‘What about Ludovic?’
‘He’s made the same sort of offers. She won’t hear of them either. I don’t know why she can’t just marry him, straight away. He adores her, and he’s waited a long time.’
‘Caroline, for God’s sake,’ said Joe, ‘she obviously doesn’t feel she wants to. Or that she can. Piers only died a few weeks ago.’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t any sort of a marriage.’
‘I know, but she can’t admit that.’
‘Well, I can’t think why.’
‘Then you’re a lot more stupid than I thought,’ said Joe calmly.
Joe went to see Chloe. She was in the middle of a particularly miserable day sorting through Piers’s things, approving house agents’ particulars, trying to work out which staff she could get rid of immediately without letting the relevant household fall into disarray before its sale, making appointments with racing stables and trainers, and ploughing her way through a still-huge pile of letters of condolence. She made Joe a cup of coffee and led him upstairs to the drawing room.
‘I thought I couldn’t feel worse than when Piers first died,’ she said, ‘and then every day I think I can’t feel worse, and then the next day, it gets even more terrible. I don’t know what to do, Joe. I feel like – well, of course I don’t, but I was going to say I feel like bumping myself off as well.’ She smiled at him: a wobbly, brave little smile.
Joe took her hand. ‘Look, honeybunch. You can’t go on like this. You’ve got to accept there were a great many reasons for Piers to have killed himself, each of them absolutely valid on its own, and allied with the others, intolerable. And he had a fatal, and potentially horrible illness. None of that is your fault, Chloe. You struggled long and hard, you were loyal –’
‘I wasn’t loyal. I had an affair with Ludovic, I told Piers about it, I made a fuss about his affairs, I was the opposite of loyal and supportive. Don’t try to make me feel better, Joe, it isn’t possible. I killed Piers as surely as if I’d put the pills into his whisky and made him drink it. He didn’t feel he could talk to me and that’s exactly what he should have been able to do.’
Joe gave up.
Fleur phoned Chloe every few days.
‘She’s in a terrible state,’ she said to Reuben, when he asked about her. ‘She says it’s all her fault, that if she’d been a good wife Piers could have turned to her and because he couldn’t he killed himself. Did you ever hear such a load of horse manure?’
‘That isn’t horse manure,’ said Reuben.
Reuben called Chloe. She was touchingly grateful for his interest, and started to explain how she felt. Reuben interrupted her.
‘I know. Fleur told me. Listen, Chloe, what you’re feeling is right. You have to blame yourself. Accept the guilt. It’s part of the healing process.’
‘Really?’ said Chloe.
‘Yes. I asked Dorothy. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind.’
‘Right. Goodbye, Chloe.’
‘Goodbye, Reuben.’
Two days later he called back.
‘Dorothy said to tell you that the only person who has any control over your life is yourself. Only you are in a position to change it. Which went for Piers too. Think about it.’
‘I’ll think about it. Reuben, you’re so sweet. Thank you. Thank you so much.’
‘That’s OK.’
Of all the hundreds of thousands of words that poured into Chloe’s ears, telling her how to feel better, Reuben’s were the ones that helped her the most.
Until the letter arrived.
It came at the end of September: on her wedding anniversary. She was feeling particularly low.
She had a buyer for Montpelier Square: a low offer, but one which the agent had urged her to take. Ludovic and her mother urged her to hang on for a better one, but she was dithering, wanting to get it settled. Anything to get it settled.
For Stebbings, things were more complicated. She had an offer for that too: a good offer. But she also had an idea. It was a brave idea, but would be difficult to implement and it was one which she knew Prendergast and Ludovic and, she thought, her mother would all disapprove of. She knew it would be better to give in, take the offer, avoid the disapproval. But for some reason she couldn’t quite give in, give up.
She wanted to talk to someone about it, and she couldn’t think who, someone who would stand and cheer her on from the sidelines, someone with no vested interest, someone who would applaud courage and discount foolishness. But such a person did not exist. And then she remembered they did. Or rather she did. It was her sister. It was Fleur.
She rang Fleur in New York and rather haltingly outlined her idea.
Fleur was ecstatic about it. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘go for it. It’s great. Do it, Chloe, do it.’
But Fleur was strong, and she was not weighed down with guilt and she didn’t have a family to support or a would-be husband urging her to drop everything and marry him. It was easy for Fleur. She said so.
‘Chloe,’ said Fleur, ‘that’s a load of shit.’
‘I know,’ said Chloe humbly.
She admired Fleur and she longed to take her advice; but she still lacked the confidence and she couldn’t find the strength.
Fleur’s dream of a creative consultancy was becoming reality; Chloe listened to her stories of a loan from the bank of unimaginable size, of offices found, of staff hired, of accounts promised, in awe. And a degree of shame. If Fleur could do this, Fleur who had started from nothing, who had no rich parents, rich lovers, status, why, in the name of heaven, why couldn’t she? The thought depressed her still further, made her feel worse. She put the phone down, feeling small, hopeless, more confused than ever.
There was a ring at the door. A messenger stood there with a vast bouquet of white roses.
‘Oh God,’ said Chloe. She looked at the card.
‘My darling Chloe, from Ludovic, with all my love, on a difficult day.’
Greatly to her surprise, Chloe threw the card on the floor and burst into tears.
‘Shit,’ she shouted at it. ‘Why do you have to be so fucking perfect?’
God, she thought, I’m getting just like Fleur.
And then she saw the letter, lying in the letter-box. An airmail letter, with a Californian postmark. A Santa Barbara postmark to be precise. Addressed to her. Slightly oddly, Lady Piers Windsor, 75 Montpelier Square, London, England. And on the back, Michelle Zwirn, Voluntario Street, Santa Barbara, Ca.’
She turned it over, her heart thudding. It must be a mistake. It must be for Piers. But no. It was for her.
Chloe went into the kitchen, sat down, pulled the letter out of the envelope, and read it. She read it once, very hard, felt her cheeks burn, tears start behind her eyes, and then she read it again, very slowly; and then she put it in her pocket and went for a walk, and every so often she sat down on a seat or some grass and read it again. When she got home, she got a bottle of champagne out of the fridge, poured herself a glass and drank it, and then poured herself another and went upstairs to the drawing room and just sat, staring at the letter, smiling, and feeling as if she had been let out into the sunlight, where she could join other people again, after a long time alone in an airless darkness.
Dear Lady Windsor,
This is a very hard letter for me to write and anyway I’m not very good at expressing myself on paper, but I thought you ought to know what I have to say. Maybe you know anyway. If you do, please forgive me.
I wasn’t even sure whether to write it at all, which is why I’ve taken so long. I hope you won’t be too upset with me for that. I don’t know if you ever knew about Gerard and me. Piers told us he had decided to tell you in his own good time, and maybe that time had come and maybe not.
Gerard and P
iers were very close, long ago. Back in the 1950s. Gerard had a tap dancing studio in Santa Monica, and they met at some party. Piers used to come here, spent a lot of time with us. (Again, Lady Windsor, you have to forgive me if I am telling you a lot of things you already know.) There was a whole crowd of us, we all had a lot of fun.
And then one night, something happened, there was an accident, down at the pier; I don’t want to get into all the details now, but a girl fell and Gerard was trying to save her, and he fell and broke his back, in several places. He was paralysed from the neck down. Piers took him to hospital. He was in hospital for months and then in Rehab; then they said he could come home. He was never going to walk again. I didn’t have any money; I didn’t know where to turn. Piers just looked after him, after both of us, from then on, for the rest of Gerard’s life. He found us somewhere to live, first down in Playa del Rey, and then later when he could, he moved us up here. He paid for nursing, for our homes, he sent us money every month. And he came to see us, to see Gerard, whenever he could, just a few days here and there, sometimes just a few hours. It wasn’t that often, but he came. And he wrote and he phoned, and Gerard never felt for one day that he’d forgotten him.
I know, Lady Windsor, if you would forgive me for saying this, that Piers loved Gerard, very much. He felt responsible, because he felt he hadn’t done enough, soon enough, after the accident, but he also wanted to take care of Gerard because he loved him. Gerard said of course that was nonsense, but that’s what Piers felt. Whatever the facts of the matter, Piers faced his responsibilities, as he saw them. He was the best, the most faithful, the most generous friend anyone could ever have. Without him, I don’t know what would have happened to Gerard. He would have lived in an institution. I couldn’t have cared for him. It can’t have been easy for Piers, specially in the beginning, he had no money, but he always gave us whatever he could. He was a very special person, and at the risk of distressing you, I wanted to make sure you knew that. I guess you do anyway.
Gerard died, just two months ago; you’ll know when it was, because it was the day before Piers died. He went very peacefully; he got pneumonia, something that’s common in paraplegics, I expect you know. I told Piers he was ill, but of course he couldn’t come, he was doing Othello, and he promised to come and see him as soon as it was over. But Gerard was getting worse, and I didn’t know what to do, I knew Piers would want to say goodbye. And then, the day he was really going, sinking, I knew, but it was the day Piers was going to be honoured by Queen Elizabeth. Gerard was so thrilled about that, so terribly proud; Piers sent us a copy of the letter and we have it framed here. I hope you will see it. In the end I did phone, but we missed you, and Gerard died, very peacefully, at the end of that day. Well, it must have been early morning in England. I phoned, then, to tell Piers, I had to; I knew he would want to know.
I miss Gerard so much, but I couldn’t wish him back. It was such a hard life, and he was so brave, and so cheerful. He never complained. Having Piers there, in the background, made his life bearable. Reading about him, following his successes, and he was so proud. I hope Piers knew that.
I was very relieved that that book wasn’t published. I really was very angry with myself for talking to Mr Phillips. I don’t know why I did it really. I think I wanted everyone to know how good Piers had been to Gerard. Then of course I was worried about what people might think. Anyway, after Piers asked us not to talk to him again, of course we didn’t.
When I read in the papers that he had killed himself, I did think I understood why. Of course we knew he had cancer. He wrote to us, and said to Gerard how strange it was that after everything he would probably die first. He even made some joke about Gerard looking after him now, that the balance would even up. When I told him Gerard had gone, he cried, I could hear him, even down the telephone, and then he said, ‘Michelle, well, maybe we can be together soon. I don’t want to stay on in a world without Gerard.’
Of course I thought he was just talking, was just terribly upset, but he wasn’t. I think under the circumstances, he did want to go too. I hope you don’t find this too hurtful, Lady Windsor. Please forgive me if it shocks you. Piers has been in our life so long, I find it hard to remember that you don’t know us.
I think so much of you and your children. That little Pandora is so beautiful. She must miss her daddy so dreadfully. I hope one day when she is old enough to understand she can hear what he did for his friend.
I would so much like to meet you, and tell you more about us and what Piers did for us. If you ever felt you could come out here, I would welcome you with all my heart. Gerard has a beautiful grave in the churchyard, and I would like you to see that.
Yrs sincerely,
Michelle Zwirn
‘Piers Windsor,’ said Chloe cheerfully, looking quite fondly at the large photograph of Piers as Hamlet that stood on the mantelpiece, ‘you were a devious, manipulative old bugger, but I forgive you.’
She made three phone calls that evening. First she rang Michelle Zwirn, and thanked her for her letter.
‘You’ll never know how wonderful it was to get it. And I would so much like to come and see you. As soon as possible, if I may. I wonder if it would be all right if I brought my sister. Yes, well, I know, we never talked about her, Piers and I. But her father was out there, with them all then, Brendan FitzPatrick his name was. I wonder if you knew him. Oh, you did? Well, there you are then. May I let you know exactly when we’re coming? Thank you. And thank you again for writing. Goodbye, Michelle.’
Then she rang Ludovic.
‘Ludo, I’ve had an idea. About Stebbings. I want to keep it, and turn it into a hotel. No, I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Well, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but suddenly today I feel much better and I know that’s what I want to do. What? Well I just do. I’ll tell you about it next time I see you. Ludovic, I don’t need to think about it any more. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I know I want to do it. I’m going to talk to Jim Prendergast tomorrow. Yes, all right, Ludovic. Tomorrow night would be lovely. But I’m not going to change my mind.’
Finally she rang Fleur.
‘Fleur, I know you’re launching your empire, but could you take a few days off and come to California with me? What? Well, soon. To visit a very nice lady called Michelle Zwirn. I had a letter from her today, and – yes, I will tell you all about it, but maybe I’d better write, I can’t afford these huge phone bills any more. Oh, all right then, call me back. The point is, Fleur, she knew your father. Yes, all right, I’ll ring off straight away. Oh and Fleur, guess what? I’m launching my empire over here. Not quite your standard, but it’s a start. OK, Fleur. Bye.’
Jim Prendergast nodded sagely over Chloe’s plans to turn Stebbings into a hotel, and then told her he didn’t think she could possibly make it pay. ‘And there’s no money anywhere to put into it. I’m sorry, Chloe, but that’s the bottom line. It’s a lovely idea but –’
Chloe was very disappointed. ‘I so wanted to do it,’ she wailed to Ludovic. ‘It would have been something of my very own. I had such plans. To run it not as a hotel, but as close to a country house as it would be. With no bar even, just people in the drawing room, able to get their own drinks, and lots of games after dinner. And have horses in the stables, hacking horses, not those awful thoroughbreds, and tennis parties, and bridge fours and –’
Ludovic kissed her tenderly and said he was very impressed by her ideas, although he felt slightly cynical about letting people get their own drinks, but he thought she would be very sad to see her home turned over to other people. Chloe said she would be seeing it turned over anyway, and her way it would still have belonged to her. Ludovic said if she married him, she could have her own home in the country, and not have to worry about making it pay. Chloe said she wanted to worry about making something pay, and he didn’t understand, and not for the first time since Piers’s death
they parted on rather strained terms.
Chloe told Joe about her idea for the hotel; Joe told Caroline and Caroline told Chloe she would put some money into it, as much as she needed to make it viable. Chloe said she didn’t want to just take Caroline’s money and Caroline said she was being stubborn and cutting off her nose to spite her face, but if it would make her feel any better she didn’t have to just take it, she could make over a share in the hotel to her, and put it on a proper business footing. Chloe told Jim Prendergast, who said he would need to see some cash projections, and Chloe told him cash projections were his job and why didn’t he do some for Caroline, and that he was her first employee, albeit only on a consultancy basis.
When she told Fleur, Fleur said her investment banker, Baby Praeger, had a sister called Virginia who lived in England and was an interior designer, and why didn’t Chloe get on to her to talk about doing some work on Stebbings.
Fleur also said she had told Reuben Chloe was going to run a hotel and he was very impressed that she was taking charge of her life.
Chloe felt absurdly flattered.
Fleur was very excited. FitzPatrick Creative was to launch in November, from a studio office in the village. She had a slice of Morton’s to see her on her way, and Julian Morell had given her a small project to work on, for his glorious store, Circe, on Fifth Avenue ‘so no one can accuse you of walking off with Juliana’. She was also hopeful that she was going to win a pitch she was making for a new charity for the homeless; no money, but it was high-profile: ‘And that will be quite enough for now,’ she said to Poppy, ‘until I have someone to help me.’
One of the best things about her restored friendship with Reuben was that she had Poppy back as a friend.
AN Outrageous Affair Page 93
