They were lying in bed on the afternoon of New Year’s Day; they had been skating in the Rockefeller Centre and lunched off the street stalls on pretzels and knish, and cans of root beer; they had planned to go on down to Chinatown, but Michael had suddenly looked at Phaedria as she sat in the cold sunshine, the light spangling her wild hair, biting hungrily into her food, and had felt a wave of longing for her so strong it caught his breath. He had reached out and touched her face and without a word she had stood up and taken his hand and they had walked swiftly, urgently all the way up to Fifth Avenue, up to the apartment block, into the lift, up into the duplex, the bedroom, and then facing one another, still not speaking, their eyes fixed on one another, they had torn off their clothes and fallen, hungrily, greedily on to one another and the bed.
Later he had got up, she had been half asleep, and made some hot chocolate and brought it to her and had sat beside her, feeding her morsels of crumbled chocolate flake bar, occasionally bending to kiss her breasts.
‘I like them better small,’ he said. ‘They were nice big, and I look forward to seeing them big again when we have our children, but right now I like them small.’
‘How many children are we going to have?’ she asked.
‘Oh, not too many. Around a dozen.’
‘Six of each?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘twelve the same, all girls. Just like their mother.’
‘I love you,’ she said.
‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘Now you see, I was right, wasn’t I?’
‘What about?’
‘About us.’
‘Yes, I think you were. Was –’ she hesitated – ‘is – well, is the sex all right?’
‘No,’ he said, smiling at her, into her eyes, ‘no, it isn’t all right. It’s lovely. Beautiful. You’re very special.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Don’t look so worried. What a naïve question.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know, but I am naïve, sexually. I do worry about it. I’ve only had – well, one lover really. Often I didn’t even want him.’
‘Really?’ he said, and his eyes lit up. ‘That is just amazing. Tell me about it.’
‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘you’ve got your interested face on.’
‘I am interested. Really. Come on, tell me about it.’
‘Michael, I can’t. It feels like a betrayal.’
‘You can. It’s not a betrayal. You’ve been terribly loyal to him. This is important. It’s about you. About us. Now come on. Tell me about it.’
She told him. Not everything, but a lot. About her fears that she was sexually cold; about how she had learnt to pretend for Julian; about how she had never really wanted to go to bed with anyone else, before or since. ‘Except you,’ she added truthfully.
‘And how was it for you, Lady Morell? With me, I mean.’
‘It was lovely,’ she said truthfully. ‘But then – well, it’s only just begun. I may start having to pretend for you. I’m sure Roz never –’ her voice trailed off.
Michael looked at her, his face softening with tenderness. ‘Yesterday morning must have been real bad for you.’
‘No, it wasn’t. Really. And the afternoon was lovely.’
‘I hope so. I really do. Did you ever wonder if it was us guys making your sex life a misery, rather than yourself? No, I guess you wouldn’t. OK, let’s talk about Roz. Roz is one sexy lady. She’s a great lay. No, don’t look like that, we need to talk her out of our bed. Screwing you is different. Gentler. Softer. Less greedy. I have loved it. I think I always shall love it. And I want you to promise me that if you ever don’t love it, you will tell me instead of getting that tortured psyche of yours into a terrible tangle. All right?’
‘All right. I love you very much.’
‘I love you too. And I don’t think you’re seriously frigid. Not seriously.’
She smiled at him.
‘And when are you going to marry me?’
‘Oh, Michael, I don’t know,’ she said, suddenly anxious. ‘We have so much to resolve before I can think about that.’
‘What do we have to resolve?’ he said, his voice light, but his face wary, watchful.
‘You know what. The company. Miles. Roz. Everything.’
‘Roz and Miles I can see. The company I can’t. You can just leave it. Come and live here with me. Forget all about it.’
‘Michael, I can’t do that. I really can’t.’
‘Why not, for Christ’s sake?’ he said and there was real anger in his voice. ‘Jesus, I spent years waiting to get Roz away from that thing. I don’t intend to spend years more waiting for you. Just give it all up.’
‘No,’ she said, and her dark eyes were steady, in spite of a gripping fear. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘Because Julian left it to me. Because I care about it. But most of all for Julia.’
‘Julia? What’s she got to do with it?’
‘A lot.’
‘How?’
‘Michael, she’s Julian’s child. He didn’t know about her, but if he had he would have wanted her to have it. All of it possibly. Certainly a lot. He probably wouldn’t have played this bloody silly game with Miles and Roz and me at all.’
‘I think he would. I think he would have had even more fun. Tangling you all up, having you tripping over one another. God, I thought I’d finally got rid of the guy, and he’s still coming at me from the grave.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘If you’re sorry, Phaedria, prove it. Say you’ll give it up. Come to New York. Marry me.’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I thought a few minutes ago, you said you loved me.’
‘I did. I do love you. I know I do.’
‘Pardon me, but I think you don’t.’
She sat and looked at him, amazed at her calm in the face of the terrifying, sudden storm.
‘I do love you, Michael, but I can’t do what you want. I can’t give up the company. Not yet. Maybe later when it’s settled, when I have a trust fund organized for Julia, when Miles has made up his mind, when the thing is running on a proper constructive basis, when Roz and I have a modus operandi, when . . .’
‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘No. I’m sorry, Phaedria, but I will not play junior lead to that company. I will not.’
‘I don’t understand you,’ she said.
‘You don’t understand? Dear God, how am I supposed to? Just what do you want me to do? Give everything up this end, move over there, sit around waiting for you to come home every night?’
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Just wait. Just try to see.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t deliver. I’m tired of waiting. And I don’t see. How you can let that tangle of power and intrigue get to you, and keep you away from your own happiness.’
‘But if you’d only . . .’
‘Maybe I do see,’ he said, and there was a great heavy sadness in his voice. ‘I see that in your own way you are as greedy as Roz. And as selfish. I see that like her, you want it all your way. My love, your way. Well you can have my love Phaedria, but only my way.’
‘Which means?’
‘You know what it means. You have to give it up.’
‘I can’t. I told you.’
‘Well then,’ he said.
‘Then – what?’
‘Then you may as well go. Go back to it. Now.’
‘Very well.’
She got up silently; walked to the shower, dressed, packed her things. Put on her coat, stood facing him. He was still naked on the bed, stricken, but yet angry.
‘Shall I have Franco take you to the airport?’
‘Yes, please. It would be helpful.’
‘I hope,’ he said, with a huge sigh, pulling on his towelling robe, walking over to the house telephone, buzzing Franco, ‘I hope you know what you are doing.’
‘I’m afraid I do,’ she said. ‘I am very very
sad, but I’m afraid I do.’
She had thought at first, as she sat, frozen with shock and disbelief in the car, amazed that happiness and love could turn so swiftly to pain and distancing, that she would go straight home, but she decided to go to Eleuthera after all. She needed time on her own, peace, a base to reflect from. And she felt instinctively that that house, that place, where she had been only once, and then much in love with Julian, was the natural one to be.
It was a totally fateful decision.
Julia first became ill around lunch time on New Year’s Day. She had had a cough ever since the beginning of Christmas, but suddenly it got worse. Her temperature began to climb, she was restless, fretful. Nanny Hunter, initially calm, began to worry. At tea time she sent for the GP. He came at once, looked Julia over, listened to her small chest and then put his stethoscope away, looking mildly worried.
‘I really don’t think there’s much to worry about. She has a slight chest infection, I wouldn’t take any notice at all, if it weren’t for her history. I’ll leave you some antibiotic to give her, call me if she gets any worse.’
Nanny Hudson, comforted, gave Julia the antibiotic, persuaded her to take her bottle and put her to bed. She seemed calmer and went to sleep.
Two hours later, she woke up crying. She was extremely hot, coughing violently; Nanny Hudson phoned the GP. He came back, examined the baby carefully again, and then said, ‘I wouldn’t do this if her mother was here, but I think perhaps she should go to hospital. Just to be on the safe side. There’s an excellent one in Eastbourne, you can be there in half an hour. I presume someone can drive you. I’m sure she’ll be fine tomorrow, but it will be a better place for her, and you, to spend the night.’
‘All right, Doctor Spender,’ said Nanny Hudson, trying to fight down the fear that was rising in her. ‘If that’s what you think, I would feel happier too. Should I get Lady Morell home?’
‘Where is she?’
‘In New York.’
‘Hmm. I suppose you should tell her. She could get home very quickly if she wanted to. Which I expect she would. Yes, give her a call.’
Nanny Hudson, her hands trembling, dialled the number Phaedria had given her in New York. There was no reply. She packed a bag for Julia and herself and tried again. Still no reply. Pete was waiting with the car. She decided to try again from the hospital.
Miles, Roz, Eliza and Peveril were still celebrating New Year.
Peveril had insisted on giving a party for Hogmanay in Miles’ honour, and most of the county had come to the castle for champagne and Scottish reels, (interspersed with the occasional Charleston from Letitia) and to see the New Year piped in. Miles had found the whole thing, but particularly the reels, totally enchanting, and joined in with immense enthusiasm, insisting on borrowing a kilt from Peveril, which being rather too large for him, had fallen down in the middle of an Eightsome Reel. This had greatly added to the enjoyment of the women guests, particularly as he had insisted on adhering strictly to Scottish male dress and not worn any underpants.
On the evening of New Year’s Day they had gone to dinner with Peveril’s sister and her husband thirty miles away, on the other side of Sidlaw Hills. Letitia, reluctant to miss out on any fun, and still more reluctant to admit she was feeling her age, had still been forced to admit that a quiet evening on her own might be an attractive idea.
She had just settled down with her feet up and switched her television on when she heard the telephone; Monro, the butler, knocked on her door and said could she come, there was an urgent call for her.
It was Nanny Hudson, now at the hospital in Eastbourne; Julia’s temperature was still rising, she seemed to be in considerable pain, and they were considering putting her in an oxygen tent. There was no reply to the number in New York Lady Morell had given her, did Mrs Morell have any idea where else she might be contactable?
‘Oh, God,’ said Letitia. ‘Poor Phaedria. Poor child. If anything happens to that baby, I think she will kill herself. No, Nanny. I’m sorry, I don’t. I thought she was in Eleuthera anyway.’
‘She will be tomorrow, madam, but not today. She should still be in New York, she specifically said that there would always be someone there to take messages, even if she was out for a while herself.’
‘Oh, Nanny, this is awful. How bad is the baby?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Nanny Hudson, and Letitia could hear the struggle to keep panic from invading her voice. ‘Quite bad. Her temperature is a hundred and four. I feel very very worried.’
‘Is there a good doctor there? Oh, if only you were in London. If only I was in London.’
‘I think the staff here is excellent. The consultant paediatrician is on his way. But I think – well, I’m sure actually – I’m afraid – she may be developing pneumonia.’
‘Dear God. Nanny, stay there, keep calm. Oh, what nonsense I’m talking, you are far calmer than I. I will phone the house on Eleuthera, it’s easier for me, and leave a message to meet Lady Morell at Nassau, in case she’s on her way there now, and stop her travelling on to Eleuthera. That will save hours of time tomorrow at least. Oh, God, and she could have been home in just a few hours from New York. This is terrible. Well, maybe she will come back tonight, still. I’ll keep trying the number for you, if you like, and then you won’t have to leave the baby. Nanny, let me know if there’s any change, won’t you? This is terrible.’
She put the phone down and called the house at Turtle Cove. It was quite early in the day there. Jacintha, the housekeeper, said no, Lady Morell was not expected until the next day at lunch time.
‘Well, Jacintha, you must get Nelson to go to Nassau. Immediately. Wait for Lady Morell there. Tell her to go back to England. I will have a message left for her at the airport, of course, but to be on the safe side, I think Nelson should go as well.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jacintha was sulky. She had been looking forward to a good New Year holiday with Nelson, they had planned a boat trip, and a bottle of champagne from Sir Julian’s cellar. They thought of the house as more and more their own, now that visitors came so rarely and the master had gone. Still, a baby was a precious thing, and if Lady Morell’s baby was ill, then she must be sent home at once. Although what she had been doing away without the baby, Jacintha could not imagine. They were strange folks, the rich English.
Phaedria caught a flight to Nassau quite quickly. She could see it was going to mean spending the night there, that there would be no connecting flight until next day, but she felt a compulsion to get away from New York. Strange how the city was haunted by unhappiness for her.
She began to come to on the plane, her emotions thawing into painful life. Michael’s words kept coming back to her: ‘You are as selfish as Roz . . . as greedy as Roz . . . Go, go now . . . I will not play junior lead to that company.’
Oh, God, what had she done? Why had she done it? Was it really greed, selfishiness? No, no she knew it wasn’t. She had acted from a strong, almost primeval urge to protect her territory and her family. Julian had bequeathed her the birthright of the company and it was Julia’s birthright and she had to safeguard it for her. That was all there was to it. And if she had to lose all that was personally dear to her to do it, then she would have to endure that. It seemed cruel, horribly cruel that she should have to lose Michael and happiness when she had only just discovered both, but she honestly felt there was little option.
Thinking about Michael, what he had become to her in thirty-six short hours, pain almost overcame her, made her physically faint. He had brought her joy, laughter, tenderness, love; he had made her feel safe, peaceful, cared for, at ease. She could see, with a vivid clarity, all that her life could have become, all that she had deprived it of; and yet she had had, she knew, no choice at all. She had made a decision, although she had not known it, first, when she had married Julian, and then when she had borne his child, that she would become part of him and his life, and that life had included, indeed in large part consisted of, the
company. And there could be no going back from it now.
In a hospital, thousands of miles away, her baby for the second time in her short, tender life, fought death, drawing strength from where or what she did not know: but with a spirit that was a legacy from her father, who had lost his own battle finally, and a mother who had a courage of her own, the full extent of which she had only just discovered.
Letitia was still up, pacing the Great Hall, willing the phone to ring, when the others came back from their party, laughing, talking loudly, full of ‘did you see’ and ‘wasn’t she?’ and ‘didn’t he?’
‘Granny Letitia, whatever is it?’ said Roz quickly, taking in her grandmother’s white face, her haunted eyes. ‘It isn’t – it isn’t – ?’
And no, said Letitia, swift to recognize a mother’s permanent, painful anxiety, ‘No, it isn’t Miranda, it’s Julia, she’s very ill, in an oxygen tent with pneumonia and Phaedria is away and can’t be contacted.’
‘Oh, Christ, that baby is doomed,’ said Roz, every hostility and outrage forgotten in a sudden, sweeping concern, ‘and why not, why can’t she be contacted? For heaven’s sake, she must have left a number, why doesn’t somebody ring it?’
‘We have been ringing it,’ said Letitia patiently, ‘but she isn’t there.’
‘Well, where is she then? She’s on Eleuthera, isn’t she? It’s not a big place, surely she can be found.’
‘No,’ said Miles, suddenly, feeling, knowing he had to speak, ‘no, she isn’t on Eleuthera, she’s in New York.’
‘New York?’ said Roz. ‘New York? What on earth is she doing in New York? Why did we all think –’ Her voice trailed away into silence, and she looked first shocked, then angry as she faced Miles. ‘How the hell did you know she was in New York, and why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Be quiet, Rosamund,’ said Letitia angrily. ‘Why shouldn’t Phaedria be in New York, and what does it matter anyway? As a matter of fact, I knew she was there, Nanny Hudson told me, I’ve been ringing the number myself. That baby’s life is in danger. All that matters is that, and that we have to find Phaedria. I’m shocked at you.’
Roz ignored her. ‘What is this number in New York?’
Old Sins Page 106
