‘Good Lord, no. It’s just that Winters is a surgeon; Faraday is a physician, looks slightly differently at things. And the old boy doesn’t look entirely well.’
‘I know,’ said Chloe, ‘but he’s had so much worry lately. And strain. I think that’s all it is.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Bannerman. ‘Well, Faraday will sort him out. Don’t worry, Chloe.’
Chloe said she wouldn’t and thought how terribly badly he would think of her if he knew exactly what she was worrying about.
‘I can’t possibly tell him yet,’ she had said to Ludovic the night before. ‘He’s under such strain, still hoping against hope some miracle might be worked for his knighthood, and then there’s been the book, and –’
‘Chloe, there’s always something,’ said Ludovic. He sounded very strained. ‘I want you to act. I want things settled. I want you.’
‘All right, Ludo. All right. Just let’s see what this doctor says. I can’t tell Piers I’m going to leave him if he’s seriously ill.’
‘No,’ said Ludovic, ‘no, I suppose you can’t. Well, I just pray he isn’t. For all our sakes.’
‘Yes, all right, Ludovic,’ said Chloe, and she was surprised to hear a note of irritation in her voice. ‘I’ll go to church this afternoon.’
Fleur was working late one night on her cash flow when the phone rang.
She picked it up. ‘Fleur FitzPatrick.’
‘Fleur, hallo. This is Magnus.’
Fleur sat for several moments staring blankly at the receiver, as if Magnus might emerge from it physically.
‘Fuck off,’ she said finally, and slammed it down again, very hard. Then she took it off the hook, poured herself a very large bourbon, and continued working as if nothing had happened. Except that in the morning when she checked the figures through she was surprised to see she had made a couple of very silly mistakes, and there were splodges in a couple of places, made by her tears.
Piers saw Faraday on a perfect, windswept morning, late in April; a few hours later Bannerman phoned.
‘How did Piers get on with Faraday?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Chloe, ‘he’s had to go straight back to Stratford. But he was coughing so much last night he was actually sick. And he’s hardly sleeping, worrying over this book.’
‘I thought it had been stopped.’
‘Well, I think it has. But Piers feels it’s done the worst damage already.’
‘Which is?’ said Bannerman.
Greatly to her own surprise and alarm (for Piers would have been enraged had he known), Chloe found herself telling him about Piers’s terrible, almost unbearable disappointment over his lost knighthood.
May – June 1972
‘Oh, God,’ said Piers. He was very white, the blood drained from his face, standing absolutely motionless, staring at her. There was a strange expression in his eyes, haunted, dark. A letter was in his hand, dangling there.
‘Piers, what is it?’
He was silent, looking down again at the letter. Then he lifted his head and held it out to her. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘look, it’s come.’
Chloe took the letter from him, still staring at him. Then she glanced down at it. And there it was, unbelievably, the words, the words he had been waiting for all his life, had lost hope of ever seeing: from the Principal Private Secretary, 10 Downing Street, and ‘Sir’ (she read, skimming frenziedly through it), ‘The Prime Minister has asked me to inform you . . . forthcoming list of birthday honours . . . submit your name to the Queen . . . graciously pleased to approve . . . Knight Commander of the British Empire . . .’
But she could read no more, the page blurred, the words lost, and she was in spite of herself crying and Piers was laughing now, slightly hysterically, and banging his fists on the wall, and calling to Pandora, to the other children, and they stood there, in the hall, staring at him, half afraid, half amused by his behaviour; he picked Pandora up and swung her in the air, and said, his voice oddly choked by tears, ‘Pandora, your daddy is about to be knighted. I am to be Sir Piers Windsor.’
‘Can I be Lady Pandora?’ asked Pandora hopefully.
A very few people were told, were entrusted with the secret, sworn to silence, reacted in their individual ways.
‘Good God,’ said Joe.
‘How extraordinary,’ said Caroline.
‘Marvellous,’ said Maria Woolf. ‘I’m so thrilled I was able to help.’
‘Well done!’ said Nicholas Marshall.
‘I’m simply delighted,’ said Roger Bannerman.
‘I never was so thrilled in all my life,’ said Michelle Zwirn.
‘Christ Almighty,’ said Ludovic Ingram. ‘Now you’ll never leave him.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Chloe. ‘I can easily leave him now.’ Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.
The letter was accompanied by a form of acceptance which had to be returned; Piers filled it in and then steamed the envelope open to make sure he’d done it right. ‘Lots of people do that,’ he said to Chloe defensively when she teased him.
Nicholas Marshall phoned; he said he was cautiously optimistic that their writ had been successful. ‘Normally if they were going to go ahead, we would have heard by now. I might add, if they do go ahead now, the damages we get will be greatly increased.’
‘I don’t care about damages,’ said Piers.
‘You might,’ said Marshall.
Piers was flying, on a wave of excitement and pleasure; his cough eased, his voice sounded better, he put on a couple of pounds in weight. He was exuberant with the children, tender with Chloe, charming to everyone who came within his orbit.
There wasn’t long: the official announcement would be made in weeks. On the advice of Faraday, Piers was leaving the cast of Othello – to coincide with the investiture: then once the investiture itself was over, he planned a long holiday.
‘And hopefully we can get things sorted out,’ he said to Chloe. ‘Decide what we’re going to do. About everything.’
‘Yes,’ said Chloe. ‘Yes, of course.’
He looked at her, and his expression was strange, searching. ‘I still need you, you know,’ he said, ‘desperately. More than ever. I feel so hopeful, so different about everything. There seems to be some justice after all. Even if we can’t stop this bloody book, and it looks as if we can, I feel now we can see it through together. I just pray you and I can find some kind of modus vivendi.’
Chloe smiled at him quickly, then went upstairs, shut herself in her room and buried her head in the pillow, so that no one could hear her screaming.
The party was Piers’s idea: he sprang it on her, beaming with pride and pleasure.
‘It’s near enough our wedding anniversary, darling, six years, unbelievable isn’t it, and I know, I just know Dream Street is going to win the Derby, and the day of the investiture would be the most perfect occasion for a party. Now although it’s not official, I happen to know the date; Maria found out from one of her influential friends. It’s the first of the two held in July, July 9th. We shall have the party at Stebbings, a dance in the garden, well, in a marquee; think how wonderful that will be. All our friends there, sharing it with us.’
‘But, Piers –’
‘Darling, don’t, don’t be negative, and you don’t have to do a thing, just be there, in a ravishing new dress, I’ve already spoken to Jean and in fact she’s going to organize most of it, caterers, band, food, everything, I’ve drawn up the guest lists. I would have kept it a secret right until the day, only it’s getting a bit too complex for that now. But I want to do it, to celebrate and to say thank you for everything, you’ve been so wonderfully loyal and good. I haven’t treated you very well recently, and I’m horribly aware of it. And then in the morning we can go away quietly together and recover from everything.’
‘I think he’s gone completely mad,’ said Chloe to Ludovic. ‘It’s turned his brain. Honestly, Ludo, you’d think all we’d been worried about over the past months was where we should go for our holidays or whether we should have the drawing room painted. I just don’t know what to do with him. I feel like running away.’
‘Good idea,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘The best yet. Just run. To me.’
‘You know I can’t,’ said Chloe irritably, ‘not till it’s over.’
‘God in heaven,’ said Ludovic. ‘Where have I heard that before?’
He managed to smile at her, but there was a tension behind his eyes. Chloe looked at him miserably. She had thought the knighthood would herald the end of the nightmare; a new one seemed to be just beginning.
‘Mrs Windsor, this is the Sunday Times. We’d like to come and interview you some time in the next month for a series we’re doing on the wife behind the husband. And before you ask, we won’t even mention The Tinsel Underneath.’
‘Mrs Windsor, I wonder if you think we should have tables for ten or twelve at the party?’
‘Chloe, I’ve never heard such nonsense, of course you must go to the palace with Piers. It’s a huge honour and will be the most wonderful experience for you.’
‘Mama, Mama, why can’t I come with you, to see the Queen, why why why? I’ll be so good and I know Daddy wants me to. Please, Mama, please.’
‘Chloe, honeybunch, of course you must do what seems best, but are you sure this party is a good idea? It just prolongs the agony. Can’t you get Piers to cancel it?’
‘Chloe, darling darling Chloe, I can see this is a very difficult time for you, but I must, simply must have some kind of definite commitment from you. Otherwise – well, I don’t even want to think about the alternative. All right?’
‘Chloe, my dear, since I’ve been so involved in seeing this thing through for Piers, I thought I’d like to give a little surprise dinner for him. Just a few of us, at the London house. On the twelfth, I thought, the day the list is published. Would you help me organize that?’
‘Chloe, have you decided what to wear to the palace yet? Because I think you should get something made, and I think you should start on it now. Otherwise you’re going to run out of time.’
‘Mrs Windsor, I need to finalize the menus for the dinner by the end of this week. Can we have a meeting, perhaps on Wednesday?’
‘Mrs Windsor, this is the Sunday Express. We understand that your husband has taken out a writ against the publishers of The Tinsel Underneath. Would you care to comment on that?’
‘Chloe, I know all this is very exciting for Piers, but you simply have to make him calm down a bit, take things more easily. He’s still not well, even if he does look better. Can’t you get him down to Stebbings for some long weekends? Otherwise he’s going to crack up completely, and he won’t even get to the palace.’
By way of distraction, she concentrated on the party. It was a measure of her misery that it seemed vastly preferable. She had looked at the guest list and groaned aloud; the great names were all there: Richardson, Olivier, Gielgud, Mills, Morley; the beautiful women: Vanessa Redgrave, Julie Christie, Susannah York, Twiggy, fresh from her triumph in The Boy Friend, Annunciata, Tabitha; the gorgeous men: Terence Stamp, Marc Bolan, David Hemmings; on and on it went, no longer quite so terrifying but still daunting in this force, right through to the people she supposed could be called friends, the Woolfs, David and Liza Montague, Damian Lutyens, Ludovic – surely, surely to God Piers must have noticed something, suspected something, was he completely blind, completely stupid or was he playing some hideous Machiavellian game? – Robin Leveret – God Almighty, it got worse and worse – and family, of course, Caroline, Joe, Toby and his terrible new wife Sarah, who was already rather obviously pregnant, Jolyon, who they had seen so sadly little of lately; if there was one thing she hated Piers for over and above the rest, it was what he had done to Jolyon. ‘God Almighty,’ said Chloe aloud, ‘if this doesn’t send me into Ludovic’s arms nothing will.’
After the investiture, a lunch was being given for Piers at the Garrick Club, hosted by some of the great names of the profession. ‘Then I’ll come on down to Stebbings after that. I’ll be there early evening. It’s stag, darling, you won’t mind, will you?’
Chloe said she wouldn’t mind at all.
Fleur was making her way wearily up the stairs to her loft, after looking at what seemed like the hundredth studio-type office in a week, when she saw a figure sitting on the floor in front of her door. It was Reuben. He looked at her, and his face moved into what no one else would even have recognized as the most distant relative of a smile, and said, ‘Hallo.’
‘Hallo, Reuben,’ said Fleur uncertainly.
‘I wanted to see you,’ he said.
‘Do you want to come in?’
He nodded.
Fleur opened the door. She was frightened of doing anything, anything at all, for fear of it being wrong; she walked in and he followed her, went over to the window, looked out and finally sat down in one of the big Charles Eames chairs.
‘Would you like a drink, Reuben?’
‘Yes, please.’
She poured him a large bourbon and a smaller one for herself, sat down opposite him.
There was a very long silence. Finally she said, ‘Look, Reuben, I know you don’t like talking, but I think you should tell me why you’re here.’
‘I miss you,’ he said simply.
‘Well, Reuben, darling Reuben, I miss you too. But I don’t think we should get back together again.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘no, of course not.’
‘Well?’
‘I’d like to see you sometimes,’ he said.
‘Reuben, I really don’t think that’s a very good idea.’
‘I do.’
‘But don’t you think you’ll just get terribly upset, well we both will, and it’ll just make things worse?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘no, I don’t.’
‘But Reuben –’
‘I’m feeling fine really,’ he said, sounding surprised himself. ‘Fine. You know?’
‘Not really, Reuben. I don’t.’
He leant forward. ‘Listen.’
Fleur laughed suddenly. ‘Reuben, I never heard you say that word before.’
‘I’ve been in therapy,’ he said.
‘Really?’ said Fleur. ‘Well, Reuben, that’s great.’
‘It was Mother’s idea. She’s very Jewish you know,’ he added as if Mrs Blake’s Jewishness had nothing whatsoever to do with him.
‘Yes, I suppose she is.’
‘And my therapist has done so much for me. I can see it is better without you.’
‘I see,’ said Fleur, feeling against all logic slightly nettled.
‘Even though I miss you so much. You weren’t right for me. Too strong. Too overbearing. Dominant.’
‘I see,’ said Fleur again.
‘I have a long way to go. But I told her how much I missed you and she said I should see you. Confront the pain. Learn to accept it.’
‘And?’
‘And here I am. And I still feel OK. So I’d like to see you sometimes. As a friend. If you agree.’
‘Reuben,’ said Fleur, ‘if you can stand it I can. Of course I agree. I miss you too.’
‘We can take it one day at a time,’ said Reuben. ‘That’s what Dorothy says.’
‘Dorothy?’
‘My therapist.’
‘Ah.’
‘So I’m going to go and tell her how today went, and then maybe we can meet again. If she thinks it sounds OK.’
‘Sure,’ said Fleur. She still felt a little dazed. ‘Whatever Dorothy says.’ She looked at him; he had stood up, was smiling down at her. �
��I tell you one thing, Reuben. Whatever else Dorothy’s done, she’s certainly loosened your tongue.’
She felt enormously cheered by Reuben’s visit; she hadn’t realized how much she had missed him.
He phoned next day to say that Dorothy was very pleased with what had happened, and would like him to see her again.
‘That’s excellent,’ said Fleur.
Two days later, he took her out for dinner, and Dorothy was pleased with that too. He told Fleur he felt easy, and happy with her, and was not so far at least troubled by any sexual feeling for her. ‘I just seem able to love you as a friend. Dorothy says that’s excellent.’
Fleur was beginning to feel she could go off Dorothy.
Piers was insisting on having the children at the party, at least for the beginning of the evening; what that meant of course was that Pandora must be there, and the others on sufferance. He told Chloe to get Pandora a dress specially made: ‘Something almost fancy dress, darling, nothing little-girly. I see her in the kind of thing perhaps an Infanta would have worn.’ Chloe told him briskly that either he saw Pandora in a nice dress from Harrods or Harvey Nichols or not at all.
She found both the girls high-waisted rainbow-coloured silk shifts from Liberty; with their pre-Raphaelite red hair they looked as if they had strayed off the set of the Dream.
‘Joe? Caroline.’
‘Hallo, Caroline.’ Joe heard his own voice sounding distant and struggled to nudge it back into warmth. He had hardly spoken to her since the day at the Ritz.
‘Joe, is anything the matter?’
‘No. No, of course not.’
‘Good. I thought we might go to this terrible party together. Would that be all right?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Good idea. I’d like it. Very much.’
‘You don’t sound as if you would.’
‘Caroline, I’m sorry. I’m a bit – busy, that’s all. I’d love to go to the party with you. As your escort. I’ll wear my suit.’
AN Outrageous Affair Page 85
