There was another option, of course, which was simply to go back to Candy and the beach, and leave them all to it, but that would mean sacrificing the money. Miles reflected rather wistfully on the seven or eight figures. It was an awful lot of money. Too much. Too much for one person. Of course he could do a lot of good things with it, give lots away, to people like Father Kennedy, and his grandmother, and Little Ed and Larissa and the boys in the bars, but it would still leave a lot behind. He wondered if he might just go home without it. He had an uneasy feeling Candy wouldn’t be too pleased. And it would land him right back in the same old situation, with him not being able to marry her, and maybe doing awful dreary jobs like the one in the bank.
He went over his conversation with Henry Winterbourne again:
‘You are a very very rich young man. You have been left a two per cent share in this company, which is worth, at a modest estimate, four billion pounds. The other beneficiaries to the company, as opposed to the personal, fortune, Mrs Emerson and Lady Morell, each hold forty-nine per cent of the shares. I need hardly spell out, I feel, the crucial role you have to play. Whether you get involved with the company or not.’
‘No cash, no money, just on its own, with no strings?’ Miles had asked hopefully.
‘No cash,’ said Henry firmly. ‘If you want cash, you have to sell. Or, of course, become a salaried director of the company. Which you are perfectly entitled to do, in any case.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Miles had said, ‘what a creep.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Henry had said, and Miles had apologized, and said nothing, he hadn’t meant anything, and had asked Henry what two per cent meant in hard cash terms, and Henry had told him. And it was all very scary.
Miles sighed. Maybe he could go and see the old lady, he liked Letitia the best. Even if she wouldn’t talk about the women, as he had come to think of Roz and Phaedria, he would like to hear more about her youth and how she had practically been engaged to the Prince of Wales, almost become Queen of England. And she might be able to offer him some advice at the same time. Miles dialled Letitia’s number, invited himself to dinner, dressed himself up in the new clothes he had bought the day before – an off the peg, dark grey wool suit from Gieves and Hawkes, a pale blue island cotton shirt from Harvie & Hudson, and a splendid hand embroidered red silk waistcoat from S. Fisher in the Burlington Arcade – and then, looking quite heartbreakingly and romantically handsome, carrying a huge bouquet of pink sweetheart roses, set off on foot (ensconsed in his new loafers from Wildsmith’s of Prince’s Arcade) to win Letitia’s heart further.
Phaedria sat in her white study in Hanover Terrace, trying to concentrate on the company reports, sheets of figures, financial forecasts she had had brought from the office. Whatever else happened to her now, she had to get back to work. That was a clear, crucial need. It could wait no longer. She had to get back and she had to try and win; and in that case she needed to be absolutely au fait with the situation in the company. It had been one hell of a day.
She went over it in her head as she began to tidy up the files: first Michael’s phone call – God, why hadn’t she been able to get hold of him, where was he, she had phoned four, five times, to try and apologize, to explain why she had slammed the phone down, to tell him about Roz’s visit. His secretary had just kept saying he was out, and Franco had exhibited his quite outstanding capacity for saying nothing at all. Well, she could try again tomorrow.
And then there had been the hideousness of Roz and what she had done to her; it wasn’t so much her words, she could have anticipated every one of them, it had been her style of delivery, the burning hatred in her eyes, the ugly rawness in her voice.
Maybe she should duck out. Offer Miles some more of the company, sell out to Roz. Why not? What possible future for her lay in that writhing, albeit gilt-edged, can of worms?
Upstairs she heard Julia yelling lustily; there was certainly nothing fragile about her these days. She would fix herself a cup of warm milk (feeding babies induced a desire for such childish pleasures), take herself up to the nursery and meditate upon the advantages and possibilities of a new future away from Morell Industries.
Holding her mug of milk she walked into the nursery; the baby had worked herself into a fury and was kicking frantically, her small face red with rage, her fists flailing indignantly at the unsympathetic air. Phaedria smiled, put down her cup and bent over, pulling back the covers, murmuring to Julia; she looked up at her mother, suddenly silent for a moment, and fixed her with a gaze of great intensity from her dark eyes. Julian’s eyes. Julian’s baby. His legacy to her, just as much as the money, the company, the nightmare. What of her father lay in this small, tough little creature? His brain, his charm, his capacity for survival? What would he have wished for her? What was her due as his daughter?
Things suddenly became very clear to Phaedria. Julia was the heiress to this kingdom now, as much as Roz. She might turn her back on it, walk away, on her own account, but she could not do it for Julia. That was not a decision she could or should make.
The company was her inheritance, bequeathed to her, unknowingly, by her father; he would want it to be hers. She would never know her father, but she could know what he had done, what he had fought for and created, and through that she would learn much of him, appreciate his brilliance, his shrewdness, his toughness, his power. Phaedria could talk to her about him, show her photographs, make sure she knew and loved the people and things that he had known and loved. But the company, the heart of the company, was also the heart of Julian, a living manifestation of what he had been. And so Julia had to be part of it too.
Well, she thought, stroking the small head, playing with the small, frond-like fingers, feeling the strong, satisfying sensation of the hungry little mouth working at her breast, how did that alter the situation? Did it mean she could not, after all, walk away from it all, did it mean she had to battle on indefinitely? Probably, and it would be painful and wearisome, but at least now there seemed some sense in it all. And what of Miles’ share? He had not even begun to understand the complexity of this situation even as it had stood; if she were to attempt to explain the factor of Julia in the equation, he would be still more confused. No, that was wrong, he would not be confused: Miles was not stupid: far from it. She felt for a moment the nightmare, the monster, surfacing again; she crushed it relentlessly down.
A thought suddenly roared through her brain; she sat frozen, still, turning it over. Would Miles sell his share to Julia? God, how neatly, how gloriously beautifully neatly that would resolve things. What was the sum Henry had mentioned? Eighty million. Could she raise that and buy the share on Julia’s behalf? It was a great deal of money. It would mean selling many things: pictures, jewellery, houses, but she could probably do it. And then what would the legal implications of that be? As Julia’s mother, it would to all practical purposes give her control. Roz would fight it to the death; Miles might not agree. But she could ask him. She could see what he thought.
She looked at her watch. It was nearly midnight. He would probably be asleep. Not the best time. She wanted his head clear when she talked to him. She would ring him in the morning. Maybe she should talk to Richard or Henry first. Richard. He would be more realistic about it, take a more pragmatic view. It might be quite impossible. It might be against the law. But she couldn’t really see why. She suddenly felt excited, exhilarated, her weariness forgotten. If only she could talk to someone. She looked down at the head now lolling blissfully relaxed against her and smiled: in time, Julia could fulfil that role for her. She was not alone for ever.
‘Come along, little one,’ she said aloud. ‘You can’t go to sleep yet. I have to change your nappy. And I have some news for you. Mummy has had an idea . . .’
She was so engrossed in her thoughts and her task that it took her a long time to realize the phone was ringing. She picked up the nursery extension, a safety pin still in her mouth.’
‘Yes?’ she said, her voic
e muffled.
‘Phaedria?’ Michael Browning’s voice came at her, disturbing her, delighting her, across the Atlantic, rough, angry, as she had never heard it. ‘Phaedria, I have phoned to say three things. One is that I love you. Two is that I intend that you should marry me. And three is that you are never, ever to put the phone down on me again.’
Chapter Twenty-six
London, New York, Los Angeles, Nassau, 1985
IT WAS CANDY who voiced the nightmare: Candy who took the dark, ugly shape from the recesses of all their minds, shook it, held it up to the light, and ultimately managed to dispel it for all of them. Candy, who was the only person sufficiently detached from it all to be able to face it and to wonder that they could not.
Miles had flown into Nassau ten days after he had left, and Candy had met him, radiant with relief and delight to have him back.
‘Hey,’ she said, ‘you look wonderful. Kind of tired and a bit old, but wonderful.’
Miles put his arm round her, looking down at her pretty, freckled little face, and moved his hand appreciatively down over her small firm backside. ‘You feel wonderful,’ he said.
‘Thanks. I missed you.’
‘I missed you too. Do I really look tired and old?’
‘Yeah but –’ she looked at him consideringly – ‘it kind of suits you. You look grown up. I love the clothes.’
‘Candy, I tell you the shops in London are just something else. You have to come and see them.’
‘Well, they certainly look it. Where’d you get that jacket?’
‘In Harrods. It’s by this guy called Armani. I got a whole load of stuff of his.’
‘What’d you get for me?’
‘Oh, baby, just you wait and see what I got for you. Well, apart from this. This is the most important present –’ he looked round to make sure no one was looking, then took her small hand and pressed it over his erect penis, bulging at the fly of his (mercifully baggy) linen trousers – ‘this is what I really can’t wait to give you.’
‘Well, I think I want the other things first,’ said Candy, smiling up at him. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the hotel. Daddy’s out till tonight and Dolly has a new boyfriend, I really think she might take off with him.’
Later, lying blissfully sated beside him, her head cradled on his chest, the floor beside the bed covered with packages and bags from Harrods and Harvey Nichols and St Laurent and Chanel, spilling silk shirts and satin lingerie and belts and bags and earrings and chains, she said, ‘Why did you come back so soon?’
‘For this,’ he said, stroking her pubic mound, smiling as she squirmed against his hand, kissing the top of her golden head. ‘I couldn’t stand not having you any longer.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Well, what was the other reason? This was a pretty expensive screw.’
‘Worth it, though.’
‘Well, I guess you can afford it now.’
‘Not really,’ he said, ‘I don’t have any cash at all, until I sell my share. But, well, Henry Winterbourne arranged with the bank to make me a loan against the capital. So I do in a way.’
‘Good.’
‘So why did you come back? There must be women in London.’
‘There are,’ he said, ‘but not like you. No, I needed to get away. It’s pretty rarefied air over there. I needed time to think. I said originally I’d stay till I’d decided, but it was all really getting to me.’
‘Tell me about them. Maybe I can help.’
He sighed. ‘It would be nice if you could. It’s a real cesspit of emotions. I mean first there’s Roz, she’s really nice, uptight as hell, incredibly frustrated . . .’
‘Hey,’ said Candy. ‘I don’t know that I like the sound of this. What does she look like?’
‘Oh, she’s pretty sexy,’ he said, patting her bottom fondly. ‘Not beautiful exactly, well not at all, but the most amazing figure, very very tall, she’s really hot stuff.’
‘Uh-huh . . .’
‘Yeah, I could do a lot with her. Well anyway, then you should see her mother. She’s nearly fifty, and she really is a hot pants. Knockout looking, too. She’s married to this really neat old guy, he’s a lord, and he has a castle . . .’
‘A real castle?’
‘Well, it sure as hell isn’t made of cardboard. But anyway, it’s Roz who has one share. And then there’s Phaedria, who was married to the Creep, as we now know – Jesus, what a pantomime.’
‘That’s a wild name. What’s she like?’
‘I’m not sure. She seems real nice, but you can’t tell. She’s very beautiful too, she has the most incredible hair. And she has this little baby –’
‘Is that the Creep’s baby?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s sad for her.’
‘Yeah, it is. Well anyway, she lives all on her own in this great house in London, with God knows how many servants, and she has a few more scattered about the globe. And she’s been having an affair, well I think she might have been, with Roz’s bloke.’
‘My God, Miles, this is worse than Dallas.’
‘I know. And then there’s Letitia. Roz’s grandmother. Mother of the Creep. How she managed that I’ll never know. She is a really fun old lady. She’s eighty-seven, and she is just wild. She was nearly Queen of England,’ he added.
‘Queen of England? What, instead of this one?’
‘No, instead of her mom. She had this huge affair with that old guy who used to live here, you know, the Duke of Windsor, and she would have married him if he hadn’t met Mrs Simpson.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Candy. ‘This is really amazing. Can you imagine what the de Launays would say if they knew? So anyway, you have to choose between these two women? The sexy one and the one with the funny name?’
‘Yup. It’s awesome, Candy, it really is. I just can’t begin to make up my mind.’
‘Do you absolutely have to?’
‘Well, there are options. I could not sell at all, but then we wouldn’t have any of the money. I could sell to someone else, which is quite an attractive notion, because then I wouldn’t have to decide. But God knows where I’d find someone with x zillion pounds who’d take this lot on.’
‘Er, how many zillion is it, Miles?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘I have to ask.’
‘About eighty million.’
‘Shee-it.’
‘I know. Well anyway, I could sell one per cent to one of them, and keep the other. But then I’d still have to choose, so it wouldn’t help me. God, it’s awful. What do you think?’
Candy was silent, contemplating what eighty million dollars could do for her. Then she said, ‘I don’t know, Miles, I really don’t. Which of them do you think needs it more?’
‘I guess Roz, in a way. She’s more desperate. But the old lady, Letitia, the Queen you know, she said I should think real hard about it, because Phaedria has the little baby, and so that makes a difference. I mean maybe she has more of a right to it. The other thing is that Roz hates Phaedria so much I think she’d kill her if she did get hold of it. I really do.’
‘Jesus,’ said Candy. ‘What a mess.’
‘I know. And it’s all such a mystery. I mean, why did it all have to happen at all? Why did I have to be involved?’
She turned in the bed and looked up at him.’
‘Seems pretty obvious to me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, Miles, I can’t believe you haven’t worked it out. You’re not that dumb.’
He looked at her, dreading what she was going to say, longing to confront it, to get it over with.
‘Maybe I am. You tell me.’
‘Well, it seems absolutely clear to me.’
‘What does?’
‘Well, that you were Mr Dashwood’s son.’
Miles was silent. Hearing it spoken, acknowledged as a possibility, made it feel just a little less dreadful, a lot more unlikely. He st
ared at Candy, smiling rather uncertainly.
‘Oh, no. No, that is just dumb.’
‘It’s not dumb, Miles. Why else should he have done such a thing?’
‘I don’t know about that. I just know my mom wouldn’t have – couldn’t have – anyway, he would have said, she would have said –’
‘What? When?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. But what I do know is, that is just absolutely impossible.’
‘OK.’ She shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. Seems quite possible to me. Shouldn’t you at least – talk to them all about it?’
‘Candy, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. They’re upset about it enough as it is.’
‘I bet they’ve thought of it. I bet you one of those eighty million they did. I think you should ask them.’
‘Well, maybe.’ He was silent, meditating on what she had just said. ‘Jesus, I can’t think of anything more awful. Being the Creep’s son. My mom and him. Jeez, Candy, you just have to be wrong.’
‘And you never thought of it? Really?’
‘Well,’ he said, with a rather shaky smile, ‘actually, I sort of did. And then wouldn’t let myself think any further.’
‘I bet you they all did the same. I really think you should talk to them about it.’
‘Oh well, maybe I will. When I get back.’
She looked at him. She had never seen him so strained, so unhappy. She decided to try and change the subject a little, distract him.
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