Wicked Pleasures

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Well she seems quite happy now,’ said Angie, floundering slightly, not wishing to enter into any criticism of Virginia, her family or even her nation, ‘and the business is a great success. I’m sure it’s helped.’

  She felt very foolish, all of sixteen years old, discussing the emotional stability of her employer with her employer’s husband.

  He looked at her and his eyes were suddenly rather sad. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, it has helped. You’re right. It’s done more than I could, more than any of us, even Charlotte. Ah, Virginia, darling, how lovely you look. I’ve been chatting to Angie, and given her your glass, as you were so late down. Can you forgo a drink, do you think, as we’re late?’

  ‘Oh, no, I’d like a drink,’ said Virginia quickly, ‘you know I need Dutch courage on these occasions, Alexander. Just a tiny glass, it won’t take a moment. Here, give me yours. How was the drive and how’s Charlotte?’

  ‘The drive was hell, the whole of Wiltshire, Gloucestershire and Berkshire was converging on the M4. Charlotte is fine. I told her I was coming to see you. She’s looking forward to spending some time with you.’

  There was an edge to his voice. So that’s it, thought Angie; hardly surprising, really.

  ‘And I with her,’ said Virginia. She seemed suddenly more positive for her drink. ‘Now then, Alexander, let’s go.’ She was looking dazzling, even Angie who was used to her beauty was surprised by her; she was wearing a white crepe dress, off one shoulder, with long drifty sleeves, and a wide pearl choker at her throat; her dark hair was piled high Grecian style, and her great golden eyes were studded with fake lashes. She smiled at Angie. ‘Have a lovely evening, Angie, I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Angie. ‘Goodnight. Goodnight, Lord Caterham.’

  ‘Alexander. I told you. Goodnight, my dear. Happy Christmas, if I don’t see you again. Will you be spending it with your family?’

  ‘Yes, I expect so.’

  ‘How nice.’

  And how impossible for you even to imagine, thought Angie, what my Christmas would be like; and how the opposite of nice it was going to be.

  She did spend Christmas with the family; in an act of pure generosity, she went home to Mr and Mrs Wicks (Johnny and Dee having gone to Marbella with Dee’s dad). Angie bought a Marks and Spencer lambswool sweater for Mrs Wicks, and a nice scarf for Mr Wicks, new slippers for them both, smart plaid ones for him, pink fluffy for her; she also brought two bottles of wine, one of champagne, and a bottle of port for Mrs Wicks, some crystallized fruits, a box of chocolates and a huge bag of mixed nuts all from Fortnum and Mason and a Christmas pudding, complete with its own bag of sixpences, from Harrods Food Hall. It was only when she had finished shopping that she realized she had gone automatically to those places without thinking about it, and felt almost irrationally pleased about it. Her social education, her journey towards being posh, was obviously coming along very nicely.

  Mrs Wicks had cooked a capon for the three of them, which Angie kept saying was deliciously moist whenever the conversation ran out, which was fairly often. The pudding was delicious, they all wished over the sixpences and Mrs Wicks drank a great deal of the port. They both exclaimed over the champagne and told Angie she was much too generous, and who would have thought to see such a thing in their house, but neither of them liked it, so Angie finished up drinking the whole bottle over presents. Mrs Wicks asked her how Lord and Lady Caterham were spending Christmas, and said they couldn’t be having a more slap-up time than the three of them, and Angie said, no, they certainly couldn’t. Mrs Wicks gave her a nylon scarf, and Mr Wicks pressed a crumpled dirty fiver into her hand and told her to buy what she liked.

  After Christmas, Virginia and she became very close. It was an odd relationship, but it worked. The business gave them a common base, and conversations that began in a discussion about the stupidity of one client, insisting on silk curtains in a kitchen, the appalling taste of another, covering exquisite honey-coloured parquet flooring with ankle-deep curly carpet, or the inadvisability of buying fifty yards of Sekers silk for a third, who would inevitably change her mind the minute it arrived at the office, would lead easily and naturally into long philosophical discussions and then revelations about their respective pasts. Virginia was often alone in the evenings; she stayed in town two or three nights a week, and if Alexander did not join her, if he had stayed at Hartest or was away himself on business, she would ask Angie to stay for a drink and a chat upstairs in the house. Virginia always enjoyed what she called the first drink of the day; she watched the clock, telling Angie she never allowed herself anything until after six thirty, but then right on the dot, she would pull the cork on a bottle of white wine and drink at least two of the big goblets that she kept in the office. Angie, who didn’t care if she had a drink or not, would keep her company and noticed that Virginia became very relaxed very quickly as the wine went down.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Angie carefully one night, having observed the third goblet of wine fairly swiftly emptied, ‘tell me, what does your husband – I mean Lord Caterham – think about you working, doing this? I’d have thought he’d have wanted you to be at Hartest, being a good wife and mother, hostessing and riding to hounds and all that sort of thing?’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Virginia with a sigh, ‘he doesn’t exactly like it. But he puts up with it. Like I told you.’

  ‘Did you?’ said Angie carelessly. It wouldn’t do to let Virginia think she was especially interested in the subject; it was obviously very delicate.

  ‘Yes. He has to, really.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, you see, after I had Charlotte I was very depressed. It was awful. I still have nightmares about it. Postnatal depression it was; Mr Dunwoody, he was my obstetrician, said it was quite natural, especially after a difficult first labour. And it was difficult. Boy, was it difficult. I thought it would go on for ever.’ She hesitated, looked at Angie, smiled slightly shakily. ‘I’ve always been frightened of childbirth. Ever since reading Gone with the Wind. They promised me, absolutely promised me, I’d be fine, that I could have this wonderful drug called pethidine, that it was easy these days, that I wouldn’t feel a thing. I believed them and I shouldn’t have. I felt a great deal. Never let anyone offer you pethidine, Angie, all it does is make you feel out of touch with yourself, so the pain is worse. God, it was awful. I didn’t behave very well, I have to tell you.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I kept thinking this was no way for an English countess to behave, yelling and screaming, but I didn’t seem able to stop. Then finally she, Charlotte, was born, and they said it was a girl and I just couldn’t believe it. All that had kept me going through those awful hours, was the thought that soon it would be over and I’d never have to do it again. And then the baby was a girl, and clearly I would have to do it again.’

  ‘Why?’ said Angie.

  ‘Well, to give Alexander an heir, of course.’ Virginia sounded oddly cynical, bitter almost. ‘That’s what I was there for. Going through all that. And then, no heir. No heir to Hartest, to the title. When they said it was a girl, I just felt utter, utter despair; I wouldn’t hold her, wouldn’t do anything. I remember saying to Mr Dunwoody, my husband would be so upset, he wouldn’t even want to know, and he said nonsense, he would be delighted, and when Alexander came in, I said I was sorry, and he said exactly that, he said nonsense, he was delighted, he liked girls, but I knew that even if it was true, he still needed a boy. Anyway, it went on and on, for weeks and weeks, an awful, dull, aching misery, and a sort of anger; Mr Dunwoody said it would pass in a day or two, that I’d be fine, and I wasn’t. I couldn’t imagine ever being fine again. I was still amazingly weak after two months, and I used to cry every day, for hours and hours, at the same time every day, after lunch. I looked forward to the crying, it was a kind of catharsis. I refused to nurse Charlotte after a bit, it was such a shame, it was one thing I could do, I had loads of milk, and she was such a pretty, good baby; Nanny, that is Nanny Barkwor
th, Alexander’s old nanny, who had always been in the house, she is such a dear, she lives at Hartest, has rooms at the top of the house, near the nurseries, started taking total care of Charlotte, giving her formula. That made me feel worse, even though I’d refused to do it myself. And then Alexander’s mother didn’t come. She never came to meet me after the wedding, I’ve never met her, can you believe that, she’s obviously extremely odd, virtually a recluse, Alexander says, and that upset me and I thought that now at last that I’d had the baby she’d come, but she didn’t. I decided that was because it was a girl, that it was my fault, as well.’

  ‘It’s a pretty name, Charlotte,’ said Angie carefully.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Virginia. Her face was strained, white; she poured herself another glass of wine. ‘I chose it, insisted, they wanted to call her Alicia which is Alexander’s mother’s name, but I certainly wasn’t having that, it was the one thing I managed to be positive about. Charlotte Elizabeth, she’s called, Elizabeth after my mother, Charlotte because it was my favourite name.’

  ‘Was your mother there?’ asked Angie slightly awkwardly. She was finding this sudden insight into the neurotic behaviour of her apparently rather serene boss a little unnerving.

  ‘Yes, she came and stayed for two months.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I think in spite of everything, she had never been happier. She’s a terrible terrible snob and being in an English stately home, in daily contact with an English earl, was sheer heaven for her. Even though she had a loopy daughter.’

  ‘But it didn’t help?’

  ‘No, nothing helped. A psychiatrist came, and talked to me endlessly. He said I was in shock. Well maybe I was. They gave me drugs, they didn’t help, not really. I just wandered about like a zombie, round the house and the grounds, not talking to anyone.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you were in shock,’ said Angie.

  ‘Oh, it was the ghastly birth,’ said Virginia quickly. ‘It was truly terrible, Angie, I can’t begin to tell you.’

  Angie kept her counsel. She was obviously a stronger person than Virginia. Nevertheless she didn’t think she could take much more of this particular bit of the drama.

  ‘So what brought you round? Made you better?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Well, my mother had been talking to Alexander, a lot, obviously, and together they came up with the suggestion that I should go on a trip to New York, stay with my parents, leave the baby and everything behind. And when they suggested it to me, I just felt as if a great weight had rolled off me, it was like feeling a terrible pain begin to ease. I couldn’t wait to get away. Although as we drove away, I did cry, I can still remember crying, I wouldn’t let Alexander come to the airport, and I cried when I said goodbye, and the minute we got to the top of the Great Drive – oh, Angie, you must come to Hartest soon, so all these names mean something to you – I just stopped, stopped crying, that is, and there was another great weight gone.’

  ‘Don’t you like Hartest?’ said Angie. ‘I thought you loved it.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ said Virginia, ‘I do love it. But it’s – well, it’s very demanding. When I first saw it, when Alexander brought me home, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that anything so lovely, not just the house, but the lake, and the park, and the lodges, everything, could be my home, be mine. I cried. I remember Alexander saying that it brought tears to his eyes, every time he returned to it, and it did to mine. But – well, it’s a lot to live with. Or it seemed it then. I’m getting used to it now.’

  ‘And the trip to New York cured you?’

  ‘No, not quite. I did feel better. Gradually. Seeing old friends, easing off the pills. But there were still problems. My father, he’s always been very critical of me, didn’t approve of my running away, as he put it. He kept saying I looked all right and he thought I was a fraud. Lightheartedly, but meaning it, you know? That didn’t exactly help. And my mother didn’t really understand. And she fussed and fussed, checking up on my pills and telling me I was drinking too much.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Angie looked at her thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes. So silly. No, it was Baby who really cracked it. He took me out to lunch at the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station, it’s just the greatest place, Angie, you’d love it, I’ll never forget it, and bought me oysters, the first of the season, and said what he thought would be a great idea was if I went back to work. He said Mary Rose was working and it was all fine, and it did her good. Mind you, Mary Rose, that’s Baby’s wife, is a terrible pain in the – in the…’

  ‘Arse?’ said Angie helpfully.

  ‘Yes, just about there. She delivered Freddy, that’s their baby, in three hours flat, and she kept telling me so, in tones that implied if I’d been more careful and prepared better I’d have done the same. Well next time, she maybe won’t be so lucky.’

  ‘Let’s hope,’ said Angie. ‘Anyway, Baby – Virginia, why on earth is he called that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s because when he was tiny, and he was called Fred, all the first-born sons are, he was called Baby Fred and then at Harvard he was the youngest player on the football team, and it kind of went on from there. It suits him,’ she added vaguely.

  Angie thought that if Baby was six foot four and huge with it, as Alexander had said, this was a little unlikely, but she didn’t like to say so. Baby was obviously beyond criticism, at least as far as Virginia was concerned.

  ‘Well anyway, Baby thought you should go back to work?’

  ‘Yes. I was saying the days at Hartest were so long, and I had to go back and I didn’t know that I could, I was so afraid of getting depressed again. And Baby said working would keep the days a whole lot shorter. It seemed sensible, I did miss my work, and I was lonely, terribly lonely, I found the English people I met, neighbours, old friends of Alexander’s, nice but not really my sort of people. But I thought Alexander would be very against it. Anyway, I called him, and talked to him for ages, and I could tell he had great reservations, but he was terrific. He really was. I told him about how I was scared of coming back, and how much I would like to get back to my design work and he said of course if I really wanted to, then we should consider it. He said he’d been worrying about me being bored and lonely; he said he quite understood about my difficulties making friends; but he said he was worried about Charlotte. That I’d neglect her. I promised I wouldn’t, and that there was Nanny, and he said he’d talk to Nanny, and she, bless her, said she thought it was a very good idea. She’s my best friend here, Angie, her and you. So that was that, really. And suddenly I felt brave enough to come back. But I’m afraid he still doesn’t really like it. Especially his daughter being raised by her nanny rather than her mother. Originally, we thought Charlotte and Nanny could come to London on Sunday evening with me, but she increasingly stays in the country. Well, everyone knows the country air is better for children, don’t they? And Alexander certainly prefers to think of his daughter growing up in the house that he is so famously in love with. Just the same, he doesn’t like it, but then he’s frightened of the alternative. And so am I. God, look at the time. Angie, I’m sorry. I’d run you home, but I’ve had just a bit too much to drink. I’ll call you a cab.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Angie, ‘I’ve enjoyed it. And I don’t need a cab. I’m having a drink with M. Wetherly at the Carlton Tower. I can walk. I’ll enjoy it, honestly.’

  Walking quite slowly up Sloane Street, she thought how bizarre it was that someone as rich and blessed as Virginia should claim as her best friends two women as far removed from her in age and situation as it was possible for them to be.

  Angie noticed a change in Virginia as the year wore on. She seemed more confident, altogether happier; Angie put it down to her increased fame and success; since the success of the hotel she had designed for M. Wetherly, offers poured in almost every day, and they were even trying to work out if they should get a third person in to help (a notion Angie was half pleased about, half resistant to) when Virginia came do
wn rather late to the office one morning halfway through August looking pale and told Angie she was almost certainly pregnant. ‘I’m over three weeks late, and I’ve just been sick,’ she said proudly.

  ‘Oh Virginia, that’s really nice,’ said Angie, slightly awkwardly. Congratulating people on prospective parenthood was slightly outside her sphere of experience. ‘How do you feel? Oh, that’s silly, you’ve just been sick. Sit down, I’ll get you some water or something.’

  ‘You’re an angel, could it be herb tea? Camomile, I think. I don’t feel too bad. Not really. I haven’t had it confirmed yet, well I haven’t had any tests, but I really don’t think I need to. I went to see my gynaecologist yesterday, that’s where I was, not with terrible Lady Twynam at all. I called my mother last night to tell her, and she said Mary Rose was pregnant too. Isn’t that odd?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Angie.

  ‘She’s just about a month ahead of me. I’m awfully glad. I’ve got the impression recently that Baby was just – well, rather depressed about their marriage. But my mother says he’s like a dog with three tails. So that’s really nice.’

  ‘Um – how does Alexander feel?’

  ‘Well, I only told him last night as well. He’s terribly thrilled. Praying for a boy already, of course.’

  ‘Of course. Well, I’m sure you’ll manage it now.’

  ‘Let’s hope.’

  ‘Well,’ said Angie, ‘let’s hope you stay – well this time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think you’re very brave, Virginia.’

  ‘Well, we have to provide Hartest with an heir somehow. I’m anxious, of course I am, but I think I can manage things better. I’ve been reading a lot about natural childbirth and I really think it will help me.’

  ‘Well I think it’s terribly exciting,’ said Angie, ‘and you must let me do everything I can to help. Maybe we should go ahead and take on this new person. As long as it’s clearly understood she’s junior to me,’ she added with a grin.