‘You look exhausted,’ said Julia Bergin severely. ‘Has there been any development?’
‘Yes,’ said James, and told her what it was.
He didn’t look at her as he talked; he couldn’t. When he finally lifted his head, met her eyes, there was a moment of appalling truth. Before shock, distress, disbelief carefully took over, for just one second Julia Bergin looked complacently, smugly self-satisfied.
Then: ‘Poor Oliver,’ she said quietly. ‘My poor poor Oliver. And you James, and Maggie, what you must be going through. I only wish –’
‘Maggie doesn’t know yet,’ said James briefly. What was it with Julia, was Merlin right, did she know something? No, she couldn’t, she couldn’t. It must have been one of those inappropriate shock reactions, like giggling when you heard that someone had died.
‘Maggie doesn’t know?’ repeated Julia.
‘No. I gave her some very heavy sedation last night. I’ve rung home and apparently she’s only just woken. I’m going home to tell her now.’
‘Oh, James. How terrible. That lovely little girl – what she must have gone through.’
‘That’s very charitable of you,’ said James. ‘To take that view.’
‘Well, one has to try to understand. To imagine what might have led her to do such a thing. What unhappiness, what confusion.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said James, ‘and what selfishness, what cruelty.’ He didn’t want Cressida defended; had she walked into the lounge then he would have hit her.
‘Well, there had to be more to it than that.’
‘I don’t think so. Is Oliver about?’
‘He’s gone for a walk. With his father.’
‘I see. I really wanted to tell him myself.’
‘James, I think it would be better if I told him. He’s been through such a terrible time. He’s very hurt. I think I would know how to break it to him –’
‘Yes, all right,’ said James. He found he was grateful for an escape route; telling Oliver how nearly he had married a liar and a cheat who happened to be his daughter was not a pleasant prospect.
‘So if you want to get off home to Maggie, then do please feel free. She needs you more than Oliver does, James. Poor woman. As a mother, I feel for her so much. If you think I could help in any way –’
She sat down abruptly, buried her face in her hands. James stood looking down at her helplessly. ‘Julia, please – I’m so sorry –’
‘Oh James, don’t feel – it’s all right – I –’ She looked up again; her eyes were brilliant with unshed tears, her mouth taut with an attempt at control. ‘Suddenly I – so silly – shock, I suppose. Please excuse me.’
She was gone, leaving James staring after her with nothing left to do now but go home and tell Maggie the horrible thing her beloved daughter had done.
Chapter 29
Mungo 10:30am
‘Mungo! Call for you on Two.’
It was Belinda, one of the Sloaney negotiators; she was moderately pretty, extremely charming and very sexy, with good legs, long blonde hair (which Mungo swore actually grew attached to the black velvet hairband which held it off her high forehead), a hugely infectious laugh and a fine line in dirty jokes. Her pedigree was impeccable: her father worked for Lloyd’s, her boyfriend at Christie’s and her mother had been deb of the year. The clients all adored her; Mungo adored her too. If he hadn’t been so much in love with Alice, he thought he might well have gone into battle for her with the Christie’s boyfriend.
‘Thanks. It’s not my father, is it?’
‘No, Mungo, it’s not your father. It’s a female. Didn’t give a name.’
Wouldn’t be Alice; she always rang on his mobile. ‘If you think I’m giving those girls the pleasure of knowing how often I want to talk to you, you don’t know me very well,’ she’d said to him when he pointed out that if she used the office line she could leave messages. He picked the phone up. He felt very tired suddenly; his arms were leaden and his head ached.
‘Mungo Buchan.’
It was Jemima. ‘Mungo, sorry to ring you in the office. Is this all right?’
‘Depends what you’re going to say,’ said Mungo.
‘I’m going to say thank you,’ said Jemima.
‘What on earth for?’
‘For not ratting on me to Mummy. It was really nice of you.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Mungo wearily. ‘But if you want a bit of advice from an old man, Jemima, you’ll find somewhere else to conduct your love life in future. Somewhere a bit more discreet.’
‘Yes, I know. I will. Promise. Um – there’s something else, Mungo. I – I might have given you the wrong impression last night. About Mummy. I was – angry with her, we’d had a fight.’
‘What kind of wrong impression?’
‘Well, that she – you know. She – well, she isn’t – she doesn’t –’
‘Jemima, what are you trying to say?’
‘Well, that she’s really really fond of you. And she – well, she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I know she wouldn’t.’
‘I’m afraid, Jemima, she already has,’ said Mungo and put the phone down. ‘Get me some coffee, Carol, would you?’ he shouted through the door. Carol was his long-suffering secretary: more conventionally pretty, but rather less well connected than Belinda and plainly and helplessly in love with him. She came in early, worked through most of her lunch hours, left late and had more than once worked until long after Mungo had left and she had missed her last train home if there was an urgent brochure or prospectus to prepare, and then paid for a taxi back to Ealing with her own money rather than cause Mungo any more trouble. She found the things he had lost, remembered the things he had forgotten and enjoyed nothing more than performing such politically incorrect secretarial duties as sewing on his buttons and taking his clothes to the cleaners. She came in now looking slightly nervous, the coffee in a large mug and a plate of Jaffa cakes in her other hand. Mungo’s devotion to Jaffa cakes was well known, and Carol made frequent pilgrimages to Selfridge’s Food Hall to keep the supply topped up. It was usually worth the effort, he would smile and thank her, but this morning he simply took the mug and waved the plate away without a word.
‘Er – how was the wedding, Mungo? You look tired.’
‘Lousy and I am tired. Get me the file on the Bruton Lane building, Carol, and get the bank on the phone.’
‘Yes, Mungo, of course.’
Mungo looked at her as she half ran out of the office; she’d have to go, he couldn’t stand the sense of guilt she engendered any longer. Well, that would be easily effected; she could be part of the cost-cutting exercise. He’d talk to her at lunchtime.
‘You,’ said Alice, ‘are a brat.’
She was standing in the doorway of the office, Belinda hovering uncertainly behind her.
Mungo looked up at her. ‘Please leave,’ he said coldly.
‘Mungo, I have no intention of leaving.’
‘Well in that case I will.’
‘No you won’t,’ said Alice, and closed the door behind her. She leant against it, looking at him thoughtfully, then she said, ‘Mungo, we have to talk.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about as far as I can see,’ said Mungo icily. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do.’ He started tapping at his keyboard, calling up details of properties; then he picked up the phone and punched out a number rather too viciously. ‘Mrs Packard? Mungo Buchan. Mrs Packard, I think we might have a very interesting property for you. In –’
‘Mrs Packard will have to wait, I’m afraid,’ said Alice coolly. She had come over to his desk and cut him off. ‘Mungo, do you have to be so rude? I thought you were supposed to love me.’
‘You thought wrong, I’m afraid. Well, I suppose I did, but you’ve fucked it up rather neatly.’
‘Mungo, the only fucking up that’s being done is by you. Of just about everything. Your life, your work, your relationships, not just with me but with your father. And �
�’
‘Please don’t talk to me about my father,’ said Mungo. ‘What you did, phoning him like that, was absolutely unforgivable. And you’re doing a pretty good job of fucking up my work yourself. Please go away. I have clients to attend to.’
‘No, Mungo, I won’t go. And I’d like you to tell that poor little soul out there who seems to have the misguided idea that you’re some kind of a cross between Tom Cruise and the Messiah to hold all your calls for a while.’
‘I’ll do nothing of the sort.’
‘In that case,’ said Alice, starting to unbutton her dress, ‘I shall scream and say you were assaulting me.’
Mungo looked at her. There was an expression in her blue eyes that he had come to know very well: one of absolute steely determination. He picked up the phone. ‘Carol,’ he said, ‘hold all the calls for now, please. And ask Roddy Fairfield to talk to Mrs Packard urgently. If she hasn’t already gone to another agent,’ he added, glaring at Alice.
‘Yes, Mungo. Er – would you like some more coffee in there?’
‘No I wouldn’t,’ said Mungo.
As he put the phone down again, he heard muffled giggles; he looked up at Alice. ‘How dare you,’ he said, ‘how dare you come in here and disrupt my business and make a fool of me in front of my staff?’
‘Oh don’t be so pompous,’ said Alice. ‘I dare, as you put it, because it’s very important you hear what I have to say. I want your undivided attention. It won’t take long.’
‘All right. Get on with it. And then get out.’
‘Mungo, do look at me please, stop sulking. It’s impossible to talk to the top of someone’s head.’
Mungo looked at her and scowled. She laughed. ‘You really look very like your father when you do that.’
‘How do you know what he looks like, Alice? If you’ve been to see him –’
‘Oh, Mungo, don’t be ridiculous. Of course I haven’t been to see him. But he is quite famous, you know. I’ve seen him on things like the Money Programme, and he was on Panorama the other night.’
‘Was he?’ said Mungo, genuinely surprised. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Yes, a programme about the Third World. He was giving his views on the food surplus here and in the States. It was very interesting. You should have watched it.’
‘No thanks,’ said Mungo. ‘I know most of his interesting views off by heart. They bore me.’
‘What a little charmer you are,’ said Alice lightly. ‘Let’s talk about you, shall we, Mungo? That will presumably interest you more.’
‘Alice,’ said Mungo, losing his temper suddenly, ‘Alice, last night I told my father how much I loved you and that I wanted to marry you. He was foul to me. He talked to me as if I was six years old, it was patronizing to me, insulting to you, and –’
‘Yes, he knows that, and he was very sorry,’ said Alice.
Mungo could not have been more astonished if she had told him his father was taking up ice skating or social work.
‘He was what?’
‘He was sorry.’
‘My father doesn’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘Mungo, I think he does. He sounded very sorry indeed to me. He said he wasn’t very good at apologizing, but he was going to have a go at doing it to you. He’s a honey. I really liked him.’
‘Oh,’ said Mungo, ‘oh, shit.’
‘What?’
‘He phoned – earlier. Tried to speak to me. I told him to – well, I told him to fuck off.’
‘Well,’ said Alice, ‘that was very charming. And it probably won’t encourage him to pursue the art of contrition.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I don’t suppose he’ll try apologizing to you again.’
‘Did you – did you have to point it out to him?’ said Mungo.
‘Point what out?’
‘Well, that he’s been patronizing and insulting?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘If you knew him,’ said Mungo, ‘you’d know there was no “of course” about it.’
‘You may be right. I happen to think you’re wrong. Anyway, I’m hoping to get to know him.’
‘Oh, really? Over cosy little dinners while you discuss my appalling behaviour and what you’re both going to do about it?’
‘Oh, don’t be so childish,’ she said wearily.
‘I’m not being childish. Maybe you should set your sights on him, rather than me. He’s a lot nearer your age, and he’s not exactly picky. I’m sure you could get rid of the current Mrs Buchan in no time, if you set your mind to it –’
Alice walked over to the desk and hit him; first she slapped him extremely hard across the face, and then she drew her arm back and punched him with surprising force on the nose. The room went briefly black and then a few lights danced in front of his eyes; the famous stars, he thought confusedly. He felt something warm trickling down his upper lip: blood he supposed. He sat slumped back in his chair, staring at her. He felt very odd.
‘Right then,’ she said. She stood over him, her hands on the arms of his chair, her eyes blazing in her white face. He could feel the heat of her, could smell her, not just her perfume but something else, a hot musky smell, the smell of rage. ‘Right then, Mungo, I’ve got a few things to tell you and then I’ll go. First of all, I don’t go round setting my sights on anyone. I actually thoroughly enjoy being single. It’s fun and it’s easy. I didn’t want to fall in love with you, Mungo, I fought it very hard. For a long time. As for marrying you, it still seems the most ridiculous, the most impractical, the most appalling idea.’
‘Well, then,’ he said, and his voice was somehow quieter than he had expected it to be, ‘if it seems so appalling why did you say you would?’
There was a very long silence; he stared up at her. Her eyes, holding his, were still hostile, still furious.
‘Because I couldn’t help it,’ she said finally. ‘I simply couldn’t help it. Because I do love you. I think you’re spoilt and self-centred and childish and dreadful and yet you make me terribly happy. And I love you. I weakened. I just couldn’t hold out any longer.’
‘Oh,’ said Mungo, his voice quieter still. The blood was pouring down his nose now, and onto his shirt; he reached for his handkerchief, mopped at it rather helplessly. ‘I’ve fucked this up rather, haven’t I?’
‘Just a bit,’ said Alice. ‘But since I told your father last night I wasn’t going to marry you, it doesn’t really matter what you did. Or said.’
‘Ah,’ said Mungo, ‘ah, I thought so. He did talk you out of it. Somehow or another.’
‘No, Mungo, he didn’t. I talked me out of it. He hardly said a word. I heard myself saying, and thinking how sensible of me it was, that I wouldn’t marry you. That it was a stupid idea.’
‘Appalling,’ said Mungo mechanically.
‘Appalling. Yes. That I must have been out of such mind as I have, agreeing to it in the first place. And I also said that if he thought it would be better for you, I would go away altogether.’
‘Well, I’m very glad you consulted him so fully about our lives, rather than me,’ said Mungo. ‘And what did he say to that?’
‘He said it was no business of his,’ she said. ‘Absolutely none at all.’
‘He did?’ said Mungo, staring up at her. ‘My father said that?’
‘Yes he did. He said he had absolutely no intention of telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.’
‘He didn’t even express a view?’
‘No he didn’t.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this,’ said Mungo. ‘My father spends his entire life telling people what to do. Expressing very strong views indeed. He was just being clever, stringing you along –’
‘Mungo, I told you, he was really sorry about – about what he said to you. About us. I don’t know why you can’t believe it.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Mungo, ‘because I know him so well. I’ve lived with him for twenty-seven years. I tell yo
u, Alice, every leopard on the face of this planet is more likely to change its spots to sky-blue pink than my father is to stop interfering in everyone’s lives. Especially mine.’
‘There are some white leopards, you know,’ she said quietly.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I mean some leopards have actually changed their spots. Well, lost them anyway. In response to certain situations.’
‘Yes, maybe, but not overnight.’
‘You’re very hard on him, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am. I’ve learnt to be.’
‘He’s very proud of you, you know.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Mungo, ‘when I’m being a good boy, doing what I’m told.’
‘No, not really. He told me last night how proud of you he was. Of the way you’ve built this business up. He said he hadn’t actually thought you’d got what it takes, but he was wrong. That you’ve done it without any input from him at all. It was one of the things he was most sorry about, implying that you couldn’t. And he also said he was very proud of the way you’d stood up to him. He said’ – she smiled at what was obviously a funny memory – ‘he said he knew it took some doing.’
‘Good God,’ said Mungo, ‘this really was some conversation.’
‘Yes it was. Anyway –’
‘And he actually said that? That I’ve got what it takes?’
‘Mungo, how many more times do I have to tell you? That’s what he said.’
Mungo looked at her. He felt very powerful suddenly, very joyful, as if he could do anything, anything at all. And he felt something else, too, a sense of immense, heady freedom.
‘Shit,’ he said, ‘shit.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘No,’ said Mungo, ‘no it isn’t.’ He looked at Alice and thought how it had taken her and her clear-sightedness and courage to do this for him, to cut into the complex, cross-purposed lines that lay between him and his father and to deliver each of them safely, if a little shamefaced, back to one another.
‘I love you,’ he said to her, ‘I really really love you.’
‘And I really love you too. Like I said.’
Another Woman (9781468300178) Page 45
