The Decision (33 page)

There was then a loud noise as the phone was slammed down and a long silence.

‘Heavens above,’ said Louise.

Rather reluctantly, she went out, to meet a client. When she came back, Jenny was looking rather excited, typing very fast.

‘Oh, Miss Mullan,’ she said. ‘What a morning we’ve had. That girl came back—’

‘Which girl?’

‘That girl who came to interview Mr Shaw for the papers.’

‘Oh,’ said Louise. ‘Her.’ She hadn’t taken to Eliza; she’d thought she was too self-confident by half. Snooty too.

‘Yes. She was quite rude.’

‘She has no business being rude to you. What did she say?’

‘She said, “Is Matt Shaw in there?” so I said what you always told me to say, I said, “Mr Shaw is very busy at the moment but I’ll see if he has a moment to speak with you,” and she said, “Don’t give me all that rubbish, is he in, yes or no.”’

‘That is rude. So what did you say?’

‘I said, “Well yes, he is”. And she just barged in.’

‘Goodness. And then what?’

‘Well, I heard a lot of shouting.’

‘What about?’

‘Well, she was saying he was pathetic and he should …’ She glanced at her notepad.

‘Jenny, you didn’t write it down!’ said Louise, grinning at her.

‘Well, Miss Mullan, you always say to take notes if it might be important.’

‘That’s – that’s true. So what else did you hear?’

‘Well, she said he should stop being so – well it was the f-word, Miss Mullan.’

‘Goodness.’

‘Yes, stop being so, well so – so effing – defensive, and did he really think they were going to write dis – disappearing things, would that be it?’

‘Disparaging?’

‘Yes, that’s it. Disparaging things about him, and he said he didn’t trust anyone in her business and she said she’d begun to admire him, and think he was clever, but now she could see he was a total – total – oh, yes, moron, and it was the last time she’d ever try to do anything for him and then he said he didn’t want her to do – well – effing anything for him, he’d never asked her to in the first place, and she’d obviously lied to him and what did she have to say about that.’

‘Right. So – then did she leave?’

‘No, but I went to the toilet. I felt a bit bad listening any more. And when I came back it was all quiet. So I thought she’d gone and then I thought maybe he’d like a nice cup of tea or something, to calm him down a bit, and a biscuit, you know how he likes his biscuits, so I knocked on the door and there was no reply, and I thought he’d gone out, so I opened the door really quietly, and—’

‘And what, Jenny?’

‘And – well, he was kissing her. I mean really kissing her, you know. And she was – Miss Mullan, she was most definitely kissing him back.’

Emma Northcott looked at her brother across the table. They had dinner together once a month; it had been an unbreakable rule ever since Emma had come down from Oxford and Jeremy had returned from National Service.

‘So – you’re off to the Big Apple, then? Told the aged Ps?’

‘Yes. Pa wasn’t very interested, Ma said she’d be over to stay with me quite often. She’s got friends there, you know, and then there are the cousins in DC.’

‘Yes, of course I know. Now Jeremy, I want to talk to you about something. Nothing to do with me, I know, but—’

‘That’s never stopped you before.’

‘True. Anyway, it’s about Eliza. I presume you’ve told her?’

‘Oh yes. She seemed quite happy about it.’

‘Jeremy, what are your plans? For Eliza? Or rather, with Eliza?’

‘Well – not quite sure.’

‘You do seem very fond of her.’

‘I am. Very fond. She’s a darling.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Probably not.’ He grinned at Emma. ‘I know what you’re thinking. And I’ve been thinking about it too.’

‘You have?’

‘Yeah, I have. Quite seriously. Maybe very seriously. She’s the perfect girl, in lots of ways. Fun, bright – very bright, attractive. We get on incredibly well. I adore her, actually.’

‘So?’

‘Yes, I know, I know. She probably is the girl for me. And it’s time I got married, I know that too.’

‘Yes, it really is. And have you thought about how Eliza might be feeling right now?’

‘Well – not really. She didn’t seem too upset.’

‘Jeremy, you are incredible. Have you not heard of female pride?’

‘I’m sorry?’

Emma struggled not to sound too exasperated.

‘Jeremy, look at it from Eliza’s point of view. You’ve been going out with her, and I presume rather more than that, for about a year. Everyone thinks of you as a couple. Now suddenly you announce you’re off to the States, bye Eliza, been fun, see you when I get back—’

‘I didn’t say anything remotely like that,’ said Jeremy half-indignantly.

‘You might not have expressed it like that. That’s how it looks to everyone, most of all to Eliza. You really have got a hide like a rhinoceros, Jeremy, I feel quite ashamed of you.’

‘But Emma, she’s got a career. Just been made fashion editor. She’s not going to be bothered about how things look. And anyway, is she going to want an absentee fiancé? We can see lots of each other, I’ve organised very generous expenses, I thought I’d leave it till I got back, see if we both feel the same way, and then—’

‘Jeremy! Eliza could easily be snapped up in the space of six months. I’m sorry to interfere, and of course you’re not sure, it’s different, but …’

‘Well – I’ll think about it really hard, promise. And I’ll let you know if anything drastic takes place. Now – shall we share a Chateaubriand? I’m awfully hungry.’

Charles arrived home on the dot of eight thirty. He was carrying some flowers and looked tired.

‘Hello, darling. These are for you.’

‘Oh – thank you, darling. They’re lovely. I’ll just – just put them in water. Nice evening?’

‘Yes, very nice, thanks. Just chewing the fat about Gib.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘Oh – yes. Sandy Miles, remember? He was one of my ushers. And John Bridges.’

‘I remember John. Nice man. And his wife, she was very pretty. Well, dinner’s ready, I’ll just dish up. I presume you won’t want anything to drink before we sit down?’ Her tone made it very clear there would be no question of such a thing.

‘No, no, of course not. Nice dress, darling, is it new?’

‘Oh – yes. I bought it today. At Jaeger. Do you like it?’

‘Yes, sweetheart, it’s lovely. But—’

‘But what, Charles?’

‘You seem to be buying an awful lot of new dresses.’

‘Well, I like pretty clothes. Is there anything wrong with that?’

‘Of course not, darling. And I like to see you looking nice, of course. It’s just that – well, we’re a bit stretched this month. Bit overdrawn, you know?’

‘Are we? My account’s all right.’

‘I know, darling, but all you have to pay for out of that is your travelling expenses and the food of course …’

‘And my hairdressing, we agreed that. And the char, don’t forget. So, quite a lot really. Anyway, darling, sit down and I’ll dish up. And then we can talk about the weekend. Susie Short said would we like to go to the Ad Lib. I’d love to go, Charles, I wish we were members, everyone seems to belong these days.’

‘Juliet—’

‘I hope you like this, it’s a new dish I got from
Good Housekeeping
, I know how you love chicken – wine?’

‘That would be lovely, although I thought we did agree not every night, not when we’re at home together, just the two of us. Still, as it’s open—’

‘Mummy and Daddy always have a glass of wine, every night, Mummy says it makes a meal that bit more special.’

‘Of course it does and it’s lovely, but again, rather expensive—’

‘Oh Charles, do stop going on about money, it’s so boring and that reminds me, I keep meaning to ask you, why don’t we open an account at Harrods?’

‘I’m a bit wary of accounts, Juliet, I think they’re dangerous things—’

‘Charles! This is getting very tedious. Now, I bought something else today, at Fenwicks, and I can’t wait to show you—’

‘I can’t wait to see it, darling, either.’

‘But you’re going to have to wait till bedtime. It’s really quite special.’ She looked at him from under her eyelashes.

‘Right. Well, I’d best eat up, hadn’t I?’

‘Well, I don’t want you rushing my meal. Are you enjoying it?’

‘Yes, it’s lovely. Really delicious, thank you. You’re so clever, darling.’

‘Not terribly. I just like looking after you. It’s all I ever wanted. I can’t wait for when I can do it full-time – don’t look so frightened, Charles, I know we’ve got to wait a bit. Now about this account at Harrods, I’ve actually got the forms here.’

‘Matt, hello, it’s Eliza. I’ve got the copy for you to check.’

‘Oh – great, thanks.’

‘Shall I bike it over to you?’

‘You could. Or you could bring it yourself. In case I have any comments.’

‘I do have a few other things to do, I’m afraid,’ said Eliza tartly. ‘And you can ring me with the comments. Or you could come over here.’

‘Er – I don’t think so. In this instance I’m the client.’

‘I’m not sure that’s right.’

‘I am.’

‘Matt, this is a ridiculous conversation. I’ll bike the copy over. And you can ring me with any comments.’

And please, please God don’t let there be any. Jack Beckham would go completely insane if he knew this was happening. ‘Copy approval is for advertising agencies,’ he said, whenever anyone – usually an interviewed actor – requested it. ‘They want fucking approval, they can pay for the fucking space.’

She was definitely feeling a bit odd about Matt. These weird things kept happening. Like at the church, and in the orangery, and when they’d had that fight and he’d kissed her. What had that been about?

It had been quite a kiss. She’d literally felt weak at the knees afterwards. Of course it hadn’t meant anything; it was just that they got carried away. But – well, she hadn’t quite been able to forget about it.

She was going to feel a bit silly seeing him now as well. He must think she was a bit of a tart, as well as all the other things, like snobby and bossy, and full of herself.

Although it had been – well – it had been his idea. Their relationship was very complicated. Not that it was a relationship, of course.

Her phone rang at five. ‘Got a few queries. Would you like to have a drink with me, so we can discuss them?’

‘No, Matt, I’m sorry, there really isn’t time.’

‘OK then, I’ll just bring this over later and come up to your office. How’s that?’

‘Matt, no.’

‘But I’ve agreed to save you the trip. And I’d like to see your office. You’ve seen mine, after all.’

‘Matt—’

‘I’ll be there at seven.’

At six forty-five Jack Beckham put his head round the door of her office.

‘Everything sorted for your November pages?’

‘Yes. Absolutely.’ It wasn’t, but she couldn’t afford to have him hanging around her office now.

‘Just remind me what you’re doing for the second feature.’

‘Oh – it’s these designs from the Royal College. I’m calling it “Why Not?” They’re quite revolutionary things, an all-in-one sort of dungaree boiler suit for instance.’

‘Sounds hideous.’

‘It’s not, Jack, it’s wonderful.’

‘Got any sketches?’

‘Yes, they’re here – yes, look.’

‘Oh, yes. I do remember now.’

‘Good, and then some bunny rabbit coats in all sorts of wonderful primary colours, like yellow and blue.’

‘That sounds better. Well, keep up the good work. Night, Eliza.’

‘Night, Jack.’

Phew. That had been close. Five to seven. He …

‘Eliza!’

He was back. God.

‘I’d quite like to do some men’s fashion in the not too distant future.’

‘Yes, of course. Me too. Wonderful idea.’

‘Good. Not worn by some fairy boys, mind, but red-blooded males – footballers, that sort of thing. Like – well, OK, this chap’d do. Boyfriend of yours? Looking for Eliza, are you? This way.’

Matt walked in. Eliza felt faint.

‘Oh – Matt. Hello. Yes. This is Jack Beckham, our editor. Jack, Matt Shaw.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Matt.

‘You look familiar.’ He peered at Matt. ‘Yeah, I thought I recognised you. You’re in our feature, aren’t you? The Intropreneurs.’

‘Well – I hope so. Yeah. Providing—’

‘Great photographs weren’t they, Eliza. Terry Donovan, wasn’t it? Like him, got a sense of humour. I particularly remember your pictures, Matt, up on that scaffolding. Brave of you, I thought.’