Exposure (27 page)

Gloria looked at him with interest. ‘You want to be Prime Minister?'

‘Doesn't every politician? Of course they do. They start the caring bit when they know they're not going to get any further. You know, I wouldn't talk to most people like this. You have a man's mind, that's why. I like girls, but I can't talk to them. They're too stupid. Have some coffee. I'm going to have a brandy. Will you join me?'

Gloria said, ‘Yes. I often have a brandy with Daddy after dinner. We sit and talk when my mother's gone to bed.' She gave him a sudden smile. ‘She's terribly stupid. Daddy never discusses anything with her.'

‘But she's beautiful,' Leo countered. ‘You can't have everything.'

‘She's
into the caring bit,' Gloria said, ‘in a big way. She's on every charity committee, fund raising and running after royalty. She'll love it when Daddy gets his peerage.'

He sipped the fine brandy and said lightly, ‘I didn't know about that. In the New Year's Honours List?' Bile rose in his throat at the thought of it.

‘No, maybe the Birthday Honours. He'll get it, he always gets what he wants. He's set his heart on this. I think it's because people like Western got titles and Daddy didn't. He hates being outdone.' She giggled. ‘I tease him about it sometimes.'

‘And you'll be the Honourable,' Leo remarked. ‘The Hon. Gloria King. Sounds very grand.' He smiled. ‘It'll suit you. You know, I've really enjoyed this evening. I love the theatre and none of my girlfriends would have appreciated that play we saw tonight. You know why I asked you?' Gloria shook her head. The diamond earrings flashed fire. ‘Because when I was down for the weekend you told me you liked the theatre.'

She said casually, ‘I like opera, too. I'm very musical.'

‘I'm not,' he admitted. ‘I prefer ballet. Do you like ballet?'

‘No,' she said flatly. ‘All those gays prancing about. I love Italian opera. They're doing Verdi at Covent Garden next week.'

He said, ‘Then why don't we go, and see if you can convert me?'

‘We wouldn't get seats; they've been sold out for weeks. It's Pavarotti.'

Leo Derwent summoned the waiter for his bill. ‘If I get tickets, will you come?'

Gloria showed her large even teeth in a mocking smile that was not unfriendly. ‘If you get tickets, I'll come. I won't tell Daddy.' She giggled again. ‘He tried and he couldn't get any.'

Leo said, ‘That's a deal.' He drove her home. He didn't touch her. The idea repelled him anyway, and it would have been a mistake. She wasn't ready for anything like that. Yet. He came to the front door of the house in Green Street and solemnly shook hands.

‘Good night, Gloria. It's been fun tonight. I'll call you about the opera.'

‘You won't get seats,' Gloria said.

‘I always get what I want,' he retorted. ‘Like your father. Good night.'

She opened the door and went inside. She didn't thank him. She was reluctant to thank people; her father never did. It was a sign of weakness. He wouldn't get tickets for the Verdi opera. Not when her father had failed.

‘Damn,' Julia exclaimed. ‘They're away. They've gone to France for ten days. I spoke to the cleaner.' She frowned at Ben Harris. ‘I hoped to get over early next week.' Her cousins the Petersons were Jersey residents and she intended inviting herself for a week's stay.

The holiday had to seem bona fide. They could make the contact she needed. There was no help for it; she would have to wait till they returned and then fix a date to visit them.

‘Stop worrying,' he advised her. ‘Nothing's going to happen in the next two weeks. And besides, you've got Leo Derwent and Gloria King up and running.'

‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘He's seeing her again this week. God knows what they have in common … But he's clever. I have to give him that.'

‘And he hates King's guts,' Ben said. ‘So we know King's putting a deal together in the States, bringing the lovely Gloria in on the act, and working towards a peerage. Which ties in with his take-over of the
Herald
. He'll be the biggest single publishing and communications boss in the whole of the UK. Nobody in politics will want to get on the wrong side of him. Even the royals wouldn't be safe from someone with that much clout. Jesus. It makes the flesh creep.'

‘Which is why every day's delay does matter,' Julia pointed out. ‘Why do the bloody Petersons have to go to France, just at this time?'

He shrugged. She was pacing up and down. He hadn't seen her so uptight since Jean Adams was murdered. That was the goad driving her, and nothing he could say relieved her sense of guilt. ‘I talked to Lucy today,' he said. Julia didn't connect for a moment.

‘Lucy – yes, of course, how is she?'

‘Still sick,' he said. ‘But she's told her mother. She took the news about the baby better than Lucy expected, but she wasn't too pleased about me coming into the picture. I'd like you to meet Lucy. Why don't we go up to Birmingham this weekend … she's always asking about you.'

Julia pushed her hair back; she felt tired and slightly irritable. Frustration was fraying her nerves. She should have been in Jersey instead of going up to the Midlands to meet her lover's pregnant daughter.

‘Ben darling,' she said, ‘I'd rather wait. I've got this bloody trip on my mind. I'd be a drag on both of you. Why don't you go?'

‘And leave you chewing your nails on your own here? No way. We'll do it another time.'

‘We could drive down and have lunch with my parents,' she said on an impulse. ‘They're always asking about you. I did neglect them for quite a time. I was so wrapped up in my work, and they didn't like Felix. And
they
were wrapped up in my brother and the grandchildren … I was jealous of that. But we've grown very close now and I want to see them before Christmas. Next time, we'll go up and see Lucy?'

‘OK,' he said. ‘Why not? I'd like to see where the genes come from … either of them redheaded?'

‘No,' Julia smiled at him. ‘Daddy's father was. I suppose I get it from him. You're sure you don't mind about Lucy – just till I've got this trip to Jersey over?' She sighed. ‘It's so bloody crucial to the whole thing. God, I wish I could go there tomorrow!'

‘Well you can't, so relax,' he advised. ‘Call your family and make a date. See if they can have us on Sunday. I hate Sundays in London. It's so dead. Everything's asleep.'

‘I never knew that,' Julia said. ‘Why didn't you say so before? We could have done something different.'

‘Because I liked spending my day with you,' he said quietly. ‘Our mornings in bed were rather special.'

‘Aren't they still?' she asked him.

‘Oh no,' he mocked her. ‘You turn me off these days. Haven't you noticed?'

‘Not really,' Julia said, ‘if last night was anything to go on. Why do you always manage to wind me up? Why do I fall for it?'

‘Because you're so crazy about me,' he said solemnly. ‘Don't chuck that cushion at me … go and call your mother.'

Listening to the telephone call, he watched Julia and realized how much she had changed his life. Sundays had been his worst day of the week. There was nothing to do, no work unless some crisis broke, just his own company in the empty flat. Quite often he opened a bottle of whisky and settled down to drink his way through it till he fell asleep. Now he thought of the country on a Sunday morning. As a child he had woken to a world that was green. His father loved birds and for a time he had managed to interest Ben in watching them. They were country people with simple values and hobbies that weren't dependent upon money. They had been blessed with a clever and ambitious son. Sometimes Ben wondered how much of a blessing he had really been to them. A foreign wife, a broken marriage, grandchildren that they seldom saw. They were both dead, and in those few minutes, listening to Julia talking to her mother, Ben Harris admitted how much he regretted the past. It was too late for them, but he had a second chance. A chance with a woman he loved and a chance with his daughter Lucy. His son, Frank, had sent him a friendly message through his sister. He had been the more hostile to Ben of the two children when they divorced. It could all come right, he thought.

Julia hung up and turned to him. She looked happier, less strained.

‘They're thrilled,' she said. ‘Sunday will be fine. I warn you, Mum's a terrific cook and she believes in feeding everyone to bursting point. One thing …' She hesitated, and then said, ‘They're dying to see me settled. I could hear the wedding bells in her voice … don't be put off by that, will you?'

He gave nothing away. ‘Don't worry, J, I won't. Why don't we go and catch that new Harrison Ford film at the Odeon?'

‘Some men', Julia said sweetly, ‘just never grow up. Harrison Ford … I'll get my coat.'

‘Gloria's going out with that Leo again,' Marilyn King remarked. King looked up and scowled.

‘It's becoming a bloody habit. What's he up to? I'll talk to her.'

‘Why do you have to interfere, darling? She's never had a steady boyfriend. I think she likes him.' Gloria's mother couldn't imagine any man wanting her daughter, but the slim chance of getting rid of her made her take Gloria's part.

‘Balls,' King snapped. ‘She wouldn't like a turd like that. Anyway, if I want to talk to her I'll talk to her.' He went back to his newspaper. After a time he looked up, and said, ‘Where's she going with him then?'

Marilyn said in her soft voice, ‘She didn't say. They went to the opera last week. Pavarotti. You couldn't get tickets, remember?'

That irritated him. His face reddened. He glared at her.

‘I didn't try,' he said. ‘You wanted to see it.' Leo Derwent dating his daughter. He shouldn't have let her go out with him in the first instance. He'd put a stop to it right now. He threw the newspaper aside. ‘Where is she?' he demanded. His wife knew that tone of voice. ‘Upstairs,' she said. ‘Getting ready.' Her hopes were dashed. King wouldn't let any man take his daughter. She sighed and resigned herself, as she had done all through her married life. Fortunately, her expectations of happiness were limited to money, clothes and social activities. She had given King what he wanted sexually until he obviously tired of her. She had borne the one child, and been surprised that he had not insisted on more in the hope of a son. He had been content with his daughter and left her to her own devices. They had never included lovers. She wasn't that interested in sex; it had been a means to an end with her as soon as she recognized the market value of her own beauty and appeal. It was a great relief not to go through the charade of pretending to enjoy it. All that thrashing about and moaning, she remembered with distaste. So boring. Life was better than it had ever been, with her circle of smart friends, her charity work and the magical contacts with royalty. When she was Lady King her cup would overflow.

She stopped thinking about Gloria and her short-lived romance.

Harold King didn't knock on his daughter's bedroom door. He banged it open and walked in. Gloria was putting on a smart velvet coat lined with fox.

‘I want to talk to you,' he said. She smiled at him placatingly.

‘Daddy darling, I'll be late … Is it very important?'

‘You're meeting that shit Leo, aren't you?'

She looked surprised at his tone. ‘Yes, I am.'

King sat on her bed. He looked at her and said, ‘Put him off.'

‘Daddy – why? What's wrong?'

‘What's all this interest in you all of a sudden? He's got some ulterior motive.'

A slight colour crept up into her face.

‘He enjoys my company, that's all. There's nothing in it. We like the theatre and the opera. Daddy, there's nothing ulterior about it. There's no sex, if that's what you're worried about. He says I've got a man's mind, and he can talk to me … We're just friends—'

‘Balls,' King said angrily. ‘All he wants with women is to tie them up and cane their bottoms. He's trying to pull something.' He didn't notice that she had flushed bright red. He had never seen her angry with him. ‘Call him and say you can't make it.'

‘It's the first night of the new Lloyd Webber,' she said. ‘I can't just let him down at the last minute.'

‘Lloyd Webber? Very cultural …' The sneer wounded her.

‘Please, Daddy,' her eyes were filling with tears. ‘Please. I'll go tonight and I won't see him again. I'll tell him, I promise.' And then, in the first independent gesture of her adult life, she picked up her evening bag and brushed past him.

‘I'll tell him,' she repeated and went out, leaving him there.

Leo had booked a table at Annabel's for dinner after the theatre. He was advancing very slowly and carefully on his prey and he felt she was sufficiently off guard to go to the smartest nightclub in London; perhaps even to dance … She was good company, he was forced to admit that. She was sharp, with a cynical cast of mind that he enjoyed. She could even be witty in a mordant way. And she was flattered. She liked the attention he paid her, and she felt safe because there were no sexual overtones. Those, he thought coolly, could come later. Lesbians were said to be better in bed with a man than their heterosexual sisters. More practised in the skills of arousal.

She was ugly and coarse, but she had her father's aura of power about her. He didn't find it attractive, but he found it challenging. And most important of all in his scenario, was to hit Harold King right in the balls. He knew all about Leo's fun and games. He'd seen and heard the evidence … He wouldn't find it so amusing if the partner in the play-acting was his own daughter.