Old Sins

by Penny Vincenzi

‘Certainly, Lady Morell.’

  ‘Hallo?’ she said, picking it up on his return. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Phaedria?’

  ‘Yes? Hallo, Julian. Where on earth are you?’

  ‘In Reception.’

  ‘In Reception where?’

  ‘In Reception here.’

  ‘Good God. Well, you certainly are full of surprises.’

  ‘I try to be.’

  ‘I’ll be right out.’

  She walked into the foyer of the hotel, carelessly graceful, dressed only in a minute blue bikini, a white towelling robe swinging loosely round her shoulders, her feet bare, her hair loose and slightly damp from swimming. In a place well used to beautiful women, she still attracted great attention.

  She kissed him lightly. He looked at her.

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Yes, I was working most of the night.’

  ‘Indeed? On what?’

  ‘The merchandise. I’ve found a marvellous new designer.’

  ‘A new one? How nice.’

  She looked at him, puzzled. ‘Julian, why are you here?’

  ‘I wanted to see you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ring first?’

  ‘Then I wouldn’t have surprised you.’

  ‘No. Well, shall we go up to the suite? I expect you’d like to change.’

  ‘You have a suite, not a bungalow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? I keep a bungalow here.’

  ‘I know. But I don’t like them particularly. I feel – oh, I don’t know, vulnerable.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Well, let’s go up. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘All right.’

  She followed him into the lift, into the suite, wary, baffled. The boy brought in Julian’s case; when the door was closed he took her by the shoulders and turned her to him.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Where is who?’

  ‘Sassoon?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Phaedria, I know he’s here.’

  ‘He is not here.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Would you like to search the hotel?’

  He looked at her closely, then released her and sat down heavily on the bed. Phaedria walked over to the window, looked out at the brilliant sunshine, the blue carefree sky, so poignantly contrasting to the dark mood in the room; then she turned.

  ‘He has been here, though. Until this morning.’

  ‘I see. In this room, or did you share another suite?’

  ‘Julian, I really feel desperately sorry for you. You just can’t go on in this ridiculous, melodramatic fashion. I am not having an affair with David Sassoon, neither of us has the slightest inclination to do anything of the sort. If he is in love with anyone, it’s Eliza, still. I like him very much. I think he’s fun, I love working with him, and I think he’s very attractive. But I am not in the business of having affairs, unlike yourself –’

  ‘Phaedria, be careful!’

  She looked at him, unafraid.

  ‘I am married to you, I care about you, and I am much too busy and too sensible to risk losing you.’

  ‘Me and all that goes with me.’

  ‘That was vile.’

  ‘The truth often is.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were very well acquainted with the truth, Julian. Anyway, who told you David was here? Roz, I suppose?’

  ‘Can we leave the ridiculous vendetta between you and Roz out of this?’

  ‘It’s very difficult, when most of the unhappinesses between us can be laid directly at her door.’

  ‘Phaedria, grow up, for God’s sake.’

  She looked at him, her eyes full of a strange pain.

  ‘I’m trying to, Julian, believe me. I’m not getting a great deal of help from you. Are you going to accept what I said about David or not?’

  ‘Phaedria, even if I accepted it, even if I believed you, which I don’t know that I do, how could you ask Sassoon down here, to stay in the same hotel, when I had expressly forbidden you to have any more to do with him?’

  ‘That was precisely the reason. Or one of them. That you’d forbidden me. If you’d asked me, sensitively, I might have felt different, might have been prepared to try and understand. The other was of course that he was the only person who could do what I wanted.’

  ‘Indeed. Where? In bed?’

  She crossed to the lobby, pulled her suitcase out. ‘This is ridiculous. I’m going.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I am going. Immediately. That will save you the trouble of packing.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘I think not. If anyone is mad, I think it is you.’

  He left immediately, without another word. While he was waiting for his plane at Los Angeles airport, he phoned his lawyer.

  Phaedria arrived home at Regent’s Park forty-eight hours later. It was very late; the house was in darkness, utterly quiet. She put down her bags, and moved silently upstairs. She was not sure what she might find; that Julian was not there at all, that he would be in bed with someone else, that he would be alone and hostile, refusing to speak to her. She pushed open the bedroom door. He was in bed, alone, asleep, completely still; he did not stir. For a horrific moment she thought he was dead, had taken an overdose and it would be her fault; then he suddenly moved, turned over, still asleep; she looked at him; for the very first time, she noticed, remorseful, almost afraid, he looked older. His hair was greyer, his face relaxed in sleep was suddenly more lined, looser. He appeared very vulnerable.

  She sat down on the bed beside him and looked at him for a long time. Then she put out her hand and rested it gently on his shoulder, and bent and kissed his forehead. He woke, quite easily then, not startled, just slowly moved into consciousness, opened his eyes and looked at her in silence.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was quite quite wrong. Cruel and arrogant and wrong. Please forgive me.’

  ‘Oh, Phaedria,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you’re back. I thought I might not see you again.’

  ‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ she said, pulling off her clothes, climbing into bed thankfully beside him.

  ‘Not very. But I’m beginning to learn.’

  She didn’t challenge Roz on the subject of whether or not she had sent Julian down to LA. It didn’t seem worth the emotional effort. She would have denied it, or argued in that curious convoluted, noncommittal way she had inherited from her father, and either way it would be fruitless. They tried not to speak to one another at all these days, except when pressures of business forced them; it was better that way. Phaedria was sometimes frightened by the force of Roz’s hatred for her; in her darkest moments, when she lay awake in the small hours of the morning, as she often did these days, watching for the light to filter through the curtains of her bedroom, she sometimes feared that Roz might resort to physical violence, even try to kill her. Then the morning would come and she would be caught up in the maelstrom of her own frantic life, and she would smile tolerantly at her own foolishness. But deep within her the fear remained and could not be acknowledged to anyone. She thought that probably David might have understood – he had known Roz for so long, indeed was fond of her, and had worked closely with Julian for fifteen years. But he was lost to her now. She had had one last conversation with him, risking the most appalling reprisals from both Julian and Roz, should they have found out (she actually insisted, laughing at herself even as she did it, that they met in a Motorway Stop on the M4, which seemed as safe as anywhere could possibly be from the eyes of anyone who worked for Julian), when she had explained exactly what had happened, and that they must in future only meet in the most public situations.

  ‘I know it’s absurd, but I have hurt Julian very badly, and I feel I owe it to him to do what he wants. For some reason he just can’t cope with the thought of you and me provoking th
e mildest gossip. And he certainly was quite convinced we were having the most marvellous time in bed together in LA.’

  ‘If only it were true,’ said David, his eyes flicking over her, taking her hand.

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Why not? Do you think that girl at the till is actually a spy sent by your husband?’

  ‘Oh, David, if you’d only seen him in the hotel that afternoon you wouldn’t be joking. He was beside himself.’

  ‘Silly old bugger.’

  ‘Yes well, maybe, but he’s my husband and I do, believe it or not, want to make him happy.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘That’s all right then. I wondered.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if you were happy, if I didn’t have a lot to answer for, having persuaded you not to run away on the eve of your wedding day.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Good. You’re happy then?’

  ‘I think so.’

  He looked at her; she had got very thin lately, and there were new deep shadows under her dark eyes.

  ‘If you ever aren’t happy, if you ever need help, you will come to me, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’

  ‘So who do you think sent him hurtling down to LA?’

  ‘Oh, Roz without a doubt.’

  ‘Silly girl. She has so much going for her, she’s so clever, so talented, and her father thinks the sun shines out of her elegant arse. I’ve tried telling her, but it doesn’t seem to take. And it would certainly do no good my talking to her now. She’s almost as jealous of your relationship with me as she is of the one between you and Julian.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Phaedria. ‘Because of her crush on you? I suppose she would be. You never get over your first great love. I never have.’

  ‘Pardon me, Lady Morell, but I thought your husband was your first great love.’

  ‘Oh, no, there was someone. It was – well, odd and hopeless. A bit like Roz’s for you. But I know how she feels. I still think about him sometimes. Especially when I’m low.’

  ‘Well, that is extremely interesting. I want to know everything about it. Immediately. Don’t look at me like that, I’m only teasing you. Besides, I’ve learnt not to try to make you talk. The sphinx would appear garrulous compared to you. On personal matters, that is. No, I’m extremely fond of Roz, I have to say, but she has always been very difficult.’

  Phaedria sighed. ‘Well, half the problems Julian and I have are down to her. But I try to be sorry for her. It must be hard, having me come between her and her future.’

  ‘Maybe. It would have been better if you’d been fifty-five, with a shelf-like bust and a fine collection of Crimplene dresses.’

  ‘I could work on that, I suppose. But then Julian would divorce me anyway.’ She looked at him suddenly.

  ‘Why have you stayed with him all these years? Why didn’t you leave when – when he found out about you and Eliza?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not very proud of it, really. Of course Julian is marvellous to work for. I could never get the same variety, the same freedom with anyone else. At that time, I’d always intended to get out on my own, start a new company, and then marry her. But it was a fantastic job in New York, and I was young and very ambitious and I kept thinking I’d wait another month, three months, six. By which time she was off with some playboy or other.’

  ‘She’s lovely. I adore her.’

  ‘So do I. Still.’

  ‘But you’re not –’

  He sighed. ‘Oh, no. She’s absolutely faithful to that old stuffed kilt. We’re just good friends.’

  ‘I wish we could be good friends, you and I. Maybe in a year or two we can be again.’

  ‘Maybe. Now, what about another cup of that filthy coffee, and we can drink to Roz’s downfall.’

  ‘All right. God, I wish it would happen.’

  ‘I’m afraid it won’t. Unless she goes off with this Browning fellow.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll never do that. She won’t risk losing everything.’

  ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘Never. He doesn’t come to London, for obvious reasons, and I’m hardly likely to meet him in New York.’

  ‘He’s a delight. Really. You’d like him. And he’d love you.’

  ‘Oh, David, don’t!’ She shuddered. ‘What a thought. That really would have me in the Thames in concrete boots.’

  ‘Is she that hostile?’

  ‘She’s that hostile.’

  ‘You poor kid.’

  ‘Nothing to be done about it. Go and get the coffee. We’ll drink that toast.’

  Roz was slightly regretting her action. It seemed to have achieved nothing: her father and Phaedria appeared to be closer than they had been for some months; David Sassoon, of whom she was very fond, was cold and distant towards her; and Michael Browning had been very outspoken in his criticism.

  They had met in Paris for the weekend, and were lying in bed in one of the suites at the Crillon. Whenever Roz was really down, Michael took her there, and spent the weekend in bed with her, making love to her, feeding her, pouring the finest champagne down her, showering her with presents and flowers and conducting his apparently tireless campaign to entice her away from her husband, her father and the company. So far, as he frequently observed, he was not having a great deal of success.

  ‘You’re mad, Rosamund. Crazy. All that kind of thing can accomplish is damage to yourself. You won’t win any battles that way. You have to box clever, darling. This is not the kindergarten. Remember Machiavelli.’

  ‘I didn’t think you knew anything about Machiavelli,’ said Roz sulkily. ‘You’re always saying you never had an education.’

  ‘No, as usual you weren’t listening. What I am always saying is I never had a conventional education. Machiavelli is compulsory study for any ambitious young man.’

  ‘Well, what do I have to remember about him anyway?’

  ‘Machiavelli said you either must promote, or execute. In other words take totally decisive action. No half measures.’

  ‘I don’t see what you mean. I’d love to execute Phaedria, of course. But I can’t. And it isn’t up to me to promote her.’

  ‘I don’t agree. Well, obviously your old man has to be doing the actual promoting. But you should encourage him. Make him think you’re coming round. Get him to give her more than she can handle. That way you’ll get rid of her far faster. An execution, masquerading as a promotion. Best of both worlds. And your hands will be clean.’

  ‘I’m afraid it won’t work,’ said Roz with a sigh. ‘She’s too damned clever. And she has half the company eating out of her hand, wanting to help her.’

  ‘This is defeatist talk. It doesn’t sound like you. I think I have to meet this lady. She seems to be getting the better of all of you. Maybe I should want to eat out of her hand and help her too.’

  ‘If you did,’ said Roz, ‘I swear to God I would kill you. First her, then you.’

  ‘In that case, I guess I’d better stay away.’

  The presentation to the sales force of the new range, at the annual sales conference, took place in Nice. Julian liked to make the sales force feel important, pampered; he installed them all in good hotels, gave them two days off to enjoy the place, and then put on an impressive show with the maximum of razzmatazz.

  Everybody who mattered was there, whether they were directly involved with the cosmetics or not, Julian’s rationale being that this was still, however large and successful a private company, a family affair. David was there, Roz was there, Letitia was there, Susan was there, Regency was there as the face of the campaign, and this year, of course Phaedria was there.

  It always followed the same theatrical form: Act One was a big general presentation by Freddy and Richard on the company and its success; Act Two a more detailed one by Annick Valery on the brands and their success; then an interval which took the form of superb lunch and the
announcement of the award winners: highest retail sales, highest trade sales, salesgirl of the year, and so on; and then in the afternoon the curtain went up on Act Three as the new products took the floor.

  This was the moment when Julian himself first spoke, and this year more than ever it was the high spot of the conference; he began with a brief, almost poetic talk on the Juliana image and its unique place in the market, and then he would normally hand over to Annick to give a more detailed presentation on the new colours, skin care and perfumes that would go on the counters in the year ahead. It wasn’t always an easy task: the consultants in particular were critical, demanding, asking difficult questions: about whether this product would clash with one already in the range, querying the rationale of that one, demanding to know why a slow line wasn’t being discontinued, or being advertised. Julian and Annick always listened to them patiently and courteously; these women were Juliana’s lifeline. If they had no faith in or understanding of a product, then they were not going to convince their customers that they needed it; and as importantly, if they knew a product didn’t or wouldn’t sell, it was worth hearing their explanation for it. And in return, the sales force had great respect for both Julian and Annick; their understanding of the cosmetic industry, their faith in their own products, the quality they always delivered. They listened to Julian today, enjoying, as they always did, his charming, slightly diffident humour, his courtesy, his way of conveying that he was a mere novice in the business, that he had much to learn from them, and then he moved into his presentation, explaining first that Annick had been giving him some tuition, as he was somewhat rusty in the art.

  ‘What we have for you today,’ he said, ‘is the first total range in Juliana since Naturally. I felt it was time for a completely new look, a new feel; we have moved away from that softness into something much more positive, more exciting, in a way. And so we have created a range, something quite different, a departure for Juliana, designed for the new woman.

  ‘It is called Lifestyle, and it is deliberately simple; a set of colours, of skin care, of fragrance which this new woman, the working woman, the powerful, busy woman will instantly recognize as the straightforward, swift route to beauty that she needs, and that nobody else is providing. We have cut out much of the complexity of cosmetics, particularly in the skin care range; just two very simple sets of products, morning and evening. Even the fragrance range will follow this concept; we are taking the mystique out of perfume, and simply offering one strength, one presentation – halfway between a perfume concentrate and an eau de toilette. Plus obviously a bath and body range.’