Wicked Pleasures

by Penny Vincenzi

‘Leave her alone,’ said Max. There was a touch of extreme menace in his voice.

  ‘Go fuck yourself,’ said Jonty. He caught Melissa’s wrist in his hand and twisted it round. She winced.

  Max suddenly and very swiftly went into action; so fast nobody quite saw how he did it. Jonty was on the floor.

  He stared at Max for a moment, then stood up; his hand went into his pocket and then he shot it out again; he moved slowly, menacingly towards Max.

  ‘Look out,’ said someone, ‘he’s got a knife.’

  Melissa had moved suddenly, between them; she put up her arm. There was a flash of steel, and a spurt of blood; and then suddenly Jonty was pinioned, his arm twisted up behind him, his face distorted in pain, the knife on the floor.

  Tommy Soames-Maxwell, with the skill born of a hundred bar-room brawls, had him helpless; he raised one leg and kneed Jonty violently in the buttocks.

  Jonty yelled out.

  ‘Good,’ said Tommy, almost conversationally. ‘Hurt you, did it? I’ll do it again in a minute. I always enjoy teaching manners to people like you. Max, call the police.’

  ‘I already did,’ said Angie. She had appeared from nowhere, was bent over Melissa, frantically bandaging her wrist round and round with table napkins. They turned relentlessly red.

  ‘He must have got an artery,’ said Max. ‘Shit, is there a doctor in the house?’ He felt terrible. Everything was happening extremely slowly.

  ‘Call an ambulance,’ said Angie. ‘Fast.’ Melissa was very pale now, almost green.

  ‘Look,’ said Tommy, ‘tie a tourniquet round her arm. Max, take this chap over, would you, I’ll do it. Give me some more napkins, Angie. Rip them up. OK, Melissa, now try and sit up a little more and put your head down between your knees, and let me just tie this round, it’ll have to be tight, may hurt a bit, but it’ll stop the bleeding. There. That should do it.’

  He smiled at her, sat down beside her, put his arm round her shoulders. She lifted her head, and smiled at him weakly. ‘You should choose your friends more carefully, darling,’ he said. ‘Come on, stay with your head down.’

  ‘I feel sick,’ said Melissa suddenly, and threw up all over the floor. Then she began to cry.

  ‘Where’s her mother?’ said Tommy.

  ‘She’s left,’ said Max, adding a silent thank God.

  ‘No she hasn’t,’ said Mary Rose and walked into the hall. Max looked at her: she was very calm, very composed. She was always good in a crisis, he thought. It had been the same when Baby had his heart attack; he had never forgotten that. ‘I was trying to get a cab.’

  The police and ambulance arrived at almost the same moment; Melissa was sitting with her head against Tommy’s shirt, still looking very green.

  The police were hustling Jonty out. Angie met Mary Rose’s eyes rather shamefacedly. ‘There’s been a bit of a problem,’ she said.

  ‘So I see,’ said Mary Rose, icy cold. She sat down on the other side of Melissa, and looked at Tommy. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She got mixed up in a fight,’ said Tommy, ‘I think she’ll be OK. Here’s the ambulance men.’

  They looked at Melissa, at her wrist wrapped in the bloodstained napkins, and tut-tutted a bit.

  ‘Looks like you need a stitch or two, love,’ said one. ‘Come on, we’ll fetch the stretcher. Who did this tourniquet?’

  ‘I did,’ said Tommy modestly.

  ‘Nice job,’ said the other one.

  ‘I’ll go with you in the ambulance, Melissa,’ said Mary Rose. She was white with shock herself.

  ‘I want Tommy to come,’ said Melissa. She was very distressed.

  ‘Better if neither of you came,’ said the ambulance man. ‘Follow in a car. We may need to give her a whiff of something. That must hurt a lot. Has she had anything to drink?’

  ‘Er – almost certainly,’ said Max.

  ‘God!’ said the ambulance man, in tones that spoke volumes.

  ‘We’ll both follow you then, darling,’ said Tommy to Melissa. ‘Go on, poppet, we’ll be with you all the way. Max, can I take your car?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Max. ‘You’ve got a key, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sure,’ said Tommy, ‘I’ll go get my jacket …’

  Melissa was put onto the stretcher and carried out; Mary Rose stood staring after her; then she followed Angie and Max and Gemma through to the front door, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Tommy.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ said Angie, conversationally, and to no one in particular, ‘what this family would do without Tommy.’ She was very white herself. ‘He just saved Melissa’s life, Max, I hope you realize, and probably yours as well.’

  Mary Rose turned and looked at them both; they were standing side by side with Gemma just behind them. She was very still, and her eyes were thoughtful, careful.

  ‘Just who exactly is he?’ she asked. ‘I really am not stupid, you know. I can see there’s some mystery about him. I think I have some right to know.’

  Max and Angie stood silent and utterly still. Gemma looked at them, the pair of them, from one to the other, and Max saw in her eyes, read in her face, that she had seen her chance now, her chance to avenge herself for the moment when she had come in and seen him and Angie, Angie naked to the waist, with his head bent over her, kissing her breasts. He looked at her, at the hatred and the humiliation in her, and he watched her and he waited, waited for the words, the dreadful, destructive, savage words, knowing they would come, and that there was nothing any more that he could do about them, nothing at all. And after the endless silence, Gemma smiled suddenly and waited, clearly, plainly, savouring the moment, before she spoke.

  ‘Tommy Soames-Maxwell is Max’s father,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that right, Max?’

  Chapter 58

  Charlotte, September–October, 1987

  Betsey would probably be all right, the doctor had said. Probably. If they took great care of her. It had been very nasty, but she was strong: for her age. Complete rest, no worries, and she’d probably be all right.

  ‘So I’m taking her to Beaches,’ said Fred. ‘She loves it there. It’s her house. Not mine. And we’re just going to sit there, and look at the ocean, and I’m going to see her get well again.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Max. ‘I’m sure you will. Give her our best love. When she’s a little better, we’ll come over and see her.’

  He put down the phone and looked at Charlotte.

  ‘There really is nothing we can do. This is not the moment to go rushing over there with shock horror stories. It’s not fair on him and it’s not fair on Grandma. It’s a wonder she’s alive at all, poor old thing. Breaking two ankles at her age. And knocking herself out at the same time. Apparently she was unconscious for almost twenty-four hours. They thought she would never come round.’

  ‘No,’ said Charlotte. ‘No, there’s nothing we can do.’ She felt rather sick. The enormity of the mess they were all in hit her suddenly. ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘God knows. Carry on, I suppose. Nothing much else to do.’ He sighed and looked moodily out of the window. ‘It was the one bright light on the horizon, going over there and shopping Chuck. Shit. What a mess. It’s just not fair.’

  Charlotte looked at him. It always infuriated her when Max perceived his misfortunes as being unfair, and down to the machinations of some malevolent Fate.

  ‘Max, it’s all your own fault,’ she said, ‘you got yourself into it, the whole thing, with Gemma and Tommy and everything. You must see that. It would serve you right if Gemma talked to the entire British press about it all.’

  Max stared at her. There was a silence. Then he said, ‘You really are still the head girl at heart aren’t you, Charlotte? So endlessly po-faced and bossy and sure you’re right … Don’t you ever have any doubts about yourself and your own behaviour? I reckon Gabe’s had a lucky escape.’ He stood up and walked towards the door. ‘I’m going to see Angie. At least she doesn’t sit in judgement on everybody all the t
ime.’

  Charlotte felt tears sting behind her eyes; she bit her lip and looked down at her hands, examining them as if she had never seen them before. She thought, inconsequentially, that they looked rather like schoolgirl’s hands still, with their short unpainted nails, their lack of jewellery. Bloody Max. He was so childish, so amoral still, so totally irresponsible. His party, his own engagement party and he’d been up in one of the bedrooms with Angie. She was trouble. God, she was trouble. They just about deserved one another, those two.

  Her phone rang. It was Georgina. Her voice sounded small, tearful. ‘Charlotte? It’s me. Can I come over?’

  ‘Of course you can. Maybe we should go down to Hartest. See Daddy. It’s only Saturday morning. Even if it does feel like the middle of next week.’

  ‘What about Gabe?’

  ‘Gabe’s gone,’ said Charlotte briefly. ‘Back to New York. It’s just not going to work, Georgie. Let’s talk about something else. Where’s Kendrick?’

  ‘He’s gone too. We don’t seem to do too well at this love business, do we?’

  There was a lot to talk about. Georgina was upset too; very upset. Kendrick had finally told her at the party that he had made his decision: he couldn’t marry her. His girlfriend in New York, Gail, had put the pressure on him and it had made him see that she was the right girl for him. She was what he needed; she was going to get behind him and see he was successful.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Georgina with a sigh. ‘I can see it’s right. Kendrick’s so gentle and everything. If this – Gail – is strong and powerful, that’s what he needs. It hurts, I feel awful, but I can see it. I’ll get over it in time. I suppose. At least I’ve got George.’

  When they reached the house Alexander was much better. In fact he seemed perfectly all right.

  ‘Just a twenty-four-hour thing, obviously,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’m so sorry I missed the party. How did it go?’

  ‘Oh, it was fine,’ said Charlotte.

  She drove back to London on Sunday after lunch; Georgina had seemed surprisingly calm. She hadn’t told Alexander about Kendrick; she said she couldn’t face it yet.

  ‘He’ll be upset for me, I know he will. And then I’ll get upset again. I’ll tell him in a day or two.’

  ‘What about Max and Gemma?’

  ‘Oh God no. That really will upset him. You know how fond of Gemma he is.’

  ‘Well,’ said Charlotte with a slightly grim smile, ‘he’s very fond of Angie too.’

  ‘Charlotte, don’t be silly. Max isn’t going to marry Angie.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put anything past Max,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘Well,’ said Freddy the next morning, walking into her office. ‘I hear there’s some doubt about Max’s inheritance? How exciting, Charlotte.’

  ‘You hear wrong,’ she said coolly. ‘There is absolutely no doubt about Max’s inheritance.’

  ‘Oh really? I didn’t know that bastards could inherit titles.’

  ‘Max is not a bastard,’ said Charlotte, ‘and he will inherit the title.’

  ‘I think you might be wrong there,’ said Freddy. ‘I have a lawyer friend. I plan to consult him.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Charlotte. ‘You do that, Freddy. Just what do you have in mind anyway? Claiming Hartest and the title for yourself?’

  ‘No,’ said Freddy. ‘I wouldn’t want that great heap of trouble, thank you. But it seems to me that Kendrick’s son might have more of a claim to it. I could be wrong.’

  ‘You are wrong,’ said Charlotte. ‘And Freddy, you might keep your filthy innuendoes to yourself. There are laws against slander, you know.’

  ‘It’s not slander if it’s true,’ said Charles St Mullin, ‘as of course you know. The only person who might confirm it of course is your friend Tommy Soames-Maxwell.’

  ‘No friend of mine,’ said Charlotte with a shudder. ‘Although I have to admit he’s been very good about this. Charles, what about this inheritance business? Can Max inherit Hartest? And the title?’

  ‘If your father wants him to, he can certainly inherit Hartest. It’s entirely down to him. He can leave anything or nothing to Max. I have no doubt that he’s taken care of it. Now on the title, that varies with individual cases. Some, most indeed, specify that the eldest son inherits. Others that the oldest child, be it male or female. Your father could perfectly well have discovered that an illegitimate son was able to inherit the title. Or that the ducks on the lake could have it. The real point it seems to me is that Max is registered and acknowledged as Alexander’s son. By Alexander himself. I know of no legal precedent for this precise situation, but it would take a huge lawsuit to dislodge him.’

  She was wretched at work. Freddy and Chuck had seen to it that she was stripped of all responsibility; she was working for one of Chuck’s henchmen and virtually reduced to doing grunt work. The days were long and painful: ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it,’ she said to Max, ‘just stick it out and wait until we can get Grandpa to see what’s going on.’

  ‘If he lives that long,’ said Max. He sounded grim.

  Georgina phoned at the end of the week. She was upset and worried. George wasn’t well. He kept getting tummy upsets. The doctor had checked him carefully, and couldn’t find anything wrong. ‘But he’s miserable and he’s losing weight. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘What does Nanny think?’

  ‘She says he’s teething.’

  ‘He’s probably teething then,’ said Charlotte. ‘Don’t worry. Did you tell Daddy about Kendrick yet?’

  ‘No, not yet. I can’t face the fuss, Charlotte. I just can’t.’

  ‘I should leave it then.’

  ‘I think I will.’

  She phoned two days later. George was better.

  ‘There you are,’ said Charlotte. ‘Nanny was right.’

  Betsey was slowly recovering. She was very frail, Fred said, but every day she ate a little more, slept a little less.

  ‘I hope you’re looking after her well,’ said Charlotte severely. ‘Of course I am. I haven’t left her since it happened.’

  ‘Shall I come and see her?’

  ‘I think she’d like that.’

  ‘I’m going to visit Grandma,’ she said to Max. ‘Just for a day or two. I’m hardly crucial here in the office.’

  ‘Fine. Are you going to talk to Grandpa?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He sounds as if he couldn’t take it. But I just might.’

  ‘Are you going to see Gabe?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Charlotte, ‘that’s entirely up to Gabe.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Max.

  She booked a flight to New York for the following Monday. When she told Freddy where she was going and why, he looked at her with his coldest, most fishlike stare and said, ‘I hope you don’t have any plans to talk to my grandfather about the bank and your situation in it.’

  ‘He’s my grandfather too,’ said Charlotte, ‘and I shall talk to him about whatever I like.’

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Freddy. ‘I have a letter here, that I’ve drafted to Nigel Dempster and Ross Benson. Would you like to read it?’

  He handed it to her. It read: ‘Dear Sir, There could be a story for you in the background of my cousin, Maximilian, Viscount Hadleigh. There is a suggestion that his true father is Mr Tommy Soames-Maxwell of Pond Place, Chelsea. I shall be delighted to help you as far as I am able, with further information if you care to contact me.’

  ‘You shit,’ said Charlotte. ‘You little shit.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Freddy. ‘I have no intention of sending it. Unless I hear you’ve been talking to Grandpa about anything that you don’t like at the bank. OK?’

  Charlotte smiled at him very sweetly. ‘Freddy!’ she said. ‘Are you trying to tell me that there’s something irregular going on that Grandpa wouldn’t be happy with?’

  She had the satisfaction of seeing Freddy’s pale skin turn a very unattractive shade of purplish pink. />
  She phoned Georgina just before she left. ‘I hadn’t thought, I’m sorry. You could come with me. Do you want to?’

  ‘Oh – no,’ said Georgina. ‘I don’t think so. I might see Kendrick. And anyway, George isn’t well again. I’m taking him to a specialist on Thursday.’

  ‘Oh Georgie, I’m so sorry. Try not to worry.’

  ‘I’m trying,’ said Georgina.

  When she got to Kennedy, she scanned the line at the barrier looking for Hudson. He wasn’t there. Charlotte sighed; she was tired. She had turned away and started fighting her way through the crowd out towards the cab rank, when she heard her name.

  ‘Hallo, Charlotte.’

  It was Gabe.

  He drove her quite fast into the city in his Mercedes two-seater. Charlotte didn’t speak; nor did he, except to tell her he had heard she was coming from his father and had told Hudson not to come. Fred and Betsey were not expecting her until the morning, he said. He didn’t touch her. He looked very fierce.

  When they got to Gramercy Park, he put the Mercedes in a parking lot and said, ‘I’d like you to come up to my apartment.’

  ‘What for?’ said Charlotte. She knew it was a very silly thing to say, but she was fighting not to sound bossy.

  ‘So that I can go to bed with you, you silly bitch,’ said Gabe.

  ‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. ‘Oh, all right.’ That time it was easier.

  Having sex with Gabe was quite unlike having sex with anyone else she had ever known. She told him so, as they lay some time later, slightly apart, holding hands, occasionally kissing.

  ‘Not that I have an enormous amount of experience,’ she said hastily.

  ‘How is it unlike?’ he said. He sounded rather pleased with himself.

  ‘Oh – I don’t know. It’s so – so single-minded.’

  She had often thought this; his expression as he turned to her (after removing his watch) was exactly as it was when he swooped into his Quotron: ferociously, almost angrily intent, his eyes dark and burning, seeking, searching, knowing what he wanted, what he was doing.

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t want me to be thinking of something else, would you? Like work?’ He laughed suddenly. He didn’t often laugh; it was one of the things she perversely liked about him, it added to his intensity. She smiled at him.