‘Harriet darling,’ said Susie, ‘you really mustn’t be quite so hard on yourself. You’ve done so well, and everyone makes mistakes. And I can’t believe that just a little bit of over-extending could really bring your whole business down. I mean you have lots of shops, surely –’
‘Susie, don’t. Yes, there are other shops, other Harry’s. But none of them are actually making real money any more. Oh, the turnover’s fine, but they mostly just about break even. And this is pack-of-cards stuff. It’s all going to come tumbling down very very fast. I certainly can’t sustain this debt. And I’m going to look such a fool, and I have to get rid of all those lovely girls. You know Ellie, in Covent Garden, she’s worked for three weeks now without money, because she believed in me, and now what do I say to her? Sorry Ellie, sweet of you. Here’s your reward, one P45 and the directions to the DHSS. But it’s Janine, that is absolutely the worst thing, I mean she’s quite an old lady now, she’s going to need that money, and – oh Susie, what am I going to do?’
‘Well,’ said Susie briskly. ‘I don’t know exactly, but sitting and sobbing and berating yourself certainly isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Janine. Listen, Harriet, Janine is a very wise, very worldly woman. I can’t believe she would have lent you that sort of money if she hadn’t been ready to risk losing it. I’m amazed she’s got it, but that’s beside the point. And I’m also sure she didn’t just give it to you without a second thought, I mean presumably she saw some kind of business plan –’
‘Well – yes she did. But it was a bit amateurish and optimistic. I – well, I was so sure, so confident. I just made certain it was all presented in a very positive way. Rounded figures up, that sort of thing. Not much, don’t look at me like that, only a few thousand here and there. But enough to be just that bit more persuasive. And then I threw my flat into the ring. As surety.’
‘Well then,’ said Susie, surprised to find how relieved she was, ‘that’s all right. You can still sell it. I don’t see what you’re so upset about. Of course it will be sad, it’s a lovely flat, but –’
‘Susie, it’s worthless. In cash terms. You see before you an outstanding example of negative equity. I bought my flat at the height of the boom, knew it was desperately overpriced, but there I was, flying along, got a ninety-five per cent mortgage. It’s worth about – oh, I don’t know, sixty per cent of what it was.’
‘Ah,’ said Susie quietly. ‘Ah, I see.’
‘So – Harry’s goes into liquidation. Tomorrow, actually. I was blocking it out of my brain, not thinking about it until after the wedding. And now there’s no wedding.’
‘Can’t you find someone to buy the business?’
‘It isn’t easy. Have you noticed how many shops are empty in so many high streets at the moment? Half South Molton Street even is for sale. But yes, I have tried. I’ve done so many presentations, I go into my spiel in my sleep. Twice I thought I’d done it, been saved, and then at the last moment they pulled the plug on me. Trotting out the usual platitudes about return on equity, too much long-term investment needed.’
‘How – how much are you prepared to give away?’ said Susie, trying to sound as tactful as possible.
‘A lot,’ said Harriet. ‘I know what you’re saying, but honestly, Susie, I’d lost most of my pride. At first of course I wanted to keep control, have it all my way, but I’d long since stopped that. My only condition in the end was the final word on design, when my name was literally on the line. Which is fair enough. I mean I wasn’t going to have some purple lurex number with “Harry’s” stitched into it. And I’d almost got to the point where I’d have given way on that. But it still wasn’t working. There was just one last hope, a guy called Cotton. You may have heard of Cotton Fields? Nice clothes. Cheap and cheerful, but nice.’
‘Yes of course,’ said Susie. ‘Annabel buys quite a lot of them.’
‘Well, there you are. I’d have gone in with him quite happily. He’s American. His head office is in New York. Anyway, I really thought he was going to make me an offer – not huge, but enough. I’d been really, really honest with him, told him all the problems, but he still wanted to buy. I thought. We were down to the small print. And then he backed off. Much as the others did. Yesterday, actually. He sent me a fax saying he wasn’t interested after all, and when I tried to ring him, to talk about it, right up to about midnight, his secretary just kept telling me he was in meetings.’
‘Well,’ said Susie, ‘that does sound strange. But maybe if he was reading the small print, rather than just writing it –’
‘Yes,’ said Harriet. ‘I know. Anyway, I can’t do anything about it. That’s it. Finito.’ She smiled a slightly wobbly smile at Susie. ‘I’m so sorry, Susie. To burden you with this. But you did ask –’
‘I know, darling. And I’m glad you did. I wish to God I could help. But the only person I know with that sort of money is Theo. I suppose you couldn’t –’
‘No,’ said Harriet quickly. ‘No I couldn’t. Not possibly.’
‘He’s very fond of you. I’m sure he’d like to help.’
‘Well – I just can’t. It’s too – close to home. I might ask him for Janine’s money, if I absolutely had to, but nothing else.’
‘Oh well. That’s your decision. It’s nothing to do with me. Now look, I’ll have a think about all this, and if you’ll let me, maybe ask Alistair if he knows anyone who might be able to help. He really does know every investor in town.’
‘Susie, it’s sweet of you, but I honestly do think I’ve turned over every possible stone –’
‘I bet you haven’t,’ said Susie, ‘and it’s surely worth giving it just another couple of days. Now look, we really have to get over to your mother and relieve poor Janine. She’s at the end of her tether. Would you like me to drive?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ said Harriet. ‘And thank you for listening.’
There were an awful lot of tethers being stretched that day, thought Susie, as she lay back slightly wearily in her seat. Her own felt pretty taut. Now that she knew there was a reason for her constant tiredness, she felt suddenly, sharply worse. While she had first assumed and then hoped she was simply feeling her age, and fighting it with her usual blithe determination, it had seemed merely a nuisance, a slight brake on her activities. Since it had become something different, a painful, heavy reality, she was finding it already harder to handle; her head, she acknowledged, actually ached, and so did the small of her back, and what she wanted more than anything was to close her eyes, to shut out the dazzling flashing light of the afternoon, to give in, just for a moment, to rest.
‘Go on, Susie,’ came Harriet’s voice, half amused, half gentle. ‘Take a nap. You’ve earned it.’
‘I can’t stand people who take naps,’ said Susie.
‘Nor can I. But you do look absolutely rotten.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Susie, smiling at her. ‘I know you meant it kindly. But I’d rather chat.’ She was intrigued still by Harriet’s tone when she’d said ‘Everyone loves Cressida’; she was hoping to lead her back to that.
‘How did you like Tilly?’ said Harriet.
‘I loved Tilly.’
‘So does Rufus.’
‘So I understand.’
‘You know he wants to marry her?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And?’
‘And I think that’s – fine. If it happens.’
‘But you don’t think it will?’ Harriet’s voice was gently insistent.
‘Harriet, I don’t know. Let’s say their lives are very different. I don’t want Rufus hurt.’
‘Well,’ said Harriet. ‘I know. I know what you’re saying. And I don’t want him hurt either. He’s just one of the loveliest people I know.’
‘I think so too,’ said Susie, smiling at her again. ‘But then I would.’
And then she did close her eyes, remembering briefly, fiercely, ho
w nearly Rufus had not been born at all.
They had agreed she should have an abortion. It was the only thing they could possibly do. There was no way Susie could bear James’s child – and she knew it was his child, Alistair had been away most of the month and certainly at the time of conception, and her hormones ran with clocklike regularity – Alistair would quite possibly work it out, Maggie would come to hear of it, there would be at best dreadful recriminations, anger, ugliness, at worst divorce. They both had children already: Harriet was two, Lucy one. It was unthinkable they should put all that at risk.
James had arranged the whole thing, had booked her into a nursing home somewhere near Luton.
‘Luton, Jamie, why Luton? It’s the most terrible place,’ Susie said, when he told her. She was hanging on, with great difficulty, to her sense of humour.
‘I thought you were unlikely to know anyone there,’ he said rather helplessly. ‘You can’t go very far out of London, and central London would be dangerous. I’m sorry. Anyway, what does it matter?’
‘It doesn’t,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘Of course it doesn’t. I’ll go even to Luton for you, Jamie, don’t worry.’
‘How do you feel?’
‘I feel fine,’ she said. ‘Pregnancy suits me. I felt wonderful with Lucy.’
‘You would,’ he said morosely, ‘you bloody well would feel wonderful. Maggie was sick every single day.’
‘Yes, well, I think we’d best not talk about Maggie. Under the circumstances.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’d better go now,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘Bathtime beckons. Nanny’s night off.’
‘Good luck, darling. I love you.’
‘I love you too, Jamie.’
She couldn’t think how she could possibly still love him. After all he had done to her. But she did. When they had met for the first time after their respective weddings, innocently, at a drinks party, she had felt quite faint with longing for him. And hatred. He had smiled at her across the room, come over to her, and she had stood there, just staring at him, refusing even to speak.
‘You look lovely,’ he said, ‘quite lovely.’
She was silent. ‘I miss you,’ he said, ‘I really miss you.’
Susie raised her eyebrows, took another sip of champagne. ‘How is Alistair?’
‘He’s very well. As you see.’
‘Doing well?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Aren’t you going to ask if I’m doing well?’
‘No,’ she said, and there was such suppressed fury in her voice that he looked round nervously, fearing Maggie, Alistair – anyone could have heard. ‘No I’m not. Of course you’re doing well. You would be, wouldn’t you? You married to do well.’
‘Susie, don’t –’
‘Oh fuck off,’ she said quietly and turned away, went to join Alistair. She slipped her arm through his, smiled up at him, looked over her shoulder at James standing there, alone, and she wanted him so much, loved him so desperately she could scarcely believe she could feel it at the same time as the hatred.
The next day he phoned her. ‘I just wanted to say I was sorry.’
‘For what, James? For not marrying me? For marrying Maggie? For being such a bastard. Could you expand a little, please?’
‘All of those things,’ he said. ‘But really for upsetting you yesterday.’
‘Yes, well. Don’t do it again.’ But she could hear her voice lighten, ease, hating it for doing so. ‘Goodbye, James.’
Three months later, they met again. At a charity ball. Fate in the form of Janet Beaumont had put them at the same table. Susie was pregnant.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said to James.
‘Congratulations. Alistair must be very pleased.’
‘Yes he is. I hear you have a daughter.’
‘Yes indeed. Sweet little thing. Would you like to dance?’
‘No. No thank you.’
But later Alistair was dancing with someone else and she was alone at the table; he came over. ‘Come along, one dance won’t hurt you.’
But it did.
She stood in his arms, felt him, smelt him, wanted him.
‘You don’t feel very pregnant,’ he said.
‘Well I’m not very pregnant. Only five months.’
‘You don’t look more than five days.’
‘Yes, well, I’ve been working at it.’
‘You would,’ he said.
Maggie thought she was lovely, James said; wanted to ask her to dinner.
‘You mustn’t let her.’
‘How can I stop her?’
‘We won’t come.’
‘Darling, I see we’ve been invited to the Forrests’ for New Year’s Eve. Might be fun. I like James.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, don’t you?’
‘No, not much.’
‘Well, I’d like to go. The Beaumonts will be there, and he was saying he had a big land-law case coming up, looking for advice. It’s a field that interests me.’
‘Alistair, do we have to? I feel so enormous and I’d rather stay at home.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
When it came to his career Alistair was ruthless. Like James, she thought to herself.
She arrived at the party feeling odd. She was eight months pregnant, she was tired, she was edgy. She found it hard to sparkle.
Halfway through the evening she started having contractions. Sure they were nothing, she found a room and lay down on the floor, doing her relaxing exercises. The pain got worse.
The room happened to be James’s study; he came in and found her there.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘Having a baby,’ said Susie through gritted teeth.
He was concerned, professional, soothing. He felt her tummy, listened to the baby’s heartbeat, timed a couple of contractions and phoned the local hospital. He drove her over himself, relaxed, cheerful, cheering. She was shivery, said she wanted to push; he told her to pant and to hang on. Alistair sat in the back of the car, panicking.
At the hospital James found a wheelchair, pushed her through reception towards the labour ward himself. ‘She’s in transition,’ he said calmly to the nurse. ‘Get a delivery room ready. The baby’s premature.’ Alistair had disappeared.
Through her pain, her fear, her confusion, he was there: level, steady, reassuring.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he kept saying, ‘and the baby will be fine. Just hang on. Hang on to me. Hold my hand.’
They reached the delivery room; three nurses were ready, eager to serve the great god, the consultant.
James helped them lift her onto the bed. He bent over her, smiled into her eyes. ‘Yell if you want to,’ he said, ‘no one will mind.’
‘No,’ said Susie, clenching her fists. ‘I don’t approve of making a fuss. Just don’t go away, that’s all.’
‘I won’t,’ he said, smiling down at her again, ‘I won’t,’ and in spite of everything she saw the humour in the situation, smiled back.
And so it was that when Susie Headleigh Drayton gave birth to her first baby, James Forrest was there with her.
After that it was hopeless really. He saw her through the two desperate days after the birth when the tiny four-pound Lucy struggled to survive. He wheeled her down himself to the prem unit when the baby was out of danger, so that she might sit with her. He dried her eyes when she wept with third-day blues, and he laughed at her discomfiture when the milk arrived and leaked all over her nightie.
‘Don’t laugh,’ she said crossly. ‘It’s not very pretty.’
‘It’s quite nice, Susie, to see you out of control just for once, even if only of your boobs.’
She scowled at him, then smiled.
‘I love you,’ he said gently and bent and kissed her forehead.
Alistair had gone back to London.
Two months later they were lunching regularly, a month after that they were in bed. It
was wonderful. Susie thought she had never been so happy.
‘A lovely baby, a sweet husband and you,’ she said one afternoon after some particularly good sex. ‘What more could I ask?’
James turned away from her.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘That wasn’t the most tactful thing you could have said. At such a time.’
‘Jamie,’ said Susie, propping herself up on her elbow, fixing her dark eyes on him, ‘Jamie, I really don’t think you have any right to complain about my being tactless. You’ve got a pretty good deal, it seems to me. Don’t knock it.’
‘I can’t help it,’ he said, ‘You’re so fucking – pragmatic.’
‘And I can’t help that,’ she said, bending over, kissing his shoulder, ‘it’s what I’m all about, pragmatisim. Be grateful. I might just be pragmatic, without the fucking.’
And then she got pregnant. With James’s baby. While Alistair had been away in the north of England.
‘I don’t see how it could have happened,’ he said fretfully. ‘You’re on the pill –’
‘Yes, I know, James, but I had a tummy upset that week. Quite a bad one. It must have cancelled out the pill or whatever –’
‘You should have mentioned it.’
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous. What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know, Jamie. You tell me.’
She drove herself to the nursing home; she had insisted on it.
‘I want to be by myself, completely by myself. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.’
‘What have you told Alistair?’
‘That I’m staying with Mummy.’
‘And what have you told Mummy?’
‘That I’m going to a health farm for forty-eight hours, and I don’t want Alistair to know. He genuinely doesn’t approve of them. Luckily.’
‘And does Mummy believe you?’
Another Woman (9781468300178) Page 22
