No Angel

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘I would be most grateful for your opinion. And as soon as possible.’ Howard Shaw found a space in the diary for that afternoon, and asked if Jasper Lothian could give him some indication as to what the matter was about.

  ‘Oh – it’s rather hard to explain over the telephone. My anxiety was – prompted by an article in a publication.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Howard Shaw, who was an ambitous young man, and had developed a particular interest – so far purely theoretical – in the laws of libel, felt a brush of excitement.

  ‘Well – be so kind as to bring the publication with you when you come in this afternoon, Professor.’

  Jasper Lothian said he would; and then told his wife that there was no need for her to accompany him.

  ‘I am perfectly capable of dealing with this on my own,’ he said.

  Vanessa Lothian rather doubted this, but decided for the time being to accept his judgement.

  Robert had hugely enjoyed the weekend. Apart from anything else, it had been very good to see so much of Oliver; he had dragged him on to the tennis court on Saturday afternoon, and had gone for a long walk with him and the children on Sunday morning after church. They had then sat with a stiff whisky each in the seclusion of the high-walled Dovecot garden.

  ‘This is the life,’ he said, stretching out his long legs. ‘Lucky chap, having this for – what am I supposed to call it – Saturday to Monday?’

  ‘Lot of nonsense,’ said Oliver, laughing. ‘But yes, Celia tells me that is the correct term. How are things over there with you? I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you properly before now. Is it really as good as it sounds? I’m very impressed.’

  ‘Oh, pretty good now. We’ve had a couple of rough patches, but – yes, we’re very pleased.’

  ‘Good. I wish I could say the same.’

  ‘Really? Trouble in the literary world?’

  ‘With the finances of it. I won’t bore you with the details, but – well we’re all up against it. Not just Lyttons. The thing about publishing is, it’s hard to cut back. You have to keep publishing, can’t afford not to; otherwise you lose books to other publishers, lose ground generally. And at the moment, it’s very expensive to do that, and at the same time not quite financially rewarding enough.’

  ‘Sounds like any other business to me,’ said Robert.

  ‘I suppose so. Yes, of course. And one has to keep planning forward as well. Anyway, I have a big success – please God – coming up this autumn. A saga, rather like the old Heatherleigh Chronicles, remember—’

  ‘Oliver! As if I would ever have been allowed to forget. They were the religion I was brought up with. So what’s this one about?’

  ‘Oh – it’s rather marvellous. The first volume anyway. A family again, each member with a story of his or her own to tell. The background pulling them all together. It’s beautifully written. I’m very excited about. I’m keeping it under wraps for as long as possible; I’ve actually delayed publication of our catalogue, to keep the other fellows guessing. I’m gambling on it considerably as a matter of fact, put Lyttons’ shirt on it, so to speak. I’m printing a very large number of copies.’

  ‘That’s very unlike you. Cautious fellow that you are.’

  ‘I know. But I don’t think I can go wrong.’ He smiled and reached out to touch the table with crossed fingers. ‘I may be eating my words in October.’

  ‘And how is young Jack working out? He seems very keen.’

  ‘Oh, he is indeed. Working very hard.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was quite his bag.’

  ‘This area suits him,’ said Oliver firmly, ‘But anyway, enough of all that. I must come over to New York again soon. They seem to be doing very well over there, but it doesn’t do to leave them too much to their own devices. Young Bailey is very ambitious.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. You haven’t heard anything from Laurence, I suppose?’ Robert’s voice was casual.

  ‘Nothing, no. Why?’

  ‘Oh – no real reason. He’s a difficult young man, that’s all, he might have been trying to muscle in on things.’

  ‘Let him try,’ said Oliver. ‘No literary instincts of any kind, it seemed to me.’

  ‘That wouldn’t necessarily stop him,’ said Robert, ‘but, with luck, there’s not a great deal he can do. Kyle is certainly very excited about Lyttons. He’s talked of nothing else all weekend.’

  ‘He’s a nice young man. He has a real feeling for publishing. I’d take him on gladly myself, if he was in London. I don’t think we have any vacancies in the New York office, it’s too small.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d take it if you did,’ said Robert, ‘he’s very proud.’

  ‘But miserable at Brewer Lytton?’

  ‘Yes. Very. And not much good either. I’d go so far as to say he was something of an embarrassment. Or will certainly become one. He really would love to move into publishing, but—’

  ‘Well – there are other people he could talk to in New York. Contacts of mine. I could make a few enquiries. Tactfully. God knows, we all need a helping hand. It’s a hard world. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘We would all be extremely grateful,’ said Robert. ‘Especially Felicity. You like her, don’t you? I’m glad, I’m terribly fond of her myself.’

  ‘Yes, she’s very – charming,’ said Oliver. He appeared slightly flustered. ‘We had better go into luncheon now, Lady B gets awfully cross if we keep the servants waiting.’

  Robert was amused by the fluster; Oliver obviously admired Felicity. He had been talking to her a lot over the weekend. But he had always been shy with women. It had astonished Robert at the time that he had been so successful with the ravishing Lady Celia. And indeed that the marriage had been so long-lived and faithful.

  ‘Now then,’ said Howard Shaw, ‘perhaps you would like to tell me what is troubling you, Professor.’

  Jasper Lothian, who was half wishing he had left sleeping dogs snoring by the fire, said it was a little hard to explain.

  ‘Take your time. In your own words. Cigarette?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He took one, fitted it into the long ebony cigarette holder he always used, and sat back in his chair.

  ‘As I say, it’s rather – complicated. But I was reading this article in the Spectator, about a book, or rather, a series of books that are to be published.’

  ‘Ye-es? Are the books fictional or otherwise?’

  ‘Fictional.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘They concern a family. Living in Oxford and in London before during and after the war.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The – the head of the family is the master of an Oxford college.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He has a wife – and two children. A son and a daughter.’

  ‘As do you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes indeed. In the book the daughter has a fiancé who is killed in the war.’

  ‘And your daughter—’ Howard Shaw’s voice trailed off tactfully.

  ‘She does – or rather did – indeed have a fiancé. He was not killed in the war. But he was injured, rather seriously, and the engagement was broken off. It was difficult for her, she was dreadfully distressed. But there seemed little future in the relationship—’

  ‘Professor Lothian, this need not concern us now. Or need it?’

  ‘I think not.’

  ‘And the son?’

  ‘No similarities. The boy in the book was a conscientious objector, my son was decorated.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘The wife?’ said Howard Shaw carefully.

  ‘The wife is a – a rich woman. In her own right. She has a house in London, where she spends a considerable amount of time.’

  ‘And – ?’

  ‘My wife does have independent means. Although she has no house in London, she does spend some considerable time there.’

  ‘I see. Well – forgive me Professor, but so far I see
nothing remotely libellous about this. Nothing that could worry you.’

  ‘Ah. Well, but you see – look perhaps I should give you the article to read.’

  ‘That might be helpful. Thank you.’

  Howard Shaw read the article carefully, twice. Then he looked at Jasper Lothian.

  ‘You refer, I imagine, to the question of the master’s affair?’

  ‘Yes. Yes indeed.’

  ‘I imagine, of course, and you must forgive me, that there has been no such impropriety.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Then—’

  ‘But I feel the similarities are enough to attract attention. For those who know us, that is. And the authorities in the university. And could therefore do me great harm. My wife is very much of the same view. Oxford – Cambridge – the link is clear. Master of a college, wealthy wife, two children, the daughter’s future ruined by the war—’ he stopped, looked at Howard Shaw ‘—and then he is not unlike me in personality, I feel: a trifle eccentric in his dress, a high-profile figure about the university – but perhaps you think there is no cause for concern.’

  There was a long silence; then Howard Shaw said, ‘Professor, I have to tell you that I agree with you. This could possibly be actionable. I think we should ask to see the manuscript.’

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘I have to talk to you,’ said Sebastian. His voice, usually so level and easy, was tense, even on the phone. Celia’s heart lurched.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I – don’t want to say on the telephone. Could we meet?’

  ‘I could have a quick luncheon. Very quick. Then I have to go. I’ve got to see Lady Annabel about Queen Anne.’

  ‘Right. Let’s see – somewhere safe. Lyons Corner House? Bottom of the Strand?’

  ‘Sebastian! How romantic.’

  ‘Elspeth knows,’ he said.

  ‘Knows?’

  ‘Yes, about us. She knows. She told me so.’

  ‘She what?’ Celia felt physically dizzy; the bustling restaurant, with its hurtling conversation, its scurrying waitresses, blurred before her eyes. ‘Sebastian, she couldn’t have.’

  ‘She did. She said she’d guessed. That lots of people had.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ She sat very still, taking deep breaths. This was awful; this was what she had so feared, the thing that had seemed so inevitable. Yet against all logic, they seemed to have escaped. But – how could they? What kind of vanity had allowed her to think that their adulterous liaison would be allowed to escape attention? Attention and discovery?

  ‘Did she say any more?’

  ‘Not much. I shut her up. I was rather drunk.’

  ‘Oh Sebastian! What were you doing with Elspeth anyway? How did it come up?’

  ‘Well – we were at the Forty-Three. On Saturday night.’

  ‘You were at the Forty-Three? With Elspeth Granchester?’ Her expression was sharp, irritated; he grinned at her and tried to take her hand. She shook his off.

  ‘So you don’t like that?’

  ‘Not very much, no.’

  ‘You were at a wonderful country house party. With your husband.’

  ‘And a lot of dreadful other people. And I could hardly help being there.’

  ‘Celia – that’s so unfair.’

  ‘Unfair?’

  ‘Yes. Am I not allowed to accept any social invitations? Am I to remain in solitary confinement in my own house until you graciously condescend to visit me?’

  She stared at him, frowning; then, ‘Oh this is ridiculous,’ she said, ‘we have more important things to talk about. Does – does Oliver have any idea? Did she say?’

  ‘Celia, I’ve told you. She said very little. I didn’t want to ask her anything. I don’t know any more than that she’s guessed. That lots of people have. Those were her very words.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Celia wearily, ‘I’ll have to talk to her.’

  Robert wrote to Oliver: to say that Kyle had been for what was initially a chat, but by some extraordinary piece of serendipity turned out to be an interview: with one of his contacts, a small publishing set up, called Guthries; John Guthrie had interviewed him. Someone had decided to leave that very day, and John Guthrie had jokingly said he didn’t suppose Kyle would want his job?

  Kyle had said that he most certainly would, and John Guthrie had shaken his head and said he most certainly wouldn’t.

  ‘This is a glorified office boy’s job,’ he said, ‘nothing but running errands, and delivering things.’

  Kyle had said he would love to do run errands and deliver things; it took about twenty minutes to persuade John Guthrie he meant it. Even then he told him to go away and think about it.

  ‘I’d only be a glorified office boy, apparently,’ he had told his father and Robert, smiling at them rather nervously, ‘in the promotions department. But it’s the best place to learn, they said.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ said Robert, ‘doesn’t it, John?’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ said John Brewer, ‘it does indeed sound wonderful.’

  ‘And – you would – understand? If I took it?’

  John looked at Robert; Robert’s eyes met his in absolute complicity. ‘We would be very sad to see you go, obviously,’ he said, ‘but it is so clearly where your heart lies, that it would be wrong to try and keep you.’

  The relief on Kyle’s face, he wrote to Oliver, was both touching and almost funny.

  ‘Elspeth? Elspeth, this is Celia. Could I – that is could we – talk?’

  ‘Darling, of course. What about? Our dresses for Ascot? I have been wondering about my hat for Ladies’ Day, I’d adore to have your opinion.’

  ‘No, Elspeth. Something a little bit more serious than that.’

  ‘What could be more serious than hats? Sorry, Celia, I can tell you’re not in the mood for jokes. Yes, of course. Do you want to come and have tea? Tomorrow perhaps. Or is that too soon for your madly busy life?’

  ‘No. No, that would be very nice. Thank you. About three thirty?’

  ‘Lily, my darling—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wondered if you might fancy – well, coming back to my place.’

  ‘Your place, Jack? I didn’t know you had one.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling. You know. My rooms at Cheyne Walk.’

  ‘You want me to come to where you’re living now?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do, awfully.’

  Lily stared at him.

  ‘I’ve never been so insulted in my life,’ she said finally.

  ‘What? But darling, why?’

  ‘You expect me to come to your brother’s house, where I presume he is at this very moment, asleep. Probably with Celia?’

  ‘Yes, darling, that was the idea.’

  ‘Presumably you’re not thinking of just having a cup of tea there?’

  ‘Well – no. Not just a cup of tea.’

  ‘Jack, I think you must be quite mad,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t understand. You said no more seedy hotels, and of course I respect that. That’s why—’

  ‘So instead you’re going to smuggle me up the stairs in the middle of the night. Hoping no one will hear us. Like some – some tart. Have a bit of how’s-your-father. And then smuggle me out again. Or are you planning to offer me breakfast? With the Lyttons, and all the children.’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Oh, no, Jack. You’ve got me quite wrong. I’m not that sort of girl at all. If you want us to go on being together, you’re going to have to do a bit better than that. Get a place of your own for a start. And stop treating me like some – some cheap bit of fluff. I’m a career girl. I have more self-respect than that. Now I’m going to go home. Back to my digs. And the answer’s no, before you’ve even thought it. Very strict, my landlady is. Now get me a taxi please. I’ve got a big rehearsal tomorrow, first one for the new show. I don’t want to be worn out before I even get there.’

  Jack could see there was no
point in arguing with her. When Lily was cross, she was cross. He couldn’t see quite why she was so cross, but he’d clearly done something very wrong. He found a taxi for her, and after she’d told him not to get into it, that she wanted to get straight home to a nice peaceful bed, he decided to go home himself. There didn’t seem much charm in staying on his own at the Grafton Galleries now. Well not on his own but without Lily. He went inside, back to his table, and said goodnight to everyone.

  ‘Where’s Lily?’ said Crystal.

  ‘Gone home. I’m in the doghouse. Not sure why.’

  ‘She might have told me, we could have shared the cab.’

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ said Jack, ‘I’ve got my car.’

  ‘You sweetheart. Would you really? Can you let me have one more dance, I promised Guy Worsley I’d show him the Black Bottom.’

  ‘I could have done that,’ said Jack.

  ‘OK. We’ll all three of us do it.’

  Guy Worsley was not a dancer; he conceded the floor after a very short time to Crystal and Jack. Afterwards, he called them over.

  ‘Champagne?’ He was very drunk.

  ‘Yes please,’ said Jack.

  ‘How are you, old chap?’

  ‘Oh – all right. Bit of a bust up with Lily.’

  ‘That’s a shame. What about?’

  ‘Don’t quite understand really. You know what they’re like.’

  ‘I do,’ said Guy. ‘No idea at all what you did?’

  ‘Well – bit of an idea. Tell me what you think.’

  He told him; Guy shook his head.

  ‘You can’t do that, old man. You’re supposed to show that you respect them. I once asked a girl from the town back to my room at Oxford. There was hell to pay. Said I was putting her virtue at risk. What virtue? I asked myself.’