‘No,’ said Jeremy, looking at his tortured face, ‘no it’s not fair.’
‘So – what do you think?’
‘I think,’ said Jeremy slowly, ‘that we just have to wait. It’s quite a delicate situation. We can’t afford to antagonise them. Here, have another drink.’
‘Thanks,’ said Guy.
Jack had made his decision. He was going to do it. Ask Lily to marry him. Somehow talking to Harry Cholmondley had cleared his mind: made him realise what he really wanted. All right, so, he didn’t have any money and he was lousy at publishing and he behaved like a spoilt child, just as his brother had said. Getting married, having Lily with him, would sort all that out. She’d set him straight, tell him what to do; she might even agree that he should go back into the army. Although he didn’t want to. He just needed something steady in his life. Seeing what had happened to Celia and Oliver had shaken him badly. He hadn’t realised how badly. He’d believed so much in their marriage; it had been there practically all his life. He’d felt very lost suddenly. But – well, at least Celia was still there. That was something. As long as she stayed, he could just about cope with it. Oliver’s attitude to it was so strange. Either he didn’t know, which he must surely, or if he knew, he was just ignoring it. How could you do that? When you loved someone as much as he knew Oliver loved Celia. It was really strange. Well that was their marriage. It didn’t mean it would happen to him and Lily. Of course not.
He had gone out that afternoon, down to Hatton Garden and bought a nice little ring; nothing special, but it would do for the occasion. It looked quite impressive, in its square leather box. He’d get her something better later, something she could choose herself. He tidied his desk, feeling quite cheerful and went out to meet Lily.
‘Are you in for dinner?’ said Oliver. ‘I’d like to talk to you.’
LM had got back to Cheyne Walk to find that Jay was engrossed in a game of spillikins with the twins; he refused even to consider going to the house in Hampstead.
‘What for? There’s no one to play with there.’
‘Where’s Barty?’ said LM, trying to ignore the criticism implicit in this remark.
‘Upstairs with her mother,’ said Venetia.
‘And a nurse,’ said Adele.
‘She’s very ill,’ said Venetia.
‘She might even die,’ said Adele.
They were both enjoying the drama hugely.
‘Nonsense,’ said LM, ‘she’s a very strong woman. I’m going down to see your father.’
As she walked past Celia’s room, she heard her call; she had hoped to avoid a confrontation.
‘How are you?’ she said abruptly. She felt dreadfully upset, disturbed by her discovery, her lifetime’s loyalty to Celia badly shaken.
‘All right, thank you,’ said Celia with a sigh. ‘It seems to be all right. Touch wood,’ she added, reaching out to her bedside table.
‘Is your mother still here?’
‘No, she’s gone to Clarges Street.’
‘I see.’
‘LM, is something the matter?’
‘No, nothing,’ said LM, ‘I’m just a little weary. That’s all. How is Sylvia?’
‘Not at all well. But the nurse is very good, and a gynaecologist is coming first thing in the morning. She’s sedated now and in less pain. Poor Sylvia, she hasn’t had much of a life.’
‘No indeed,’ said LM, ‘well, I hope you continue satisfactorily. Is there anything you need?’
‘No,’ said Celia, ‘LM something is the matter?’
‘No, really. I’m a little weary that’s all. Good night, Celia.’
She saw Celia’s hurt face, ignored it. She really didn’t care. Celia was inflicting a great deal of pain on a great many people.
She didn’t want to spend the evening talking to Oliver; she knew what the conversation would be about. Celia and the state of their marriage. Yet she supposed, it would all be, in a way, a relief. She was no use at dissembling, and besides, she needed to know how Oliver felt about it, what he planned to do, his attitude towards the baby. She wondered if any of them knew whose it was: it was an extraordinary and very complex situation. And then what about the future of Lyttons, how was that going to be affected? If Celia were to leave Oliver, and it must be a consideration, she could hardly stay at Lyttons. Yes, it was an essential discussion.
Nevertheless, she would have given a great deal to have a genuine alibi to save her from it. But Gordon Robinson always had supper with his mother on Mondays and Jay was here, so she had no reason to go anywhere.
‘Yes,’ she said now, mentally squaring her shoulders, ‘Yes, Oliver, I’m in for dinner.’
Celia stared after her, a new curl of panic rising inside her. Sebastian had said he’d been rather tactless to LM. She was very sharp; clearly she’d guessed. The thought of losing LM’s friendship was almost worse than losing Sebastian.
‘Oh God,’ she said aloud, ‘oh, dear God.’
There was a tap at the door; it was Barty. ‘Aunt Celia, Mum’s very bad. I’m worried.’
‘What does the nurse say?’
‘She says there’s nothing we can do for now. Just wait. If she gets worse, she says we can get the doctor back.’
‘Well, we can. Of course. Is she lying quietly?’
‘No, she keeps talking, but it doesn’t make any sense.’
Delirious, thought Celia. Oh, dear. ‘Well, Barty darling, she is in good hands, honestly. Look, you go and have supper with the others, and then pop up and see her again. If you’re still worried, come and get me.’
‘I don’t want any supper.’
‘Now, you must try and eat. You need to be strong yourself, to look after your mother.’
‘All right.’ She walked out of the rom slowly. Celia watched her, wondering how on earth she would cope if her mother died. Stop it, Celia, you’re being morbid. She supposed it was hardly surprising.
Jack had taken Lily for an early supper to the Trocadero; she was appearing in a late-night cabaret at the Piccadilly Hotel, until her new revue opened.
‘You work too hard,’ he said.
‘I need to,’ she said briskly, ‘I have to earn money.’
It sounded rather like criticism to Jack; he was silent.
They ordered supper: Lily wanted fish. ‘I can’t cope with much food if I’ve got to work later,’ and only drank water. Jack was sorry; he had ordered some champagne to suit the occasion. He set to drinking it anyway. The atmosphere was rather strained.
‘How are things at Lyttons?’ asked Lily politely.
‘Oh – pretty bloody. This libel case is getting worse. And it’s going to cost thousands and thousands. Which Oliver keeps saying we haven’t got. Partly due to my book,’ he added gloomily.
‘Is it really serious? For Lyttons I mean?’
‘I don’t know exactly. LM – my sister you know – has been called up to London.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘To discuss things. So it must be quite bad. And Sebastian’s gone to another publisher.’
‘Has he now?’ said Lily, ‘I wonder why that should be. What does Celia have to say about that?’
‘I have no idea. She’s ill, anyway.’
‘Ill? Doesn’t sound like her. What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know. She has to stay in bed for a bit.’
‘Has to—’ Lily stopped in mid-sentence. She stared at him, flushed.
‘What, Lily?’
‘Nothing. Really.’
‘Yes, there is. I can tell.’
‘No there isn’t.’
‘Lily, come on. I’m not that stupid.’
‘Well – when women have to stay in bed – well usually—’
‘Yes? Usually what?’
‘Oh Jack. Usually they’re in the family way.’
‘Oh,’ he said. He felt very bleak suddenly.
‘Yes. My God. What a mess.’
‘Yes. What a mess.’
‘Oh – com
e on,’ she said, ‘let’s not worry too much about them. Perhaps it isn’t that at all. Let’s talk about you. Or me.’
‘Yes,’ he said pulling himself together, ‘yes, let’s. Let’s talk about you and me. Lily, there’s something I want to ask you.’
‘Now then,’ said Oliver, ‘we must talk.’
He poured LM a glass of white wine. ‘Sorry, I can’t drink red. Would you like some?’
‘No thank you. This is very nice.’
He was silent for a moment, clearly putting off starting the discussion. Then,
‘This is all rather – difficult,’ he said.
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘Can you?’ He looked surprised.
‘Yes of course. I’m not stupid, Oliver.’
‘No. Well there are so many things to be taken into consideration—’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘It’s very complex.’
‘Of course. Of course it is.’
‘But there’s still a chance. I think.’
LM looked at him. It was extraordinary, she thought. That he should let himself be walked over in this way. Just put up with it, swallow his pride. Such a public humilation. And with the baby—
‘I think you’re being marvellous,’ she said.
He looked surprised. ‘You do?’
‘Yes, I do. It can’t be easy. Especially now—’
‘Why especially now?’
‘Well, with the baby.’
‘The baby? What’s the baby got to do with it?’
‘Oh Oliver,’ said LM impatiently, ‘a great deal, obviously. Your wife having an affair is one thing. Being pregnant is quite another.’
There was a very long silence; the room was icy-still. Even the ticking of the clock seemed an intrusion. Then: ‘I simply don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Oliver. ‘I wanted to discuss Lyttons, its future, whether it is actually viable any more. I would still like to do that. If you don’t mind.’
Lily was out of step; she knew she was. Damn. Once it happened, it was so hard to get back in, All the other girls were on the left foot, she was on the right. Do it double time Lily, just once, then you’ll be all right. No, it hadn’t worked. Still out. Again. Phew. That was it. She saw Crystal’s eyes widen from her place at the back of the stage; she had noticed then. Which meant everyone would have done. It was so unlike her. So terribly unlike her. She just didn’t make that sort of mistake. She knew why of course: it was Jack. Asking her to marry him. It had thrown her completely. She felt totally confused, almost shocked. It was one thing to speculate idly, quite another to be confronted with it: forced to make a decision. What, what in the name of heaven was she to do? Cripes! Nearly did it again. Stop it, Lily, don’t think about it yet. Concentrate on what you’re doing.
But what should she say? What could she say? She knew what she wanted to say. Yes. She really did. She loved Jack and she knew now he loved her. But marriage. How could she marry him? Just thinking about the wedding made her worry: with all his posh relations, not just the Lyttons, but Celia’s parents, on one side, and hers on the other, her grandpa who’d been a coalman, and her gran who belched all the time once she’d got a glass of anything inside her. And her dad, imagine Celia’s mother the countess or whatever she was, asking her dad what he did for a living and him telling her about his fruit and veg stall.
But it wasn’t just the wedding; it was ever after. Whatever they did, wherever they went, they’d be different. Her friends, all dancers and actresses, and the odd model and shop assistant, and his, all army officers and gentleman farmers and stockbrokers. It was all right in nightclubs and at parties, but in real life . . . And then there was the thing about houses: Jack liked everything simple and a bit battered-looking and she liked it all prettied up. She’d noticed the expression of shocked amusement – hastily covered up – when she’d suggested she make him some pretty curtains to replace his scruffy old ones. And when she’d asked him when he was going to be able to afford a carpet to cover the wooden floor. ‘I’m not,’ he’d said, sounding quite pained. That sort of thing mattered in the end.
And when they had children, then what? Would they be posh little buggers, sent off to school at eight like Giles had been, and Jack himself come to that, bullied to bits, which was supposed to be good for them, God knew why, or would she be allowed to keep them at home with her, looked after, nice and safe and happy?
No. As the number finished, Lily decided. No. It had to be no. It would be very painful for a while, but after that they’d both be happier. Much happier. She’d have to tell him that night, after the show; she’d asked him for time to think, he’d obviously been surprised and hurt, had thought she’d just say yes right away. And then they wouldn’t see one another any more. It was the only way. It really was . . . Lily suddenly realised her eyes were full of tears; she ran to the dressing-room, slammed the door buried her face in her arms and cried for quite a long time. Then she cleaned up her face, changed, and went out to meet Jack.
‘Is it really that bad?’
LM had forced her mind on to Lyttons with an effort; she looked at Oliver and saw from his face that it was.
‘It is extremely bad. The figures are dreadful. The Mutiny book has hardly sold fifty copies and it’s cost a fortune. This action of Lothian’s is going to cost us thousands and thousands. We just don’t have it. And Brooke leaving is the last straw.’
‘What about the backlist?’
‘Modest at the moment. Certainly not enough to save us. These high printing charges and now the new wage demand – well, we simply can’t cope financially.’
‘So now what?’
LM had a sudden vision of their father, the last time she had seen him in the office, sitting at his big desk, surrounded with proofs, still totally involved with everything, his gentle old face stern as he pointed out to her a record number of typographical errors.
‘It’s detail that matters in publishing,’ he had said, ‘remember the horseshoe and the nail and the kingdom which it lost. Let your typesetting charges go up, and then you’re overspending on your printing budget. That has to be allowed for in your cover price and that has to come out of your profits. Every tiny thing is important; always remember that.’
Well, they had forgotten it; forgotten a lot of tiny things. And big ones. And they were all to blame. Even she. She should not have buried herself down in the country, she should have kept a much stricter eye on things. She should have known that neither Oliver nor Celia would have any kind of a sense of detail or be properly concerned with the minutiae of finance. It would have been perfectly possible. If she could spend time on her wretched archaeology, she could spend it on Lyttons’ administration and accounts. Oliver was clearly to blame; he should have taken a much closer interest in the Buchanan affair, her father had always closely questioned any new author, especially a young one, about his sources. And she had advised him to take out libel insurance many times. As for Celia: well, Celia’s only crime – against Lyttons that was – was bringing about the defection of Sebastian Brooke. A huge moneymaker for them gone. His sales would have easily counter-balanced the Buchanan losses. Certainly would have bought them time to find another saga.
‘Father would have been very cross with us,’ she said, trying to lighten the occasion a little.
‘Don’t talk about Father,’ said Oliver. ‘I’ve thought about him every hour of every day, since this wretched business all began. And – although I may have a solution, he wouldn’t like that either.’
‘A solution? What?’
‘Brunnings have made me an offer. They would meet all our debts, keep us viable.’
‘And take us over?’
‘Yes.’ His face was very drawn. ‘Take us over completely. We would simply become one of their imprints. We would be allowed to continue with the reference book list as Lyttons, but that would be all. Everything else would be published under the Brunnings imprint. Not,’ he added, trying to smil
e, ‘not that it would be a great deal.’
‘Oh God,’ said LM, ‘Oliver, we can’t do that. We just can’t.’
‘I don’t think we have a lot of choice,’ he said, ‘except to close down altogether. Anyway, we have until Friday. To make up our minds. I’m sorry to spring it on you, but I had a long meeting with Brunnings today.’
‘It seems very pressing of them.’
‘They can see they’re in a strong position. That we don’t have much choice.’
‘It isn’t very gentlemanly.’
‘LM, publishing is no longer a gentlemanly profession, I’m afraid.’
‘What does – what does Celia think?’
‘I haven’t troubled her with it’ he said, and he did not meet her eyes, ‘not when she is unwell. I thought we would spare her.’
‘Oliver,’ said LM, and it was a moment of absolute revelation to her and the beginning of an exoneration of Celia and what she had done, ‘Oliver how can you possibly not involve Celia in this? Celia is Lyttons as much as you or I. It would be outrageous of you to keep it from her.’
‘I don’t agree,’ he said, his pale blue eyes very hard suddenly, ‘I don’t agree with you at all. And I would prefer that you did not discuss it with her. Dr Perring said she should be spared any extra strain. It would be terrible if this caused her to lose the baby, LM.’
LM stared at him. Everything was beginning to become rather clear. If Oliver wanted a revenge, he could hardly find a better one.
‘I’m sorry, Oliver,’ she said, ‘I think I know Celia rather better than that. If anything caused her to lose the baby, it would be seeing Lyttons sold out over her head. Apart from anything else, she is on the board. You have no right to keep it from her. And if you don’t tell her, then I most certainly will.’
Jack sat staring into his glass. The glass of champagne, filled from the bottle he had bought to celebrate his and Lily’s engagement. Only there was no engagement and nothing to celebrate. Lily had said, very sweetly and gently, that she simply did not feel able to accept his proposal.
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