‘The lawyers are on to it. I have a detective agency working on it too.’
‘I guess Lady Morell is also trying to find him.’
‘No doubt she is.’
‘Some contest.’
‘I intend to win.’
‘I bet you do.’
‘Michael, you’re not being terribly nice to me.’
‘You haven’t been terribly nice to me.’
She looked at him, held his gaze, and took his hand; and for that moment all her toughness, her selfishness, her greed had left her eyes, and they were filled quite simply with longing and love.
‘I know. And I’m truly, truly sorry.’
‘Well,’ he said, fighting to retain some semblance of judgement, ‘I shall wait to see. Can you really not come back to the hotel with me now?’
‘No,’ she said, and he could see the immensity of what that cost her. ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t.’
‘Ah.’ He was silent for a moment; she looked down, fearing she might crack, weaken, even cry. Then he smiled, kissed her cheek.
‘It’s all right, that was unfair. I shouldn’t have asked. I wouldn’t cancel three vital meetings either, just on the off-chance of a glorious afternoon in the sack. Can I see you tonight?’
‘Oh, yes, most certainly tonight. This evening. I’ll be there at seven.’
‘What about Hubby?’
‘I’m divorcing Hubby.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that. Well, I suppose he’ll be divorcing me. He has enough grounds.’
‘Well, that’s sad.’
‘Is it?’
‘Of course it is. Jesus, Roz, you’re a tough cookie. It’s always sad when a marriage ends. You have to think that.’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Maybe. But we never really had a marriage, C. J. and I. Just an arrangement.’
‘Of your making. Rosamund, much as I love you, dearly as I like to be with you, desperately as I long to have you in my bed again, I want to make it very plain that I will not play some minor part in any convenient arrangement of yours. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Michael. Quite clear. I promise.’
He looked at her warily. He had learnt not to trust her promises.
Phaedria and C. J. began their detective work that night. Phaedria unlocked the huge desk in Julian’s study and they sifted patiently hour after hour through papers, letters, documents. It was meticulously filed, perfectly ordered; most of it was administrative stuff, deeds of houses, details of staff, invoices for work done, letters from lawyers in America, France, the Bahamas, about property, cars, horses, planes. Some of it was personal; there were letters from Roz at boarding school, brief, harsh, dutiful, and earlier ones which she had written to him when he had been away in New York, when she had been a little girl, loving, sad, brave little notes asking him to come home, to take Mummy back to Regent’s Park, telling him of her successes at dancing, at riding, at school; there were snapshots of her on her pony, in her ballet dress, in her first school uniform, and several of her with Julian, holding his hand, sitting on his knee, sitting on her pony beside him. Phaedria studied them in silence; her eyes filled with tears.
‘This is awful, C. J. It makes me feel so sad. He really really loved her. And she must have loved him so much. I don’t think I can take much more of this. I shall end up giving her my share and just retiring to the country.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said C. J. ‘I used to feel sorry for her too. But I don’t any more. Other people have tough childhoods. You did. But they survive. They don’t turn out psychopaths.’
Phaedria laughed shakily. ‘She’s not exactly a psychopath. But I suppose you’re right. Oh, look, here are the wedding pictures, with Eliza. Goodness, she was beautiful. And oh, C. J., look at Letitia. What a marvellous-looking woman she was. Is.’
‘She is such a very old lady suddenly,’ said C. J.
‘Yes, I’m afraid she is. But she’s amazingly brave. She’s an example to us all. Well, there’s nothing here, C. J., is there? We may as well call it a day.’
‘I guess so. You look tired. Why don’t I fix you a drink before I go?’
‘That would be lovely. I am tired. It’s not exactly easy, what I’m doing at the moment.’
‘Roz giving you a hard time?’
‘Very. The thing is I could easily give in, and just let her carry on for a bit. I still hold forty-nine per cent, so she can’t do anything much without me. But I just know she’d start politicking in earnest if my back was turned. I have to show my mettle.’
‘She certainly seems much happier,’ said C. J. with a sigh. ‘Browning’s been over.’
‘Yes. I know. I met him.’
‘Really? How on earth did that happen?’
‘Oh, he came to my office by mistake.’
‘I – I – hear he’s quite charming.’
‘Yes,’ said Phaedria briefly. ‘He seemed quite nice.’
‘I guess she’ll marry him now. In the fullness of time.’
‘I guess she will.’ She looked at him, but his face was blank.
‘How’s the flat-hunting?’
‘It’s good. I have a nice place, I think, just off Sloane Street. I’ve made an offer. Now what would you like to drink?’
‘Hot milk, with honey in it. A real nursery bedtime drink. Can you manage that?’
‘Sure. Now I think the next thing we have to do is repeat this same operation in New York. In Sutton Place.’
‘God,’ said Phaedria, ‘I don’t think I could possibly find the strength to fly over there just now. And my memories of Sutton Place are not the happiest.
‘You really have had a tough time, Phaedria. I suppose you’ve considered not doing all this? Just letting things go. You could settle down happily with your baby, probably marry again, spare yourself all this pain.’
‘No,’ said Phaedria firmly. ‘I haven’t considered it for a moment. Not one. The company matters desperately to me, it’s the most important thing I have left of Julian, apart from the baby, and I intend to keep it alive, in my own way. And I feel, in doing what he did, he made it clear he wanted me to remain involved in it, caring for it. Otherwise he would have left it all to Roz. No, C. J., I have to carry on.’
‘Well, I just thought I’d check it out. Phaedria, would you like me to go to Sutton Place? And the offices in New York? I wouldn’t mind. I know where everything is. I have the time. And besides –’ he smiled at her suddenly – ‘I’m not pregnant.’
‘Well, that’s true. Oh, C. J., I’d love it. But are you sure it won’t upset your book schedule?’
‘It will,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I don’t mind. Now I’m going to get your drink. You just wait there.’
When he came back with it she was asleep, her face peaceful, childlike, her hair tumbled on the cushions.
Eliza proved no more able to help than anyone else. Phaedria asked C. J. to contact Camilla while he was in New York – unable to bear to talk to her herself. The only other person Phaedria decided worth talking to was Sarah Brownsmith. Sarah, she felt, probably knew more about Julian than anyone in the world; both his public and his private life. And she was also clearly anxious to help. She had even moved her office down from the penthouse in order to act as Phaedria’s private secretary, and to prevent Roz from claiming any kind of injustice. Phaedria asked her to organize lunch for them both one day, and said she wanted to grill her. ‘I really need any help I can get. Anything at all you can think of. However small.’
‘Well,’ said Sarah, ‘I certainly have no notes, no addresses, no names that are going to do you any good. I have been through everything, and this Mr Blackworth of Mrs Emerson’s has already been to see me, as you know.’
‘Hmm. Let’s go at it a different way. Sarah, you knew him a very long time. Can you think of any time he might have behaved differently?’
‘Not really. He was, considering how – spoilt he was, very balanced, I always thought. Although –’ Sh
e looked at Phaedria quizzically. ‘There was something.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, it was quite soon after I came to work for him. Right at the beginning of the seventies. In 1971 to be precise. He became very depressed. Very depressed indeed. In fact one morning, I did actually find him in tears. I’ve never told anyone this, of course, there was no reason for me to, but I suppose it might be relevant now, he did at that time see a doctor quite regularly.’
‘Goodness,’ said Phaedria, ‘this is intriguing. What sort of a doctor?’
‘Well – a psychiatrist.’
‘My God. How regularly?’
‘Oh, twice a week, for nearly a year. I had the impression he was very troubled.’
‘This is truly extraordinary. Nobody, nobody at all has ever mentioned anything about this. That he was so unhappy or anything. Do you by any chance have a note of this doctor’s name?’
‘I can find it. Just a minute.’
She came back with her address file. ‘Doctor Friedman. Doctor Margaret Friedman. She practised in the Marylebone Road. I have her number. Would you like it?’
‘I certainly would. Sarah, you’re an angel. Thank you.’
‘It’s a pleasure, Lady Morell. Would you like your nap now?’
‘No, I’m much too excited to sleep. Try this number straight away, will you? I can’t wait to talk to her.’
Doctor Friedman, said the receptionist, was away for a fortnight. She was quite happy to make an appointment for Lady Morell on her return. Would an early morning be convenient? And yes, quite convenient, said Lady Morell, just as early as Doctor Friedman liked.
‘Very well,’ said the brisk voice on the other end of the phone. ‘Eight thirty on Monday, August first.’
With which Lady Morell had to force herself to be content.
She was sitting in her office quite early one morning in July while C. J. was away in the States, when the phone rang. It was Henry Winterbourne.
‘Phaedria! I have some news.’
‘Oh, my God,’ said Phaedria, leaning back in her chair, closing her eyes, ‘What, Henry, what is it?’
‘Well, it’s quite a big lead actually. I have been advertising in all the major cities in the States, as you know; I got a letter a few days ago from a lawyer called Bill Wilburn in San Francisco, saying his nephew was Miles Wilburn. I didn’t tell you, I’ve had dozens of the things, all saying they were Miles Wilburn, they were his mother, his son, his second cousin’s stepgrandmother . . .’
‘Oh, go on, go on,’ said Phaedria, ‘do get to the point, Henry.’
‘Well, I wrote the standard letter, saying could he ask Mr Wilburn to contact us direct, and saying that the news we had for him was to his advantage. And he phoned. This morning.’
‘And?’
‘And, well, it was a most extraordinary, intriguing phone call. He wanted to know naturally if there was money involved. And then he said he presumed I was acting for Hugo Dashwood.’
‘Who?’
‘Exactly. I thought you’d be interested. Hugo Dashwood.’
‘And then what?’
‘Well, then I said no, I was acting for the Morell family. Bill Wilburn just didn’t understand why I didn’t know who Hugo Dashwood was. He did sound rather drunk. He said he knew Hugo Dashwood, that he was English, and he’d assumed that he’d left his nephew, Miles Wilburn, some money. He said he hoped so, because Miles had just borrowed some money from him. I said was this Hugo Dashwood related to his nephew and he said, yes, he believed he might be.’
‘Oh,’ said Phaedria, ‘this is just too exciting for words. And baffling. Then what?’
‘Well, then I decided this chap had to be genuine, and so I said we’d pay his fare to come over to England and see us.’
‘Why didn’t you ask him to give us Miles’ address?’
‘I did. He said he’d rather come and talk to us first. He said what he had to say was highly confidential and delicate, and he didn’t want Miles involved until he was satisfied it was really going to benefit him.’
‘How extraordinary. So when is he coming?’
‘Very soon. I’ve asked Jane to book a flight in the next day or so. She’ll ring him when it’s fixed.’
‘Henry, you’re a genius.’
‘No, just lucky. I think.’
‘Er – Henry, have you told anyone else in the family yet?’
‘No, as a matter of fact I haven’t. Roz is away, I understand, for a few days in Washington, so I can’t get hold of her, and I didn’t want to trouble her with what might prove to be a false lead.’
‘Of course not. And she is extremely busy, just now, getting down to her new post as acting president of the hotels.’
‘Quite.’
‘Let me know the minute you can when he’s coming, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
Next morning, Jane Gould came in to Henry’s office looking upset.
‘What is it, Jane? Having trouble with your new word processor?’
‘No, Mr Winterbourne. I’ve just phoned Mr Wilburn’s office in San Francisco. There’s some hysterical girl on the phone who says he’s dead. Apparently he had a car crash last night. And before you ask, there’s no family at all that we can talk to. What on earth do we do now?’
The Connection Twelve
Miami and Nassau, 1985
MILES THOUGHT MIAMI was just about the most awful place he had ever been to in his life. It made the early days in Nassau look like paradise. Even the relief of getting old Marcia off his back, with Bill Wilburn’s totally unexpected help – God, why hadn’t he asked him before – didn’t make life seem much better.
At first sight the beach had looked all right, and there was at least the suspicion of surf rolling in on to it; but he discovered very quickly that it was nothing but a huge, man-made people-park, covered in a lot of what seemed to him very old people and an endless procession of film crews. It had no soul like the beaches of California, no shape to it, and no land behind it, just mile after mile of high-rise buildings. He liked the south end better, Old Miami as it was called, with its little colony of deco hotels and buildings, but it was still basically part of what seemed to him the same nightmare, just concrete and more concrete, straight lines and endless streets. What he couldn’t understand was how proud and pleased everybody seemed to be with the place. The number of tourists, they kept telling him, was rising every year, every month; at least five million last year. There were the most incredible number of new roads being built, and all kinds of new developments, like Bayside, the waterfront development, and then there were all the wonderful things like the Seaquarium and the Metrozoo, and had he been to Everglades and the Tropical Garden and . . .
Miles smiled his lovely smile and said, no, not yet, but he was certainly looking forward to it. Then he got his head down at the bank, took the cheapest room he could find, and immediately set about saving his fare back to Nassau.
It was Mrs de Launay who saw the advertisement.
‘Look at this,’ she said to her husband excitedly. ‘Someone wants to contact Miles. At least I suppose it’s him.’
‘Must be,’ he said. ‘There can’t be many Miles Wilburns about. I wonder if Marcia has seen this.’
‘Shouldn’t think so. Should I show it to her, do you think?’
‘Well of course you should. Don’t ask such absurd questions, Alicia. It could be important.’
Alicia was shy. ‘But she might think I was interfering. She might already have seen it. I don’t like to.’
‘All right.’ He shrugged. ‘Have it your own way.’
‘Oh, well – maybe I should.’
She went to Marcia’s house later that day. Marcia was sitting doing her needlepoint; Dorothy was asleep upstairs.
‘Forgive me for interfering in your business, Marcia, but I wondered if you’d seen this?’
‘What’s that, Alicia?’
‘It’s an advertisement in the paper. For Miles to g
et in touch with some solicitors in England.’
‘Well, for heavens’ sakes,’ said Marcia. ‘Let me see. Good heavens. I wonder what that can be about.’
‘Usually they’re about money, Marcia. Legacies. You know. Someone might have left him a lot of money.’
‘I doubt it. No one in that family has a penny to their name.’
‘Well, you never know. Don’t you think you should at least tell Dorothy – Mrs Kelly.’
‘Yes, I expect you’re right, Alicia. Thank you for letting me know. Now, would you like some tea?’
Marcia thought hard about the advertisement after Alicia had gone. It might well be that the boy had come into some money. But so what? It was very nice without him, and he would probably come back if he didn’t have to work in the bank in Miami, and start hanging round the house all day. And if it was a lot of money, then he would probably move away, and take Dotty with him. He was genuinely very fond of her and he had often said that one day he would make a new home for them both. Marcia didn’t want Dotty going away. Not now. She felt proprietorial towards her. She felt she was hers to look after; she couldn’t imagine life without her. And there was certainly no way Miles would put any of his money her way. She would end up lonely, and poorer than she was now. Once the house in Malibu was sold, then she and Dotty would be very well off.
No, there was absolutely nothing to be gained by letting Miles see this advertisement. She put it with all the letters under her bed. It was a good thing Larissa didn’t have a curious disposition.
Mason McCall saw the advertisement too. He thought about it for a long time and then decided to put it where he felt it belonged: in the trash. There was nothing wrong with Miles, in fact he liked him, but he knew that he and Candy wanted to get married and right now she was much too young. Also right now there was no way it could happen; the boy had a job at last which was something in his favour, but it certainly wasn’t going to provide enough to keep a wife, and the two of them were just going to have to wait.
Advertisements of this kind usually meant money and money in this case would mean wedding bells and Mason had no desire to hear them.
Old Sins Page 82
