She was hysterical suddenly, screaming, biting her fists,
beating at the air with them. Letitia watched her in silence. After a while she crossed the room and sat by her, not even trying to calm her.
‘Roz,’ she said, as the storm abated slightly and she could be heard, ‘you have to believe me. This has nothing to do with Phaedria. God knows I wish it were otherwise. But it isn’t.’
Roz looked at her quite suddenly and then fell against her grandmother, her head in her lap, weeping endlessly
‘Letitia, I can’t bear it, I just can’t bear it. For the first time, for the very first time in my whole life, I was happy. I never knew what it felt like before. It was like coming out into the sunshine from a cold, chill, dark place. I felt safe, peaceful. I can’t go back in there, I can’t. Don’t make me, Letitia, don’t make me, please.’
Letitia sat stroking her hair, looking sadly over her head and thinking she would have given all she owned to have saved Roz this pain.
Phaedria told Miles. He took it badly. He was shocked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘that I can handle this. It’s a lot of pain.’
‘Yes,’ said Phaedria, ‘yes, I know.’
‘I loved my dad,’ he said. ‘He was so good to me. We were all so happy, I thought. Now that’s gone.’
‘No, it hasn’t.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you’re wrong. It has gone. It’s been destroyed for me. As it was for them. Think what he must have gone through. When he found out. Oh, God. That’s why he killed himself, I suppose.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘And my mother. How could she do that to him? And why did she have to tell him? Why couldn’t she keep it to herself?’
‘She didn’t tell him,’ said Phaedria quickly. ‘A doctor told him he could never have had children. He worked it out then. She never, ever told him. She never would have done, I’m sure.’
Miles looked up at her. His eyes were full of tears.
‘You don’t think, do you,’ he said, ‘there could still be some mistake? That I could be my dad’s kid? I mean, Letitia was quite sure . . .’
He sounded like a child; Phaedria went over to him and put her arms around him. ‘Not sure enough, I’m afraid. No. I don’t think there’s a mistake,’ she said, ‘not from everything we know.’
‘I loved my mother so much,’ said Miles, his arms going round Phaedria, his face buried in her hair. ‘So much. She was so pretty, such fun, she never did anything to make anyone sad, she was never cross, she was never down. I thought she was the most perfect person in the world. And now I know she wasn’t. And I feel I’ve lost her all over again.’
‘No,’ said Phaedria. ‘No, you haven’t. She was a lovely, lovely, brave, good person, Miles. From everything we’ve learnt we know she was. She made a mistake. Doesn’t everyone? Sometimes? Haven’t you? She spent the rest of her life trying to put it right. You know she did. It must have been so terribly terribly difficult and she never gave in. Even when she was dying she never gave in.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘that’s true.’ A tear rolled down his face. ‘She said, even then, always, how good he was, my dad, how much she’d loved him, reminded me how happy we’d been. She left me that, that happiness.’
‘She was good,’ said Phaedria, ‘very good, I know she was. Very special.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well,’ she said, looking at him, smiling into his eyes, kissing his tear-streaked face, ‘she made you what you are.’
‘I have to give Roz my share,’ said Miles to Phaedria and Letitia later that night. Roz was alseep, exhausted, heavily sedated. ‘She must have it.’
‘Of course,’ said Phaedria. ‘Of course she must. What will you do?’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘go home. To California. I don’t even want the money. Just the house.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Letitia briskly, almost restored to herself by this piece of sacrilege. ‘Of course you must have the money. You can’t live on air.’
‘I can,’ he said, ‘almost.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ said Letitia. ‘We’ll put the money in a trust fund for you. Nobody will touch it. Then if you ever need it, it will be there.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you really think so.’
‘I do.’
‘I think,’ said Phaedria carefully, ‘it would be best if Eliza and Peveril never knew about all this. Don’t you, Letitia?’
‘Yes, darling, I do. Much better. How wise you are.’
‘Oh God,’ said Phaedria. ‘I do hope Roz will be all right.’
‘She’ll be all right.’ It was Miles. ‘She’ll be fine.’
They looked at him, both of them startled.
‘Do you think so?’ asked Phaedria.
‘Yes, I do. I know so. She will be very unhappy for a while, and then she’ll come back fighting. She’ll have the company, she can do what she likes with it. That will be her salvation. It’s all she needs for now, at any rate. Don’t fuss her too much. Just leave her alone.’
‘I think I’ll sell her my share too,’ said Phaedria, ‘now it’s all resolved. I don’t want it any more.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t give it all to her,’ said Miles. ‘Not if you care about her. A few fights, a little angst will keep her going. Stir her up now and again, Phaedria. It will do her good.’
She looked at him and laughed. ‘All right. But my heart won’t be in it.’
‘Yes it will. Think of Julia.’
‘Oh, she can have my share when she grows up.’
‘Yes, and fight Miranda for it.’
‘God. What a thought.’
Miles stood up. ‘I’m going now.’
They looked at him startled. ‘Where?’
‘To the airport. I’m all packed, I have a flight. I want to go. I don’t want to see Roz again. I couldn’t bear it.’
‘Don’t you want to tell her goodbye?’ asked Phaedria.
‘No. Because I couldn’t. And there’s no need. I’ll always be there. And she knows that.’
Letitia sighed. ‘You really love her, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I really do.’
London, June 1986
PHAEDRIA HAD WRITTEN
to Michael.
A short, careful letter, explaining everything; saying that the company no longer mattered to her, had been taken out of her hands, and now that it was resolved, her share could safely go to Julia, in trust for when she was of an age to know what she wanted to do with it. She did not say any more than that, except that she loved him, and she wished him well.
There was no reply to her letter. No phone call. Nothing.
Weeks went by and she realized with an increasing dull misery that she had hurt and rejected him beyond anything he could be expected to forgive.
Life had reverted to some form of normality. Roz had come back, feisty, belligerent, spoiling for fights, but with her old hostility to Phaedria eased.
‘I’m sorry,’ Phaedria had said to her, that first day, and Roz had looked at her, her green eyes oddly soft, and said, ‘Yes, I know you are.’
David Sassoon was paying court to Phaedria, lunching her, dining her, flattering her, trying to cajole her into bed; she resisted him rather weakly, struggling to persuade herself that she actually wanted to, and failing miserably.
C. J. and Camilla had married in a quiet ceremony in New York. Phaedria and Letitia had attended, with small Miranda, who had scowled at her new stepmother throughout in a manner so reminiscent of Roz that Letitia had been overcome with giggles and had to leave the room during the over-long, earnest speech delivered by Camilla’s matron of honour.
Julia grew; she could sit up, laugh, scowl when thwarted, make noises that her doting mother knew were words. She was not exactly pretty, she had a rather ferocious little face – ‘A bit like Roz,’ said Eliza, looking at her one day. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Phaedria, she is her half sister’ – but she had dark
curly hair like Phaedria’s and very dark brown eyes like her father’s.
Spring Collection had come in third in the Thousand Guineas, and been unplaced in the St Leger. Grettisaga had given birth to a filly.
Phaedria kept telling herself she was really very fortunate, and didn’t succeed in convincing herself in the least.
She was sitting in her office one June day, watching the rain pour past her window, and wondering if a trip to Eleuthera might not be a nice idea, when her internal phone rang. It was the new girl in Reception.
‘Lady Morell, there’s someone down here to see you. He won’t give a name.’
‘Lorraine, you know I don’t see anyone without an appointment, and certainly not if he won’t give a name. Tell him he’ll have to ring Sarah and fix a date.’
‘Lady Morell, he says he does have one important message for you. I don’t know if it will make a difference. He says to tell you he’s lost his raincoat.’
Books are never a solo performance; I would like to thank the small army of people who have given their time and expertise to help me get
Old Sins
on stage:
In England, Robin Vincent, Sarah Gilbert, Nicky Lyons-Maris and Stephen Sutton from Clarins Cosmetics, Janet Fitch, Lindy Woodhead, Sally O’Sullivan, Major Anthony Harvie MC, Minna and Peveril Bruce, Tim and Maxi Hudson, Geoff Hollows, Jo Foley, Sue Stapely, Peter Townsend, Fred Perry, Caroline Richards, Penny Rossi, Vicky Carrel, James Crocker; in New York, Brian Sharoff, Carol Schuler, Lewis Sterler, Ruth and Michael Harris; in Los Angeles, Clive and Elaine Dawson, Gabrielle Donnelly, Debra Ghali, John Hiscock, Cathy Hudson, Anita Alberts, Benjamin Urmston.
And crucially, Desmond Elliott for continuing faith and encouragement; Rosemary Cheetham for inspirational editing and knowing how the book should be; Susan Lamb for some dazzling communication; Patricia Taylor Chalmers, Julia Forrest and Charlotte Bell for administering much-needed nuts and bolts; and most importantly, my husband Paul, and our four daughters Polly, Sophie, Emily and Claudia for their unstinting, uncomplaining and loving support through a long year.
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Epub ISBN: 9781409066217
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2008
8 10 9
Copyright © Penny Vincenzi, 1989
Penny Vincenzi has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Old Sins
is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
First published in Great Britain in 1989 by Century
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