Abruptly the road snaked round to the right; on the left was a car park. He pulled in, drove towards the wall at its far edge and parked.
‘There,’ he said. ‘There it is. Take a look at that.’
Roz took a look. Below them, curiously two dimensional in its effect, was the neat sprawl of Los Angeles, growing misty in
the evening air, beyond that the silver-blue streak of the sea, and to either side the rolling, folded velvety hills. The sky was turning blush orange, pinky grey clouds shot across it; the sun was dropping like a monster leaden fireball into the ocean.
‘God,’ said Roz, ‘I do have to say that it is beautiful.’
‘It is, isn’t it? Just beautiful?’
‘Now what do we do?’ she asked, mildly amused by his rapture.
‘We sit here and neck,’ he said, turning her face towards him. ‘That’s what everybody comes here for.’
Later that night after they had had dinner at Alice’s and gone back to the house and made love and talked and made love again, Roz sat determinedly up in bed and switched on the light.
‘Miles,’ she said, ‘I have something to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait? I’m kind of washed up.’
‘No, it can’t wait. It’s important. Sit up and listen.’
He looked at her warily. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me you’re in the club.’
‘I’m not,’ she said, ‘but would you mind if I was?’
‘Probably not. Go ahead. What is it?’
‘Well –’ Roz was not used to confession. ‘Miles, this may make you very angry. Shocked even. But I have to tell you. I just do.’
‘OK, I’m listening.’
‘Oh, God, Miles, it’s really bad.’
‘Can’t be that bad.’
‘It’s bad. You’ll hate me.’
‘Try me.’
‘All right. Miles, the consortium. The Zürich consortium.’
‘Yeah?’
‘The one you’ve decided to sell to.’
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s me. I dreamed it up. Laundered the bank account. Cooked the books. Planned to buy it back when you’d gone.’
He looked at her in complete silence, just studying her, contemplating her, as if she were some strange alien creature he had to familiarize himself with, his face expressionless. Roz sat, frozen, looking back at him, her gaze steady, waiting for dislike, mistrust, shock, to hit her. Then slowly, so slowly it was
like the sun coming up through a deep thick mist, Miles smiled, his most glorious, joyous, beatific smile.
‘I thought it was,’ he said.
It was Letitia who put two and two together and made a very exact four. She phoned Claridge’s, wishing to invite Miles and Candy to dinner, and was told Mr Wilburn had checked out.
Mildly surprised, she phoned Phaedria. ‘Darling, did you know Miles had gone?’
‘Yes and no,’ said Phaedria carefully. ‘He was very very fed up at the weekend. I asked him and Candy both down to Marriotts and he said he wasn’t fit for human company. He’d been saying for weeks he wanted to go back to California. Maybe they’ve just gone.’
‘No, well, she hasn’t gone anyway. Candy’s still here. I spoke to her. Her father’s with her. He’s taking her back to Chicago.’
‘Good heavens. Well, he certainly didn’t say anything about it to me. We had lunch last Thursday.’
‘Hmm,’ said Letitia. ‘Rum, I would say. Have you had any kind of decision from him?’
‘Nothing. I’d begun to think I never would. I thought his next move would be into Julian’s old office.’ She laughed just a little too casually. ‘Well, maybe he’s gone off to think.’
‘Maybe. I’ll call Roz. She’ll know. Thick as thieves, those two. It worries me sometimes.’
‘Why?’ said Phaedria.
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
Letitia phoned the house at Cheyne Walk. Mrs Emerson was not at home, said Maria, the Spanish housekeeper. She had gone away for a few days.
‘Good gracious,’ said Letitia, ‘this is very sudden.’
‘Yes, madam. She’s sent Miranda and Nanny up to Scotland. She said she had to go to America.’
‘Did she indeed?’ said Letitia. ‘All right, Maria, thank you.’
Uncomfortably aware she might be foolishly rushing in where an angel would greatly fear to tread, she dialled Eliza’s number. Peveril answered.
‘Peveril, it’s Letitia. How are you, dear?’
‘Better since this morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Bagged twenty brace of pheasants, before lunch. Not bad, eh?’
‘How clever you are Peveril,’ said Letitia. ‘I got a couple myself this morning.’
‘Well done, my dear. Where was that? I didn’t know there was any shooting near you.’
‘Fortnum’s,’ said Letitia cheerfully. ‘Is Eliza there?’
‘Yes, she is. Doing something foolish in the Long Gallery. Measuring it up for African blinds, I think she said. I wish she’d leave it all alone. Still, it keeps her happy,’ he added hastily.
‘Austrian,’ said Letitia.
‘What’s that, my dear?’
‘Austrian blinds. Anyway, African or Austrian they’ll look perfectly frightful. Let me talk to her.’
Eliza came on the phone. ‘Hello, Letitia. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, but Peveril won’t be, darling, if you put Austrian blinds in his Long Gallery. Grounds for divorce, I would have said. You’re in Scotland, dear, not Kensington.’
‘Oh, Letitia, don’t be ridiculous. They’ll transform the place.’
‘Indeed they will,’ said Letitia. ‘Well, I suppose one man’s meat, and all that. In my book Austrian blinds are very poisonous indeed. Now then, darling, is Roz there?’
‘No, she isn’t,’ said Eliza a trifle coldly. ‘She’s gone to the States. She went yesterday.’
‘Ah. Which side?’
‘Washington.’
‘Indeed? Are you sure?’
‘Perfectly. She was very specific about it. She has to do some work on the hotels and apparently the Washington Morell is the best-run, the most successful, the most profitable and so on and so forth, so she was off to take a close look at it, as a role model, so to speak. Well, that’s what she said.’
‘I see. So how long is she there for?’
‘Well, we’ve got Miranda and Nanny for a week. I think she was going on to New York.’
‘I see. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I had a little idea for her, that’s all. It can wait.’
Very well aware that it was nothing to do with her at all what Roz did and with whom, Letitia phoned the Washington Morell. The manager said Mrs Emerson had been there for twenty-four hours and had left, he thought for New York.
The manager of the Morell, New York, was not expecting Mrs Emerson at all.
Letitia phoned Phaedria back.
‘Darling, do you think it’s at all a possibility that Roz and Miles might have gone off together somewhere? On some business trip? Roz is missing too, investigating hotels.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Phaedria, oddly aware of an icy, quite illogical dread creeping down her spine, ‘but they have got very close in the last few weeks. Maybe Roz’s secretary knows where she is. I’ll ask her tomorrow.’
Lucy Dudley said Mrs Emerson had told her she was on a whistle-stop tour of some of the major chains of hotels in the States, and wouldn’t be back until the following Wednesday; she had no numbers and no itinerary; and that Mrs Emerson was calling her every day for urgent messages, if Lady Morell wanted to leave one. She was adamant that she had not been given an address.
As Roz normally never went out so much as to get her hair cut without leaving contact numbers in triplicate and a maze of alternatives in the unlikely event of her not returning to the office within the hour, her behaviour was about as much out of character as if she had been found walking down Bond Street stark naked in the company of the Hare Krishna brethren.
Phaedria called Letitia and said she was beginning to think she was right, but did it really matter very much (feeling, indeed knowing, that somehow it did). Letitia had replied, very much too lightly (also feeling that it probably mattered greatly), that of course not, that what they did was their own business and none of them had any right to interfere in it whatsoever.
But Letitia lay awake until the dawn broke, wide eyed, distressed, wondering why she was so troubled by what was happening, and what she might be able to do about it; and Phaedria, after an equally sleepless night and without being entirely certain why, called Doctor Friedman and asked her for an urgent appointment.
‘By way of a penance,’ said Miles to Roz, after breakfasting from a huge basket of strawberries and melons he had fetched early from the store for her, ‘you have to come and meet a very old friend of mine.’
‘I do hope she doesn’t have amazing legs and a talent for screwing,’ said Roz, smiling at him.
‘He doesn’t. I’ve never seen his legs, they are always encased in a long skirt –’
‘For God’s sake, is he some kind of transvestite?’
‘He is not, and don’t interrupt. And he has no idea at all what a screw might feel like. He is a man of God and he runs the refuge in Santa Monica, and he was my grandmother’s best friend. My mother’s too,’ he added more soberly. ‘I really want you to meet him.’
‘All right. I’ll come.’
He looked at her and leant forward and kissed her.
‘You look different this morning.’
‘I feel different.’
She did. For the first time in her entire life, she felt accepted and liked, loved, for what she was. Even with Michael she had not ever let her guard right down; had kept what she felt the very worst of herself, the most devious, the most selfish, the most ruthless, hidden. Miles had taken her and with one careless, loving piece of acceptance had turned her into a person as uncomplicatedly, as happily transparent, as he was. If he could take her as she was, then she could take herself. All her life she had felt the real Roz was valueless, not worth loving. Now suddenly someone infinitely important to her was telling her she was. She smiled back at him, radiant, shining with happiness.
‘I love you, Miles.’
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘When I said that to you, you told me I didn’t.’
‘Well? What are you going to tell me?’
‘I’m going to tell you,’ he said, kissing her again, ‘that I think you do.’
‘Good.’
Father Kennedy was sitting in the sunshine, as he always did in the morning, dozing peacefully. He was a very old man suddenly. Miles, who had not seen him for four years, was shocked at how he had aged.
‘Father Kennedy,’ he said, touching him lightly on the arm. ‘Good morning. How are you?’
The old man woke with a start; his faded blue eyes opened, alighted on Miles, his confusion cleared and an expression of great joy came over his face.
‘Miles! Miles Wilburn! This is a wonderful thing. How are you, Miles, and how is your grandmother? And what are you doing here?’
‘I’m looking up old friends, Father. A great deal has happened to me.’
‘Well, now, and I know quite a lot of them. I had a visit from young Lady Morell, several visits, and her baby too. So did they find you, Miles, and whatever has become of you down there in Nassau, that none of our letters were answered and we were left to imagine you had dropped off the face of the earth?’
‘What happened, Father, was my grandmother’s friend, Mrs Galbraith. She decided to keep a few letters to herself. But she has been very good to my grandmother, looked after her like a mother. So I kind of forgave her.’
‘And is she all right now, Mrs Kelly? I miss her and our little chats very sadly.’
‘She’s well, Father, but I think you would find her very changed. She is – well, confused. I had thought to bring her back here, but I don’t feel I should now. She is happy with Mrs Galbraith and it would be kind of wrong to disturb her. I’m going to see her next week.’
‘Then give her my very best wishes. Oh, I should love to see her again. Maybe I can go down to Nassau one of these days, on a small vacation, and visit her.’
‘She’d like that, Father. And how are you, and how is the refuge?’
‘I am very well, Miles, and the refuge is doing quite nicely. Lady Morell has been very good to us indeed and arranged for some money to come every month. It’s a great help. She is an extremely nice person, wouldn’t you say? Or have you not yet met her?’
‘Oh, I’ve met her, Father, I certainly have, and yes, she is an extremely nice person. Isn’t she Roz?’
Roz looked at Father Kennedy and then at Miles; he grinned at her.
‘Go on, Roz,’ he said as if she were a small child. ‘Tell Father Kennedy what a nice person Phaedria is.’
‘Very nice,’ said Roz. The words were forced out, but she managed to smile. Dear God, she thought to herself, I have come a long way.
‘And who is this?’ said Father Kennedy, beaming at Roz. ‘Or am I not allowed to be introduced to her?’
‘Of course, Father. Forgive me. I was thinking, as you’d met Phaedria, you’d know Roz. Father Kennedy, this is Roz Emerson. Now then, let me tell you who she is. You will be really surprised. Really, seriously surprised. You remember Mr Dashwood?’
‘Now Miles, as if I would not remember Mr Dashwood. He was such a good man,’ he said, turning to Roz, ‘so generous, he did so much for Miles and for Mrs Kelly. I miss him. Tell me, is all well with him, and have you found him as well, Miles?’
‘Not exactly, Father, it’s a very peculiar story. Could we maybe have some tea and I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘Of course. Now what am I thinking of? Miles, you go and get the tea, you remember where the kitchen is, and I will talk to this young lady while you are gone. Come and sit down here, my dear, and tell me what you think of California.’
‘I think it’s wonderful,’ said Roz. ‘Simply wonderful.’
‘So now, did you know Mr Dashwood? Was he a friend of yours?’
‘Well,’ said Roz, ‘in a way. He was my father.’
‘Your father?’ The old man looked startled.
‘Yes. But you see, we didn’t know him as Hugo Dashwood.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘No. It’s very complicated. Perhaps Miles should explain.’
Miles came back with the tea. He put it down, sat on the grass beside Roz. Father Kennedy’s old face was puzzled, troubled.
‘Miles, you have to explain all this to me. I’m a foolish old man. I don’t understand what Miss –’
‘Roz,’ said Roz.
‘Roz is telling me. Are you saying that Mr Dashwood was going under another name in England all the time?’