Something Dangerous

by Penny Vincenzi

  She looked at him and sighed. ‘You look so tired.’

  ‘I feel so tired.’

  ‘Oliver—’

  ‘I know, I know. Next week, my dear, I promise. I have to have some meetings with the bank first.’

  ‘With the bank? Shouldn’t I be there?’

  ‘Not the lawyers, Celia, the bank. When I see the lawyers, of course you must be there. Now I’d like to go to bed. Could you call that rather bossy young woman you’ve hired and ask her to take me up?’

  ‘Yes of course,’ said Celia.

  She sat alone in the drawing room, looking at the river, brilliant in the spring evening, thinking about the wedding, about how glorious Victoria had looked as she came down the aisle, about how Jay’s face had lit up with love as he made his vows, about Gordon Robinson’s sudden look of savage sadness, and how she had understood it and shared in it, in the sadness that LM had not been there.

  ‘I’ve made my decisions, Celia, I would like to discuss them with you, naturally, since they affect you. And I have asked the lawyers to come in to see us tomorrow. But there is something else I think you have to know.’

  ‘Yes, Oliver?’

  ‘Let’s have a drink first, shall we?’

  ‘Father’s called the meeting for tomorrow.’ Giles’s voice was casual; he poured himself a large whisky from the decanter. Helena always set out a tray for him for his return in the evening. It was an important time for her, for them both, while he relaxed and told her about the events of the day. The children were not allowed to disturb them, the closed door at that time was as unassailable as their bedroom door.

  ‘The meeting?’

  ‘Yes. The one where he is going to announce his plans for the company. And for his own retirement.’

  ‘Well,’ said Helena, ‘at last. Thank God. After all these years.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Giles.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Venetia, ‘tomorrow’s the day. Give me a drink, darling, would you? I’m done in.’

  ‘What day?’

  ‘When Daddy announces his retirement. And tells us what’s in store.’

  ‘It had better be good,’ said Boy.

  ‘Well—to be honest, Boy, I’ve slightly lost interest. Just for now.’

  ‘Oh don’t be absurd. I’ve never seen a woman so driven.’

  ‘I know. And of course I do care—terribly. But just at the moment I’ve got something else on my mind.’

  ‘What’s that, darling?’

  Venetia looked at him. ‘Boy, what did I ever have on my mind? Apart from you and work, that is?’

  ‘Clothes? Parties?’

  ‘Oh do stop being so dense. You know—’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Boy. ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased?’

  ‘I – think so yes. Bit of a bombshell.’

  ‘I know. It was for me too. Nice though.’

  ‘Very nice. But—how on earth are we going to tell the children?’

  ‘Tomorrow’s the day,’ said Jay.

  ‘Really? Darling, how exciting. Well it had better be good.’

  ‘I’m not over-hopeful. Giles is walking round looking like a turkey cock.’

  ‘A rather foolish turkey cock. No, you deserve something and you ought to get it. And we’ll need some money because I’ve found the most divine house. In Chelsea. It’s so lovely, Jay, I can’t wait to show you.’

  ‘Within our budget?’

  ‘Well—not exactly. But much too nice to lose. I can see us being so happy there. So—if you don’t get what you want from Lyttons, you’ll just have to go somewhere else.’

  ‘Tomorrow is a very important day,’ said Barty. She tucked Jenna up in her cot, smiled down at her. ‘Very important indeed for your Mummy. And for you.’

  Jenna looked at her. ‘Mummy,’ she said and smiled back, put her thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes. It seemed to indicate a certain confidence in her, Barty thought.

  ‘I’ve bought a suitcase.’

  ‘Oh, darling. How marvellous you are.’

  ‘Kit, it wasn’t very difficult.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant planning it all. Now how are we going to get to the station?’

  ‘In a taxi.’

  ‘Yes, but how will we get one?’

  ‘I’ll order one. You can do that, Father does it a lot now he doesn’t drive any more. He’s got an account, I can use that.’

  ‘You’re so special.’

  ‘What you’ve got to do is make sure you’re here early. I mean by about five. The party’s due to start at seven. And we’ll be leaving at six. So they’ll all be frantically busy, organising, laying tables and things. You can tell them you want to help. Or—oh, anything. You’re the imaginative person.’

  ‘I think you’re pretty imaginative yourself, I do love you, Izzie.’

  ‘I love you too, Kit. Isn’t it marvellous?’

  ‘Marvellous.’

  ‘Right. Thank you all for coming.’

  As if they wouldn’t have come, Giles thought, looking round the room, all of them so hopeful, so expectant. He didn’t know what they were all hoping for: a few shares he supposed. Well that would be all right. He could agree to that. Bit high-handed of his father to do it this way, though. Without speaking to him first. But then, he always had been one for the indirect route. Not like his mother. He looked at her, still so beautiful, gazing out of the window, her large dark eyes thoughtful. She was wearing a light-grey tweed suit, and some very highheeled shoes He could never remember her looking anything other than fashionable. Fashionable and glamorous, whatever happened. A bit like Venetia. Although Venetia didn’t look quite herself today. Tired and slightly less sleek than usual. She’d been working very hard; it was surprising Boy allowed it really. All those children, she really needed to be at home, running the household. But Boy seemed quite happy about it, in fact he never stopped saying how proud of her he was.

  Young Jay was looking pretty cocky too. Much too full of himself. The way he talked these days, you’d think he’d been in the publishing business for decades. This will do well, those need more promotion, we really should try and get hold of that . . . and his mother and Barty and Venetia too, all listening to him as if what he was saying must be really important . . . Time he was taken down a peg or two . . .

  What was his father saying? What? He couldn’t be. He couldn’t. It must be a mistake, a suggestion that he had rejected. He must be running through possible scenarios, yes, that was it, it obviously wasn’t the final plan. He must listen more carefully, stop letting his mind ramble . . .

  ‘So I hope that will be acceptable to you all. It will take effect from the next quarter day, 25 June. Until then, I shall remain in overall control. Celia will of course be here for some time to come. So you will have plenty of wisdom and experience to draw on. The lawyers have drawn up articles of association which you all, as shareholders, must sign. It only remains for me to wish you well and to ask you to care for Lyttons as Celia and I have done, and my father before me. It has been a major decision and a very big step to break up the shareholding in this way, but as I have explained to you, it seemed the only equitable way to arrange things. Thank you.’

  ‘I just don’t believe it. It’s outrageous. After all these years, all your hard work. Not even a majority share. Oh, Giles, it’s dreadful. You have to query it, you have to. I absolutely insist. It’s – well, it’s unjust. Apart from anything else. He was handed Lyttons on a plate—’

  ‘Not quite true. LM had a twenty per cent share.’

  ‘Yes, which meant he had eighty. What have you got? Twenty-five. And twenty-five for your sister. And twenty-five for Jay! Jay, who’s had virtually no experience at all. It’s totally unacceptable, Giles, and you have to contest it. And if you won’t I will. Did—did Kit get anything?’

  ‘No,’ said Giles, ‘no, Kit didn’t get anything at all.’

  ‘Or Adele?’

  ‘No, nothing. The rema
ining twenty-five per cent my parents still hold jointly. That’s all.’

  ‘Barty?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well I suppose that is something to be grateful for. God, it’s so, so unfair. I mean what justification did he give for it exactly, why—’

  ‘I told you. He said we all had very different strengths and talents and he wanted that to be reflected in the structure of the company. He said it would be unfair to give a majority shareholding to any of us.’

  ‘Unfair! He has no concept of what the word means. He’s led you all these years to think—’

  ‘I know, I know. And I will talk to him about it,’ said Giles, ‘of course. But I really don’t know what good it will do me.’

  ‘Well done, darling. You must be pleased. A quarter share, eh? Congratulations. Well you certainly deserve it. Sit down and put your poor old feet up—pretty shoes—and have some champagne. No? Maybe later. Oh, darling, you look ghastly. Here let me help you up to your room—’

  ‘Jay, that is such good news. Congratulations. And it means so much, you can make decisions, really get Lyttons moving forward. I’m so pleased. And it means we can get our house, doesn’t it? Oh, whoopee—let me give you a kiss. Or even more—’

  ‘Well, Jenna. We’re on our own. As usual. Not terribly fair but—well, I’m not a Lytton you see. Never will be. And Wol did try to explain, make me feel better. Said how much he valued me and what I’d done but he just couldn’t give me any shares. Just some stupid title. Which doesn’t mean anything. And a rise, which I don’t want. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, I should have some shares. You don’t even know what shares are, do you, angel? You will one day, Jenna, I promise you that. Anyway, here I still am, Barty the foundling, the charity case. Still, even now. Oh dear—’ She started to cry; Jenna reached up, trying to catch the tears with a chubby finger as they rolled down her mother’s face.

  Barty sniffed, managed to smile.

  ‘Silly Mummy. It’s not as if it mattered. Not really. What would I want being on their stupid board anyway. And at least I haven’t got to be grateful. Oh Jenna. I feel so—so lonely. So absolutely alone. I wish your daddy was here. I do, I do wish that. So very, very much . . .’

  CHAPTER 48

  Only two more weeks. And then she’d be sixteen. Grown up. Old enough to be married.

  Married! And she was going to be. Actually married. To Kit. Whom she loved so much. It was just—well, it was almost too much to bear, she felt so happy. So excited. And it was all going to be so easy . . .

  Of course they wouldn’t be too pleased at first. It would take a bit of getting used to. They’d say she was too young, and that Kit wouldn’t be able to look after her properly. But it wasn’t true. She wasn’t too young, she hadn’t been too young to love Kit all her life, and help him through all his unhappiness, to be the only person who really understood how he’d felt all those years. And of course he could look after her; they’d be looking after each other anyway. He was making quite a bit of money with his books now, they did very well, he’d just written a third and it was a bit like Sebastian, he was asked to give talks to children at school and in libraries and bookshops and after the first few when he’d been a bit feeble, he said, he’d proved really good at it, just as Sebastian was. He was always very nervous beforehand he’d told her, but once he stood up and got going, he quite enjoyed it.

  Anyway, they’d be all right, they’d be fine. And they wouldn’t need much, not a big house or anything, the smallest cottage would do. Of course later when they had children it would be different; but they’d talked about that and agreed it should be a long way into the future. Kit seemed to know all about that sort of thing; Izzie was relieved. She was a bit hazy about it, the nearest she’d got to finding out exactly what happened was by way of a slightly garbled version from the girls at school. But she was sure that when the time came it would be wonderful. Judging from the way she felt when Kit kissed her, it certainly would. He was terribly good at kissing.

  It was all arranged. She’d bought the train tickets, and kept them in the one place she knew they’d be safe, in the drawer in her room where she kept her underwear and her sanitary towels and things like that. Well buried, of course, but there was no way her father would ever ever look in there. And she had put her own laundry away ever since she was six or seven; Mrs Conley just put things on her bed for her. Anyway, Mrs Conley was so short-sighted now that she’d hardly know a train ticket from a magazine. And come to that, the same could almost be said of her father.

  She hadn’t booked the taxi yet, she thought it was best to leave that until the day before. You never knew, her father might ring up and they might refer to it in some way.

  She’d packed her case though, not much of course, a few jerseys and skirts and a jacket. And some underwear. She’d actually bought a beautiful grown-up silky night-dress; it had taken a lot of her coupons, but she had plenty, because Venetia had started to give her lots of her lovely clothes when she got bored with them. And she had wanted just one thing for what was after all going to be her honeymoon. She might not be going to have a wedding, well not a proper wedding, but she was going to have a honeymoon. And she had also got some really lovely perfume, a new one by Schiaparelli called Le Roy Soleil which Barty had given her, brought back from New York. There was lots of everything, Barty had said, in New York, no rationing at all. She’d love it. Izzie had said yes, she was sure she would.

  Anyway, it was the most wonderful smell and very grown up, and she was sure Kit would like it. His sense of smell was very acute: like all blind people. So was his hearing. ‘I could hear you coming all down the street,’ he would say, or ‘Listen! Front door’ or ‘Careful, someone on the stairs.’ When she couldn’t hear anything.

  Anyway, her case was packed, and put casually on the top of her wardrobe, where she kept her school case in the holidays. She really didn’t think anyone would bother to get it down and look in it. And she had some money, some cash. She had gone to the post office and drawn out most—but not all—of her savings. Kit had given her the money for the tickets; he had a bank account of course. She hadn’t got one yet, but her father was opening one for her for her birthday.

  She worried about her father a bit; he would be very upset at first. He did love her very much, she knew that, and now that she was older, he liked doing things with her, going to the theatre and to concerts and just talking to her over dinner. But once he’d got over it, they could all be friends and she could see lots of him. And he was so fond of Kit, he always had been, he’d forgive him in time she was sure. Anyway, if there hadn’t been all this stuff about going to New York, none of this would have been necessary. They’d been going to tell them when she was sixteen anyway. It was his own fault for treating her as if she were some kind of troublesome child, just announcing she had to go away with him without finding out if she was even remotely interested.

  No, it would all be all right. It would all be wonderful.

  ‘Mother’s in the pudding club again. God, it’s disgusting. Honestly, how can they? At their age.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because she’s written and told us. Here you are, it’s to both of us. Listen, “I hope you’ll be pleased to hear that I am going to have another baby. Due in October. I know you said you’d rather there weren’t any more babies, but Father and I both feel that Fergal is rather one on his own and it would be nice for him.”’

  ‘Nice for him! What about us?’ said Roo. ‘Yuk, just think of it, it’s hideous. I mean Father’s forty, over forty, you’d think they’d have got over it by that age.’

  ‘I know. And what are we going to tell the other chaps?’

  ‘We could not tell them.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. She must be—God, four months already. She’ll be all fat at the Fourth of June. She says the girls are really thrilled.’

  ‘Well they’re welcome to it. Bad enough having Fergal all over our rooms and records
and things, I’m just not going to have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Nor am I.’

  ‘So that will be—good heavens, Celia, ten grandchildren. How amazing you are. You don’t look old enough to have even one.’

  ‘Sebastian, don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do. You above all people should know better than to flatter me. Now then, this birthday party of Izzie’s. Do you need any help?’

  ‘Oh yes, please. Lots. Mrs Conley is getting far too decrepit to be any use at all. I’ve got a catering company doing the food, but—’

  ‘What about flowers? Have you got enough chairs? Are you going to have a marquee? The size this family is now, especially the Warwicks, we just won’t all fit into your house.’

  ‘I told you I needed help,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought of a marquee.’

  ‘Well start thinking. I’ll give you some telephone numbers. They’ll sort out chairs and tables for you as well.’

  ‘Thank you. And certainly I can’t do flowers. Can you do that? Or suggest someone who could?’

  ‘I’ll do them. It’s the one domestic chore I like. And I’m tolerably good at. I’ll come over after lunch on the day.’

  ‘Bless you. It’ll be quite a day, won’t it?’

  ‘It will, Sebastian, it will. Quite a day.’

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ Barty’s face was very serious as she walked into Celia’s office.

  ‘Yes?’ Celia whipped off the spectacles she now had to wear for really close work; vanity made her deny their existence as much as she could.

  ‘I’m—well, I’m going to New York.’

  ‘Again? You’ve only just got back.’