Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) (4 page)

‘But you’re always going over there. Surely you could take us with you.’

‘I’m not always going to New York, Adele.’

‘Yes you are. It’s so selfish. You and Mummy.’

‘True, I do go twice a year, your mother far less often, but it’s purely to visit the New York office. Not a pleasure trip.’

‘Mummy seems to take enough clothes for a pleasure trip when she goes,’ said Venetia. ‘Trunks and trunks of them. I don’t believe you, I think you have lots of fun. I think we should all go, Giles as well. He ought to go anyway, visit the outpost of the Lytton empire. I’m sure Uncle Robert would be pleased to see us.’

‘Venetia, Robert is just as busy as we are,’ said Celia firmly. She had clearly not liked the reference to trunkloads of clothes. ‘He certainly wouldn’t have time to arrange all sorts of nonsense for you and Maud.’

‘Mummy, Maud and us could arrange things on our own,’ said Adele, ‘you’re so old fashioned. I’m going to write to Maud and suggest it. Now look, we really must go. Come on, everyone, Boy, stop flirting with my grandmother – oh, Sebastian darling, you’ve made it. How absolutely lovely, and how dreadfully, dreadfully sad, we’re just leaving.’

‘Leaving? What for, work? Am I that late?’ Sebastian Brooke stood smiling into the room. ‘I’m so very sorry. Oliver, how good to see you. Celia, do please forgive me. LM, Gordon, good evening to you, and Lady Beckenham, how nice. What a gathering I’ve been unfortunate enough to miss. Lord Beckenham, what a delight, how are you—’

He moved round the room, easily, perfectly charming, giving the evening a new edge, fresh life. Old bugger, thought Giles, who was very fond of him, he could charm the birds not just out of the trees but into a cage, a glittering, golden cage where they would stay entranced with no need for anyone even to close the door. Only his mother appeared unimpressed, unpleased; giving a cool nod, a frosty smile, and even those reluctantly.

‘Sebastian,’ said Adele, slipping her arm through his, ‘we’re going to the Embassy, do you want to come? Please do, you know how you love dancing and the Prince of Wales might be there, as it’s Thursday and—’

‘My darling, how could I leave so lovely a party when I’ve only just arrived? Besides, this claret your father’s just given me is far too good to rush.’

‘But the party’s over,’ said Venetia. ‘We’re all going.’

‘Not all,’ said Oliver, ‘some of us elderly folk are staying put.’

‘Well, I don’t know why. Mummy loves to go out. Jack and Lily, you’ll come, won’t you, and – LM, what about you?’

‘We might join you,’ said LM, her long face very serious. ‘Don’t you think, Gordon? It’s a long time since I went out dancing. And I’d certainly like to see the Prince of Wales, if you really think he might be there.’

‘Oh, well, of course we don’t actually know,’ said Adele hastily, ‘it’s just that if he does go it’s on a Thursday. And—’

‘I really think, my dear, I’d rather not,’ said Gordon Robinson. He sounded alarmed. ‘I have a very busy day tomorrow and—’

‘Well, I could go on my own with the young. I daresay one or two of these charming gentlemen would dance with me.’

There was a polite murmur of assent around the table; LM stood up. ‘Good.’ The twins stared at her, their eyes very wide.

She smiled, her sudden, brilliant smile. ‘I’m glad chivalry is not quite dead. But it’s all right, I won’t come and spoil your fun. Another night perhaps. And we will leave now, I think. It’s late and I, too, have a very difficult day tomorrow. You go off and enjoy yourselves. Gordon, you can stop looking so frightened. And ask Brunson for my coat, would you?’

‘No really, girls, I’ll stay,’ said Sebastian, ‘and here, I almost forgot. Your presents. Now if you don’t like them, Aspreys will change them. I shan’t be a bit hurt. And they come with all my love.’

The twins unwrapped their parcels, drawing silver cigarette cases out of the Asprey packaging with cries of ‘Oh, how lovely’ and ‘Utter bliss’ and ‘Sebastian, you shouldn’t have’ and ‘As if we’d change these’.

‘We’ll take them with us now,’ said Adele, kissing him, ‘and I wish you’d come with them. Won’t you change your mind?’

‘Please, please do,’ said Venetia. ‘Move, Adele, I want a chance to kiss him too. Thank you so much, Sebastian. And Mummy, Daddy, thank you for the most wonderful evening. See you later. We’ll be terribly quiet.’

‘Phew,’ said Venetia, piling into a taxi with Adele and Giles and Boy. ‘That was close. LM, I mean. I really thought she meant it, that she was going to come.’

‘I think she’s splendid,’ said Boy. ‘I would have danced with her.’

‘Boy! When you’ve got me!’ said Venetia.

‘Yes. Even when I’ve got you. I like older ladies. They’re so interesting.’

‘There’s nothing very interesting about LM,’ said Adele firmly. ‘All she’s ever done is work at Lyttons. And she’s so – so old-maidish.’

‘Absolute nonsense,’ said Boy, ‘she’s a very sensual woman.’

Adele stared at him. ‘Sensual! LM! But Boy, she’s so old.’

‘She’s not old, she’s mature. And you shouldn’t confuse sex and youth,’ he added, sounding suddenly rather pompous. ‘Giles, old chap, what do you think? Wouldn’t you agree with me that your aunt is a very attractive woman?’

‘I’m not – sure,’ said Giles. ‘I’ve only ever thought of her as my aunt. And she is quite old.’

‘Well – she is,’ said Adele thoughtfully, ‘but I suppose she is a bit of a mystery. I mean, there’s Jay for a start. I could never quite believe in the husband of only a few weeks being killed in the war . . .’

‘Happy birthday, Maud, my darling. Sorry to be late for our tea. Here, present from your old dad—’

‘Daddy! Tiffany’s! How lovely. Oh, I love these boxes and the white ribbon so much – oh, Daddy! Thank you so much. Oh, it’s lovely. Simply beautiful. Here, put it on me. Let me get to a mirror quickly. It’s – oh, it’s heaven. I shall never take it off again.’

‘Darling, I hope you will. Diamond watches don’t benefit from being put into the bath. Or taken out riding.’

‘I know, I know. But it’s ravishing. Thank you. Here, let me kiss you again.’

Robert Lytton sat back in his chair, smiling at her, thinking that every year made her so much more than a daughter to him, that she was also companion, confidante and best friend. And, indeed, had been for most of her life; and the feeling was, he knew, mutual. Their love for one another was absolute, and remarkably untinged by any serious jealousy or possessiveness on Robert’s part. He had brought her up alone from the age of two when her mother had died; they had faced the world together and made for themselves a very happy life. He had built the house where they lived for her, planned his social life round her, run his company with her always in mind. He refused to travel too much, or to work too late, turned down many social engagements so that he might be at home with her, and at all times endeavoured to encourage her interest in what he did. It was not difficult; Maud was as fascinated by the real estate industry as most girls of her age and social status were by clothes and boys.

Not that those things did not charm and engage her too; but her greatest happiness was found in accompanying her father to building sites, where she would stalk about in the mud, wearing trousers and stout shoes, holding her own set of plans and gazing up at where the next great skyscraper might rise, or the latest chic hotel stand, asking questions, making suggestions (and even, at times, quite sharp observations). She was about to go into her last year at the Chapin school, an exclusive (and academically excellent) establishment in New York for girls; she hoped after that and after her debutante season – to which she had agreed without a great deal of enthusiasm – to go on to Vassar to study architecture, and thence to Lytton Brewer Real Estate as a junior partner and thus become involved in her own right. Most of her contemporaries thought she was quite mad.

‘And you really don’t mind having dinner alone with me and Jamie tonight?’ said Robert now.

‘Of course I don’t mind. I’ll love it. And I want to hear all about Jamie’s latest young lady. I wish he’d bring her.’

‘He says she doesn’t deserve it yet. I don’t know what that means quite.’

‘Nor do I. Here, have some birthday cake.’

‘Mmm. Delicious. Dear Martha. She never fails. Amazing. She must be the oldest cook in New York.’

‘And absolutely the best.’ Maud licked her fingers one by one, then said, ‘I wonder how the twins are. What they’re doing today.’

‘Driving their parents insane as usual, I expect. I had a letter from Oliver, saying happy birthday to you, and that he and, possibly, Celia are coming over next month.’

‘I wish they’d bring the twins. It would be such fun.’

‘Maud, those trips are—’

‘I know, I know, business. Well, we’ll just have to arrange something of our own. I really can’t wait until you old fogies decide to have another big family party or wedding or something.’

‘Well you might have to.’

‘Might not be that long,’ said Maud, kissing him, ‘there must be lots of weddings waiting to happen. When you think about it . . .’

Venetia looked at Boy Warwick, dancing energetically with Bunty Valance, and wondered if she’d been wrong and Adele had been wrong, and whether he was even the tiniest bit interested in her. He’d only danced with her once, and since then had done the Charleston with Babs Rowley – who really was a rather annoyingly good dancer – the foxtrot with Adele – well, that was all right, of course – and was now doing a very showy blackbottom with some other girl he’d met there, not even in their party. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t. It was spoiling the birthday and – he came back to the table now, smiled at them all, mopping his brow rather theatrically.

‘That was hard work. Noël Coward’s on the floor now, have you seen him, wonderful dancer he is. And yes, we were right, there’s the Prince. And with Thelma. I know how fascinated you girls are by her.’

‘I couldn’t care less who he’s with,’ said Venetia sulkily, but she stared at the Prince of Wales and the beautiful Lady Furness in fascination just the same.

‘Isn’t she lovely?’ said Adele, who had also been watching her, transfixed.

‘Not as lovely as you, my darling,’ said Boy, ‘as either of you.’ And he took both their hands, raised them to his lips and kissed them simultaneously. ‘Come on, let me see if I can dance with both of you at once.’

Later, the band playing a waltz, Venetia danced alone with Boy, felt his smooth hand on her bare back, his warm body pressed against hers. She had had too many cocktails before dinner and too much champagne since; she leaned just slightly too heavily against him.

‘That’s nice,’ he said, into her ear. ‘Very nice. You’re very beautiful, Venetia. Very beautiful indeed. And in that dress, you look exactly like a print I bought the other day, by Lepape.’

She knew who Lepape was, of course, and was particularly familiar with his wonderful covers for
Vogue
: the twins might spend their days shopping and their nights dancing, but they had not grown up in their father’s house without absorbing certain extremely important tracts of knowledge.

‘Goodness. You’ve got Lepape prints?’

‘I have. In my flat. Quite a collection. Lots of them, many of ladies who look like you. You should come and see them some time. Both of you,’ he added an almost imperceptible second later.

Venetia perceived that second. She also knew what it meant: and she recognised what he was saying. She took a deep breath.

‘We don’t always go everywhere together, you know,’ she said, and smiled up at him. And then felt horribly shocked at herself. It was not so much the clear commitment – as he would quite rightly interpret it – to go to his flat, with all that it implied; it was rather the fact that for almost the first time in her life she had committed a betrayal of her absolute closeness and loyalty to Adele.

‘Good,’ was all Boy Warwick said.

‘Well, Sebastian, do tell us all about your meeting,’ said Celia, ‘it must have been very well attended.’

They were still in the dining room but almost alone; even Kit had been banished, sent protesting to bed.

‘It was,’ said Sebastian. ‘Which was nice for me. And for Lyttons of course,’ he added, leaning back in his chair, smiling at her. ‘I sold a great many books this evening.’

‘Splendid,’ said Oliver, ‘well done. I’m sure you did us proud, Sebastian. As always. And how is
Meridian Times Five
coming along? We will – I mean—’ His voice tailed off; Sebastian laughed.

‘Oliver, of course you will. Have I ever failed you? You shall have your new book, in good time for Christmas publication. And with luck, all the children are waiting for it; plus a few hundred new ones.’

‘Of course. But I worry about the old ones these days,’ said Oliver, ‘that they will begin to grow out of the books.’

‘I too. But if the reviewers are to be believed, and indeed our own letters, then they will not. Children as old as sixty-five read the Meridians. So perhaps we can assume that our first generation reaching double figures, or even their twenties, should not be deterred either.’

‘Let us hope so,’ said Oliver, reaching out, touching the table quickly. He was oddly superstitious.

‘Indeed,’ said Celia. ‘But of course one cannot take these things for granted. Fashions come and go in publishing as in everything else. These new books of A. A. Milne’s are extremely popular.’

‘My dear, I hardly think some rather whimsical stories and poems about a toy bear can compete with Sebastian’s elaborate time fantasies,’ said Oliver mildly, ‘angst-ridden publisher as I am.’

Celia looked first at him, then at Sebastian, her dark eyes unreadable. Then she said, ‘Mr Dickens has swum in and out of fashion more than once already, I might remind you. And complacency is an unattractive quality.’

‘We are not being complacent, Celia,’ said Sebastian, ‘merely cautiously optimistic. Now then, I would like to apologise again for my late arrival. And—’

‘Oh, my dear chap, don’t mention it,’ said Oliver, ‘you were after all working. Extremely hard, I’m sure.’