No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) (82 page)

Celia was silent.

‘
Wasn’t
it? I know it was. After all you’ve done for me, brought me from the slums, just so you could feel pleased with yourself, your own little guttersnipe, that’s what they used to call me at school, you know. Well, it was murder, what you did and I’m going to tell the police. And I hope you get put in prison, and hanged. I hate you.
I hate you
.’

Celia stood staring at her, absolutely bereft of words. Or even feelings. Then she sat down abruptly, and buried her face in her hands. Oliver moved forward, put his hand on her shoulder.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Barty,’ he said very gently, ‘Barty, come here.’

‘No.’

‘Please.’

‘I don’t want to,’ she said, but she was sobbing now, and more quietly.

‘Come along.’ He sat down on the sofa, by the fireplace. ‘Please. Come and sit down here, with me.’

She shook her head; then very slowly, moved towards him. He held out his hand. She reached out her own; he took it, as if he was rescuing her from some dreadful physical danger and pulled her gently towards him.

‘Come on. Come and sit down with your old Wol. That’s right.’ He kissed her gently on the top of her head; still sobbing, she leaned it on his shoulder. He put his arm round her.

‘There. That’s it. That’s better. Come on. Cry as much as you like.’ Slowly she stopped; sat hiccupping quietly,

‘Now,’ he said, ‘now, listen. It was a very dreadful thing, you learned today. Very dreadful. I feel desperately sorry for you.’

‘Don’t tell me I was wrong. I know it was true.’

‘Of course not. I know it was true.’

Celia stared at him, her eyes startled. He looked back at her very steadily.

‘I knew about it. And I knew why it happened. Barty, life is very cruel. Very cruel indeed. Your mother of all people knew that. She had such a struggle and she managed so terribly well. And she had a wonderful family and we are very proud to have a member of it as part of ours.’

‘I’m not part of yours,’ she said, but she sounded less angry. She started picking at a thread on the sleeve of his jacket.

‘Of course you are. That’s ridiculous. An important, special part. We are all changed because of you. The twins love you—’

‘They don’t.’

‘Oh, but they do. They were crying the other night, when your mother died. They respect you and they love you. They’re just very badly behaved a lot of the time, I’m afraid. And you are an important example to them. If they become even half as hard-working, as clever, as beautifully mannered as you, I shall be very happy. As for little Jay – try telling him you’re not part of the family. He’d put you right very quickly. And Giles is desperately fond of you, and I am proud that he is.’

‘But—’

‘And I love you very, very much. You were so special to me, when I first came home from the war. Who had me taking my first proper food, who read to me, hour after hour when everyone else was busy, who played the piano for me, when I couldn’t sleep? Eh?’

She was silent.

‘Now. The baby. Yes, it’s true. Your mother and Aunt Celia did what you heard today, but it wasn’t the dreadful brutal thing you imagine. It was kindly, gently done. They were easing her on her way. Your mother couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to see her suffering, and she did indeed ask Celia to help her. Celia told me, when she got home, how peaceful and beautiful the baby looked, how she wrapped her in the shawl she took for her, and gave her to your mother, so that she could hold her and kiss her goodbye. And how your mother thanked her. For everything. Everything Barty. Understand that.’

‘It was wicked,’ she said staunchly, ‘it was a crime.’

‘You can think of it like that, of course. Or you can think of it as it really was, an act of great courage and of kindness to a small creature in terrible pain, who could only live for a very few hours at the most.’

More silence.

‘And Barty, Celia loves you too. So much. She would never do anything wittingly to hurt you. She has only ever wanted to do her best for you? I know things have gone wrong for you at times: they do for all of us, you know. Giles had a dreadful time at school, as well. So did I, as a matter of fact. But things have gone right, too, you must admit that. No, Barty, Celia is one of the bravest – no the bravest – and the most truly loving person I have ever met. Except for your own mother perhaps, and I didn’t know her very well.

‘And Celia is a wonderful person to have on your side. Ask her one day what she did for LM, after Jay was born. Well, ask LM. She’ll tell you. It was remarkable. She cares for you and for all of us with – well with passion. Although she is very – bossy,’ he said and half smiled, ‘I grant you that. But we would be nothing without her, any of us. Nothing at all. I know you’re angry with her, and probably you should be. I know you’re shocked. Of course you are. But you will feel better soon. I know you will. And you’ll forgive her. I hope so anyway.’

He kissed her; she was slumped against him now, sucking her thumb like a small child. She looked up at him and almost smiled.

Then she said, ‘Can I stay here for a while? With you?’

‘Of course you can. As long as you like.’

Celia stirred; she cleared her throat. ‘Would you like me to go?’ she said.

Barty looked at her; her large hazel eyes thoughtful. Then she said, without smiling, but in a different voice altogether, ‘No. Don’t go.’

What seemed like many hours later, there was a knock at the door. Celia opened it. It was Brunson.

‘Telephone, Lady Celia.’

‘Thank you, Brunson.’

She went up to her sitting room; picked up the extension. It was Sebastian, as she had known it would be.

‘Celia?’ he said.

‘Yes. Yes, it’s me.’

‘Why – why did you ring?’

‘To tell you I wasn’t coming,’ she said, ‘that’s all. Goodbye, Sebastian. Goodbye.’

CHAPTER 33

‘You’re looking very grim.’

‘I’m feeling very grim. I wouldn’t have thought you’d expect anything different.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘Then you show a complete lack of grasp of the situation. I’m very surprised.’

‘Oh Jasper really! You’ve got the wretched thing banned, or whatever—’

‘I don’t think, Vanessa, you quite realise what a strain this has been for me. Quite appalling. And it’s not over yet, and besides they may apply to have the injunction withdrawn.’

‘How could they do that?’

‘Oh – it’s a legal technicality.’

‘Well, clearly I lack a grasp of that as well. Anyway, since you’re so wrapped up in your problems, I expect you’ve forgotten I’m going away this morning.’

‘I had actually. London?’

‘Yes. Only for a few days.’

‘And where are you staying?’

‘At the Basil Street Hotel.’

‘You love that place, don’t you?’

‘I do. Such charming people there always. No one in the least vulgar. And so beautifully kept. Not for nothing is its telegraphic address Spotless.’

‘Is it?’ said Lothian, amused. ‘I didn’t know that. I might come with you. I could do with a break from this place.’

‘Oh, I don’t think that would be possible,’ said Vanessa quickly. ‘I’m leaving in – oh, in about an hour.’

‘I don’t see any problem with that. Unlike you, I take about five minutes to pack. Probably less.’

‘I would actually take issue with that, Jasper. I seem to remember an appalling fuss about your shirts last time.’

‘All right. Ten minutes. Certainly less than an hour.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘My dear,’ said Lothian, ‘you need not worry. I won’t interfere with your plans. I’ll stay in another hotel, naturally.’

Vanessa looked at him thoughtfully.

‘It – probably would be better.’

‘Very well. But at least we could travel down together. I just have a couple of telephone calls to make and then I’ll get my things together.’

‘I can’t think why you want to go to London,’ said Vanessa, ‘in August.’ She sounded fretful.

‘I could say the same to you. I need to get some books from Dillons, there are a couple of Promenade concerts I’d like to go to next week. We might even have dinner together one evening. But I promise I won’t cramp your style.’

‘Well – all right.’ She gave him her quick, dazzling smile. There was clearly no point arguing. And as long as he wasn’t at the Basil Street Hotel with her and Dick Marlone, who was quite the best and most inventive lover she had ever had, she really didn’t care. ‘You’d better go and start looking out your thousand and one shirts, my darling.’

‘So – this is the last day of Lyttons’ life. If you have your way.’

Oliver looked at her and smiled.

‘It’s nice to have you back,’ he said.

‘Oliver, don’t change the subject. This is too important to joke about.’

‘I’m not joking. I do feel you are back. In fighting form.’

‘Well, I’m glad you think that.’ She smiled at him briefly; she looked exhausted, pale and heavy-eyed. But LM looking at her across the breakfast table could see what Oliver meant. The lethargy, the remoteness was gone: the essential Celia was there again.

‘We’re going now.’ The twins stood in the doorway, dressed in identical sailor dresses with straw boater hats. Nanny was taking them and Jay to London Zoo. LM had given her permission slightly reluctantly, fighting off fears of escaped rogue elephants and rampant tigers, of Jay breaking the glass of the python’s cage.

‘Thank you,’ said Adele, ‘um – have you seen Barty this morning?’

‘Yes,’ said Celia, ‘she’s staying in bed for a while. She’s a bit tired.’

‘Why?’ Venetia’s expression was carefully innocent; they had both heard the beginnings of the row, were desperate to have details.

‘Because she’s had a very difficult time, that’s why. She’ll be all right soon. Especially when the funeral’s over.’

‘Should we go and see her, cheer her up a bit?’

‘No, Adele, you are not to disturb her. Do you understand?’

‘But she’ll be alone all day. And if she’s upset, she’ll need cheering up.’

‘Billy is coming over later. He’ll cheer her up.’

‘Yes, but he’s not here now. She might be crying again, she—’

‘Venetia, I said no. Barty is perfectly all right. She just needs a rest.’

A rest and some time. She had gone up to bed very quietly at about ten o’clock, having fallen asleep, finally, on Oliver’s knee. He had taken her up and tucked her in and then came back down to the drawing-room.

‘She wants you to go and say goodnight to her,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘She’s sure.’

She had gone into Barty’s room; she was lying, half-asleep, her lids heavy.

‘Goodnight, Aunt Celia,’ she said, formally polite.

‘Goodnight, darling. I’m – I’m sorry you had such a horrible day.’

‘Well, it’s a bit better now.’

‘Are – you a bit better now?’

‘Yes. Yes, thank you.’

A silence; then she said, ‘It hasn’t all been horrible. Being here. I didn’t mean that.’

‘Good,’ said Celia, ‘I’m glad.’

She waited a minute or two, but that was clearly as far as Barty was prepared to go. It seemed to Celia quite a long way. She didn’t kiss her; it seemed presumptuous.

‘Goodnight,’ she said, ‘I’m so sorry I – I misjudged you and Giles.’

‘It’s all right. ’Night.’

Celia had apologised to Giles: ‘It was stupid of me. Wrong. I just thought—’

‘Not that stupid,’ he said. She thought at first he was being generous, then realised there was another interpretation to be put on it. He was extremely fond of Barty; and they were at a vulnerable age.

She suddenly remembered her mother saying, ‘She’s getting very pretty. It’s going to be a headache,’ and misunderstanding. Now she knew what she meant. Well – there was nothing to be done about it. Not at the moment.

‘Is she all right?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think she’s all right now.’ She didn’t elaborate; it was not for her to do so. If Barty wanted to tell him about it all, she would. There was nothing to be done about that either.

‘Your father was wonderful with her,’ she said.

‘They are very fond of each other.’ There was an edge of reproach in his voice; well, no doubt she deserved it.

‘Yes. Well, goodnight, Giles.’

‘Goodnight, mother.’

She had gone to bed after that. Oliver put his head round her door.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Yes. thank you. And thank you for – well for everything. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.’

‘Oh, she would have calmed down, I daresay,’ he said lightly.

‘I don’t think she would have. Poor little girl.’

‘Well, it was a dreadful shock for her.’

‘Dreadful. I hope – I hope she can come to terms with it. It won’t be easy.’

‘No. But she’s still a child. Children are very resilient.’

‘Not quite a child,’ said Celia, the image of Barty and Giles, lying together on the bed, suddenly rising in front of her, ‘she’s maturing very fast. Physically.’

‘Yes, yes, but she’s a child emotionally.’

‘I suppose so. Oh dear.’ She sighed.

He looked at her. ‘You must try not to take to heart all that she said. It was designed to hurt.’

‘It did. And I deserved a lot of it, I’m afraid. And I certainly didn’t deserve all those – those nice things you said about me.’

‘I think I should be the judge of that.’

She was silent; then, ‘Oliver,’ she said, ‘I – I didn’t know you had guessed about Sylvia’s baby.’

He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t. Not until then. But it all seemed very clear suddenly. I do remember you being dreadfully upset. Odd about it. I only wish you could have told me about it at the time. It must have been terrible for you.’

‘It was. Terrible. But I still don’t feel it was wrong. Taking in all the circumstances. Well, the wrong thing, for the right reasons. Like so much of what I do.’

He smiled at her rather sadly. ‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he said, ‘I expect you’d like to be left in peace.’

Peace? When had she last known that?

‘Yes, it might be best.’ She looked at him, hesitated. Then she said, ‘Oliver—’

‘Yes?’

‘I – I know you don’t like talking about these things. That they embarrass you. But – this baby—’

‘Yes?’

His face was politely interested.

‘For reasons which I won’t trouble you with, I do know when it was conceived. With absolute certainty.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes. It was that night, after the opera, at Glyndebourne. There is absolutely no doubt that it was then. I wouldn’t make a – a mistake about anything so important.’

He flushed slightly, smiled at her.

‘Good. Well, that was a good omen, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes, I would.’ She looked at him. ‘You do know – what I mean, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘of course I do. And I’m very pleased you told me.’

At that moment, she realised, she absolutely believed it herself.

She fell asleep immediately: too exhausted to feel anything, even remorse, even grief. But she woke later, crying bitterly, and lay awake for hours. Feeling absolutely and dreadfully alone.

And yet in the morning, she did feel something more like herself again. Strangely energised, and determined, absolutely concerned about Lyttons.

‘There must be something,’ she said, ‘something we can do to save it. Save us.’

‘Celia, there isn’t. Please believe me.’

‘LM, what do you think?’

‘If there is anything,’ said LM rather sadly, ‘I can’t find it.’

‘Well, we should go on trying.’

She was going, she said, not only to the office, ignoring Oliver’s protests, but also to the meeting with Brunnings. ‘I’m perfectly well, it’s quite safe. The pregnancy is past three months now, there’s very little danger.’

‘Perhaps you should ask Dr Perring.’

‘I have,’ she said untruthfully, ‘and he said I could go if I wanted to. And I do. I still think we can fight this.’

‘There is nothing to fight. Except bankruptcy.’

‘Well, we will fight that then.’

LM had to smile; Celia was never better than when she had not only her back to the wall, but several knives at her throat as well. It was good to have her back; whatever distant grim place she had been in for the past weeks, she had left it now. In spite of everything, in spite of LM’s distaste for and disapproval of what she had done, it was impossible not to admire her today.

‘I don’t see what the rush is. Why can’t we wait a few more weeks? We’re not on the breadline yet.’

‘Because the offer from Brunnings is a good one. Because we should be grateful for it. And take it before it’s withdrawn again, before things get worse.’

‘Well I’m not grateful for it.’

‘And because this injunction has come from Lothian. They will be in London next week to witness the shredding of the books and the type.’

‘I thought you were going to appeal. Get an inter partes hearing.’

‘Well—’

‘Oliver, why not? While we still have a chance. Give in now, pulp those copies and we’re really done for.’

‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I don’t think there is the slightest point. You know the facts as well as I do. The similarities between the book and Lothian’s real life are quite simply unarguable. No judge in his right mind is going to withdraw that injunction. We have no defence, as far as I can see. And Briscoe agrees with me.’

‘But I don’t. Can’t we talk to Guy again?’

‘What on earth for?’

‘I’m not sure. I just think we should. It’s his book that’s going to be destroyed. It seems very harsh to do it without warning him.’

‘He shouldn’t have done what he did,’ said Oliver heavily. ‘It was foolish, unprofessional.’

‘Oliver, he’s only a boy. It was his first book. We should have been more watchful ourselves.’

‘Well, I don’t feel any great sense of loyalty to him.’

‘Not loyalty perhaps. But professional decency. One day he may write another book—’

‘Not for Lyttons,’ said Oliver.

‘Obviously not for Lyttons, if you have your way. No one will be writing books for Lyttons. There won’t be a Lyttons.’

‘Oh Celia—’

‘I’m going to talk to him somehow. Before we see Brunnings. I absolutely insist.’

‘It can’t change anything.’

‘You don’t know that.’

She looked at her watch. Nine o’clock. In an hour Sebastian would be gone. Then she would feel calmer. Still in pain, the raw, awful pain: but at least less tormented.

‘What time is this meeting with Brunnings?’ she said to LM.

‘Midday.’

That would be better. He would be well away by then; probably on the ship.

‘Is Peter Briscoe going to be there?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Well – shall we go? We have a big battle to fight. Legions to draw up, campaigns to plan. Come on.’

As long as she kept moving, physically, she seemed to feel better.

Guy had caught the milk train to Cambridge. It left Liverpool Street at five thirty; it was a fairly fast train, due in at eight. He had Lothian’s address; he could be on his doorstep by half past. He had considered telephoning him to warn him, but he decided against it. He wanted to surprise him totally. He knew he was at home, had not gone away. The worst that could happen was that he would be out. In which case, he would just wait. All day if he had to. There really was not that much of a hurry.

It was a nice journey: surprisingly pretty, along the edge of Hertfordshire and up into North Essex. It was a glorious day, and the English countryside was almost absurdly perfect, golden and slightly misty.

Guy had made himself a picnic, a cheese roll and a flask of coffee; he sat, enjoying it, as they crossed a superb viaduct near Colchester, looking down almost as if from the sky at the suddenly small fields and trees and river below him, and thought of the day when he would be a famous and successful author, travelling Pullman, eating his way through a four course breakfast. Well, it might happen quite soon now; and when it did, he would take Susannah Bartlett out for dinner at the Ritz. She certainly deserved it.