She walked in, and smiled at him, her eyes moving over him in amusement. ‘I think nothing would have been better,’ she said. ‘Hallo, Joe. Your little fling in high places doesn’t seem to have affected you sartorially.’
She reached up to kiss him lightly; he bent and returned the kiss. She smelt gorgeous; she looked gorgeous, a little too thin, but leggily graceful as ever in her country clothes, her Burberry, over a skirt and sweater, her Gucci loafers, her Hermès headscarf. God, she was a class act. He’d forgotten. Worth ten of any film star.
‘Coffee?’ he said slightly awkwardly.
‘I’ll make it. You get dressed,’ she said, taking off the scarf, shaking out her hair. It was still perfect, dark red: still not a streak of grey. Well, for heaven’s sake, he thought, it’s only eighteen months or something since we parted. He was sure he looked a lot more than eighteen months older.
‘You look older,’ said Caroline.
‘Thanks,’ said Joe.
‘Still good friends with Miss Sharon?’
‘No,’ said Joe with difficulty, finding it hard, for some reason, to tell Caroline that the brief, briefer than brief fling with Rose was over, for she had clearly found him wanting, in every way, even as her escort when she needed one, he had so clearly not looked or acted the part; she had tired of him, and gently, sweetly, told him she had made a mistake, that it was wrong of her, that she found him very lovely, but that it was better to end it straight away, before they became any more involved. ‘No, I’m not.’
Caroline didn’t pursue it.
She made some coffee: strong, good coffee, handed him a mug. It was very nice; he usually made instant these days. It was all part of the slithering standards, he supposed, of living completely alone. He’d lived out of tins before, before he’d met Caroline.
‘It’s – very nice to see you,’ he said.
‘It’s nice to see you.’
‘Why have you come? I presume there has to be a reason.’
‘I’ve come to talk to you,’ she said, ‘about all this. About Chloe. She’s in terrible trouble. Poor little thing. I’m worried about her. And this wretched book.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the book.’
‘Yes. I can truly say I don’t care about it any more. I don’t think it can hurt me. My shoulders have got very broad. But Chloe – well, it’s going to be terrible for her.’
‘I know. And Piers. And – Fleur.’
‘Oh, Piers, yes, I suppose,’ said Caroline dismissively. ‘I can’t get too worked up about Piers. Or Fleur for that matter. I think they both can take care of themselves.’
‘Well, Caroline,’ said Joe, ‘this is a novel situation. You worrying about Chloe rather than Fleur.’
Caroline frowned. ‘Joe, please. I’m trying to do the right thing. For once. Being at least partially responsible for the whole bloody thing.’
He shrugged. ‘Well – you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.’
‘Being hard on myself is my speciality,’ said Caroline. ‘Joe, there must be some way you can find out what’s in that book. Piers refuses to discuss it, burying his head in the sand, all part of his obsession over his knighthood. Apparently the crux of the matter is knowing what’s in it and that it’s defamatory, and untrue. And that it contains information that is so defamatory no amount of damages could compensate. Otherwise we can’t get an injunction.’
‘You seem to be very well informed,’ said Joe.
‘Yes, well, I’ve been talking to Ludovic Ingram.’
‘Oh really? How is Ludovic?’
‘Very upset,’ said Caroline briefly.
‘Why?’
Caroline told him.
‘So you see,’ she said, pouring them both another cup of coffee, ‘we have to help her. Poor little thing. She needs someone on her side. I thought it should be you.’
‘I’ve always been on her side.’
‘I know. But for once, you can actually do something useful for her.’
‘Caroline, you’re always so tactful,’ said Joe. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. Coffee. All over your raincoat.’
Caroline left half an hour later, still wearing her coffee-stained raincoat. She said it was vital she got home, that she’d been away for twenty-four hours, that her new mare was about to foal. ‘I seem to spend half my life up here at the moment. I was up a fortnight or so ago, and then I had to come up again yesterday, to see my bankers.’
‘I see,’ said Joe. Whatever it was Caroline was seeing her bankers about, it must be very important indeed for her to risk missing the birth of a foal.
When her cab was out of sight, he went back into his flat, feeling happier than he had done for some time, and put in calls to all the features and serialization editors he knew in Fleet Street. Then before his courage could fail him, he rang Chloe.
Chloe was touchingly pleased to hear from him. Could he come to lunch? She was feeling better, but still a bit low.
‘I wanted to ring you, but I thought you’d had enough of me and my troubles.’
‘I can never have enough of you, honeybunch. I’ll be over at one.’
She was looking very pale, and thin, but she was full of pleasure at his visit.
‘I’ve made us a pissaladière. One of my specialities, in the good old days. Oh, Joe, I wish I was still a cook.’
‘You seem to me still to be a cook,’ said Joe, carefully misunderstanding her.
The pissaladière was delicious: a golden, garlicky, tomatoey tart; eating it was like making a trip to Provence. Chloe hardly touched it.
‘You ought to eat, darling. You’re so thin.’
‘I can’t eat,’ said Chloe, ‘food chokes me. I’m sure I’ll be better soon.’
‘I hope so. How’s Piers?’
‘Oh – all right. I don’t see him very often. Othello opens in three weeks. He’s never here.’
‘How does he feel about the book these days?’
‘Oh, Joe, I don’t know. I think he must be mad.’ She smiled slightly weakly. ‘He just won’t talk about it. He won’t even see the lawyers again. He says the only dignified thing to do is ignore it, then people won’t think he’s got anything to hide.’
‘Extremely misguided thinking.’
‘I’m glad you think so. I know what it is, he thinks anything he does, anything at all, may bring things to a head, endanger his chances of getting his wretched knighthood. He’s so obsessed with that, Joe, it’s extraordinary.’
‘So your mother said.’
‘You’ve seen Mummy? Joe, I’m pleased.’
‘Yes. She – came to see me.’
‘I won’t ask why. She came to see me too. Do you know, Joe, for the first time in twenty-six years, I actually feel close to her. She’s been really nice over all this.’
‘I’m glad. I always said she loved you really.’
‘I know you did. Maybe you were right.’
‘I’ll tell you something else. She said she was worried about the book, for your sake. Not hers, not Piers’s. She even said she thought Fleur could take care of herself.’
‘I’m sure Fleur can,’ said Chloe briefly. ‘And I really don’t see it can do her much harm. It’s nothing to do with her.’
‘Well – I think it will cover all that early stuff about her dad,’ said Joe carefully.
‘Why should it? I don’t even see why it should mention him at all. I know she’s my half sister, and that’s bound to be there – although now I come to think about it, even that doesn’t seem particularly relevant – but Piers didn’t know Brendan, or Byron, or whatever his name was. Did he? Although . . .’ Her voice tailed away. She looked embarrassed.
‘Although what?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘Well,’ said Joe carefully
, ‘they were there, in Hollywood, at around the same time, weren’t they? Piers and Brendan. Did you ever ask Piers about that, poppet?’
‘No, of course not. I’m not supposed to know Piers was there at all then. Remember?’
‘You mean you’ve never discussed that even?’ said Joe.
‘We never discuss anything any more,’ said Chloe bitterly. ‘Not even the most important things. Oh, God, who’s that at the door? I really don’t want to see anyone.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Joe, ‘I’ll go and get rid of whoever it is. I’ll say you’ve gone off on a very long trip. Won’t be back for ten years.’
‘OK, Joe. Thanks.’
She sat back on the sofa and closed her eyes wearily. God, she felt terrible. If only, if only this wretched book was published, and everyone was actually reading it, if the stories had actually come out – and God alone knew exactly what would come out, what lies and what truths would emerge – then it would be on its way to being over. The new nightmare that haunted her was that the story of Gerard Zwirn would be there, amongst the rest. Such was the thoroughness of Magnus Phillips’s research, she could only assume it might be. She didn’t believe Piers’s story that he was an old colleague for one moment. She was afraid to think of precisely who he might be; every so often she was tempted to try to find out for herself, to write to him, phone; but she was too frightened. Frightened and frail and sick and heartsore. And lonely. She had never felt so lonely.
She suddenly remembered what Joe had said about her mother being concerned for her and felt a stab of bitterness. A little more discretion on her mother’s part, and there would have been a great deal less for Magnus Phillips to write about. The whole thing was like sitting in the dentist’s chair, and having the nerve in your tooth touched once, and waiting for it to happen again. Or having a baby, waiting for the next contraction. At the thought of babies, Chloe winced, closed her eyes, willed herself not to think about Ludovic. Although at least it distracted her from the book. She wondered if the hurt would ever ease and decided if it didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to stand it, would just fade away and die like a Victorian heroine.
She heard footsteps on the stairs. Oh, God, Joe must have failed to get rid of whoever it had been at the door. If it was that terrible woman from the Residents Association, she would just have to tell her to go away again.
She opened her eyes again, and saw Joe standing in the doorway; there was someone with him, and it was not the woman from the Residents Association. It was Ludovic Ingram.
‘I’ve – got to go,’ said Joe. ‘Got to interview someone. Will you excuse me?’
They both ignored him; Chloe had still said nothing, nor had she moved; she was sitting, staring up at Ludovic, and he was standing, staring down at her. He looked slightly less outrageously healthy than usual, and he was holding a bunch of roses that was so large it almost completely obscured him from his neck to his waist.
‘Hallo,’ he said finally.
‘Hallo, Ludovic,’ said Chloe.
Joe went out of the room, closing the double doors of the drawing room quietly behind him, down the stairs and out of the front door.
‘I’m – very very sorry,’ said Ludovic. He still hadn’t moved. ‘I behaved extremely badly.’
‘No,’ said Chloe, ‘no, you didn’t, I did. It was a terrible thing to do. You were right to be upset. Do sit down,’ she added, courteously formal.
Ludovic sat down. ‘How are you? Now?’
‘I’m – fine.’
‘You don’t look fine. You look terrible.’
‘Well, thank you very much,’ said Chloe irritably. ‘That’s exactly what I want to hear.’
‘I’m sorry.’
There was a silence.
‘Shit,’ said Ludovic suddenly, ‘I’m not very good at this. At abasing myself, saying I’m sorry. It’s something to do with my profession, I’m afraid. It breeds arrogance. Chloe, don’t laugh. I can’t stand it.’
‘I’m sorry, Ludovic,’ said Chloe, ‘but you do look ridiculous there. As if the judge was about to send you down, or whatever they do.’
‘That’s exactly what they do. How clever you are,’ said Ludovic tenderly.
‘Oh, Ludovic, really! I’m not clever, not in the least.’
‘Yes you are, and you’re beautiful and brave and lovely and I love you, and how are you ever going to forgive me for my behaviour over the past two months?’
‘Oh, God,’ said Chloe, ‘I don’t care about your behaviour over the past two months, Ludovic, not any more. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Chloe, it does matter. It matters terribly. I’m a self-centred, self-aggrandizing, arrogant, archetypal male. Please forgive me. It was an appalling way to behave. I feel deeply, horribly ashamed.’
‘I forgive you,’ said Chloe. ‘Of course I do. If you’ll forgive me. I was a wimp.’
‘You weren’t a wimp. My darling, darling Chloe. Good Christ, I’ve missed you so.’
‘Well, I’m here now,’ said Chloe, laughing. She suddenly felt strong, well again; she could have done anything . . .
‘Where’s your husband?’
‘In Stratford.’
‘Ah.’
‘And my children are downstairs and so is my nanny, not to mention my Filipina housekeeper. So don’t get any ideas.’
‘We could go back to my place,’ said Ludovic hopefully.
‘I’ll come later. If that’s all right.’
‘Oh, my darling, you will, over and over again.’
*
He had champagne waiting, in an ice bucket by the bed.
‘Think of it as your wedding day,’ he said tenderly, as he undressed her, kissed her lips, her eyelids, her throat, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs; entered her, gentle, loving, skilful, brought her to orgasm loudly, triumphantly, gloriously; laid her back on the pillows, gazing at her, smiling at her, telling her he loved her, adored her, that he was so sorry, so terribly sorry, that he did not deserve that she should still love him thus, that he would never, ever hurt her again.
‘Ludovic, stop abasing yourself,’ said Chloe, laughing, finally. ‘I was wrong too. Terribly wrong. Not telling you, about the baby. Your baby.’
‘Our baby,’ he said, ‘our baby,’ and his face, infinitely and suddenly sad, made her tell him, tell him all she could, how pregnant she had been, how she had felt, how the miscarriage had happened.
‘It’s the nearest I’ve ever been to fatherhood,’ he said simply, as she said no, no, he didn’t want to hear, it had been just dreadfully, horribly painful and sad. ‘I do want to hear,’ he said, ‘I really do.’
‘Well,’ she said, cheerfully, ‘there can be other babies. Many many others. I’m nothing if not fertile.’
Joe rang Caroline.
‘I thought you might like to know,’ he said, ‘that Ludovic called to see Chloe this afternoon. With a bouquet of red roses that almost obscured him.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Caroline. ‘It worked then.’
‘What worked?’
‘What I said to him.’
‘Which was?’
‘That he was a self-centred, self-aggrandizing, arrogant, archetypal male.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ said Joe.
‘No,’ said Caroline, sounding suddenly rather bleak. ‘No, Joe, you’re not.’
Chloe told Ludovic everything that night: why the car had crashed, the mysterious Gerard Zwirn, her fears about the book, that Piers would lose his knighthood. She even told him about Fleur.
‘Darling, no wonder Mr Phillips has written this book. It sounds like the best kind of soap opera. I had no idea you were quite so interesting.’
‘I’m not interesting,’ said Chloe, ‘it’s just my family.’
‘I find you
immensely interesting. Can I meet this sister of yours?’
‘I hope not,’ said Chloe in alarm.
‘Surely you’re interested in her, in meeting her?’
‘No,’ said Chloe, hearing the hard finality in her voice, almost surprised by it. ‘I’m really not. I don’t feel any sense of – well, I suppose you’d call it kinship towards her at all. She means nothing to me. If anything I’m just scared of her. She seems so absolutely terrible. I keep expecting her to turn up on the doorstep like a wicked fairy.’
‘I’m sure she won’t,’ said Ludovic soothingly.
He was alarmed at the lack of action Piers had taken over the book.
‘He ought to get a writ out.’
‘But your Mr Marshall says we can’t stop it without knowing what it contains.’
‘Well, you can’t get an injunction. But you could take out what’s often called a gagging writ. The beauty of that is the effect it has not only on the publishers and the writer, but on the printer and the distributor. It gags them.’
‘What good does that do?’
‘Well, publishers and writers, particularly journalists, tend to be rather hard-nosed. To put it mildly. But in threatening people like printers and distributors you are hurting the more vulnerable section.’
‘I still don’t see,’ said Chloe.
‘Well, the thing is that they are simply not going to risk it. They don’t stand to make so much from the book. They don’t benefit from the publicity or the hassle. It’s easier for them to say well, let’s not do it. So you effectively stop publication. I’m very surprised Marshall didn’t suggest this to Piers. I feel rather responsible. Perhaps he’s not as good as I thought.’
‘Perhaps he’s not,’ said Chloe. ‘It sounds wonderful to me.’
‘There’s something else he could do. Seeing as he’s such an influential, high-profile old bugger,’ said Ludovic.
‘What’s that?’
‘He should tell every TV station, every radio station, every newspaper that if they so much as mention the book, he’ll never appear for them or talk to it again. That might just work.’
AN Outrageous Affair Page 80
