Susan flushed, looked down at her hands, and then very directly at him. ‘I don’t really think it’s a very good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well – because – well, people might talk.’
‘Angel, people have been talking about us for years. We might as well give them at least something worth talking about. Besides, I only want a bit of peace and quiet with you so we can discuss Letitia’s wretched new costing system and how much we want the sales force to use it.’
‘Oh, well,’ she said, choosing to accept this arguably unflattering explanation, ‘that’s all right then. Thank you, I’d like it very much.’
‘Do you want to go home and change? Or shall we go from here?’
‘If we’re only going to talk about costing systems,’ said Susan briskly, ‘I don’t need to get all dolled up, do I? I’ll phone Anna and see if she can babysit. If she can’t I’ll have to ask Mum.’
Julian devoutly hoped that Anna would be able to oblige.
‘Where are you off to, darling?’ said Letitia as he came into her office at half past five to say goodbye.
‘Oh, I’m taking Susan out for a bite to eat. We’re discussing the sales people’s return sheets.’
Letitia looked at him very seriously.
‘Julian, don’t. Please.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, irritably defensive. ‘Mother, just leave me alone, will you? Good night. I won’t be late.’
‘You do know. And I sincerely hope you won’t be.’
Julian slammed the door of her office and wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps he ought to think about getting a house of his own.
Susan was waiting for him in the car park.
‘Before we have dinner,’ said Julian, ‘I want to take you somewhere else. To meet a friend. Won’t take long. I tried to put her off but I couldn’t. Out near Slough. I need to be there by seven. But we should make that.’
‘What sort of a friend?’ said Susan, ever so slightly sulky. ‘What does she do?’
‘Runs around.’
‘I see.’
It was a perfect July evening: the sky was that peculiarly clear light turquoise that follows slightly hazy days, and spangled with tiny orange and grey clouds. It had been hot, but there was a breeze tossing the air about; Julian rolled back the sunroof of his new four wheeled toy, a cream Lagonda, and smiled briefly at Susan.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘if you look in that pocket there, you should find a map. Can you map read?’
‘Course.’
‘Good. Now it’s near Stoke Poges, this place. Near Burnham Beeches. Got it?’
‘Yes. You want to head out of Slough on the A4. I’ll tell you after that.’
‘OK.’
They pulled into the drive of a large, low house just after seven.
‘Damn,’ said Julian, ‘I think he’s gone.’
‘I thought it was a she we’ve come to see.’
‘It is. But there’s a chaperon involved. Ah, there he is. Tony, hello. Sorry we’re late.’
‘That’s OK. Traffic’s awful, I know. She’s round here, your lady friend. She really is gorgeous. You’re going to love her.’
‘Perhaps I’d better stay here,’ said Susan crossly.
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Julian, ‘you’ll like her. Tony, this is Susan Johns. My right-hand woman in the company. Susan, Tony Sargeant.’
Susan nodded slightly coolly at Tony. She felt increasingly silly and miserable as she followed the man into a stable yard.
‘There,’ said Tony, stopping by a bay with a very dark mane, ‘this is She. Gloriana. Absolutely made for you, Julian. Superb hunter, very strong, but graceful too. She’s a honey. I’d love to keep her myself, but I don’t need another mare.’
‘She’s got a very nice head. Lovely expression,’ said Julian, ‘let’s have a look at the rest of her.’
Tony led the mare out into the yard. She was restive, dancing about at the end of her rein. ‘How old is she, did you say?’
‘Four.’
‘She looks younger.’
‘No, just four. She is quite slightly built. But she’s terrifically fast. And strong. She’d make a superb National Hunt horse, if you wanted her for that. Do you want to ride her now?’
‘No. I haven’t got any of the stuff with me,’ said Julian, eyeing Susan who had wandered off down the other end of the yard. Her initial relief at discovering the mysterious female was a horse had given way to boredom and irritation. ‘Anyway, I can’t stop now. But she is beautiful, I agree. I’ll come back and ride her at the weekend, if that’s OK. And thank you very much.’ He stroked the horse’s neck tenderly; scratched her ear. She snorted with pleasure. ‘He’s got a way with women,’ said Tony to Susan, laughing.
‘I daresay,’ she said shortly. ‘It’s not a side of him we see much of at work.’
‘Oh, come on, you misery,’ said Julian, taking her hand. It was the first time he had ever touched her. She shivered; she couldn’t help it. He noticed, and dropped her hand again, quickly. ‘You must be hungry.’
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, as the Lagonda swung out into the lane. ‘Very boring for you, I’m afraid.’
‘It was a pretty cheap joke,’ said Susan. ‘Making me think we were going to meet some woman.’
‘Susan!’ said Julian, ‘I do declare you were jealous.’
Susan looked at him very seriously. ‘Not jealous, Julian. But I don’t like being made a fool of. Even in very small ways. OK?’
‘OK. Sorry. Now get that map out again, and find somewhere called Aston Clinton. That’s where we’re going. To a restaurant called the Bell. You’ll like it. And I won’t make a fool of you ever again. Promise.’
The Bell was not very full. They sat outside in the garden to savour the evening and the menu, and Julian ordered a bottle of champagne.
‘I don’t know how you think you’re going to drive home,’ said Susan, ‘I’m not going to have any of that, and you’ll get awfully drunk.’
‘Oh, go on,’ said Julian, ‘just this once. For me. Try it. You’ll love it, honestly you will.’
‘No,’ said Susan.
‘All right. But you’re missing one of life’s great pleasures. Tell you what, I’ll get some orange juice and have it as Bucks Fizz and then maybe you’ll be persuaded to try it.’
‘Maybe. But I don’t think so. Tell me, what would you say life’s other great pleasures are? For you?’
‘Oh, horses. Cars. Women. Making money.’
‘What a corrupt list.’
‘I’m a corrupt person. You should know that by now.’
‘No,’ she said, very serious. ‘I don’t. Not personally. I’m prepared to believe it, but I don’t have any evidence of my own. Could I have some crisps?’
‘I’ll try,’ said Julian, wondering if they knew about crisps at the Bell.
The barman looked disdainful but provided a bowl of nuts, which Susan demolished in minutes, and while she was waiting for a second, and a replenishment of her orange juice, took a sip of Julian’s Bucks Fizz.
‘Yes,’ she said, savouring it carefully, ‘it is quite nice. It’s a little bit like orange and soda, isn’t it? You should try that, you know. Much better for you.’
‘Well, I suppose I might,’ said Julian, allowing himself for a moment to contemplate the terrible prospect of drinking orange and soda at parties. ‘Now shall I get a glass for you to have a bit more?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll just have the occasional sip of yours. I didn’t know you liked horses.’
‘You don’t know a lot of things about me. I love horses. Always have. Until we came to London, I rode all the time.’
‘I suppose you went hunting and that sort of thing.’
‘That sort of thing.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you disapprove?’
‘Yes, I do. But it’s nothing to do with me.’
‘True. And your disappro
val is nothing to do with me, so I won’t try to convert you.’
‘No, don’t. You’d be wasting your breath.’
She took another sip of his drink. ‘I could get to like this, though.’
‘Be careful, Susan. One vice leads to another. Talking of vice, when are you off to the Med?’
‘Oh, I’m so tired of everyone going on about that. In a fortnight. The girls are so excited.’
‘I bet. Are you – is anyone going with you?’
‘What, Mum do you mean? No, just the three of us.’
He hadn’t meant Mum, but he was strangely relieved that nobody else was going either.
‘Also, could I have a week off in October?’
‘Good God, woman, your life is one long holiday. What on earth for?’
‘Well, it’s the Labour Party Conference, and I want to go.’
‘What, up to Blackpool?’
‘Yes.’
‘What an extraordinary girl you are.’
‘Not at all. You’d be surprised how many perfectly ordinary people go to party conferences. More than go hunting, I would say.’
‘OK. Yes, of course you can have the week off. Can anyone go? I might come with you.’
‘Of course you can’t come. They wouldn’t let you over the threshold. And anyway, you have to be a delegate from the Management Committee of your Ward.’
‘And are you?’
‘Yes. I’m not doing very much, but I would really like to get involved with the women’s side of it. They’re a very strong force in the Labour Party, you know.’
‘Indeed?’
She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to bore you.’
‘You didn’t,’ he said, ‘not in the least. I like listening to you talk. I like trying to understand you. The only thing I don’t like is the thought of you getting too involved with the Labour Party and having no time left for me. For us.’
‘I don’t think there’s a serious danger of that.’
‘Good,’ he said, ‘because I should miss you more than I could say. Now then,’ he went on, deliberately moving the mood away from the sudden tension he had created, ‘what do you want to eat?’
Susan took another sip of Bucks Fizz, partly to please him, and partly because it was making her feel pleasantly relaxed, and picked up the menu. ‘A lot.’
She ate her way through a plate of parma ham and melon, and then some whitebait, before turning her attention to the main course; they shared a chateaubriand, and she ate all of Julian’s vegetables as well as her own and worked her way through three bread rolls and a packet of bread sticks.
‘You really have got the most extraordinary appetite,’ said Julian, looking at her in admiration. ‘Have you always eaten that much?’
‘Always.’
‘And never got fat?’
‘Never.’
‘Strange.’
‘I sometimes wish I could be a bit more – well, round,’ she said, ‘men like it better that way.’
‘I don’t,’ he said, ‘I like thin ladies. Preferably with very small bosoms.’
‘Then I should please you,’ she said, laughing.
‘Yes, you would.’
There was a silence.
‘And what else do you like in your ladies?’
‘Oh, all sorts of things. Long legs. Nice hair. And minds of their own.’
‘Husbands of their own, as well, from what I hear.’ She meant it lightly, but he scowled. ‘I’m sorry, Julian, I didn’t mean to be rude. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Well,’ he said, pouring himself another glass of wine, ‘I daresay I deserved it. It certainly used to be true. I don’t have time for any kind of ladies these days, married or otherwise. Except my mother. And you of course.’
‘Tell me why you like married ladies.’
‘More fun,’ said Julian lightly. ‘Less of a threat.’
‘To what?’
‘My bachelor status.’
‘And what’s so great about that?’
‘Not a lot,’ he said with a sudden, small sigh. ‘It gets bloody lonely at times. Don’t you find that? Don’t you still miss Brian?’
She looked at him, very directly. ‘Actually, no. I know that sounds awful. He was very sweet, but we never had a life together. I don’t even know what it might have been like. Living with him, I mean.’
‘And since then? Anybody?’
‘Nobody. No time. No inclination either.’
‘None at all?’
She looked at him sharply, knowing what he meant. ‘Not a lot.’
‘I see.’
‘I don’t think you do. But never mind.’
She wondered if he would think she was frigid, devoid of desire, and if it mattered that he did; whether she should try to explain, make him understand that the only way she could cope with her aloneness, the stark emptiness of her most private, personal life and her fear that she would forget altogether how to feel, how to want, how to take and be taken, was simply to ignore it, negate it, deny its existence; and decided it was better left unexplored as a subject between them, that she did not trust either herself or him sufficiently to take the risk.
‘What I’d really like now,’ she said briskly, ‘is some pudding.’
He called the waiter over. ‘Pavlova, please,’ she said, and upset the waiter visibly by ordering ice cream with it. ‘And could I have another Bucks Fizz, please? I’m thirsty.’
‘There is a possible connection,’ said Julian, laughing, ‘between the fact you’ve now had three of them, and your thirst. But never mind.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘It’s been a lovely evening. Thank you.’
‘It’s me that should be doing the thanking. As usual. I wish I could do more for you.’
‘My darling girl, you do a monumental amount for me. That company runs entirely on your efficiency. We would all be absolutely lost without you. I am deeply indebted to you. I mean it.’
A very strange feeling was running through Susan. It was partly being called Julian’s darling girl, and partly the effect of the Bucks Fizz; but more than anything, she realized it was simply a sort of tender intimacy that was enfolding both of them, a mixture of friendliness and sexual awareness, and a feeling of being properly close to him and knowing him and liking what she knew. The big low-ceilinged room was full now, there was a low hum of conversation and laughter surrounding them, candlelight danced from table to table, an entirely unnecessary fire flickered in the corner, and outside the sky was only just giving up its blue. She felt important, privileged, and strangely confident and safe; able to be witty, interesting, challenging.
This, she suddenly realized, was much of what having money was about; not just the rich smell of food, your glass constantly refilled; a waiter to bring you everything you wished. It was warmth, and relaxation; a shameless, conscienceless pursuit of pleasure; and it was having time to talk, to laugh, to contemplate, to pronounce, and all of it smoothed and eased by a mood of self-indulgence and the suspension of any kind of critical faculty for yourself and what you might say or do.
She looked across the table at Julian, graceful, relaxed, leaning back in his seat, smiling at her, his dark eyes dancing, moving over her face, utterly relaxed himself, his charm almost a tangible thing that she could reach out for and she felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him; not in a sexual way, not even flirtatiously, but rather as a happy child might, to express its pleasure and its gratitude at some particularly nice treat. She smiled at the thought.
‘What are you smiling at?’
‘I was thinking,’ she said with perfect truth, ‘that I’d like to kiss you.’
‘Oh?’ he said, smiling back, ‘well do go ahead.’
‘I can’t. Not here.’
‘Why not?’
‘The waiters wouldn’t like it.’
‘The waiters,’ he said, and they chanted together enjoying their old joke, ‘aren’t going to get it.’
‘Am I?’ he said, suddenly serious, pushing
the thought of Letitia firmly from his mind.
‘Oh, Julian, don’t spoil a lovely evening.’ She spoke simply, from her heart; she was suddenly very young again, very vulnerable.
‘Well,’ said Julian, his eyes dancing, ‘I’ve had some put-downs in my time, but most of them were a bit more tactfully expressed than that.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Susan irritably, upset at the fracture of her magic mood, ‘as if you cared what I said to you.’
‘Susan,’ said Julian, suddenly taking her hand, ‘I care very very much what you say to me. Probably more than anything anyone else says to me. Didn’t you realize that?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘no I didn’t,’ and an extraordinary charge of feeling shot through her, a shock of pleasure and hunger at the same time, confusing and delicious, turning her heart over, and leaving her helpless and raw with desire.
She looked at him, and he saw it all in her eyes; and for a moment he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone. He looked at her eyes, soft and tender in the candlelight, at the frail, slender, sensuous body, the tough, brave, hungry mouth; he contemplated having her, taking her, loving her; and he remembered the promise he had made to her so long ago, and in one of the very few unselfish acts of his life he put it all aside.
‘Come along, Mrs Johns,’ he said lightly, ‘we must get you home. It’s late, and we both have a long day tomorrow. I’ll get the bill.’
Susan stared at him, staggering almost physically from the pain of the rejection, and what she saw as the reason for it. Her eyes filled with tears; the golden room blurred.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, standing up, ‘I must go to the toilet. The lavatory as you would say. I’d never get it right, would I, Julian?’
‘Probably not,’ he said with a sigh, ‘and it wouldn’t matter in the very least. Not to me. Maybe to you. You’ve got it all wrong, Susan, but you’d never believe me.’
‘I’d be a fool if I did,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
It was weeks before she would talk to him alone; months before their friendship was restored. But finally, she came to understand. And she was grateful for what he had not done.
Chapter Three
London, 1953–7
Old Sins Page 10
