‘Isabella—’
‘Yes, Father?’
‘A little toast.’
They were alone in the dining room; in the late May dusk. Sebastian had opened the French windows; the sky was turning palest grey, settling over the pink haze of a London sunset. The gently brilliant colours of spring, of apple and cherry blossom, wisteria and clematis filled the garden; somewhere a thrush was singing its evening song, a pair of swallows swooped and rose again.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Father, it is.’
‘Your mother loved this time.’
He scarcely ever mentioned her mother; it hurt him too much.
‘Did—did she?’
‘Yes. And this time of year. That’s why she was so—happy that you were to be born in the spring.’
‘Yes. Yes, I see.’
‘You’re so very like her, Isabella.’
‘Yes, I know. I mean, people are always telling me.’
‘I haven’t been a very good father to you, I’m afraid.’
‘Father, that’s not true.’ Tears filled her eyes, hot, dangerous tears.
‘No, it is true. I’ve been rather—distant, I’m afraid. Certainly at first.’
She was silent.
‘I just wanted to tell you that I know that if your mother could see you today, she would have been so very proud of you.’
‘Would she?’
Not of a daughter who was going to run away: run away from her own birthday party, hurt her father dreadfully.
‘Yes, she would. She was a remarkable person, your mother. Very freespirited.’
‘Yes. Yes, I see.’
Maybe that was where she got it from. Her free spirit.
‘And brave. So brave.’
She was going to need to be brave.
‘Anyway – ’ his voice changed ‘ – anyway, I have something for you. As I told you. I was going to give it to you at the party, but it’s a very personal gift. I felt it should be a private little ceremony. Here you are, Isabella, with my love. Happy birthday.’
He produced a jewel case, a rather shabby velvet one; she opened it nervously. Inside was a double-string of pearls: luminescent, slightly pinkish in tone, perfectly graded.
‘They were hers. Your mother’s. I gave them to her. On our wedding day. She always wore them. Since—since she died, they’ve been in their box. Bit of a waste, really. So—’
‘Oh Father. Father, they’re so lovely. So—’
She couldn’t help it; she burst into tears. She wept copiously and for quite a long time and she knew why; not only because of this gift from him to her, a gift of such preciousness and personal generosity that only very few would comprehend it, but because it marked out her own betrayal of that generosity and of his love for her, his difficult, painful love.
‘There there,’ he said, slightly embarrassed, patting her hand tenderly, ‘don’t cry. Here, put them on, come on, let me do them up.’
‘No,’ she said, putting them down, unable to allow this, the acceptance of the forty pieces of silver, ‘no, not now, Father, I couldn’t. Just—just let me keep them like this for a bit. I can see them better in the box.’
‘You funny girl,’ he said, ‘all right. But wear them tomorrow, won’t you? Promise me? I want you to wear them tomorrow, at your party.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, I’ll wear them tomorrow. Thank you, Father.’
And she kissed him and then started to cry again.
‘She was very—odd,’ he said to Celia later on the telephone. ‘I gave her the pearls and of course she was very pleased, very sweet, but she just couldn’t stop crying. Extraordinary, I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Oh, she’s probably getting her period or something,’ said Celia briskly. ‘I’m sorry, Sebastian, I know you don’t like these reminders that she’s grown up, but it’s a fact that girls do cry a lot at such times. The twins used to sob endlessly, every month. Still do for all I know. I’m sure she’ll be fine tomorrow.’
‘I hope so,’ he said, and his voice was concerned. ‘It seemed a bit more than that. I hope she’s not really worried about something.’
‘Of course she’s not. What could she be worried about? Now I’ll see you tomorrow at two. I’ll have Kit with me by the way. He’s in a bit of a funny mood too. Very touchy. Oh and tell Izzie Adele will meet her at Woollands at nine-thirty. In evening dresses. That will cheer her up.’
They couldn’t go. They couldn’t. Not after that. She couldn’t hurt him so much. He’d never understand, he’d never get over it, just like he’d never got over her mother dying. She’d just have to tell Kit they must wait, as they’d been going to. Maybe they could—
‘Isabella, are you awake?’
‘Yes.’
‘Kit’s on the phone. Something about some records for tomorrow, said only you would know what he should bring. Or shall I tell him to ring in the morning?’
‘No. No, I’ll speak to him. Thank you.’
She could tell him now: on the phone.
‘Hallo?’
‘Hallo, Izzie. How are you? Mother said you’d been crying.’
‘Yes. Yes, I was. Kit—’
‘I just wanted to say I love you. And to tell you that if something happened to stop us tomorrow I – just couldn’t bear it. I’m sure you’re nervous, darling, but there’s no need. I’ll look after you. Promise. Got to go. Love you, love you, love you.’
No, she must go. Kit needed her more than her father did. He’d had his life, and it hadn’t all been sad, a lot of it had been triumphantly happy. He was famous, successful, he had lots of friends. Kit’s life, changed so dreadfully five years before, was all ahead of him. And with her it would be so much better and sweeter. He needed her. As she needed him. More than anything in the world.
CHAPTER 49
‘Oliver, I’ve been thinking. And I think we ought to tell them.’
‘Tell who what—’
‘You know perfectly well who. The children. And that there’s a problem.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. Why should we, why worry them?’
‘Oliver, the company is on the edge of bankruptcy.’
‘Nonsense. Wherever did you get that idea from? I told you, things are just a bit difficult . . .’
‘That’s not true. I’ve been looking at the figures.’
‘You had no right to do that, my dear.’
‘I had every right. Lyttons is mine as much as yours. And don’t start getting technical with me, I know that’s not strictly true, legally, although after quarter day—well, anyway, it’s mine in spirit. Which is what counts.’
‘Celia—’
‘Anyway, I looked at the figures. It seems to me we’re weeks away from going bankrupt. We’re living on borrowed time, borrowed money, it’s as bad as last time, probably worse—’
‘We don’t have an expensive libel suit hanging over us as we did last time.’
‘No, that’s true, but we don’t have nearly as many assets either. Oliver it’s dreadful. You should have told me. We hardly seem to have the next quarter’s rent.’
‘We’ve got money coming in from sales.’
‘Precious little.’
‘Well maybe I should look elsewhere for funding. I wondered about Boy—’
‘Venetia was saying he’s very stretched at the moment.’
‘He can’t be. He’s as rich as Croesus.’
‘Even Croesus had his limits. Boy’s just bought half High Holborn as far as I can make out and there are several deals which he’s waiting on to come through. None of them certain. And I don’t think one should risk any more family money.’
‘Good Lord. Well, there are other banks.’
‘Exactly. I think we ought to look at them.’
‘Very well. But I absolutely don’t want the children to know there’s any sort of problem. And I want this kept very much between us. Word gets round extremely fast and loss of confidence is far more
serious than anything else in this sort of situation.’
‘All right, Oliver. But we have to make some very serious enquiries about refinancing very quickly. You really can’t delay it by more than a day or two.’
‘I’ll—see what I can do.’
‘You have to do more than that. If you like I could—’
‘No, no, I want to deal with it myself. And I repeat, I don’t want the children worried.’
What he really meant, Celia thought, going off to find Kit to tell him it was time to go up to Primrose Hill, was that he didn’t want the children to realise the depths of his incompetence, incompetence that had led Lyttons into the financial disaster that was now staring it in the face.
‘Such a lovely day. You lucky girl. Happy birthday.’
‘Thank you.’
Izzie kissed her dutifully.
She did look rather pale, Celia thought; probably her diagnosis of the evening before had been correct.
‘Now, have the flowers arrived?’
‘Yes, they’re in the marquee in buckets.’
‘And did you and Adele get a nice dress?’
‘Yes, it’s beautiful. Really lovely. Adele’s not here, she’s gone back to Venetia’s.’
‘May I see the dress?’
‘Well—’
‘Oh Izzie, don’t be silly, dear. Let me come and have a look. Or better still put it on, I want to see how you look in your mother’s pearls—’
So she knew about that. How did she know everything, was there anything her father didn’t tell her? Izzie felt hurt, betrayed even.
‘Go on, Izzie. I’m sure it’s lovely, the one thing one can rely on is Adele’s taste.’
‘Oh—all right.’
It was a lovely dress, palest pink crêpe, very simple, with a round neck and a softly falling skirt to just below her knee. She put it on, studied herself in her looking-glass. She did look very pretty. Even she had to admit it. What a shame Kit couldn’t see her. She put the pearls on, looked at herself solemnly again. They were such a wonderful colour, with that very slight pink tone; they made her skin look creamily rich. She suddenly saw her mother’s face in the mirror. So familiar from photographs, saw how true it was how alike they were. Her mother would have approved of what she was doing, she felt more confident about it now: brave she had been, her father said, brave and a free spirit. She sprayed herself with her Yardley cologne—the Schiaparelli was in her suitcase, then piled her hair up on top of her head with a comb. She felt rather reckless. If she wasn’t going to be on show tonight, she might as well do it now.
She ran downstairs, laughing; as she reached the hall, there was a ring at the bell. She opened it; Henry Warwick stood there, a box of records in his arms. He looked at her, whistled loudly.
‘Wow, Izzie. You look absolutely superb. Congratulations. Here, Roo, come on in, look at the birthday girl. Absolutely gorgeous. Can I have a birthday kiss?’
She raised her face, for him to kiss her cheek. Roo demanded one too. Boys’ kisses: not a man’s, not like Kit’s. Just the same, it was rather nice to be admired.
‘That’s a peach of a dress,’ said Roo. ‘Peach of a dress for a—a peach of a girl.’ He blushed violently.
‘Thank you.’ She felt excited suddenly, excited and grown up.
‘Where, shall we put these?’
‘Oh—in the dining room. That’s where the dancing will—’ She stopped. Where the dancing would have been. If she wasn’t going to spoil this wonderful event.
‘Fine. Righty-oh. Can’t stop, Father’s driver brought us. See you later, Izzie.’
‘See you later,’ she said. And felt briefly bleak.
Celia admired the dress, said it was a little too long for her, and that her hair would look better down.
‘No girl should put her hair up before she’s seventeen. The pearls are lovely, aren’t they? I hope you’re pleased with them.’
‘I am. Terribly.’
‘Right. Well you’d better go and change. Oh, here’s Kit. Kit, Izzie is looking absolutely marvellous.’
‘Of course she is.’
And he smiled at her, his lovely, gentle, loving smile and she felt perfectly all right again.
‘Izzie dear, you’d better take that dress off again, you’ll get it dirty. When you’ve changed, would you get some vases from my car? I couldn’t carry them all. My car’s right at the bottom of your road, well it’s Venetia’s old Austin Seven actually, the bright red one. I couldn’t get anywhere near the house.’
‘Of course,’ said Izzie. Perfect: she could put her case in Venetia’s car. Celia never locked cars, she said it was common.
Only two hours: two hours before they went. Izzie felt sick. The marquee was filling up with flowers, with glasses, with silver, with champagne bottles. Oh dear. Oh dear.
She felt her arm squeezed.
‘Hallo, Mrs Lytton,’ said Kit’s voice. Very quietly of course. In her ear. Mrs Lytton! In a few days she would be Mrs Lytton. Possibly tomorrow, even.
‘Hallo,’ she said.
‘Isabella, I’ve got to go out,’ said Sebastian. ‘Get some more wine. The fools haven’t sent enough red. Say they can’t make a delivery now, it’s too late.’
‘Really,’ said Celia, ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to. No concept of service at all any more. Take my car, Sebastian.’
‘You know I can’t drive. Or rather daren’t. I’ll get a taxi. Where’s the number? Hallo? Yes, this is Mr Brooke. Elsworthy Crescent. Can I have a taxi immediately please. Yes. What? What other taxi? I haven’t ordered a taxi. You must be mistaken. Just a minute—’
He stopped, looked at Celia and Izzie.
‘They say a cab’s been ordered for six o’clock. Mean anything to either of you?’
Izzie froze.
‘No. No, of course not.’
‘I thought not. Hallo? Yes, I thought so, you were mistaken. No, cancel it. What? Oh hold on—’
‘Father, I think Mrs Conley ordered it.’
Izzie felt her brain moving into sleek, calm order.
‘Mrs Conley? What on earth for?’
‘She’s going out for the evening. As you know.’
‘Yes, of course, but I thought her son was picking her up at seven.’
‘Well he – he probably can’t. He’s got to do something. So I expect she wanted a taxi.’
‘Oh. Oh, very well. I suppose it can’t do any harm, we can send it away again if it’s not needed. Hallo, yes, leave that booking please. God, I never want to give another party as long as I live.’
You probably won’t, thought Izzie, you almost certainly won’t.
Oliver had arrived; delivered early by Watkins, who was then being dispatched to the Warwicks to pick up Adele and her children. Adele was official photographer: she had been instructed by Sebastian not to miss a moment of the party.
Izzie greeted Oliver, gave him a kiss, helped Watkins push him out to the terrace at the back of the house.
‘Happy birthday, my dear. Not ready yet?’
‘No. I haven’t had time. Going up in one minute. Can I get you a drink first?’
‘Oh – a cup of tea would be nice. Or would that be very difficult?’
‘Of course not.’
Why couldn’t he have asked for something quick and simple like water, or wine . . .
A quarter to six. God. Oh, God. Everything prepared. Kit sitting in the dining room by the door. Case in Celia’s car. Handbag stuffed into the hedge by the gate. This was it. Or nearly. Five more minutes—
‘Izzie, help me carry these vases in, would you? No, one at a time. There’s no great hurry. Besides, I want to decide exactly where they should go, you can help me.’
‘Izzie—’
‘Yes, Kit?’
‘Yes, Kit?’
‘I’ve got a frightful headache.’
‘Oh Kit, darling, just go and sit in the garden.’
‘Mother, it sounds like bedlam out there. I’d like a l
ittle walk.’
‘Kit, we’re all very busy—’
‘Oh, I see. Well – I’m sorry. Sorry to be a nuisance. As usual.’
‘Kit—’
‘Kit, I’ll take you for a little walk. If – if Celia could find someone else to help her with the flowers—’
‘Oh, yes, I suppose so. One of the waitresses perhaps. But don’t be long.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I’ve been thinking, Oliver.’
Celia had joined him on the terrace.
‘Yes?’
‘And I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.’
‘What’s that, my dear?’
‘New York. The New York office. They’re obviously doing extremely well. We could ask them to supply us with some finance. We own half of it, after all, and—’
‘We do. But it is set up as a completely separate entity, surely.’
‘I’m aware of that. All the better. They’re more likely to be able to help us.’
‘It would place things on a very different basis, Celia. Even if they agreed, which is by no means a foregone conclusion. They would be in control of us, rather than – theoretically, anyway – the other way round.’
‘Oliver, that is better than our not being in control of anything at all. Which is the situation I see developing all too fast. I think you should telephone Stuart Bailey on Monday and see what he has to say. I would be perfectly willing to go over there to talk to him; or perhaps Barty could help. She seems to feel she is in a strong position there. I wonder if that isn’t slightly wishful thinking. She’s only worked there very much under your aegis. She may find things rather different now.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Anyway, don’t you think it’s an idea worth pursuing?’
‘Very well worth it, my dear, yes.’
‘Good. That’s settled then. Now I’m going upstairs to change. Will you be all right?’
‘Of course.’
This was it.
Something Dangerous Page 93
