‘It only arrived last night; she’s very pleased with it.’
He saw a lot of the boys staring at her as she kissed him and felt very proud; most of the other mothers looked much older than she did, and wore baggy dresses, with shawls and furs round their shoulders.
‘Hallo Giles, old man. How are you?’
It was his father: looking stronger than he had done, but very thin still, and dreadfully pale. His hair was almost completely grey; Giles thought of that morning when they had all waved him off to the war, so tall and upright in his uniform, his thick fair hair shining in the sunlight as he removed his hat and bent to kiss his mother, and thought how very much for the worse he had changed.
‘I’m very well, sir thank you. It’s good to see you. Do you want to watch the match?’ The school was playing the Old Boys at cricket.
‘Oh – not sure. What do you think, Celia?’
‘Of course we do. I adore watching cricket. I was a frightfully good bowler myself once. Let’s find a nice place to settle and enjoy ourselves. Giles, my darling, you must have grown a foot at least, and I love the buttonhole. I remember my brothers, there were three of them here at any given time for years you know, they all wore different colours.’
It was a wonderful day; Celia had organised a superb picnic, cold chicken, pheasant and salmon, salad, tiny fruit tarts, fruit salad, a platter of wonderful cheeses, and of course, champagne. And lemonade for the children but they were also, apart from the twins, allowed a small glass of the champagne. Barty didn’t like hers; slipped it to Giles.
Half-way through lunch, a bus arrived, bearing a lot of old Etonians from Oxford, followed by another from Cambridge, all making a great deal of noise. Pretty girls wandered about kissing everyone – Jack seemed to think he knew a large number of them and kept bringing them over to the picnic for champagne, to try to establish exactly how – the sun shone most wonderfully, and the band played. Giles sneaked a third glass of champagne, actually belonging to his mother, who spent most of the meal jumping up to run over to this or that person to greet them; by the time they tripped over to the riverbank to watch the procession of boats, and listen to the strains of the Eton boat song, he was feeling very dizzy. Watching the boys stand up rather unsteadily in their boats to raise their flower-trimmed hats in salute to Windsor and Eton, made him feel worse; he had to sit down rather abruptly. His father came over to him, sat down beside him, and smiled.
‘Bit too much of the bubbly eh? I didn’t think that last glass was a good idea.’
Giles grinned at him sheepishly. ‘It’s awfully nice, though.’
‘I know. It’s been a superb day hasn’t it? And it’s so nice to see you looking so happy. Enjoying it, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Giles, ‘I really am. It’s so different from St Christopher’s.’
‘You weren’t quite so happy there?’
‘Happy!’ said Giles, his tongue loosened by the champagne, ‘I was so miserable I couldn’t believe it.’
‘Oh now, it can’t have been that bad, surely.’
Giles felt irritated.
‘Father, it was dreadful. Honestly. I was terribly unhappy.’
‘Well it can’t have been too bad, or you would have told us,’ said Oliver.
‘I did tell you. Well I told Mother. You were away, of course.’
‘And what was so terrible?’
He still looked mildly amused. He’s patronising me, thought Giles. He felt angry suddenly, wanted to let his father know how bad it had been.
‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘I was beaten. Nearly every day Not just by the masters, but the big boys. They called me horrible names. And they made me wear a nappy. And—’
‘A nappy! Why did you have to wear a nappy?’ said Oliver. For the first time he looked properly concerned.
‘Because they decided I should,’ said Giles simply, ‘they used to hold me down while they put it on. And then they all stared at my – well at me every morning when they took it off. And made jokes about it.’
‘And you didn’t tell any of the masters?’
‘Of course not. It would have made things worse.’
Oliver was silent. Then he said, ‘And you told your mother all this, did you?’
‘No not all of it. Of course. But I did say I was dreadfully miserable.’
‘And she didn’t try and find out why? What was going on?’
‘Well – no,’ Giles began to feel rather alarmed suddenly. He shouldn’t make too much of it; it was, after all, a long way in the past. ‘But you were going away to the war. And she was very busy, and—’
‘She didn’t suggest you talked to me?’
‘No. She said I wasn’t to, that you had enough to worry about. That people were making all kinds of sacrifices, dying in the war, that it wasn’t very important, me being miserable at school. I’m sure she was right in a way,’ he added carefully.
Oliver was silent for a long time. Then he said, ‘Well, I’m sorry, Giles. So very sorry. If I had known how bad it was, I would have considered it very important. Very important indeed.’
Celia sat and listened to Oliver as he castigated her for cruelty to Giles, for not informing him about his wretchedness, for not inquiring more closely into the reasons for his unhappiness, for not taking it up with the school. When he had finished she said simply, ‘I’m sorry, Oliver, very sorry that you should feel like that. As I said to Giles at the time, there was a great deal of suffering going on, both out in France and here at home.’
‘I don’t feel that diminishes his in any way.’
‘Of course it doesn’t. But I felt it important that he should put it in perspective.’
‘It’s a great pity he didn’t feel able to tell me about it. I would have felt quite differently.’
‘You weren’t here. Most of the time. You were away at Colchester, and then you went to France. How could I trouble you with a small boy’s problems at school? I was encouraging the children to be brave for you, not to worry you.’
‘Did you know exactly what those problems were?’
‘Well, not exactly, no.’
‘You didn’t know he was being beaten, bullied.’
‘No, I didn’t. I thought just teased—’
‘He was made to wear a nappy. Clearly there were some kind of sexual implications, as well. It was appalling, Celia, I can’t believe you let it go uninvestigated.’
She looked at him steadily. Then she said, ‘I had no idea it was as bad as that. Of course I didn’t. If I had—’
‘Then don’t you think you should have known?’
‘Yes! Yes of course I should. But there were a dozen reasons why I didn’t. I was taking charge at Lyttons. The children were tiny. I was pregnant. You were leaving me for what seemed like an almost certain death. Of course I should have done more. But I was fighting a very lonely battle of my own here, Oliver. I would ask you to remember that, to take it into consideration. I am deeply sorry about it, and I shall apologise to Giles myself, of course.’
‘And I suppose you think that will exonerate you, make everything all right?’
‘No, of course not. But it will make Giles realise that I do care about him.’
‘I think,’ said Oliver, ‘it is probably a little late for that. I am going to bed now, if you will excuse me. Goodnight.’
‘Laurence, good morning. Robert Lytton here.’
‘My secretary said – well, never mind. What do you want?’
‘Yes, I said I was Henry Rea from Rea Goldberg. Sorry about that small deception. I wondered if we could meet for lunch. Just a few small matters I’d like to go over with you.’
‘I really don’t think we have anything to say to one another, Robert. And certainly not over lunch.’
‘I have a great deal to say to you,’ said Robert. ‘You may not have much to say to me. Perhaps you would prefer to come and see me at my office.’
‘I have no desire to come to your office. What is this
about? I really would be grateful if you would—’
‘It’s about Hagman Betts, Laurence. And the mysterious way they keep winning contracts from us.’
‘I really don’t see what that has to do with me.’
‘On the contrary, it appears to have a great deal to do with you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It begins with a cheque. For fifty thousand dollars, made out to Nathaniel Betts.’
A miniscule pause: then, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m afraid.’
‘I think you do. I suspect – without being able to prove it of course – that this fifty thousand represents the difference between what they would have had to quote in order to make the last job profitable, and what they actually did quote. Something like that, anyway. And then there are all those nasty little items in the press. More or less implying that we are incompetent as well as expensive.’
‘The press can only write what they know.’
‘Correction. They write what they are told. And, my foolishly blind eyes having been opened by the news of that cheque – I don’t know why I never thought of you before – I did a little research. I have contacts in publishing here, of course – through my brother. The reporter was asked where his information came from; about the refusal of finance, the particularly interesting quote about Hagman Betts being imaginative, and Brewer Lytton, by implication, much less so. It transpired that a young man from Betts had taken him out to an expensive dinner and plied him with bourbon, on the pretext of supplying him with an article on architecture in the city generally.’
‘This is all so tenuous,’ said Laurence. ‘You’re paranoid. It just doesn’t mean anything at all.’
‘Possibly not. In a court of law. But I am as capable of spreading rumour as you are, and I still have a great many friends in the banking fraternity. Your hostility to me is well known. It wouldn’t be difficult to believe that you are out to do me down. And it would be interesting for people to know you have been paying large sums of money to Hagman Betts out of your own pocket. No doubt, filtered down from the bank.’
Another pause. ‘I have never heard of anything quite so absurd. Clearly anxiety and depression have led to some kind of paranoid delusion. I feel almost sorry for you.’
‘Not paranoia, Laurence. Nor a delusion. Fact. Absolute fact.’
‘This is absurd,’ he said, sounding slightly less sure of himself. ‘You have absolutely no proof of any such thing.’
‘Oh, but I do. Your cheque book came into my possession. Your personal cheque book. I have returned it now, delivered it myself to Elliotts, in an envelope marked for your personal attention. But I have taken the liberty of taking some photographs of the cheques. I have a small photographic studio in my house; it was quite easy to do. I printed them myself, in my own dark-room, you have no need to worry that any of this might leak into the outside world. But—’
‘Celia, I must talk to you.’
‘Of course. Oliver, I have some more poems by Felicity Brewer here. They’re truly charming. I would like, if you agree, to publish a small collection of them. Illustrated, I think. They—’
‘Yes, good idea. I like them too.’
‘Oh.’ Celia had been prepared for a long discussion, and then a long argument.
‘Anyway, I can talk to Felicity about it myself. I’m planning to go to New York in a month or two—’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes. I want to visit our office over there, it’s long overdue, and, of course, I want to see Robert.’
Jealousy stabbed her: it was both personal and professional, but especially that he should be excluding her from something so crucial to Lyttons’ development as a major house. ‘I didn’t know. Can I come?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, it will only be a very brief trip.’
‘Oliver, I really would like to.’
‘No, Celia, I don’t want this turning into a major production. I’m sorry. Just a few days—’
She gave up; there was clearly no point in arguing.
‘Now, it is on the subject of illustration that I really want to talk to you.’
‘Yes?’
‘I have had a letter from James Sharpe. This morning. He is much better, indeed quite restored to health, and—’
‘Good. I’m delighted. He’s had a bad time.’
James Sharpe had indeed had a bad time; shrapnel wounds to his spine had left him in considerable pain, with his mobility permanently, although not seriously impaired.
‘I fear I shall never be able to tango with Celia again,’ was how he put it to Oliver, but it was a little more serious than that. He could walk only slowly, with a limp, and leaned heavily on a cane: or rather canes. He was something of a dandy, and his blithely courageous spirit seized on the fact that canes could come with ivory handles, silver handles, could be made of ebony, mahogany, could be exquisitely carved, could be designed for town or country: he was acquiring a collection as extensive as his wardrobe of suits and overcoats.
‘So – is he coming back?’ asked Celia casually.
‘He is indeed. He says he feels more than ready, and that it will hasten his recovery more than any medicine or surgery.’
‘Well, of course. I am the last person to argue with that.’
‘I know you are,’ said Oliver. He hesitated, then cleared his throat.
‘Incidentally I spoke to him about the military list. He thought it had considerable potential. He envisaged some large, quite lavishly illustrated books. He agreed with me that they would lend Lyttons extra authority at the present time.’
‘Really?’ said Celia. She did not dare argue any more about the military list. She was only thankful that Jack had not broached the subject with her himself. She expected it whenever he was at home for dinner; which was rarely. Perhaps an unusual streak of sensitivity was holding him back.
‘Anyway,’ Oliver was saying, ‘when James comes back, there will obviously be no place here, for Gill Thomas.’
There was a silence; then, ‘What did you say?’ said Celia.
‘Celia, it does irritate me the way you do that.’
‘What?’ she said, playing for time.
‘Pretend you haven’t heard me, when what I have said is simply something disagreeable to you, or that you wish to argue about. I said there would be no place here for Gill Thomas when James Sharpe comes back.’
‘Well, that’s ridiculous. Of course there is.’
‘I’m afraid there isn’t. James will be reinstated as art director and—’
‘But that is so unfair. So terribly unfair.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t see that. James was our art director before the war. He will be our art director again now that it is over.’
‘Oliver, that’s impossible. I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Gill has been art director for years now. Very successfully.’
‘I think that’s open to debate.’
‘It is not open to debate. Her work is renowned in the profession. It’s original, distinctive, always relevant. And besides, she has been so loyal, worked so terribly hard.’
‘I’m afraid that applies to many women who have been moved into men’s jobs.’
‘Oliver, it’s not a man’s job. It’s a creative, difficult, demanding job, which Gill does superbly. Her sex has nothing to do with it.’
‘It is a man’s job here. And I always said that when the war was over, people would get their jobs back. I don’t think you can deny that.’
‘Well – no. But—’
‘Did you appoint Gill Thomas art director?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, I did. Because she deserved it. And because – well because she had had another offer. From Macmillan. And we needed her here.’
‘You appointed her art director to keep her from Macmillan. That was rather – irregular.’
‘Of course it wasn’t irregular. It happens all the time, in peace a
nd war. You hear that a talented member of staff is leaving to take up another offer, so you move to keep them.’
‘Not with a job belonging to some one else.’
‘Oliver, James Sharpe wasn’t here. He was in France. There was no one doing the job.’
‘Then you should have made her, at best, acting art director. What did LM have to say about it?’
‘She – she—’ Celia stopped.
‘I thought so. She was against it. I’m glad some sense prevailed here in my absence. Well anyway, whatever the rights and wrongs of the matter, Gill must go. Or step down, but I don’t imagine she will be very happy about that.’
‘She might. I shall certainly ask her. Or into a parallel position. Such as creative director or design director. Something that would keep them both happy.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Oliver. His eyes were very cold. ‘I don’t like Miss Thomas’s work. I think it is vulgar and populist. I think it is in no small part responsible for the deterioration of Lyttons’ literary standing.’
‘Of course there hasn’t been a deterioration in Lyttons’ literary standing.’
‘I think you must allow me to be the judge of that. Let us say its perceived literary standing then. She’s certainly contributed to that.’
‘Oh Oliver, really. She has won such praise for her covers. For the romantic novels—’
‘Exactly. The trashy novels which we are no longer publishing.’
They weren’t: the list had been closed after a bitter row.
Celia fought to keep her temper.
‘As for Meridian . . . Everyone will be talking about that cover.’
‘Ah but in what terms? You like it, and Brooke likes it, and no doubt the art department likes it, but I really doubt very much if the public will. Certainly if sales are not as good as you seem to think they will be, I shall have a very shrewd idea as to why – not.’
‘LM loved it.’
‘Well, she is hardly an arbiter on such matters.’
No Angel Page 46
