on to the lake itself; she sat on the patio the first evening, dining on giant peaches and strawberries, sipping iced water, and listening to the birds singing in the rich still air, watching the sky grow suddenly and beautifully intense and then dark, and felt nearer to happiness than she could remember for a long time.

She asked the hotel for a car; she wanted some freedom to explore. They provided her with a Mercedes SE convertible; she set off after breakfast, with the hood down, and a set of very good maps.

She was in Santa Monica by mid-morning; it was a glorious sparkling day, and she stood leaning on the fence of Palisades Park for a while, looking at the beach and the ocean below her, drinking in the beauty and the sense of timelessness, the lack of
hurry that is so essentially Californian. She was also gathering her courage; what she was about to do had its darker side.

She had an address for the refuge, and she found it easily. She went in; it was a big shabby hall, with folding beds stacked neatly against the wall, a few disintegrating chairs set about by small tables. Outside in the sun and the long, uncut grass lay a dozen or so down and outs, watching the day go by.