Old Sins (57 page)

‘How do you know he’ll be from East Anglia?’

‘They always are.’

‘Thats’ – ‘ridiculous’ Roz had been about to say, but she managed to stop herself – ‘really interesting.’

‘What is?’

‘That you don’t think I should do it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t think so either.’

‘And what do you think you should do?’

Roz put down her knife and fork and looked him very straight in the eyes. ‘Work for you.’

He hadn’t expected that, and he was impressed by it. It took a kind of courage for her to lay herself so totally open. He had it in his power to reject her absolutely and she knew it, and knew moreover, that it was quite likely. Clearly she had even more guts than he’d thought. He put them to the test.

‘I don’t think it’s possible.’

‘Why not? Is it because I’ve –’

‘Rejected me?’

He looked at her again with amused eyes.

‘Yes. Oh, Daddy, I was just being silly. Young and silly. I’m sorry if it hurt you. It must have seemed very ridiculous. Ungrateful. But you must have known I didn’t mean it.’

‘You seemed to at the time. And you weren’t all that young at the time. The last little conversation I remember was only about six months ago. How old are you now?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Well anyway –’ There was a long pause. Roz braced herself to look at him. He was smiling. ‘That’s not the reason.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the reason I can’t offer you a job is that we don’t take Harvard people. Company policy.’

Roz went limp with relief.

‘Daddy, that is just ridiculous. You’re joking.’

‘Not at all. I’m perfectly serious. I warned you before you went there. Only you were busy telling me it didn’t matter.’ He smiled at her again.

‘Well it’s mad.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, because Harvard people are the best. Brilliantly trained.’

‘That’s only your opinion.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s a very valid, widely held opinion.’

‘By whom? Other Harvard people? Your friends? Michael Browning?’

‘No, people I’ve talked to. Companies I’ve applied to. They all want Harvard people. They say their power to analyse and apply theory to practice is outstanding. You’re losing some of the best business brains in the country with a policy like that. Whose cockeyed prejudice is it?’

‘Mine.’

‘You should change it.’

‘Convince me.’

‘How?’

‘From inside the company.’

‘All right, I will.’

She had become so absorbed in the argument that she hadn’t noticed where he was leading her. She stopped abruptly, looked at him furiously for a moment and noticed that his eyes were looking more benign than she had seen them for a very long time.

‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘I wish you’d stop playing games with me.’

‘I never stop that, Roz. As you should know. And besides, I really don’t much like Harvard people. Over-analytical. But of course you’re right, and one shouldn’t allow one’s prejudices to stand between one’s company and talent. So let’s see what yours can do.’

‘You’ll take me on then?’

‘Yes I will. Of course. To nobody’s great surprise, I’m sure. You’ll have to work extremely hard. I’m not being accused of nepotism.’

‘I will. I really will.’

‘What segment of the company most appeals to you?’

‘The stores.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Too specialized, and you won’t learn enough.’

‘I don’t agree.’

‘If you’re going to work for me, Roz, you’ll have to learn to accept what I say.’

‘All right. For a bit. Cosmetics then, I suppose.’

‘Now that is wise. When we get back to the office I’ll phone Iris Bentinck and see what’s going. She’s the overall marketing director of Juliana.’

And occasional mistress of the Chairman, thought Roz. She wondered if he had any idea how much she knew about him.

‘It might mean going to Paris or New York.’

‘That’s fine. I don’t mind. Specially New York.’

‘Really?’

Roz realized she had made a tactical error.

‘Only because cosmetics are so much more buzzy in New York. I’d really much rather be in London.’

She ended up where she least wanted to be, and where Julian wanted her most. Paris. So far the score was fairly even.

Letitia Morell had three visitors that afternoon. There was nothing she liked better than entertaining, and at the age of eighty-one she still gave excellent dinner parties. She was wickedly amusing, she broke all the rules, thinking nothing of sitting a beautiful nineteen-year-old next to an elderly relic of the British Raj fifty years her senior, or a confirmed homosexual to a highly desirable (and desirous) divorcee and watching them all having the evening of their lives. People would go to some lengths to get a dinner invitation from Letitia Morell; drop hints, ask her to dinner repeatedly themselves, phone her casually on some weak pretext, but it was none of it any good. To qualify you had to be good-looking and amusing and preferably both. You could be poor, socially modest in exceptional cases, not always entirely well mannered. But you could not be dull.

She also found herself with one of the busiest luncheon engagement books in London. She was always so full of gossip herself, and so eager and amused to hear it; most days her pale blue Rolls-Royce with her patient chauffeur inside it was to be seen, parked long after three outside the Ritz, or the Caprice, or her latest find, Langan’s Brasserie in Stratton Street, whose drunken and frequently disagreeable owner was so charmed by her that she claimed the distinction not only of a permanent table available to her, but of never having been insulted by him.

She still dressed beautifully; she found shopping a little tiring, but many of the designers were charmed and delighted to visit her in First Street with toiles and drawings and take her orders; and she was still very slim and trim, her latest passion (introduced to her by the Vicomtesse du Chene), being yoga. It was not at all unusual to arrive and find her dressed in leotard and tights, sitting in the lotus position in her drawing room.

It was thus that her first visitor, the Vicomtesse herself, found her that November afternoon.

‘Darling! How lovely. Nancy, make us some tea will you? China, Eliza? And I think I’ll go and change, I get cold in this ridiculous outfit after a bit.’

‘Of course.’ Eliza’s smile was a trifle too bright. Letitia thought she had probably been crying.

‘What is it, darling,’ she said, returning in a navy cashmere two piece and beige calf-length boots, looking just about fifty-five years old. ‘You’re upset.’

‘No,’ said Eliza brightly. ‘No, not at all. I’m getting married.’

‘My darling! How marvellous. But how on earth have you managed that? I thought Arabian marriages were sacred. Should we be drinking champagne rather than tea?’

‘No. Not yet. Well, it might help. Yes please. Yes, they are sacred. I’m not marrying Jamil.’

‘Oh, my goodness. What an entertaining child you are. Nancy, will you please bring us a bottle of Bollinger from the fridge and two glasses. Have some yourself if you want it. Now then.’ She raised her glass to Eliza. ‘Who is it and why? And why have you been crying?’

‘It’s Peveril Garrylaig.’

‘Good heavens. A proper title in the family at last. And a good one too. A countess. Oh, my grandmother would have been relieved.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Well of course I do. I think he’s charming,’ said Letitia firmly, wondering what (apart from a title) the bluff, born-middle-aged, widowed Earl of Garrylaig could possibly offer Eliza that Jamil Al-Shehra could not.

‘Well, then, you know what a charmer he is. I adore him. And he adores me. Of course it’ll be a big change, living in Scotland, but I always did have a sneaking liking for the country, and the castle is just beautiful, Letitia, quite the most ravishing place, you will come and stay, won’t you?’

‘Darling, of course. I will. All the time. Now then.’ She looked sharply at Eliza. ‘What does Mr Al-Shehra have to say about all this?’

‘Oh, he’s quite happy about it,’ said Eliza briskly. ‘Clearly we couldn’t go on for ever how we were, and well – oh, Letitia, I can’t bear it, I simply can’t bear it, please please tell me I’m doing the right thing.’

Tears were streaming down her face; her green eyes searched Letitia’s blue ones wildly, frantically, looking for relief from her pain and her grief.

‘Tell me more, darling. When you’re ready. I can’t tell you anything until I know what it’s all about.’

Eliza told her. She told her that there was no real future for her with Al-Shehra; that the most passionate love affair could not last for ever; that she was forty-three years old, and most assuredly not getting any younger; that she was afraid of being alone and lonely; that she wanted to be safe, with a status of her own again; that she was truly truly fond of Peveril or she wouldn’t be doing it; and that she was so unhappy that she thought her heart was not just broken, but exploded into a million tiny fragments.

She did not tell her that Al-Shehra had wept in her arms the night before, that he had made love to her that morning so sadly, so tenderly, so exquisitely that she still felt faint remembering the sensations, and that it had taken every fragment of her courage not to change her mind.

‘But you do see, Letitia, don’t you, it was all right at first, the mistress of a wildly rich Arab potentate, or tycoon or whatever he is, all right when you’re quite young, but think of being fifty, sixty, and still in that position, always terrified of new young women coming along, no status, no standing. I couldn’t face it, Letitia, I just couldn’t. I need to be married. I have to do this.’

‘And when did the affair with Peveril begin?’

‘Oh,’ said Eliza with the shimmer of a smile. ‘It isn’t an affair, Letitia. Peveril is a gentleman. We shall go to bed on our wedding night and not before.’

‘How charming. How refreshing. Well, all right, when did you meet him?’

‘Last month. At Longchamps. Jamil wanted to take me to the Arc de Triomphe, and then he got gambling and I got cross and Peveril was there, with his sisters, one of them knew Julian, he’d been at her coming-out dance, and well – we started talking and he asked me if he could take me out to lunch one day in London, and it all went on from there.’

‘It’s not very long,’ said Letitia, frowning.

‘No, I know, and everyone’s going to say that, but I have to get it settled quickly, and Peveril wants to, he’s lonely and why should we wait?’

‘To make sure you’re doing the right thing?’

‘No, I don’t want to do that. Because I might not be. But if
I’m not I’ll make it work just the same. Just you watch me. He’s a good man, and a kind one, and I won’t let him down.’

‘No, darling, don’t.’

It was the only rebuke or criticism Letitia uttered; Eliza took it with good grace.

‘I deserved that. I deserve more. So please, Letitia, come on, tell me it’s a good idea.’

Letitia took a deep breath.

‘It is a good idea. I truly think so. Of course it has its dangers and they seem quite formidable, but you’re clearly aware of them. I would be with you all the way. I have often wondered myself what might happen to you with Al-Shehra.’

Eliza kissed her. ‘Thank you. You don’t know what courage that gives me.’

Letitia looked at the lovely face in the darkening room, the heavy eyes, the drooping mouth. ‘You will get over Jamil, you know,’ she said. ‘It will pass. It will take a long time, but it will pass. For weeks, months, you will think you can’t take another day of the pain, and then one day, quite suddenly you will feel just a little better. Just a tiny bit lighthearted. It may not last, but it will come back, that feeling. More and more frequently. And in a year you will be sad, but not unhappy any longer. Don’t rush the wedding though, Eliza. Wait a few months. You’ll be asking too much of yourself. And it won’t be fair to Peveril. Wait till the spring. He’ll understand. There’s a lot to do.’

‘You’ve been through this, haven’t you?’ said Eliza. ‘You’ve never told me, nobody has, but I can tell. You couldn’t understand otherwise.’

‘Yes,’ said Letitia. ‘I have. And it was a very, very long time ago. And I can still remember the pain. But all these years later, I do know that I did the right thing.’

Julian arrived at First Street half an hour later, beaming radiantly.

‘Julian,’ said Letitia. ‘How nice. I’ve been thinking about you. Eliza’s only just left.’

‘How is Eliza?’

‘Very well. Very happy.’

‘Good. Well, I can’t stop, but I have a little present for you,
Camilla brought it over from California, she’s been vacationing there. Look, it’s a solar-powered calculator.’

‘Oh, how wonderful,’ cried Letitia, delighted as a child. ‘I’ve read about these. Will it work here? We don’t have as much solar power as the Californians.’

‘Of course it will, you idiot. It’s light that does it. Look.’

‘Marvellous! Thank you, darling. How is Camilla?’

‘She’s fine. Just passing through.’

‘I see.’

‘Don’t look like that, Mother. Anyway, I have some nice news I wanted to share with you.’

‘I thought you were looking rather more cheerful than you have lately. What is it?’

‘I had lunch with Roz today.’

‘Did you? How is the dear, difficult child?’

‘Oh, looking wonderful. Very good. And greatly benefited from her year at Harvard.’ A shadow passed over his face. ‘Apart from getting in with a thoroughly undesirable fellow.’

‘How much in?’

‘All the way, I would say, from the look of her, and the necklace hanging round her neck.’

‘Well Julian, she is twenty-three. Eliza was married and divorced at that age.’

‘I know. But he’s a bit of a rough diamond. American. Brooklyn. Very rich. Divorced. Very unsuitable. Anyway, there’s nothing I can do about that and that’s not the nice news. She’s going to come and work for the company. She’s got over that independence nonsense at last.’

‘Now that is good news. I agree. Did she ask?’

‘Yes, and very nicely. Quite humbly in fact. I honestly think she’s grown up a bit.’

‘Good. Where are you going to put her?’