There was a silence. ‘Well,’ said Phaedria, attempting to be cheerful, ‘at least you do have Miranda. She’s a poppet.’
‘Yeah, she is. I’m nuts about her. Do you like kids?’
‘Nice ones, yes.’
‘Do you think you and Julian will have any?’
Phaedria stopped walking and faced him, looking totally astonished. ‘Do you know, I’ve never even thought about it. Never. I just don’t know. Maybe we will. I can’t imagine Julian with a baby. Can you?’
‘Yes, I can actually. He loves Miranda. Well, if you do have any, I hope they’ll turn out better than his last attempt.’
Phaedria laughed. ‘Couldn’t be worse.’
That night in bed, she put down her book and turned to Julian. He was frowning over a set of figures.
‘Julian, don’t you ever stop working?’
‘Not often.’ He put them down and looked at her. ‘Thank you for doing today, my darling. I really appreciate it. I can see – well, it isn’t always easy for you.’
Phaedria digested this considerable concession in silence. Then she simply said, ‘It was a pleasure. Can I ask you something?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Would you like me to have a baby?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, very serious. ‘I have thought about it, of course. Haven’t you?’
‘No. Not until today. It never entered my head.’
‘Most women think about it.’
‘I know. But I suppose I thought we had enough problems. Enough adjustments.’
‘Maybe. Would you like to have a baby?’
She was thoughtful. ‘Possibly. Yes, I think so. But not yet. Definitely not yet.’
‘And what if I wanted one – yet?’
She leant over and kissed him. ‘I guess I’d have one. Pretty damn quick. You seem to have ways of getting what you want.’
He switched the light off suddenly and took her in his arms, turning her on to her back, kissing her hair. ‘Certain things have to take place, I believe, before babies are made. Perhaps we could content ourselves for now with a little research.’
She responded swiftly, eagerly melting with pleasure and relief that after all he did still want her; but then as suddenly his mood changed, became distant, and he turned away from her and sighed.
‘Julian, what is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, and his voice was strained, cool. ‘Nothing at all. I’m just tired, that’s all.’
‘But I –’
‘Phaedria, please. Let’s just go to sleep.’
She was tired, and fell asleep almost at once; but when she woke a few hours later, restless and hot, he was wide awake, staring blankly into the darkness.
Roz went into her father’s office one morning in January; she looked tired and drawn. Julian and Phaedria had been away for a fortnight on Eleuthera, and this was the first day he had been in the office. He was skimming through some magazines and newspapers; he looked at her with concern.
‘Roz, you don’t look well. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, thank you. I just wanted to talk to you.’
‘Yes? You know I’m always happy to talk to you.’
‘You may not be too happy about this.’
‘Try me.’
‘I’ve spent a bit of time at Circe while you’ve been away. The sales figures are disastrous.’
‘Oh, Roz, don’t be absurd, so how can they be disastrous after – what, nine, ten months? It’s still in its earliest stages. Still in a heavy investment situation. Circe New York took three years to break even, never mind show a profit.’
‘Of course. But it was steady growth, however small and slow. London did quite well in the first three weeks and it’s been falling steadily ever since. And certain departments are a disaster.’
‘Like?’
‘The fashion consultancy. Only one client since Christmas. The lingerie. Too tacky looking. There’s a feeling those room sets don’t work.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve talked to the staff. They’re very demoralized. And they feel out on a limb. They got a great deal of attention in the beginning, but they say they hardly see Phaedria these days. They feel abandoned.’
‘Well, let’s get her in,’ said Julian, slightly wearily. ‘I can see it’s a problem. Have you told her all this?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Why of course?’
‘She’s – you’ve – been away.’
‘Sarah, get my wife in, would you?’
‘Yes, Sir Julian.’
Phaedria came into the office ten minutes later. She looked pale.
‘Sorry. I was on the phone to LA.’
‘Phaedria, we seem to have a problem on Circe.’
‘Really? In LA?’
‘No, here. In London.’
‘In London? Who told you?’
‘I did,’ said Roz.
‘Ah,’ said Phaedria.
‘Apparently certain departments are doing extremely badly,’ said Julian.
‘Really? Which?’
‘The clothes consultancy. No clients. The lingerie. No sales. What do you think about that?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Phaedria. ‘It’s early days. In any case I knew. We have time.’
‘Apparently they feel rather abandoned,’ said Julian. ‘They say they haven’t seen you, can’t talk to you about it.’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Phaedria quietly, ‘how could they have? I’ve been away with you.’
‘And before that in LA.’
‘Jesus, Julian, what are you trying to do to me? The two of you? Of course I’ve been in LA. I’ve been terribly busy. At your behest.’
‘Originally at yours. You wanted to be involved.’
‘Yes,’ said Phaedria, keeping her temper with an effort, ‘I suppose I did. I suppose I did take on too much. It hasn’t been easy, Julian. You seem to forget I’m a novice at this game.’
‘You seem to find plenty of time,’ he said, icily smooth, ‘for your other activities.’
Phaedria followed his eyes to his desk. A copy of
Vogue
lay there opened at a spread of photographs of her by Danny Carter; the
Daily Mail
diary carried a story about her involvement in a charity fashion show, under the aegis of Dominic Kennedy.
She looked at him steadily. ‘All right. I have been doing – some other things. But I have been working hard on the store as well. None of what Roz says is true. Well, it’s strictly true, the figures aren’t good. I knew that. But they’re very far from disastrous. That’s absolute nonsense. It’s a bad time. The lingerie department had a marvellous Christmas. Now it’s obviously down. I talked to all the departments at length just before Christmas. I had formed some ideas which I was going to discuss with you. But luckily I’ve had some help. You really have been working hard on this, Roz. How kind, how extremely kind of you to keep such a close eye on Circe in my absence. Snooping around, putting words into my staffs mouths, thoughts into their heads. That’s what it amounts to. How dare you? And you, Julian. With all your experience, all your years and years of staff relations and company management, how extraordinary that you didn’t think for one moment that I might need advice, guidance, support even. I could say I wasn’t going to take this any longer, but I’m not prepared to give in to either of you. I will not be beaten. I’m going to my office now, I have several people waiting to see me. Perhaps we could reconvene this meeting later. When we have a few more facts at our disposal. Oh, and Julian,’ she added, turning and confronting him, her eyes steady, ‘did Roz happen to mention the figures for Lifestyle at the same time? I thought not. They make even the lingerie department look healthy.’
Roz watched her thoughtfully as she walked through Sarah Brownsmith’s office and into the lift. She was learning to fight dirty. That was interesting. Roz felt a pang of something quite close to admiration. Then she turned to her father. There was an expression on his face she had not often seen there. It was panic.
More and more these days Phaedria wondered exactly why she was so determined not to give in. It would be so comfortable, so easy; to walk out, say goodbye to them all, embark on her own life, which would, after all, be easy now. She had made a name for herself, she had friends, contacts. She did not think she was happy at all any more; she found it hard to admit, but searching through the painful days, the increasingly lonely nights, there seemed little pleasure. Julian didn’t seem to love her in the least; occasionally he was tender, kind, appreciative, even more occasionally lover-like. More and more he slept alone; he had made love to her once or twice in the house at Turtle Cove, but it had been with a kind of frantic fervour, as if he had been trying to prove something, there was none of the confident, joyful pleasure she had fallen in love with.
And then there was Roz. Some days, she felt, in a near-feverish anxiety, that it was Roz who was married to Julian, so close, so alike did they seem, and she was the interloper, the intruder on the relationship. Julian never acknowledged that there was any kind of problem with Roz; he ignored it, ignored Roz’s rudeness and hostility and continued to treat her with patience and courtesy; Phaedria compared it with the impatience and intolerance with which he talked to her and wondered how she was expected to endure it.
Love suffereth long and is kind, Michael Browning thought to himself as he waited for Roz’s plane at Kennedy Airport one evening in late February. He felt he had suffered for longer and had been kinder than most men would have been; and right now he was finding it hard to think why. He was tired, he was hungry, and he was wearying of the long game of piggy in the middle he seemed to have been playing with Roz and Julian almost as long as he could remember. Quite who was in the middle he wasn’t sure, but he as sure as hell wasn’t winning. On the other hand, he wasn’t losing either; Roz was still there, in his life, in his bed, and in his heart for that matter. It had to be love, he thought, there could be no other explanation for a relationship that continued to thrive, to give pleasure, against such odds as almost continuous separation, a refusal to commit to any kind of permanence, and which most clearly cast him as
supporting player to a company and the leading lady’s role in it. Well, he had finally had enough. He was about to step centre stage. No matter what it cost him, what it cost Roz, the situation had to be resolved. It was unendurable.
She was walking towards him now, smiling, looking pale and tired, but happy, in a long fur coat and high brown leather boots; he felt at the same time a stab of irritation that she should be so remorselessly confident of him, and a surge of love and pleasure.
‘Hallo, Michael.’
‘Hi, darling.’ Despite the surge he held back, kissed her formally, distantly. Roz didn’t notice. She was always immune to subtleties of behaviour unless they took place in the boardroom.
‘Ghastly flight.’
‘I’m sorry. What was wrong with it? Did they take a wrong turning?’
‘I think they must have done. I seem to have been up there for ever. And I’d seen the film. And the woman sitting next to me talked about her grandchildren all the way. Oh, God, Michael, let’s get back.’
‘OK.’ He was used to her litanies of discontent; he had learnt to ignore them. The thing about Roz, he thought, and it always amazed him that nobody realized it but him, was that beneath the bad temper, the bitching, the chips on both her elegantly sloping shoulders, was a funny, sexy, averagely nice woman. You just had to dig a bit. Michael had dug.
‘What do you want to do this evening? Eat out? Stay in? I have Rosa standing by just in case.’
‘I want to stay in, with you, without Rosa, let’s get something delivered, and I want to have you in every room in the place.’
Michael looked at her and struggled to maintain an equilibrium. He had more serious, more important intentions for the evening than making love on a lot of different floors, beds and couches.
‘That’s nice to hear. But I want to talk to you.’
Roz’s heart sank. She knew what that meant. Another attempt at a promise, another demand for commitment; he was growing weary at last and she knew it, and it frightened her.
‘Michael, don’t, please. Not this weekend.’
‘Weekend? I thought it was five days.’
‘Well, long weekend. I have to go back on Monday. I’m sorry, I was going to tell you.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Rosamund, why?’
‘Well, my father’s called a board meeting, a full board meeting, to discuss the new company. I have to be there. Surely you can see that.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I can see it.’
She misread his mood. ‘Good. I knew you would. I’m sorry. Let’s go and find the car.’
‘I’ll go find the car. I don’t see a lot of point you coming in it. Why don’t you just stay here and get the next plane home? You can prepare for the board meeting better, really put on a good show, impress your father, give one in the eye to your rival. Go on, Roz, go and get yourself a flight.’
‘Oh, Michael, don’t be so ridiculous.’
‘I am not being ridiculous. I love you and I need you and if you felt half as much for me you wouldn’t even think of rushing back for some two-bit board meeting. Which no doubt he’s called because he knows you’re here. Well, does he know you’re here?’
‘Yes,’ she said, very quietly.
‘Will you stay?’
‘I can’t, I can’t, not yet, not now, you’re asking too much.’
‘Oh, go fuck yourself.’
He gave her a look of despair, of hostility mingled with such love that tears filled her eyes. She put out a hand, put it on his arm.
‘Please, Michael, don’t.’
‘Don’t what? Don’t get sick of you arseing around, making it outstandingly plain that I come a very poor third to that father of yours and his shitty company. That you’ll find a place for me in your busy schedule in between board meetings and takeovers, and of course sticking a knife into yet another point in the back of that poor, goddamned stepmother of yours. Jesus, Rosamund, I don’t know where you learnt to fight so dirty, to cheat so thoroughly, but it sure was a fine establishment. Well I’m through, with it and with you. Just get the hell out of my life. I won’t be messing up yours any longer.’
Panic tore through Roz; she felt shaken, weak, there was a roaring in her ears.
‘Michael, don’t, don’t, please stay. I have to talk to you.’
‘Really? Suddenly you have to talk. All the times I’ve wanted to talk and you’ve ducked, dodged, dragged me into bed, anything to avoid the confrontation. Well, it doesn’t happen to suit me to talk right now, Roz, or indeed ever again.’