Wicked Pleasures

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘And your mother? What did he do to her?’

  ‘I told you. Beat her. Said horrible things to her. Worse.’

  Angie looked at him. She saw pain and horror in his blue eyes, and she could imagine what the worse things had been. She had seen bad things herself, amongst her friends and their families, but nothing, she felt, could compare with the claustrophobic horror of this. She sat there, and then she leant forward and took his hand, very gently, and sat there, holding it. She felt very close to him, suddenly, almost as if they had been making love. Alexander looked at her, and tightened his grip on her hand. There were tears in his eyes now and he was obviously moved, shaken by telling her, by remembering.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘so sorry. I shouldn’t have said so much. It’s not a pretty story, I’m afraid. Not dinner-party conversation at all.’

  ‘This isn’t a dinner party,’ said Angie, ‘and we’re old friends. Aren’t we?’

  ‘I would like to think so,’ he said, and raised her hand to his lips and kissed it; and then, with a visible effort, breaking out of the strange, intense mood that had been created by his story, ‘Come along, let’s go into the library and have some coffee, and discuss how we are to get to Burford tomorrow.’

  ‘Alexander –’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Alexander, supposing you hadn’t had any children. And this house had to pass from your family. To another branch of it. Or be sold. What would you feel about that?’

  ‘I don’t think,’ he said simply, ‘that I could bear it. I think I would rather burn it down.’

  ‘I see,’ said Angie.

  In the morning he was very cheerful. Max had phoned, he was coming to stay for the night, arriving around teatime from Heathrow. He had been on a trip to Japan, Alexander said. He seemed excited, touchingly so, at the prospect of Max’s visit.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we had better be on our way. Do you want to bring those children of yours?’

  ‘God no,’ said Angie, appalled.

  The house near Burford was exquisite; a low-built L-shaped seventeenth-century manor house in golden Cotswold stone, called Watersfoot Priory. Behind the house was a walled garden, and beyond that a water garden; there were stables, a tennis court, ‘Even room for a swimming pool,’ said Angie ecstatically. ‘This will do. I want to go and phone the agent and settle things now.’

  ‘Won’t Baby need to see it?’

  ‘Baby likes what I like,’ said Angie, sweetly firm.

  They went to a pub for lunch and Angie asked them if they could provide some champagne; Alexander told her no pub would have such a thing, but they produced a bottle, a little warm, but good champagne nonetheless, and they drank it with the cheese sandwiches that were the pub’s excuse for lunch, laughing at the incongruity.

  Afterwards, they were both too drunk to drive; it was a glorious day, so they went for a walk. Unselfconsciously, Angie took Alexander’s arm.

  ‘Thank you for coming. It made it so much better. I wouldn’t really have been that decisive on my own. And I think the agent thought you were my husband, so he didn’t dish out quite so much horse manure.’

  ‘I’m flattered if indeed he should think such a thing,’ said Alexander, smiling down at her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I must be almost old enough to be your father.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. An illegal father if you were. And in that case, so is Baby.’

  ‘I suppose, yes. But he looks younger than me.’

  ‘That really is ridiculous,’ said Angie. ‘Oh Alexander, it’s been such a nice day. Such a nice weekend. Thank you. It’s really cheered me up.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I can tell you I’ve enjoyed myself more than I can remember for a very long time. A day of innocent pleasure. I have always liked the distinction between the two kinds of pleasures, innocent and wicked.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Angie, ‘I remember you telling me that, long ago. Wicked pleasures sound more fun, I have to say.’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘not at all. I prefer the innocent ones.’

  A muddy Land-Rover shot past them, full of dogs and people in Barbours, shrieking with laughter. Angie looked after it thoughtfully.

  ‘Oh dear, I hope I’m going to do all right here. Fit into country society.’

  ‘I think country society will be lucky to have you,’ said Alexander, smiling down at her, ‘and if they don’t take you immediately to their hearts, they will have me to reckon with.’

  ‘You are so nice,’ said Angie, reaching up to kiss his cheek. ‘Just so nice.’

  He bent and returned the kiss; for a moment, just a moment, she felt his mouth on hers, pausing on it, almost thoughtfully, then moving swiftly away. He looked down into her eyes, very seriously, very intently.

  ‘This will not do,’ he said, trying to sound lighthearted, ‘this will not do at all.’

  Max was at Hartest when they got back, sitting in the library, drinking whisky. He stood up when they walked in, and grinned slightly maliciously.

  ‘Aunt Angela! What a surprise. And what have you two been up to, off all day together, and leaving those poor little babies unattended in the nurseries. That nanny of yours is a peach, Angie; do I detect the hand of Baby in her engagement?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Angie loftily. ‘Baby didn’t even meet her until the twins were born.’

  ‘Well, you’re very trusting. Or generous. Or something. How are you, Alexander?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you, Max,’ said Alexander. ‘How was Japan?’

  ‘Foreign. Didn’t really like it, to tell you the truth. The only really good thing that happened was I got on some crazy game show.’

  ‘Max! You didn’t! I’m impressed,’ said Angie.

  ‘It isn’t very difficult. If you can stand up and talk in Tokyo you get on a game show. It’s a funny old place. You can’t understand what’s going on. The only word I learnt to recognize was kaui. Pronounced cow-ee. If you hear that at an interview, you know you’ve got the job.’

  ‘Why were you doing interviews?’ said Angie. ‘Weren’t you on a working trip?’

  ‘Well I was, but I went for a couple of things while I was there. I’m a bit – well, strapped for cash. Can we have a word about that, Alexander, before I go?’

  Alexander looked as if Max had hit him.

  ‘Before you go? You’ve only just got here.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but I have to be in town by nine. Sorry, thought you realized that.’

  ‘Well,’ said Alexander, with a sigh. ‘I’m a little disappointed. But it’s nice to see you anyway. Shall we all have tea?’

  ‘Yes, great. Can we have it in the kitchen with those babies?’

  Angie laughed. ‘Do you like babies?’

  ‘Yes I do,’ he said, quite seriously, ‘I like them very much as a matter of fact.’

  Sandra was visibly desperate when Angie went to find her in the nursery.

  ‘Angie, I really don’t think I can take much more. She’s crazy, and she talks to me as if I was a child molester. She actually said this morning she thought it would be better if I took up something else. But then she went on to say that as the babies were half American, she supposed there was some excuse. Honestly, it’s been terrible.’ She looked sulky; Angie felt mildly remorseful.

  ‘I’m sorry. You can have tomorrow off, if you like. To make up for today.’

  ‘And yesterday. I’m not really supposed to do more than one weekend a month.’

  ‘Sandra, you wanted to come down here,’ said Angie firmly.

  Serve her right. Teach her to be snobbish.

  After tea, during which Nanny held forth at great length on the dangers of foreign food, no one was quite sure why, Alexander and Max disappeared and Angie and Sandra went upstairs to pack. As she carried her brown Hermes gladstone bag through the hall, Angie heard Alexander shouting; she paused, fiddling with the strap.

  ‘It is outrageous,’ he was saying, ‘ou
trageous. This is the last debt of yours I will ever settle. Get out! Get out and back to London to that – that horrible life of yours.’

  She ran to the front door and down the steps, and was putting her bag in the boot of the Mercedes when Max came running out. He looked very white and shaken.

  ‘Max,’ she said, ‘Max, what is it? Can I help?’

  ‘Oh shit,’ he said, and brushed his arm across his eyes. ‘Shit shit shit. No, Angie, but thanks.’ He slammed the door of his car and roared off up the Great Drive.

  Alexander hugged her when she left. He looked pale too, but far more composed than Max.

  ‘It’s been so nice, Angie. Come again. I look forward to having you as a neighbour. And give my regards to Baby.’

  ‘I will.’

  She drove in silence all the way home, thinking about Alexander and the mystery of him.

  The phone rang by her bed just as she was going to sleep. It was Baby. How was she, how were the babies, was she missing him? Angie told him she and the babies were fine and ignored the third question.

  ‘Darling, I won’t be back until Tuesday.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘Well, I have to see some people while I’m here. Seems silly not to. I’ll be at Heathrow at midnight on Tuesday. Can you meet me?’

  ‘I’m very busy on Tuesday,’ said Angie, ‘sorry, Baby.’

  He sounded very subdued. ‘OK, I’ll get myself home. Lots of love, darling.’

  ‘Goodnight, Baby.’

  When she had put the phone down she suddenly felt very unhappy. What was happening to their relationship? Why was she so hostile to him suddenly? And why was Baby staying over in New York? All his clients, all his business, were in London now. He was always out these days, night after night. He always said she could be with him if she liked, but since she wouldn’t come, he had to manage on his own. For God’s sake, he couldn’t be seeing someone, could he? Someone in New York? Angie thought suddenly and vividly of Caroline Whittiam, godmother to Spike, childhood friend of Baby’s who had come over for the christening, and possessor of a pair of legs so long and perfect that other women made sure to wear long skirts if they knew she was to be at a dinner party, simply to avoid comparison. She had considerable suspicions about their relationship. Like most mistresses, Angie had never met any of Baby’s other friends until she became his official partner. Could he be seeing Caroline while he was over there? What a horrible thought. No, that was impossible. Apart from anything else, he had scarcely enough sexual energy for her, let alone someone else. Shit. That didn’t mean a lot either. He always used to tell her he would be practically impotent with Mary Rose, and then rush down to the Village and screw her over and over again. Angie lay in the darkness, sweating slightly. It was possible. Just. He was still, in spite of everything, a very attractive man. And an extremely rich one. It might also explain his reluctance to let her have any shares. No, that really was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. Baby adored her. He was helplessly dependent on her. Too dependent. It was a turn-off. Everything was fine. She was just being silly. Angie turned onto her side, and began to masturbate. She always did that, to calm herself. She had to do it quite a lot these days; Baby’s performance left more and more to be desired. As her body exploded obediently into orgasm, it was not Baby’s face that swam before her eyes, nor the arrogantly sexy one of his nephew, but the gentle, aristocratic features of Alexander, Earl of Caterham.

  Chapter 35

  Angie, 1985

  Alexander became her friend. Right through that spring, when she was negotiating for, buying, refurbishing Watersfoot Priory, when Baby was increasingly detached from her and involved in launching Praegers – the inaugural party at Spencer House had been finally booked for early June, that being the first available date – she saw him almost weekly, sometimes merely lunching at Hartest with him, occasionally staying overnight there (still more occasionally with Baby, who had nodded briefly over Watersfoot and told her to go ahead). It was a strange friendship, she could see: he was a cultured, upper-class Englishman with a passion for country life and eighteenth-century architecture, she was a hustler from the East End of London, whose preferred reading, apart from her own balance sheets, was Vogue, Vanity Fair and the gossip columns, and who developed withdrawal symptoms twelve hours away from the shops. And yet, they had found a genuine interest in one another’s company. He admired her, and she admired him; he was even, vague and slightly careworn as he was, in his own way very sexy. She couldn’t quite analyse his sexiness, and it was clearly very different from Max’s swaggering variety, and Baby’s too, but it was there all right: a kind of grace, an easy self-awareness and an ability to appreciate, to acknowledge sensuality in others. And his life intrigued her; when Alexander talked of the house, the estate, and thus the broader aspects of his life, his horses, hunting, shooting, the ebb and flow of his year, she was, for some reason, not bored but intrigued. The intrigue was slightly detached, but it was genuine. And she liked to hear him talking about his children (trying to imagine a similar involvement in her own and entirely failing), his anxieties about Max, his pride and delight in Charlotte, his adoration for Georgina – ‘She’s your favourite, isn’t she, I can tell’ – ‘Not exactly my favourite, but the one I get on the best with, have most in common with.’ And by the same token, she found, she could talk to him about her own life, her sense of isolation from Baby and the bank, and indeed from Baby himself, and of being different from the other wives (while in no way wishing to be like them, to join them); her own business, her intense pride in what she had accomplished, the fascination of the property market and its ebb and flow within the country’s prosperity, the absolute necessity to catch it at the right moment; and her past, the past before Virginia, she found she liked talking to him about that, the early days with Johnny and Dee, her modelling, her friendship with M. Wetherly. She censored it a little here and there, coloured it up occasionally, but basically she could talk endlessly and happily with him.

  ‘Did you have fun with Virginia?’ she asked Alexander one Sunday in late May, as they walked round the lake. She had gone to visit him after her weekly inspection of Watersfoot; she was discouraged by that as well, it was still a shell, and the swimming pool was certainly not going to be operational this summer.

  Alexander looked slightly warily at her. ‘What sort of fun?’

  ‘Oh – I don’t know. Did you do silly things, tell each other jokes, give each other ridiculous presents?’

  ‘I – don’t think so, no,’ said Alexander. He looked rather sad and distant; Angie changed the subject. It had been a silly question anyway, anyone who had known Virginia could have seen that having fun was not one of her talents. Angie had liked Virginia, and she had been very sorry for her, but she had never been the sort of person Angie had aspired to be. Although knowing what she did about her now, sympathy seemed to have been a bit of a joke; envy would be a more reasonable emotion. All those lovers! Clever bitch. How the hell had she managed that? And why couldn’t she have been a little more careful about the consequences? The whole thing was a riddle that intrigued Angie increasingly as she got to know Alexander better.

  ‘How’s Georgina?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’ll be home in a month.’ He looked happy. ‘I miss her so. I understand she has plans to invite Kendrick and Melissa over to stay again. I presume that will be all right with you?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said Angie, who very much wanted to establish more of a relationship with Baby’s children; they seemed much more interesting and agreeable to her than her own. ‘I had hoped of course that they would be able to stay at Watersfoot this summer, but that looks increasingly unlikely.’

  ‘Well, you must come for a longer stay here in that case.’ He smiled at her. ‘With the children.’

  ‘You like children, don’t you?’ said Angie carefully.

  ‘Oh I do,’ he said, ‘very much. My children have been a source of immense pleasure to me. I like the
m at all ages. Even as tiny as Spike and Hughdie. I would actually have liked some more, a real old-fashioned Victorian family, but –’

  ‘But what?’ said Angie very quietly.

  There was a long silence. Alexander looked particularly remote, particularly sad; then he said, equally quietly, ‘Oh, well, you know, it was just not to be. Virginia was not – strong. It seemed selfish to insist on any more. And I – we – had Max by then, Hartest had its heir. That was the main thing.’

  ‘Yes. Yes of course.’ She looked at him. The veil of vagueness had dropped very heavily; no chance of any further confidences now. She tucked her arm into his and started walking just slightly more quickly.

  ‘Poor Alexander. You must be lonely too.’

  ‘Well.’ He smiled at her. ‘I am, in a way. But I do have the house to keep me company.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose you do. I can’t say mine is much use to me. I require something a little livelier.’

  ‘Never mind, my dear. When this launch is over, I expect Baby will have more time for you. What a beautiful watch that is. You know you really shouldn’t wear something like that on country walks, you might drop it in the mud, lose it.’

  Angie looked down at her small wrist bearing the diamond and emerald watch from Tiffany, the first of the really good jewellery Baby had ever bought her, The First Fuck watch he had always called it, and she had worn it ever since.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘oh, it wouldn’t –’she hesitated –‘come off. It has a good clasp. Very good.’

  She had nearly then, very nearly confided in Alexander about the watch, had nearly said it wouldn’t matter. What on earth was she doing, telling him – or nearly telling him – such a thing? He thought she was squeaky clean, a really nice, morally upright person. What on earth would he think of her if he had known that the Tiffany watch was a fake, copied for her in Hong Kong one weekend, so that she could sell the original and use the money to finance a particularly desirable (and expensive) vacation in the company of a particularly desirable (and expensive) young man? While Baby had been on one of those endless family trips of his. It had pleased her so much, that manoeuvre, it had been so simple to execute and so foolproof really. Baby had no idea about jewellery, he would never have realized the watch was a fake. And it was a very good fake, nothing tacky, she had spent money on it. And yet sometimes, when Baby had been especially tender, especially loving, had talked about the watch and the occasion it had marked, she had felt uncomfortable, as near to guilty as she knew how.