Authors: Lulu Taylor
They lay together on her bed, the room half lit by an orange glow from the street lamp outside.
George ran his hand up over her naked body; her skin goosebumped at his tantalising touch.
‘You’re gorgeous, do you know that?’ he breathed. ‘That was simply amazing.’
‘It was rather, wasn’t it?’ Poppy giggled. ‘You know, I didn’t go out tonight expecting to sleep with you.’
‘No. It was a delicious surprise for me too.’ He dropped a kiss on her collarbone, then looked at her anxiously. ‘Was it all right for you? Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘Mmm, you know, I really did,’ she said luxuriously.
‘Good. I mean, I thought you did, from the noises you made …’
They both laughed.
‘You know, I needed this,’ Poppy said softly. ‘You’ve reminded me what life’s all about. Thank you.’
‘The pleasure was literally all mine,’ George said, and kissed her again.
23
JEMIMA WAS DOING
her best to enjoy the luncheon party but it was hard going. Usually, she would have loved this kind of thing: a small gathering of twenty ladies, delicately tinkling silver forks on china as they pushed salad round their plates in the private room of an achingly fashionable Mayfair restaurant and kept eagle eyes on how much everyone else was consuming.
‘Are you going to Monaco this year, darling?’ one demanded of her neighbour.
‘Yes, yes, we’ve been invited on Ferdinand Mazzorri’s yacht. He has a mooring in the harbour every year and it’s such fun! Though I have to put handcuffs on Reggie to stop him gambling away the family fortune in the casino, the wretch.’
They laughed, high-pitched trilling laughs.
I wont’t be going to Monaco this year
, Jemima thought darkly, staring at a piece of pickled artichoke on her plate.
‘We’re going to Mustique, of course,’ declared
another.
‘The same as usual. I’d get bored if Selina wasn’t such an amazing hostess. And of course, the Princess will be there.’
‘Dear Princess,’ purred another. ‘I haven’t seen her since the New Year party at the Delaforte place. How is she?’
I won’t be going to Mustique either
, thought Jemima bitterly, even though she had only been once and hadn’t had a wonderful time. She listened on as the ladies discussed the parties and social events they’d be attending over the summer.
But I’ve got to work
. The full extent of what her change in circumstances meant was beginning to sink in and she didn’t like it one bit. Now, instead of heading off to the shops and boutiques of Knightsbridge as she did most mornings, she had to think carefully about what she wanted and whether she really needed it. It was an unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling.
And it turned out that when one had a job, one could rarely drop everything and head to New York for a party whenever one felt like it.
And there would be no more little treats in her favourite New Bond Street jeweller, where she was fond of picking up antique art deco pieces every now and then. A gold and ruby leopard bracelet had been her last find.
As the party continued, Jemima tried to perk herself up. The only thing worse than having to deny herself and economise would be the others finding out that she was in dire straits. No doubt many of them were hiding cracked marriages and strained bank balances
behind
their filled and Botoxed faces and beneath the collagen-plumped smiles. It didn’t do to be found out, that was all.
The last thing she could ever bear being was an object of pity.
‘What are your plans, Jemima?’ asked Venetia Ffoulkes. ‘Anything exciting?’
Jemima turned to her with a bright, happy expression and said, ‘Oh Venetia, just the usual. It’s such a grind, isn’t it? Arabella’s got me into organising a party for the regatta. And will I be seeing you at Cheltenham in Gerry’s box as usual? I’ve got the most divine hat from Frederick Fox, you’ll simply die …’
And on she went, chattering away as though nothing in the world were wrong.
Tara was trembling all over.
‘For God’s sake, Gerald,’ she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. ‘The children are asleep just down the hall.’ They were in their bedroom, Gerald pacing up and down, stopping only to bear down on her as she sat huddled at the foot of their bed.
Her husband’s eyes were blazing. ‘Why the hell are you so fucking disobedient, you bitch?’
‘Come on, darling, please … let’s not argue about this.’ She smiled, trying to break through his anger, to calm him down.
‘Don’t “darling” me, you fucking moron,’ he spat. ‘You think you’re so clever, that you can just go your own sweet way and everything will be all right. You’re a fool!’
‘Gerald, I don’t understand –’ she began, but he cut her off.
‘Well, why not try your fucking best? It’s not thermodynamics, sweetheart!’ His face was red with rage, his eyes screwed up with the force of his anger. ‘Let me explain it to you again. You’ve left a successful career and an inspired boss to waste your time over some tired, clapped-out company, through sheer pig-headedness. It’s obvious Trevellyan’s day is over. Of course we wouldn’t have dreamed of saying or even thinking such a thing while your mother was alive but now she’s gone, it’s time to face the truth. Trevellyan is finished.’
‘I don’t think so –’ Tara began, but Gerald cut her off again.
‘And now I hear the rumour that someone is prepared to pay you good money for this company! And instead of thanking your lucky stars and biting the man’s hand off, you’re planning to reject it!’ Gerald’s voice rose with fury.
He had come into the bedroom, bright-eyed and excited, hardly able to keep his enthusiasm in check, to tell her that he had heard that an American company was interested in acquiring Trevellyan. According to his sources, FFB were actively putting together a plan of acquisition, and were prepared to pay good money to add Trevellyan to their portfolio.
‘Isn’t that marvellous?’ Gerald had said, beaming. ‘Now you can stop this fool’s errand and get back to Curzons, with a healthy little bonus as well! I suggest
you
get in touch with this fella who runs it – Ferrera, they said his name is – and start opening the negotiations.’
Perhaps her mistake had been to bat the whole thing away too carelessly. Gerald had obviously expected her to scream with delight, thank him for saving the day and rush over to the phone to make some urgent calls. Instead, she had just looked at him over the top of her reading glasses and said lightly, ‘Oh, I know. We’re not interested.’
She’d gone back to her magazine. A moment later, Gerald had exploded with the kind of rage she had not seen for a long while.
Now he was pacing again, up and down the room. ‘How dare you treat me with so little fucking respect? You didn’t even ask my permission to leave Curzons. Don’t you think I should be consulted about these things? You’ve consistently failed to inform me about your activities, and you’ve consistently let me down.’ Gerald was panting as though he’d been running a race, his fat frame gasping for oxygen.
‘How?’ Tara dropped her glasses and magazine and stared at him, her fists clenched. She was scared and shaking, but trying not to show it. ‘How have I let you down?’
‘How? Are you a simpleton?’ Gerald pulled off his tie and then sank down into an armchair, facing her. You have left Curzons. You are receiving no salary. You’ve taken on the goddamned foolhardy mission of restoring your family fortunes, trying to save that miserable wreck of an outdated company. And you’ve done
all
this without once consulting me. Me, your husband. The man who has always known what’s best for you. Well?’ He sat forward, his fist pounding the table beside him.
‘I haven’t left Curzons, I’ve taken a sabbatical –’
‘And Eric agreed to that, did he? Don’t make me laugh. There’s no way he’ll keep your job open for you if someone better comes along. You’ve been stupid. Appallingly stupid. It’s bad enough that we’re getting nothing from your mother’s will but a part share in a company that’s almost finished, without you throwing away your job as well. And now you won’t even sell the fucking thing, when someone is prepared to offer you decent money for it. God knows when you’ll get someone else who’ll do that. I’m telling you, Tara, this is your last chance.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Tara said plaintively. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. I want to put Trevellyan back on its feet.’
Gerald snorted. ‘Come on,’ he drawled. ‘Do you really think that’s possible?’
Her head drooped. She thought back over all the terrible surprises of the past fortnight. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just don’t know.’ She had never felt so powerless, so ignorant and so helpless. And in her naïvety, she had thought her husband might understand, might want to help her. Instead, it had driven him into a rage of the kind of intensity she hadn’t seen since the worst period of their marriage, just after Edward arrived.
‘No. You don’t know. You block-headed slut!’ he
yelled,
making her jump. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’
‘I don’t understand,’ Tara cried. ‘What does it matter to us? We don’t need the money!’
Gerald ignored her, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth across the room again. Then he turned on her and shouted, ‘Don’t waste your time on this fool’s errand, do you hear me? I’m ordering you to sell Trevellyan.’
‘What?’ She was stunned.
‘You heard me. Sell it! Get out while there’s still something to be salvaged from the wreck.’
‘But I’ve told you, I don’t want to sell it,’ Tara said, trying to sound strong even though she was terrified. What on earth had provoked this reaction in Gerald? She knew that their relationship had been more difficult over the last few years but she had never seen him like this. As her career had blossomed outside the home, and she’d appeared stronger and more confident, inside the home, Gerald had cracked down, imposing more and more rules on the household. There were set ways of doing everything. Some ritual or other governed every aspect of their lives. But he had never lost control quite like this and it frightened her. Up until now she had allowed him to exercise control because she didn’t want to think about what might happen if she defied him. Now it looked as though she had defied him without meaning to, and she was going to have to carry on defying him.
‘I command you to sell it!’ he shouted.
‘No!’ Tara cried. ‘I won’t. I can’t. I owe it to the others.’
Gerald’s face went puce. ‘Do you intend to disobey me?’
She didn’t dare answer. He raced over to the dressing room and opened the door. It revealed rails and shelves of clothes and shoes, all perfectly arranged and colour coded. Nothing was out of place. It was immaculate and spotless.
‘Gerald, no,’ Tara said, panicking. She had lived for so long with his mania for order and correctness that she had begun to rely on it herself, to feel distressed when things were out of place. She also knew what it meant when Gerald lost his temper.
He didn’t appear to hear her. He rushed into the room, paused for a moment as though gathering his strength, and then attacked the clothes, ripping them from their hangers, clearing shelves with one swipe of an arm.
Tara jumped off the bed and ran over, shouting, ‘Gerald, no, please, don’t do that!’ But it was too late. He was in a fierce frenzy, turning boxes over, shaking out the shoes inside, throwing her clothes into a crumpled, twisted mess in the middle of the room. Then he picked up a slim belt and held it in his hands, rubbing the leather across his palms. He turned to glare at her with a wild look that she knew all too well.
Oh God
, she thought, with icy fear.
Oh God, no. Not this. Please. I can’t bear it if this begins again
.
24
TARA LOOKS TERRIBLE
, thought Jemima. Her sister had come into work wearing a massive pair of dark glasses. When she’d taken them off, she’d revealed swollen eyes, her lids pinkish and dark bags puffed underneath.
‘Are you OK? You look awful,’ she’d said, concerned.
‘I’m fine.’ Tara had sounded short. ‘I had a bad night. Imogen was awake and she kept me up for hours.’
‘Bad luck,’ Jemima said sympathetically. ‘Is the little poppet ill?’ She had a soft spot for her nephew and niece. She couldn’t believe how sweet they were, considering Gerald was their father.
‘She’s fine. It’s just one of those things children do. You wouldn’t know anything about it.’
Jemima flinched.
‘Oh Christ, Mimi …’ Tara looked mortified. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think …’
‘It’s fine,’ Jemima said stiffly. ‘Really. Forget it.’
‘No, I mean it, I’m sorry …’
‘Don’t we need to get on?’
The door opened and Poppy came in, breezy and smiling. ‘Morning, girls! How are we all today?’
‘Not quite as perky as you, I’m afraid,’ Jemima said, raising her eyebrows.
Poppy sighed happily. ‘I
am
feeling rather fantastic, as it happens –’ She faltered as she looked over at her big sister. ‘Oh my God, Tara, is everything all right?’
‘I’m as fine as I can be, considering the mess we’re in. Right, let’s get started.’ Tara fired up her laptop as Poppy shot Jemima a concerned look, but it was returned by a dismissive shrug.
Tara pushed on, wanting to avoid any more discussion about her tired, washed-out looks. ‘Now, as you both know, we’ve got a major problem as far as our product is concerned. To be brutally frank, if Claudine is to be believed, we’re selling a fake. The formula for
Trevellyan’s Tea Rose
has been interfered with. I think it’s perfectly obvious that this is something Mother has done. Her drive for cutting costs appears to have overridden all other concerns. To be honest, it seems to have sent her a bit barmy.’
‘She probably realised she was on the brink of destroying Trevellyan,’ Jemima said.
‘Or at least, being at the helm when the ship went down,’ Poppy agreed. ‘Imagine. She loved this company more than Daddy did. Remember how taking over control of it after he died seemed to wake her up and give her a purpose in life? It was almost as though it took Daddy’s place. It meant everything to her. No wonder she was willing to do anything to save it.’