Candy sighed. She would have died rather than admit it, but she was beginning to agree with him.
Miles looked at her thoughtfully. Easygoing as he was, he was beginning to find her nagging irritating. He was actually beginning to find her rather irritating altogether. She seemed shallow suddenly, uninteresting, lacking in emotion and depth. He knew it was unfair of him to think that way, that it was not Candy but he who had changed, but he couldn’t help it. On the other hand something had to be settled; they couldn’t live at Claridge’s for ever; it wasn’t exactly cheap.
Roz’s intelligent, quirkily lateral mind kept intruding into his thoughts over Candy’s prattle, her cool amused green eyes looked at him, when he was actually meeting Candy’s Bambi-like blue ones, her greedy outrageous body even invaded the bed as he lay caressing Candy’s pert little breasts, bringing her to swift, easy orgasm. In the weeks she had been away he and Roz had been to bed together twice more, once in Scotland, once in London, drawn irresistibly, inevitably towards one another by the promise of an intense powerful pleasure neither of them had ever known before. Each time they had agreed it should not happen again, each time had come laughingly together, saying why not, just once more, what harm did it do, it had to be good for them, it was just fun, just pleasure, just the satisfaction of two exceptionally hearty appetites, and each time, as they parted again, they knew, without saying a word to one another, that it was rather more than that.
However, something had to be resolved, if not for Candy’s sake, his own. And besides there was the question of money. The extremely generous loans Henry was arranging for him (on Roz and Phaedria’s instructions) could not go on for ever. He was getting through a monumental amount of money, by any standards. And he was actually growing weary of living at Claridge’s and shopping; he didn’t exactly want to work but he didn’t want to be idle in London, or indeed anywhere elsein the world, except California.
But whatever he did or did not decide, he was not going to be pushed into it by anybody, least of all Candy. If there was one thing that turned Miles into an immovable object, it was the sense that there was an irresistible force coming at him, hard, trying to carry him along with it. As Hugo Dashwood had discovered to his cost, some years earlier.
Dark blue eyes met light with an expression of rare hostility.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I haven’t. Stop bugging me, will you? Just leave me alone.’
‘Miles,’ said Roz, sinking on to the chaise longue in the window of the Cheyne Walk drawing room, ‘are you any nearer making a decision?’
‘Nope,’ he said shortly. ‘Can I take a glass of wine?’
‘Of course. Give me one, will you?’
He poured two glasses from the chilled bottle and carried one over to her, careful not to touch her. The atmosphere between them now was so febrile that he knew if he so much as brushed her fingers with his they would be in bed in minutes.
‘Thank you. Don’t look so cross. It doesn’t suit you. That’s my prerogative.’
‘Sorry. This is all getting to me. And I’m homesick.’
‘Of course you are.’
‘I still kind of favour the consortium. It would let me off the hook. But I worry about the long-term effect on you. And Phaedria.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Roz darkly, ‘I can take care of myself. And certainly don’t worry about Phaedria. We have every evidence she can do the same.’
‘Yeah, I guess so. It seems kind of wrong selling out of the family.’
‘I think it’s probably the best possible thing. Fresh blood and all that. The company is the nearest thing to incest this family will ever know.’
‘Maybe.’
‘What about working here?’
‘Well,’ he said carefully, ‘I don’t really know. I’ve kind of grown warm towards the idea. It might be fun, just for a bit. And it would please Candy. But – well, she’s pushing me real hard and that makes me cross. And besides –’ He looked at her.
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I don’t know if I could handle working with you all the time.’
‘I think it would be fun,’ said Roz.
‘It would, I mean I’d like it in that way. But – well, I think things might get out of hand pretty quickly.’
‘You mean we’d be screwing all the time?’ Her expression was amused, confident.
‘We’d be wanting to, I guess. And if I was married to Candy –’ his voice trailed off.
‘That would never do.’ She stood up, holding out her hand. ‘Right now you’re not working for the company. And you’re not married to Candy. This could be our very last chance. Shall we, Miles? For old times’ sake?’
He took the hand, kissed the back of it, turned it over, kissed the palm. Then he looked up at her and smiled.
‘Yeah, OK. Just for old times’ sake.’
‘Miles,’ said Phaedria, ‘do you have any idea yet what you want to do?’
He had come to her office to have the promised lunch; he sat watching her while she sorted the files and papers on her desk into some sort of order, flicked idly through telephone messages, signed the letters Sarah had left for her. He thought how sad she looked, how thin and drawn.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t have an idea. You’re still keen on this trust fund thing?’
‘Yes. Even more now.’
She spoke without thinking.
‘Why now?’
She flushed. ‘Oh – nothing.’
‘Did New York go wrong?’
He sounded so sympathetic, so genuinely concerned, that as always she couldn’t be cross.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it did. There – there isn’t a future there, I’m afraid. So Julia’s seems more crucial than ever. Illogical in a way.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That must have been terrible for you, that awful day when she was so ill and they couldn’t find me. I’m really really sorry about it.’
‘Well, I felt kind of bad giving the game away.’
‘Did you?’ She looked startled. ‘Miles, why, what happened?’
‘Oh, I didn’t fail you, not really. Only death would have dragged it from me, I knew how much it mattered. But it seemed like death. Or the threat of it. Julia’s. I knew you’d care more about her than anything. So I told them. Anyway, they knew, Letitia knew, Nanny Hudson had told her. But Roz learnt it from me.’
‘Oh God.’
‘Yeah, it was bad. But I calmed her down.’
‘You’re very good for Roz. I’ve noticed.’
‘Maybe.’
There was a silence.
‘Did she ever say anything to you?’ he asked.
‘No, nothing.’
‘Uh-huh. And is Julia really OK now?’
‘She’s fine. You’d never think she’d been ill. It’s her mother who needs looking after. Come on, let’s go and have lunch. Is Candy joining us?’
‘No, Candy’s in a sulk. She mostly is these days.’
‘Oh, Miles, I’m sorry.’
‘I am too,’ he said, and sighed.
After lunch Phaedria sat at her desk, looking out of the window. She still felt very unhappy. Her grief at the loss of Michael was more severe than she had expected it would be. Piled on the greater one for Julian, she found it almost unbearable.
Life had settled into a grey, rather lonely monotone; she worked all day and spent most evenings alone with Julia. It was what she wanted, but it didn’t seem to be doing her any good.
She had half expected to hear from Michael, that he would call her, write maybe (only he always swore he was illiterate and could barely manage his name) to try and persuade her to change her mind. But there was silence. An awful, dead, final silence. She supposed that after all the years of battling with the company for Roz’s soul, he simply could not contemplate starting all over again for hers. Sometimes she wondered if she had made an appalling mistake, wantonly tossed happiness out of the window and into Central Park that New Year’s Day
. Whether she was simply stubborn and greedy, rather than following the inexorable course Julian and Julia had set her on. But when she contemplated the alternative, she knew she wasn’t. She couldn’t be free of this monster until it had been tethered safely once and for all, and was under her control. And that was still as far out of sight as ever.
She didn’t think Miles was going to let her buy his share. He kept saying he could see it was probably right, and then not taking it any further. He was either going to sell to the consortium, which even Richard now seemed to think was a good idea, or join the company. Candy was pushing him very hard in that direction. She couldn’t decide whether it was a good idea or not. It would prolong the agony of the division; he would be making decisions between her and Roz day by day, hour by hour, it could be acutely uncomfortable. On the other hand, he was such an agreeable, conciliatory force it would probably greatly alleviate the atmosphere in the office. But then it wouldn’t, it couldn’t last long. In the first place Roz would probably turn it sour, and in the second he would hate it. Or would he? Maybe he would like it. For someone who couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life on a Californian beach, Miles was taking an unconscionably long time to pack. She had been very impressed, too, when they had talked over lunch about what he might do, by a certain instinctive commercial grasp. He had had some idea about an offshoot of the cosmetic company into the fitness industry that had greatly impressed her. Phaedria fetched herself a glass of Perrier water from her fridge and tried to forget about Miles for a while, and concentrate on company matters. But it was very difficult.
Apart from anything else, he did disturb her. It wasn’t quite a sexual disturbance (although she had still not forgotten the passion she had felt that day after Christmas, and her shame at it afterwards). It was an emotional one. There was just something about him that reached out and touched her in some oddly familiar way. And yet, and yet she had never met anyone remotely like him in her life. It was probably because she was so lonely, and fantasizing like some crazed old spinster.
Oh, God, what on earth was to become of her?
Phaedria suddenly remembered Doctor Friedman. It would be very nice to talk to her again. She would be back in London now. Maybe she could help her confront all her feelings about Miles and Michael as well as Julian. To come to terms finally with her grief. And then she hadn’t talked to her since they had found Miles, made the discovery about Julian and Hugo Dashwood, since Julia had been born even. Yes, she would go and see her.
She found Doctor Friedman’s resolute impassiveness, her technique of meeting question with question, oddly comforting; she led you at your own pace into discovery rather than controlling you with it, and if you wanted to withdraw, to stand back, she allowed that too.
She rang the number; yes, Doctor Friedman was back, but very busy. Was it important?’
‘Could you tell her it’s Phaedria Morell, and I’d be grateful for an appointment soon if she could manage it?’
The secretary went away and came back with the news that Doctor Friedman would be delighted to see Lady Morell next Monday, first appointment of the day.
‘Thank you,’ said Phaedria. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘Where have you been?’ screamed Candy as Miles walked into the suite at Claridge’s at half past nine one evening. ‘Just where have you been?’
‘Out,’ he said simply.
‘Where out? Why not with me?’
‘Because I had things to do that didn’t concern you. OK?’
‘No. Not OK. I’m fed up and lonely, and I want to go home.’
‘OK, go home.’
She looked at him. ‘I think you’re seeing someone else.’
He shrugged. ‘Candy, you can think what you like.’
‘Well, are you?’
‘I don’t have to answer that.’
‘Miles, I can’t tell you how sick of all this I am. Why don’t you just make your rotten mind up?’
‘I’ll make my mind up when I’m good and ready, Candy. Right now I’m still thinking.’
‘About which of those bitches to give your lousy share to?’
‘Yeah. And whether to join the company.’
‘Holy shit!’
‘It was your idea, Candy. Now I’m getting to like it. I told you you might regret it.’
‘You look awful,’ said Roz, looking at Miles across the bed.
‘Thanks.’
‘No, you do. You’ve lost that marvellous Californian golden-ness. You look like one of us.’
‘I’m beginning to feel like one of you. For the first time in my whole life I feel I need a vacation.’
‘Maybe you should take a break.’
‘In California? Yeah, maybe I should.’ He reached out and wove his fingers lazily into her pubic hair. ‘Would you come with me?’
‘I might. I just might.
‘Well,’ said Doctor Friedman soberly. ‘You certainly have had a very tough time. What’s remarkable is not how bad you feel but that you’ve survived it so well. How’s the baby now?’
‘She’s fine. She’s beautiful.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ said Doctor Friedman, smiling. ‘Like all babies.’
‘No, but Julia really is beautiful.’
‘Like all babies. I’m sorry, I’m being unkind.’
‘Doctor Friedman, do you think it was a mistake? Embarking on a new relationship before I had properly worked through the grief of losing Julian?’
‘You never recover from real grief. So it’s very much down to your capacity to handle it. How do you think your capacity is?’
‘Well, I suppose quite good. I seem to be tougher than I might ever have imagined.’
‘Well, maybe then it wasn’t too soon. How do you think you really feel about this man?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Under the pain and the trauma of him being your step-daughter’s lover?’
‘Having been.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Having been her lover. The affair was quite over before I went to New York.’
‘But not when he came to see you, when he helped you through the discovery about your husband.’
‘No.’
‘But that was when you fell in love with him?’
‘Yes. I suppose it was. But nothing – nothing happened. I wouldn’t let it.’
‘No, and that was very well behaved of you. Nevertheless the fact that he was not yours for the taking may have influenced your feelings.’
‘It might. But I really really do think I loved him.’
‘Loved? In the past tense?’
‘Love. I think I still do. If he walked in now –’
‘But you’re not prepared to give up the company for him. Why do you think that is?’
‘I feel I can’t. I feel Julian entrusted it to me and he would have wanted it for Julia. I can’t just sell out and walk away from it, give it up to Roz.’
‘He hardly entrusted you with it. Only half of it. Not half in fact.’
‘No, but he meant me to have that. He could see it had grown important to me.’
‘Don’t you think perhaps you are endowing him with motives he might never have felt?’
She thought carefully. ‘No. No, I don’t, I think I knew him quite well.’
‘Did you? Well enough to realize there was this other life going on?’
‘No, all right. But maybe it wasn’t an important life. Maybe it was quite trivial.’
‘Then perhaps he might have told you about it, if it had been trivial?’
‘Perhaps.’ She sighed.
‘And then there was the will. Miles.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was very small.
‘Listen, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying be sure you’re right. Before you throw all this happiness with Michael Browning away. That’s all.’
‘Yes. All right. I’ll try. Can I ask you some questions now?’
‘You can.’
‘Did you – well, did you ever suspect that Julian was leading this second life?’
‘What do you think? Does that seem likely? Think about it.’
Phaedria sighed. ‘You really don’t give much away, Doctor Friedman.’
‘Lady Morell, I’m trying to help you to know your husband. To help you through all this. I told you early on, if you really think, think about him, what he was, what you knew, you can still learn a lot about him.’
‘All right. But what should I think? I don’t know in this case what to think.’
‘Well, you should think about how much I did know. Quite a lot, we have established that. Given that information, how much more would he have – shall we say – imparted? He was a very secretive man, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. Yes he was. But clearly some things he had to share. With someone. Things that were too painful, too frightening, too difficult. Otherwise he would never have come to you at all.’
‘Yes.’
‘So anything really painful – really important –’
‘Yes?’
There was a long silence. Phaedria looked at Doctor Friedman. She suddenly heard the clock ticking, her own heart beating, a police car wailing past the window.
‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew it all?’
‘Miles, you have just got to make a decision, I can’t stand this any longer.’
‘Miles, if we are not all to go mad, you have to make some kind of a decision.’
‘Miles, I’m really sorry to pressurize you, but I do feel I need to know what you’re going to do.’
‘Miles . . .’
‘Miles . . .’
‘Miles . . .’
‘Jesus Christ, I have to get the hell out of here,’ said Miles to Roz. ‘I’m going to California. Are you going to come with me?’
Chapter Thirty
Los Angeles, London, 1986
‘I KNOW WHAT I’m going to do,’ said Miles.
He was lying on the beach at Malibu, salt and sun-streaked; his hair, shaggy from the sea, was full of sand, his eyes suddenly paler blue against his new tan. He had been out on his board for hours; Roz, finally weary of watching him, had been drinking beer and eating enchiladas at Alice’s. When she saw him swoop in for the last time and fall exhausted on to the beach, she went down from the pier and walked over the sand to him.
Old Sins Page 109
