‘Is he photogenic?’
Eliza thought of Matt: the thick, dark hair – quite short by the standards of the day, the probing brown eyes, the – well, yes, it was fair to say – the sexy mouth.
‘Very,’ she said.
‘I wonder how I knew you were going to say that.’
Eliza was very impressed by Matt’s set-up. He was clearly even more successful than she had thought. Four offices, all very streamlined, in a very good building just off Wardour Street; she was greeted by the most amazing blonde who looked as if she ought really to be on the cover of
Seventeen
magazine, and who made her an excellent cup of coffee and offered her an extraordinary array of biscuits. She was introduced to Matt’s partner, Jimbo Simmonds, who was very nice but clearly not the real brains in the outfit; and then another very pretty girl appeared, clearly hugely bright and quite acerbic, who Matt rather pointedly dismissed, but not before she’d introduced herself as their partner, and said if there were any gaps in the information Matt supplied just call her, and gave her a card.
‘Quite a harem you’ve got here, Matt,’ said Eliza, settling back into the leather visitor’s chair opposite Matt’s desk.
‘Yeah, well. I’m a great believer in employing women.’
‘And not just as secretaries?’
‘Course not. Cigarette?’
‘Yes, thanks. Well, that’s a very modern attitude. Not many male feminists about.’
‘Oh, I’m not a feminist,’ said Matt firmly, ‘don’t hold with all that. Once a woman’s married and has children, I think she should be at home, looking after things.’
‘Including her man?’ Eliza’s eyes danced.
‘Yeah,’ he said, very seriously, ‘yes, I do. That’s the natural order of things, isn’t it?’
‘No working mothers, then?’
‘Absolutely not. That’s a straight route to society falling apart, as I see it. But – while women don’t have any other responsibilities, yeah, I think they should be given a chance.’
‘Very generous of you. Right. Well, let’s get started.’
‘Just before we do,’ he said, ‘can I read what you write before it goes into the magazine?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t allow that.’
‘Right. Well, in that case,’ he stood up, ‘the interview’s not happening. I’m sorry, Eliza, I’m not giving you carte blanche to write whatever you like about me. I’m not completely wet behind the ears. Either I see the interview or you don’t get one.’
‘Well, in that case, I’ll arrange for you to see it. Of course.’ She smiled at him. ‘Now, what was actually your first job, and how old were you …?’
‘My dear, I’m coming over to do a little shopping and some theatres, and how nice it would be to see you again. Tea at the Connaught one day – would that be possible? I shall be there from 6 June through 10 – on my own, alas, this time, no David – and I hope very much that you could join me on one of those days. Lily Berenson.’
Scarlett’s first instinct was to refuse, to tell her she was away on those dates; it seemed very dangerous to meet with her a mere couple of weeks – as it would be – after seeing David. And then with a streak of pure perversity, she decided to say yes. Dangerous it might be, but it would also be rather exciting. And she might – just might – be able to garner from Mrs Berenson some information about David and Gaby’s marriage, whether the end was truly in sight, as David kept intimating to her – without actually saying so.
She wouldn’t mention the meeting to David; she wondered if Mrs Berenson might. That would make him very nervous. Well, too bad; it was time, perhaps, for a bit of reality to enter the situation.
She checked her schedule; she was free two of the days. She wrote back and said she would be delighted to see Mrs Berenson on whichever suited her better.
‘You look lovely my dear,’ said Mrs Berenson, rising to kiss her. ‘I like the shorter hair very much.’
‘Thank you,’ said Scarlett.
‘I’m giving myself a treat tomorrow, going to René, you know? To have just a bit of a restyle.’
‘Goodness,’ said Scarlett, for she did know – who couldn’t? – of René, hairdresser to the Queen, to the noblest ladies in the land, and his dazzling reputation.
‘I hope he won’t do anything too drastic. I’m always a little nervous of new hairdressers, but I’m told he is truly wonderful.’
Scarlett assured her that Rene was indeed truly wonderful, and about as likely to do something drastic to a client’s hair as Hardy Amies was to dress one of his in a miniskirt.
‘Good. Well, that’s very nice to hear. Now, how are you, darling? I want to hear all your news. I was very pleased when you wrote and told me you were working for BOAC. If you ever flew down to the Southern States, I want you to promise me to come and stay.’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Scarlett carefully.
‘And I could show you Atlanta, where your namesake lived for much of her life; and of course Rhett Butler came from Charleston. I know the rest of the family would love to meet you; especially the girls. Now did I tell you that Gaby is having another baby?’
Scarlett was pouring out the tea and thinking rather vaguely about Rhett Butler, and how she’d had a crush on him – or rather Clark Gable – when she first saw the film, and Mrs Berenson’s announcement did no more than skim across the surface of her mind for a moment or two. And then she thought that she must have misheard, got the name wrong, that it was one of the other wives Mrs Berenson was talking about.
‘I’m sorry?’ she said politely. ‘Who’s having a baby?’
‘Gaby, dear. David’s wife. In December. It’s very early days of course, but so exciting, Alicia, their youngest, is eleven, so it’s a wonderful surprise for everyone.’
It stopped skimming then, the announcement, and settled: heavily, painfully, digging its barbs deep into her, so painfully indeed that she felt it physically, was afraid she might cry out.
She heard a voice, which surely couldn’t have been hers, a calm interested voice, saying, ‘Really? How lovely,’ and then asking most politely if Mrs Berenson would like sugar in her tea, and then how David felt about the baby. ‘After such a big gap.’
‘Oh, my dear, he is thrilled. Over the moon. He’s a wonderful father and he always said he was happiest when the children were tiny. He is definitely the only one of my sons who’s been known to change a diaper.’
‘Really! How sweet. And is Gaby well?’
‘She’s very well, yes. She thrives on pregnancy, always has. And in spite of her very busy life, she’s happy to put it on hold to enjoy this. “The Post Script”, they call him or her. So sweet, don’t you think?’
‘Very sweet,’ said Scarlett. ‘Um – could you excuse me just a moment, Mrs Berenson? I have to go to the ladies’ room.’
She looked at herself in the mirror in the ladies and was amazed to see exactly the same person who had left her flat an hour ago. She looked slightly flushed, and her eyes were very bright, but there was no sign whatsoever that she was enduring such nightmarish pain. She combed her hair, admiring the shape of her new Vidal Sassoon five-point bob, sprayed herself with the Diorling that David had given her only two weeks ago, and renewed her lipstick. She didn’t dare start crying because she knew she would never stop.
Then she went back to the lounge of the Connaught and drank two cups of tea, ate three finger sandwiches and told Mrs Berenson that she had been thinking about her invitation and she thought she might well like to take her up on her invitation to stay with her in Charleston, ‘just for a couple of days, I’ve got a little leave in hand. I’ll have a look at my schedule. I would so love to see your beautiful house.’
‘My dear, how lovely! David will be thrilled.’
‘Charles is late,’ said Eliza, ‘I wonder where he is. He said he’d be here by four at the latest and it’s – what – nearly six.’
‘Oh, I expect he’s working late. He said he’d had a lot of extra work to do, before he went away. Now, darling, you do think the flowers are all right, don’t you? I’m not sure about the ones in the marquee—’
‘Mummy, they’re lovely. The whole marquee looks wonderful. Stop worrying.’
‘Yes, but it was rather a responsibility, organising them myself. And—’
‘It was Carol’s decision,’ said Eliza firmly, ‘she obviously just didn’t want to be bothered with them. In which case she has only herself to blame. And given her taste – or rather complete lack of it—’
‘Darling!’
‘Well—’
Eliza’s dislike of Juliet had spread to her parents. Geoffrey Judd she could just about cope with, but Carol – she was so, so awful. So phoney and silly and eyelash-fluttering, just like her daughter. Who she had certainly trained well.
They were both clearly dazzled by Summercourt, especially now it was at its loveliest; the last time Eliza had seen them there together, a couple of weeks before the wedding, they had walked round the house and garden for hours together, ‘as if they were learning its every corner by heart, so they could pretend it was really theirs to all their ghastly friends,’ Eliza had said to Jeremy; he had laughed and told her she was a snob.
It hadn’t been easy for Sarah, planning a wedding while not being really in charge of it. Carol had actually been quite good about it all, Sarah said, and had said she wouldn’t interfere. ‘And of course Juliet is so sweet, she knows what she wants, but she’s not been at all pushy – and Charles has been a tower of strength. Dear Charles. I do hope—’ She stopped.
‘What, Mummy?’ said Eliza curiously. ‘You do hope what?’
‘Oh – nothing. Just that he’s happy. What every mother wants.’
‘And – do you think he might not be? That Juliet isn’t right for him?’
‘Darling, I didn’t say that.’
‘I know. But you meant it.’
‘Not really. It’s just that—’
‘Just what?’
‘Oh, nothing. It’s not important. How are things with Jeremy, darling? You and he seem very happy together.’
Eliza said things were fine and told her not to worry about Charles and Juliet. ‘I think Charles adores her and they’ll be very happy. Where’s Daddy?’
‘Oh – having a rest, I think. Helping me get the house ready has worn him out.’
‘I’ll go and find him.’
The house was looking truly glorious: dressed up for the wedding with huge vases and jugs of flowers in every room, the garden immaculate, filled with the scent of roses, and the lavender bushes along the terrace just beginning to bloom, a little early, as if they knew it was required of them. Sarah had taken a deep breath and had the drawing-room floor professionally polished; the golden wood reflected the light, filled the whole house with sunshine. It had rained a few days before and she had lit fires in the drawing room and the dining room, fearing they might be needed, and the sweet, haunting scent of wood smoke was everywhere, mingling with that of the roses. Eliza had stood in the hall, when she arrived, absorbing it all, and thinking, as she always did on such occasions, that she loved the house almost as if it were a person. She hoped Juliet realised how extremely lucky she was to have it as a setting for her wedding; but to be fair, she had written Adrian and Sarah a very charming and appreciative letter about it.
And one day, Eliza supposed, it would be the setting for hers.
She went up to the room where her father now slept alone; her mother said his restlessness kept them both awake.
‘And I need my sleep. More than ever.’
He wasn’t there, but she could hear footsteps overhead on the top floor. She went up and called him; he came out of one of the bedrooms on the long corridor, looking sheepish.
‘Hello, poppet.’
‘Daddy, what are you doing up here?’
‘Oh – just looking down on the garden At the marquee. It looks awfully big.’
‘Daddy! Don’t fib.’
‘Well – as it’s you. Don’t tell Mummy. But look.’
He led her back into the room where in the corner, at floorboard level, something was growing. It looked like some obscene yellowish-white fungus.
‘It’s dry rot. I did suspect it was there. But it’s one thing to think it, and another to actually confront it. Oh, Eliza, what are we going to do? The house will become uninhabitable in no time.’
‘Has Mummy seen this?’
‘No. I’ve just been chipping away at the skirting board. Silly, I know.’
He looked at her and a tear rolled slowly down his hollow cheek.
‘Daddy! Darling Daddy, don’t cry. It’ll be all right, promise!’
‘No, Eliza, it won’t. We’ve got no money, and a house that’s going to fall down. And I’m not exactly in the pink, physically. I just don’t see how we can carry on here.’
‘What, you mean—’ She could hardly get the words out. ‘You mean, sell it? Daddy, no!’
‘I – we – love this house so much, Eliza. It’s almost – oh it’s absurd, I know—’
‘As if it was a person. I know. I was thinking that very thing, just now. A much beloved, beautiful person. Part of our family, the heart of it really. It would be impossible to say goodbye to it.’
‘Darling one, I think we might have to. I know you and Charles have been very sweet and offered us some money, but I also know it wouldn’t scratch the surface. I’m afraid we – Summercourt – is doomed. And maybe – well maybe, we can find someone who deserves her. Anyway, this is no time to discuss such things. She is all dressed up and ready to do her very best for us tomorrow. And she will be greatly admired and we can enjoy that. Now, none of this to Mummy. Not today. It would finish her off, I think.’ He smiled. ‘She’s extremely anxious about everything.’