Folly's Child

by Janet Tanner

  Instantly the little boy seemed to forget his tiredness. He trotted straight over to Harriet, gazing longing at the fingers of bread and butter. Harriet’s small jammy mouth curved into a smile and she thrust the piece she was holding towards him. He took it, cramming it into his mouth. The instant rapport between them was obvious. Sally and Paula both burst out laughing and Hugo, watching from the doorway, smiled in relief.

  His idea had been a good one. Sally and Mark would be good for Paula and Harriet. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.

  Paula wriggled her bare toes in the warm sand, watching it trickle over her scarlet-painted toenails. At the edge of the beach the sun sparkled on blue sea; just beyond the reach of the breakers Mark and Harriet sat digging happily and beside her Hugo was dozing, oblivious to the fact that his back was turning dark red from sunburn.

  It was their first weekend at Shinnecock Bay. Hugo had packed up early at the showroom, leaving Laddie in charge, and motored down to join them. But the hard work he had put in all week to enable him to leave early on Friday was catching up with him somewhat. Paula stretched lazily and turned her attention to her sister, who was watching the children intently.

  A week’s sunshine had turned Sally’s skin pale gold and bleached her hair to a tawny mane. As a precaution she had slipped a shirt on over her bikini but her curves were still obvious – more curves than I will ever have, Paula observed wryly – and her legs, with the slight sheen of Ambre Solaire, were long and shapely.

  I shall have to watch out, Paula thought, with a faint stirring of jealousy. The ugly duckling has turned into a swan. And she is younger than I am.

  The thought was enough to make her pull her floppy sun hat lower over her face. Too much sunshine was ageing – everyone knew that. And lately the spectre of ageing had hung over Paula like a persistent storm cloud. It had first appeared when she was swollen and ugly with pregnancy and she had felt vulnerable as she realised how transitory beauty could be. She had regained her figure now – diet, massage and a strong exercise regime had soon tightened flabby muscles and loose skin, but the stretch marks had remained, though faded now to little silvery flecks, a constant reminder of the grossness she had been forced to endure. Then she had begun to notice the tiny lines that had begun to appear between nose and mouth and at the corners of her eyes. Almost imperceptible to anyone else, perhaps, but clear enough in her magnifying mirror – the first signs of ageing. Peering at them Paula had felt a great well of panic opening up inside her. The rot had begun to set in. From now on it would be an endless battle, one that she would ultimately lose. No woman likes the thought of losing her looks, of catching a glimpse unprepared in a mirror one day and thinking: ‘That middle aged woman can’t be me!’ But to Paula the prospect was purgatory. Usually she managed to allay the chill fear by telling herself she still had years and years of youth left; today, looking at Sally, it stalked her from the depths of her subconscious and she felt a sharp dislike for her sister. It was almost as if Sally’s new found beauty detracted in some way from her own, as if Sally had stolen something that was rightfully hers.

  Her mouth hardened and her mind turned in on itself, searching for the one weapon that would punish and hurt and deflate.

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t found yourself a husband by now,’ she said silkily. ‘Isn’t there anyone even remotely interested whom you could persuade to marry you and make Mark legit?’

  ‘I’d have written and told you if there was.’ Sally turned over, reaching for the Ambre Solaire. ‘And I don’t have time for husband-hunting even if I wanted to, which I don’t.’

  ‘But you must have a man of your own,’ Paula insisted, feigning sisterly concern.

  ‘What for? I’ve had enough of men to last me a very long time. Anyway, who would want to take me on with a child to support? It’s quite an undertaking. Stuart didn’t want to – and Mark was his son. So what chance have I with anyone else?’

  ‘That’s true,’ Paula said solicitously. She was feeling better with every passing moment. ‘But there must be someone. An elderly widower, perhaps, with children of his own. Or a lonely divorcee, pining for family life. Perhaps you should join a singles club, or even sign on with a marriage bureau …’

  Thanks, Paula, but I’m quite all right as I am.’

  ‘I can’t believe that, darling. Oh, I wish I could think of someone. Then you’d be able to stay out here and we could spend lots of time together, just like in the old days. And every summer we could come down here for a couple of months. Did I tell you, Hugo says he is thinking of buying a place on the coast for us? He does spoil me so.’ She paused to allow the comparison to sink in, then continued: ‘The trouble is everyone I can think of is already attached, one way or another.’ Except Greg, she added mentally, but I’m certain not pointing him in your direction.

  ‘Can’t we drop it?’ Sally said. ‘Look, Mark is having terrible trouble. He’s trying to build a sandcastle and Harriet keeps knocking it down again. I’m going to help him.’

  She stoppered the bottle of sun oil and pulled herself up. The movement disturbed Hugo; he shifted slightly, lifting his head and treating Sally to a lazy wink.

  A flush that had nothing to do with the sun crept up her cheeks. She’d thought he was asleep. How much of the conversation had he overheard? Not that they had really said anything but it was embarrassing all the same.

  She walked down the beach to the children recalling what Paula had said and her own vehement denial that she needed a man. Now if it was Hugo on offer then it would be a different matter, she thought wryly. There really was something rather gorgeous about him.… But Hugo belonged to Paula. It was not Sally’s way to steal other people’s husbands, especially her sister’s, even if she could – which she doubted.

  Near the breakers Harriet was waving her spade threateningly above Mark’s latest effort.

  ‘Castle – gone!’ she shouted triumphantly, suiting actions to words with a hearty thwack of her spade.

  ‘Harriet!’ Mark admonished, but he did not seem too upset.

  Let’s hope he can take the destruction of his private castles with such fortitude when he’s grown up, Sally thought. Goodness knows, if life hands him only the knocks determined by the lowest common denominator he’ll need to be able to!

  Paula had long since given up scouring the newspapers for Zachery Rhodes’ exposé of the scandal she had whispered to him, She was disappointed that her attempt at revenge had come to nothing and puzzled by the non-appearance of the story but she assumed Zachary must have his reasons. Perhaps he had not believed her, or had checked the story out and not found anything substantial enough to take into print – a little surprising in view of the fact that she was sure the affair was still going on, albeit very discreetly. Or perhaps Zachary was a supporter of the senator and did not want to cause him embarrassment – a fairly unlikely explanation since reporters of Zachery’s ilk were totally without scruples and made their living at the expense of those people in the public eye who had skeletons rattling in their cupboards. No, Paula could not imagine either Zachary or his editor had kept the story quiet out of squeamishness – though they might have been influenced by the threat of a lawsuit which might cost them thousands of dollars. But whatever the reason the story had not appeared and Paula, who did not bother with newspapers at all down here in Shinnecock Bay, had almost forgotten about it.

  One Friday afternoon, returning from the beach, she was greeted by the maid with a message – Hugo had telephoned and wanted her to call him back urgently. Paula was surprised but not unduly concerned. Hugo had been planning to join them for the weekend; perhaps something had happened to delay him. As she sat waiting for the call to connect she was relaxed and happy, more relaxed and happy than she had been for months.

  I believe this holiday has done me good, she thought. I’ve hardly thought of Greg at all and there has been no one to whisper about me. I shall have to make sure Hugo keeps his promise to get us a
summer place down here on Long Island.

  ‘Paula – honey?’ Hugo’s voice was on the line but the moment she heard it she knew something was dreadfully wrong.

  ‘Hugo – what is it?’ she asked, her nerves overreacting as they always did these days to make her skin prickle uncomfortably.

  ‘Honey – I’m sorry but I’m not going to be able to join you as planned. All hell has broken loose here.’

  ‘All hell? What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen a newspaper today?’ he said – and the tingling beneath her skin grew stronger so that it was as if electric currents were passing through her.

  ‘A newspaper? No. Why? What’s in it? But already she knew.

  ‘It’s Laddie,’ Hugo said heavily. ‘Some son of a bitch reporter has done a filthy exposé on him. How they got on to it I haven’t a clue and why anyone should be interested in such trash is an even bigger mystery to me but there it is. Whatever the reason they’ve done it.’

  ‘Oh dear – I suppose Laddie is upset,’ Paula said feigning sympathy though she was secretly elated.

  ‘Well of course he is – what would you expect?’ Hugo said tersely. ‘But there’s worse. The boy Laddie has been involved with is Jimmy Connelly’s son – Senator Jimmy Connelly. You can imagine the scandal – and the fuss Connelly would kick up. As far as the press and the public is concerned he’s Mr Nice Guy – and he plays hell with all those closest to him to make sure that image is maintained.’

  ‘Dear, dear. The fur is really going to be flying then,’ Paula said.

  ‘It’s flown. Chris Connelly was a sensitive lad – he couldn’t face up to the consequences. He’s killed himself – took his car out on the freeway and drove it straight into a ten-ton truck.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Paula said, horrified.

  ‘Yes – awful isn’t it? That poor kid …’

  ‘Couldn’t it have been an accident?’ Paula asked.

  ‘Because he was in such a state, you mean? Well, it could have been, I suppose, but they don’t think so. The truck driver said he came straight for him and there was nothing he could do. But whichever it was – accident or suicide – you can say that bastard Zachary Rhodes killed him. It just wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for the garbage he wrote and I only wish I could lay hands on the bastard!’

  A nerve jumped in Paula’s throat as a terrible thought occurred to her. ‘You don’t know where the reporter got his story from, I suppose?’ she asked. ‘Did someone tip him off?’

  ‘I haven’t heard but I should think it’s quite likely. And whoever did such a thing deserves to be horsewhipped!’ Hugo declared.

  As she replaced the receiver Paula was trembling. Why the hell had the stupid boy had to go and kill himself! She had never expected anything like that to happen, and now because of what she had done a young man was dead.

  She thought of it again, repeating the conclusion in her mind, and as she did so the horror of it, and the feeling of awesome responsibility took on a slightly different hue and gave birth to a spiral of something like excitement. She had been right to feel in control when she had discovered Laddie’s secret. In her hands she held the power of life and death!

  Suddenly Paula was not afraid of being found out any more. Intoxicated by the sense of her own omnipotence she began to laugh. She was still laughing when Sally found her.

  Sally had thoroughly enjoyed her holiday at Shinnecock Bay. After the somewhat austere life she led in London it was a little like being granted a passport to heaven and with the sun on her skin and the sand between her toes all her everyday problems seemed very far away. She swam each day and played tennis whenever she could persuade Paula to join her and she was delighted to see Mark being spoiled with all the little luxuries she was normally not able to give him.

  Only her increasing irritation with Paula marred the idyll. The two girls had always sparred, of course, as sisters do, but now Sally found herself becoming furious with Paula’s total self-absorption and the condescending manner she used to everyone around her. Had she used to be as bad as this, Sally wondered, or had easy living made her worse? Possible, of course, especially since Hugo spoiled her so. But it could just be that now Sally was older and less mesmerised by her sister’s glamour, she simply noticed her faults more and was less inclined to make excuses for her. As for what Hugo had said about her suffering post-natal depression, Sally had noticed no evidence of it at all during the holiday. In fact if anything she seemed to be on something of a high. Why, she had even reacted with something close to hysterical laughter when Hugo had telephoned with the sad news about the death of the senator’s son, yet since that day she had given no sign at all of having been upset by the tragedy. If such a terrible thing had happened to someone I knew I’m sure it would have cast a cloud over the holiday for me, Sally thought, but Paula seems totally indifferent to it.

  Hugo, on the other hand, had clearly been put under some strain by the tragedy. When he eventually came down to Shinnecock Bay again he looked tired and sad, as if some of the grief and guilt of his friend and assistant had rubbed off onto him. Yet his primary concern was still Paula, and when he and Sally were alone he brought up the subject immediately.

  ‘I’ve been really worried about her, Sally. She’s been acting so strangely. But you think there is an improvement?’

  ‘She seems very much herself to me. She’s a bit hyper, that’s all.’ Sally paused, mustering her thoughts and trying to analyse Paula’s manner. ‘She’s not pregnant again by any chance, is she?’

  Hugo looked startled. ‘Good heavens I don’t think so! Why should you think that?’

  Sally considered. ‘It’s just something about her … I don’t know, some kind of secret excitement. Oh, it’s probably my imagination.’

  Hugo smiled. ‘I’d be delighted if she were pregnant, but I don’t think excitement would be the way Paula would react if it were that. She’s very definite about not wanting any more children – more’s the pity.’

  ‘And you’re willing to go along with that?’ Sally asked before she could stop herself.

  ‘I love her, Sally,’ Hugo said simply. ‘All I want is for her to be happy.’

  ‘I know that, Hugo,’ Sally said, and thought, not for the first time, that her sister was a very fortunate lady.

  By the time the holiday was over the nine-days’ wonder over the scandal of Chris Connelly’s suicide had died down and Laddie had returned to work in an effort to bury his sorrow.

  Paula bid Sally a theatrically tearful farewell but in fact she was not sorry to see her sister go – four weeks was quite long enough to spend cooped up with any one person, especially one who knew her so well and was liable to see through her little charades. Besides this Sally was a constant reminder of the past and the perfectly ordinary council-house girl she had once been. Paula had no fond memories of her humble origins; she had long since put them behind her, wanting only to be known as the successful former model and wife of an acclaimed fashion designer.

  New York was still a little empty – many of the socialites of the Shiny Set had gone on from their summer vacations at the beach to villas in France, Switzerland or Tuscany, or sailing on the luxury yachts they referred to as ‘boats’, but there was still a pile of invitations to lunches and private parties awaiting Paula’s attention – and an enormous bouquet of flowers from Greg with a card inscribed ‘Welcome Home’.

  Paula was elated at the gesture, especially when Hugo told her that Greg’s long-time girlfriend, the Texas beauty, had finally tired of trying to tie him down and gone to France for an extended holiday with friends of her father’s family. With the coast clear perhaps she would be able to make some impression on him at last, she thought delightedly, and turned her attention to the invitations.

  In view of her own lack of popularity it never failed to surprise Paula how much in demand she and Hugo were. Such a short time ago fashion designers had had no more social standing than trade
smen – now it seemed everyone felt that their party would be more significant if it were graced by the presence of Hugo Varna. The fact that she was English helped of course – there was a certain snobbery among those with new money but no history where the ‘old world’ was concerned. But their enthusiasm stemmed in the main, she knew, from the hope that their photograph would appear in Womens Wear Daily with the telling caption: ‘The hostess, who elected to wear Varna, pictured sharing a joke with the designer himself.’

  The invitations had been even more numerous in the days before he had married her, she imagined. So many of these society ladies were grass widows whose husbands sweated long hours at their banks or oil fields to make the fortunes they so loved to spend and spare men were invaluable. But even now that he was no longer a free agent the invitations still rolled in and Paula knew it was only sensible to accept at least some of them. Those same pictures that pleased the publicity hunting ‘poor little rich girls’ were also beloved of the presidents of the Fifth Avenue stores that stocked Hugo’s ready-to-wear collections for as advertising they were worth a great deal more than any picture posed by a model. Where the Shiny Set led, American womanhood would follow, hoping to emulate their glamour.

  Paula sorted through the invitations, a little annoyed that Hugo had simply left them all for her to deal with. A few were already out of date and she thought glumly of the apologetic letters she would have to compose. They were sure to blame her – didn’t they always? Even now she seemed to hear their voices whispering at her from the corners of the room: ‘How rude! I can’t imagine what Hugo Varna ever saw in her!’ She closed her ears to the whisperings and ploughed on through the invitations.

  Almost at the bottom of the pile was one that pleased her. Robert Dudley, a prominent attorney, was giving a party for his fiancée, Cassidy Wells. Now that one certainly looked interesting!

  Cassidy was an actress with a string of box-office successes to her credit. She had even been nominated for an Oscar this year. Besides being a wonderful actress she was stunningly beautiful, with flaming red-gold hair and eyes green as a cat’s. She looked good in everything she wore – as a heroine of pre-historic times she had even looked good enough in mud-coloured sackcloth to have the entire world-weary crew fall in love with her – but when she wore Varna she looked marvellous and Hugo, on learning she had a particular liking for his clothes, had decided to cash in on the fact, allowing her enormous discounts on couture garments and even loaning her special gowns so that she was a constant living advertisement. Paula had met Cassidy several times and liked her – in spite of her success she was unspoiled with a wicked sense of fun and unlike so many actresses she was not conceited or self-centred. Even wearing Hugo’s clothes was a game to her – she chose them with all the excitement of a small girl let loose in her mother’s wardrobe.