‘Oh, he is really,’ said Roz. ‘Sorry. You must think I’m a frightful bitch.’
‘Not really,’ said Miles consideringly. ‘I think you’re terrific.’ This was said so sincerely, with so patent a disregard for flattery, that Roz smiled, suddenly less angry and hurt.
‘That’s better,’ said Miles. ‘I felt that.’
‘What?’
‘You relaxed. You should laugh more. Life isn’t really so serious.’
‘It is,’ she said, ‘at the moment.’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
‘You’re right, though. Michael – my man as you call him –
always makes – made me laugh. It’s one of the reasons I – well, I miss him.’
‘Why don’t you call him?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t.’
‘OK,’ he said, smoothing down over her shoulders now, working his thumbs into the bones at the top of her spine, ‘you know him. I don’t. I’d like to, though. He sounds like a real fun guy. How’s this?’
‘It’s lovely,’ said Roz, and it was true. She felt soothed, calmed, rested. It was partly talking to Miles that helped, partly a great natural weariness suddenly carrying her away, and partly, she had to admit, the sensation of extraordinary pleasure and warmth which was being conveyed through her body.
‘Good. I told you it would help. Tell me about your mom.’
She told him. She told him about her childhood, about all her mother’s lovers, about Jamil al Shehra, about the husbands, about Pierre du Chene, about Peveril.
‘She sounds like quite a lady.’
‘She is.’
‘Like her daughter,’ he said. There was something in his voice, a new depth, that shot through Roz like a charge. A fierce, probing one. One she could not begin to contend with. One she did not even want to think about.
‘That’s fine, Miles,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I – I think I’ll go to bed now. Can you let yourself out?’
‘Of course,’ he said, and as she turned to face him, to walk out of the room, she met his eyes, and felt confused, disoriented, almost physically disturbed. She looked away, smiled coolly, walked past him, but it was too late; he had seen it, and shown her that he had seen it, with a smile of his own, a brief touch of her hand.
‘Good night,’ was all he said. ‘I’ll call you first thing, find out when we have to go.’
He might seem a boy, she thought, lying in bed later, drifting into unconsciousness with the help of a very strong sleeping pill, but he undoubtedly had the sexuality, the carnal knowledge of a very experienced man.
Phaedria finally reached Regent’s Park, exhausted, the following afternoon.
Julia had been very good and slept through most of the journey, waking only to feed and gaze sweetly around her, occasionally smiling her surprised, lopsided smile; nevertheless it was a relief to get her home and into the arms of Mrs Hamlyn for a few hours.
Michael had seen them both off at LA airport; he had taken her in his arms, and given her a huge bear hug.
‘I daren’t kiss you,’ he said, looking at her tenderly, lovingly, his eyes nonetheless amused both at himself and her for their entirely (as he put it) profligate restraint, ‘not even on your forehead. I would forget myself entirely and ravish you here and now right in front of Immigration. Now take great care of yourself, and call me if you need me.’
‘I will,’ she said. She felt she could have stayed there in his arms, safe, protected from the fears that filled her, for hours, days; she pulled back, looked at him, at his gloomily amused face, his restless dark eyes, interminably exploring her, his oddly hard, tough, mouth – she had begun to dream of that mouth and what it could do to her – felt his warmth, his solid, comforting, caring warmth, and somehow managed to smile; but she felt chilled and totally bereft as she finally walked away from him towards Internal Flights.
All the way home she thought alternately of him and Julian; her mind and her emotions a jumble of hurt and fear, longing and confusion. It occurred to her suddenly, as she looked out at the endless blue beside and beyond her, that she had never met Michael, never been with him, under circumstances that were not extraordinary; when she had not been ill or frightened, or grieving or shocked. And yet he managed unfailingly to make her feel calmer, happy, safe, to make things seem hopeful, and normal, and above all interesting. He was very sexually attractive (very very sexually attractive, she thought, wrenching her mind with an effort from a rather too vivid contemplation of what might have been) but, more unusually, he was emotionally exciting, he gave life, people, experiences, a new vividness and interest.
Well, it was not to be, she thought; she would just have to find them less vivid and interesting, and to suppress the
ferocious feelings that roared through her body every time she even thought about him. He belonged to Roz, and even had she been less afraid of Roz, less hostile to her, Phaedria would not have considered taking him away from her. The pain of seeing Camilla’s head on the pillow of her bed, hers and Julian’s, in New York, was still fresh and raw in her. She would not, could not, inflict that on anybody. Not even Roz. Moreover, just now Roz, probably even more than she, needed Michael. Even in her own considerable unhappiness, Phaedria shuddered at the thought of the hurt Roz must be enduring.
And there was another pain, equally fresh and raw, still in her, that she knew made it impossible for her to enter into emotional commitments. She had, with all their problems, their battles, the shortcomings of their relationship, loved Julian very much; he had been her first lover and her first real love, and he had died only six months earlier. She was still cautiously, painfully working her way through her grief – rekindled suddenly and horribly by this new trauma, and she was simply not ready to go forward into anything else.
Quite suddenly as she sat there, gazing blankly out of the window, unbidden, unwelcome, a terrifying thought came to her. Straight from a nightmare, worse than a nightmare: so bad she had to get up, walk up and down the aisle for a while, order herself a drink.
‘No,’ she said to herself, half aloud. ‘No. Not possibly.’
Her voice broke into the baby’s sleep; she stirred, half opened her eyes, moved her tiny arms. Phaedria looked at her, and picked her up suddenly, holding her very tightly. ‘Oh baby,’ she said, ‘what troubles we seem to have, you and I.’
‘It’s lovely to have you home, madam,’ said the housekeeper, taking the baby, looking at her, smiling at her, ‘isn’t she beautiful and she looks just like –’ She broke off, confused, not sure if she was saying the right thing.
‘It’s lovely to be home, Mrs Hamlyn. Yes, I know, she looks just like her father, doesn’t she?’
‘She does. Who’d have thought it?’ said Mrs Hamlyn with a sublime lack of logic. ‘Er, Mr Emerson is here, madam, up in the drawing room. Shall I put baby in the nursery? You must be very tired, I’ll bring you some tea.’
‘I’ll just come up with you and settle her. She’s been feeding all the way from Heathrow, I don’t think she’s hungry. But yes, I am tired. Thank you so much for getting the nursery organized, Mrs Hamlyn, I do appreciate it. I believe some nannies are coming for interviews tomorrow?’
‘Yes, they are. Mrs Morell has seen all of them, and liked them, but she said you must have the final say, of course.’
‘Well, me and Julia. Everyone has been so kind. I’ll just go and say hallo to Mr Emerson, Mrs Hamlyn, and then I’ll follow you up.’
C. J. was sitting by the fire; he looked drawn and pale.
‘Hallo, C. J.! It’s lovely to see you. I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘Hallo, Phaedria. It’s good to have you back.’
‘Well,’ she said, looking at him mockingly reproving, ‘I gather you haven’t been here very much, C. J. Business in New York, I heard.’
‘Er – yes,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Oh,’ she said lightly, ‘I have spies everywhere.’
‘You must do. Phaedria, I’m so sorry about all this.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘yes, it’s been an awful shock. But worse for Roz, I imagine. How is she?’
‘Pretty wretched. Very angry.’
‘Yes, she would be angry. I am quite. But not as much as her, I imagine.’
‘Nobody,’ he said with a sigh, ‘can be as angry as Roz.’
‘That’s true. Except perhaps her father.’
‘Well, yes. I’ve just left Letitia,’ he said.
‘Oh God,’ said Phaedria, ‘how is she? Poor Letitia. I did wonder, you know, if she had to know at all. But I suppose she might have heard some other way and that would have been worse.’
‘Rather strangely,’ said C. J., ‘she seemed to find it all rather – well, amusing would be too strong a word. But she was rather manic about it. She certainly didn’t cry or faint or anything. She just couldn’t stop talking about it.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Phaedria. ‘It would appeal to her on an intellectual level. She would regard it as a kind of personalized entertainment. I think when it sinks in she might feel very differently.’
‘Maybe. Could you ring her later and see how she is? I didn’t want to leave her, but she more or less shooed me out.’
‘Of course I will. I must go and see if Julia’s settled down, and then Mrs Hamlyn’s bringing us some tea.’
‘Fine.’
He seemed very depressed.
Phaedria reappeared laughing. ‘Well, I’ve lost that baby. Mrs Hamlyn won’t let me near her. There’s a mutual admiration society going on up there; it’s hard to say who’s talking the most nonsense.’
‘Good. How is she?’
‘Julia? She’s marvellous. Thriving. Smiling. Guzzling.’ She sighed suddenly, a vision of Michael looking at her over Julia’s downy head surfacing from her subconscious. She pushed it irritably down again. If she was going to get sentimental about him every time she even fed the baby, there was little hope for any of them.
‘And how are you?’
‘Tired. A bit shaken, I suppose. Oh, I don’t know what to think, C. J. Who on earth was I married to? Julian? Hugo Dashwood? Or someone else altogether. I feel such a fool, apart from anything else.’
‘You shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘We all knew him much longer and we never suspected anything either.’
‘No, but I was married to him. Supposed to be one mind and one flesh and all that sort of thing. How could I have been so obtuse?’
‘Phaedria, you weren’t being obtuse. The guy was – well, I hate to say this, but obviously just slightly odd.’
‘OK, but there I was madly in love with someone not just slightly, but extremely odd. And I had no idea. Some marriage.’
‘Well, we all have to learn to live with it. Roz is finding it horribly hard.’
‘I’m sure. Where is Roz anyway?’
‘She’s gone up to Scotland, to see her mother.’
‘Goodness,’ said Phaedria, ‘I wonder how on earth Eliza will take it?’
‘I think probably very well,’ said C. J. ‘I think hers will be
more like Letitia’s reaction. She’ll see it as a stupendous piece of gossip.’
‘Yes, well, she must be stopped from talking about it,’ said Phaedria. ‘Apart from anything else, I don’t think Letitia could cope with it being all over the papers. Nor could I for that matter,’ she added soberly.
‘Don’t worry. Roz had thought of that. She was prepared to threaten her mother with all kinds of loss of privilege, no more lunches at Langan’s, forbidding Jasper Conran to go and stay with her, that sort of thing,’ said C. J.
‘Good, I’m glad. And tell me about the famous Miles? What’s he like? And where is he? I want to meet him.’
‘The famous Miles is delightful,’ said C. J. ‘You just can’t help liking him. Very very good-looking –’
‘I know that,’ said Phaedria quietly, reliving suddenly the horror of seeing the photograph, the dizzy shock, standing there in the bright sunlight with Father Kennedy, feeling nothing but darkness and chill, ‘I’ve seen a picture of him.’
‘Have you? Oh, in Los Angeles, of course. Well anyway, he’s extremely charming, in that very Californian laid back kind of way, very very genuine and natural, and absolutely unspoilt. He’s completely fazed by all this business, hardly knows what day of the week it is, but he’s handled it extremely well. Just sitting and smiling and trying to be helpful.’
‘He sounds a bit too good to be true,’ said Phaedria briskly. ‘And – well, have you any idea at all, has he, what he might want to do?’
‘His initial reaction was just to hand it over and go back to California with his girlfriend,’ said C. J. ‘He just doesn’t basically want to know.’
‘Well, that could simplify things I suppose,’ said Phaedria. ‘Or alternatively complicate them. What does Henry think about it all?
‘God knows,’ said C. J. ‘I don’t think he’s met too many people like Miles. Maybe you should talk to him.’
‘I will. Anyway, where’s Miles now?’
‘In Scotland with Roz.’
‘Good God. What on earth for?’
‘Well, I may be doing her a terrible injustice,’ said C. J.
carefully, ‘but I kind of feel Roz doesn’t want him left around for you to get your hands on.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Phaedria wearily. ‘Machiavelli had nothing on Roz, did he? I don’t know if I have the stomach for all this, C. J. We obviously have a very bloody battle ahead of us.’
‘Letitia? Hello, it’s Phaedria.’
‘Darling, how lovely to hear your voice. How are you, and when can I come and see you and meet that baby? I would have come out to see you in LA but my fool of a doctor said I shouldn’t.’
‘Letitia, have you been ill?’
‘Not seriously, darling, only flu. But I did feel a bit tired after it. I told him the sunshine would do me good, but he didn’t seem to see it that way.’
‘Letitia, you must take care of yourself. You do too much.’
‘I do far too little,’ said Letitia briskly. ‘That’s half the trouble. I’m thinking of coming back to work full time. Could you find me some little task, do you think? As accounts clerk or something?’
‘Oh God, I’m sure we could,’ said Phaedria, ‘it would be marvellous.’
‘Good. Well maybe after Christmas. I’ll come for an interview. Now then, when am I going to see you both?’
‘Whenever you like. The baby is simply beautiful, Letitia, and she looks just like Julian.’
‘Oh, how wonderful. It’s all too good to be true. Shall I come over in the morning? I expect you’re tired now.’