Wicked Pleasures (111 page)

Polite laughter from most people; to anyone who had known Virginia, had known Charlotte, had known Fred, it was an ugly in-joke. The pianist smiled. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That’s easy.’

He began to play. Max saw Charlotte drain her glass, pour another, look over at the door for Gabe for the hundredth time that evening. He saw Mary Rose look suddenly sad; saw her look almost angrily at Freddy. And he saw Georgina stand up, and half run out of the marquee, and Kendrick follow her.

Georgina left; simply left. She had rushed down the steps, Kendrick said, when Max caught up with him in the hall, and got into a taxi.

‘I don’t know what to do. Where do you think she’s gone?’ He looked wild-eyed.

‘To Angie’s house, I should think,’ said Max. ‘George is there.’

‘Oh. Of course.’ Kendrick looked at him, relief in his eyes. ‘Yes, I’ll call her there in a minute.’

‘You do that,’ said Max. ‘But first you might care to tell your brother he’s an unpleasant bastard.’

‘I’m – sorry,’ said Kendrick, ‘I agree. It wasn’t kind.’

‘It wasn’t. Oh, and Kendrick –’

‘Yes?’ Kendrick looked at him coldly.

‘Stop messing Georgina about, would you? It’s time she knew where she was.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You heard. Stop playing silly buggers with her. It’s not fair.’

‘I don’t quite see what it’s got to do with you,’ said Kendrick.

‘Oh really? Well I think that’s rather insensitive of you. She’s my sister. I care about her. OK?’

‘Look Max,’ said Kendrick, and there was a flush on his face now, ‘I resent your tone. I care about her too. Very much.’

‘Well from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like that,’ said Max. ‘It looks like you don’t care about her at all. If you can’t make your bloody mind up, then why don’t you bugger off back to New York for good?’

‘Well that would suit you nicely, wouldn’t it?’ said Kendrick.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Max.

‘Get me out of your hair. Remove any possible threat to having your inheritance muscled in on.’

‘Kendrick, are you quite mad? I really don’t follow you at all.’ Max could feel himself flushing now, feel fear as well as anger rising in him.

‘Don’t you? Have you really not been told of the suggestion that I should live at Hartest, if Georgina and I were married? I can’t believe that. Georgina very much likes the idea.’

‘I have,’ said Max, ‘I dismissed it for the nonsense it clearly is.’

‘I don’t see it quite that way,’ said Kendrick. ‘Georgina adores England. She adores Hartest. I’m an artist. I can work anywhere. If I do marry Georgina, it could be the best thing, for all of us. Particularly our son.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Max. ‘Don’t give me that. Of course you can’t live at Hartest. It’s not some kind of holiday house. It’s Alex – it’s my father’s house. It will be mine. It goes with the title.’

‘Oh really?’ said Kendrick, and the expression on his face was careful, almost cunning. ‘And it’s really yours, is it? No doubt about it?’

‘Of course it’s mine,’ said Max. He could feel himself beginning to sweat.

‘Well,’ said Kendrick, ‘I think there might be some kind of doubt about that. Or certainly there could be. If – certain facts came to light. Now I don’t give a toss about any of it, Max. Don’t worry, I’m not about to start spreading nasty rumours. But if I do decide to marry Georgina, I have to tell you I think it might be very nice to live at Hartest.’

‘Then I sincerely hope you don’t,’ said Max. He felt sick, and very cold, but he stayed calm. ‘Now you’d better call Angie’s house and make sure Georgina’s there. As you care about her so much.’

He waited while Kendrick made the call; Georgina was there.

‘She wants me to go over and see her,’ said Kendrick.

‘Fine,’ said Max. ‘Don’t hurry back.’

He went to find Charlotte. He had to talk to someone. She was sitting looking slightly aloof on the stairs with Tommy; he had managed to make her laugh.

‘Tommy, could I borrow Charlotte for a bit? I need to talk to her.’

‘Sure. As long as you return her.’

‘I will.’

‘Bloody Gabe!’ said Charlotte as they walked away. ‘I could kill him. Look at the time, it’s nearly midnight. I really don’t –’

‘Shut up, Charlotte,’ said Max.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said shut up. We have a big problem. I just have to talk to you about it. I’m sorry.’

He told her. She listened, finally distracted from her rage over Gabe.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘I don’t know how we thought this wouldn’t all come out sooner. It’s only because we’ve been so brainwashed by Daddy. To ignore it, to pretend it isn’t there. In a way I’d be relieved.’

‘Well I wouldn’t. Charlotte, how did he know?’

‘Oh, I expect Georgina told him. In fact I’m sure she did.’

‘But she told me she hadn’t.’

‘Did she?’ said Charlotte, and for the first time that evening she smiled. ‘Good old Georgina, I didn’t think she had it in her to be devious. And I saw her chatting away in the supper queue with your funny friend Jake. It must be motherhood, toughening her up.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Charlotte. The point is, he knows. And he’s poised to take advantage of it.’

‘Well, I don’t know how much he can take advantage of it. And he’s a nice person anyway, I always thought. The only thing is – dear God, suppose he tells Freddy?’

‘Exactly. Or Mary Rose. Or maybe he has.’

She shook her head. ‘No. No, we’d know if he had. That’s for sure. Do you think he really plans to move into Hartest?’

‘God knows. He seems keener on that than marrying Georgina, if you ask me.’

‘Well. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.’

‘Charlotte, it’s a bloody awful idea. I’m not having it.’

‘Dear me!’ said Charlotte, looking at him, half amused. ‘Quite the little feudal lord all of a sudden. I thought you despised Daddy and the title and the whole damn thing.’

‘Not the whole damn thing,’ said Max, looking suddenly morose. ‘Just – Alexander.’

‘Look, Max,’ said Charlotte, ‘this isn’t getting us anywhere. You have a party to run and I have a – ’

She stopped; Gabe had just walked in the door. He looked at her and said, ‘Hi. Sorry I’m late. Big run on the dollar.’

‘How fascinating. You must find someone to talk to about it,’ said Charlotte, deceptively sweet. ‘I’m leaving. Goodnight, Gabe. Night Max, lovely party.’

‘What on earth’s the matter with her?’ said Gabe. Max looked at him; he was obviously completely baffled.

‘Gemma, for fuck’s sake will you come on down and have supper,’ said Max.

‘No,’ said Gemma, ‘I won’t.’ She was sitting on the edge of the nursery bath. ‘Not unless you promise not to go on touching up every female that comes near you. It’s disgusting, first that model creature, then Angie, and then I saw you stroking that other girl, the plain one with the straight hair.’

‘What plain one? I never stroke plain girls. Oh, you mean Jennifer? She’s not plain. We go back a long way, Jennifer and me. I looked after her on her first trip.’

‘How nice for her,’ said Gemma. ‘Well, I’m not coming down. OK?’

‘Fine. You stay up here and play with yourself. Nobody else is going to.’

He went down to the marquee and over to Freddy’s table. Freddy was sitting looking superciliously across at the dance floor, watching Chuck and Janette Drew doing a demo-style waltz.

‘You little squirt,’ said Max.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard. You’re a cruel, vicious little squirt. How dare you do that? Upset my family. It was unforgivable.’

‘I think you’re over-sensitive,’ said Freddy. ‘I personally saw it as a trip down memory lane.’

‘Oh, go fuck yourself,’ said Max.

By midnight the entire party had moved into dance mode. The marquee was packed; the financial element and the media merged happily together in a hot, grinding mass. Jake Joseph was draped over one of the chalet girls, his hands firmly grasping her buttocks. One of his policeman brothers was doing an extremely energetic pelvic thrust with an Art Gallery, eyes closed, head on one side. Mrs Wicks was jiving with Tommy, while Clifford stood morosely on the edge of the floor. Two gay photographers were dancing in a spectacular fashion together in the centre of the floor, and two model girls were smooching on the edge of it. Three young dealers were spraying each other with bottles of champagne. Opal was dancing a solo, her arms waving wildly above her head, her face contorted in an orgasmic grimace.

‘Nice friends you’ve got, Max,’ said Angie.

‘They are, very nice.’

‘It’s going well, isn’t it? Is Melissa all right, do you think?’

‘I think so. Don’t greatly fancy her bloke.’

‘No, he’s vile. Where’s Georgina?’

‘Gone back to your place. With Kendrick.’

‘Good on them,’ said Angie.

‘It’s not quite how you think,’ said Max soberly. ‘Look at Mary Rose. She’s having such a good time talking to Daddy-o Morton. She’s practically persuaded him to open an art gallery.’

‘They’re not still here, are they?’ said Angie incredulously.

‘Yes they are.’

‘And where’s their daughter?’

‘Sulking. Over there, look.’

‘You’d better go and dance with her.’

What seemed like very much later, he found himself dancing with Angie. Gemma was in the clutches (and seemed happy to be there) of a male Art Gallery.

‘You dance like a black guy,’ Angie said to Max as the music changed to a slower beat and he took her in his arms.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you have rhythm. Fantastic rhythm.’

‘Well,’ he said lightly, ‘you know what else they say about black guys. Do you think I could match up to them in that way too?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Angie. Her green eyes sparkled up at him; she looked smug.

‘Do you have a lot of experience of that, Mrs Praeger?’

‘Enough.’

‘Ah.’

Max held her more tightly; he could feel his erection growing through his trousers. She responded, squirming her body against him.

‘Sorry,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘Can’t help it. It’s that – outfit.’

‘I like it.’

‘The outfit?’

‘No, the effect it has on you.’

‘Good.’

The music changed; slower still, Dylan’s voice cut through the room, raw with sex. ‘Lay Lady Lay…’

Max pulled Angie closer. ‘Angie –’

‘Yes, Max.’

Suddenly Max couldn’t stand it any longer. He had had just enough to drink; he felt smoothly, recklessly in control. He couldn’t even see Gemma; it was almost too easy. He had wanted Angie for so long now, he couldn’t even remember a time when he hadn’t. She looked up at him, and met his eyes; she smiled a slow, confident smile. Max smiled back. ‘You look very arrogant,’ she said.

‘I feel arrogant,’ he said. ‘Come on. This thing has gone on long enough.’

He knew she would know what he meant.

Upstairs, in one of the spare bedrooms, she lay on the bed. Max pushed the door behind him, and walked towards her. His face was very intent, very serious.

‘I’ve never said this before,’ he said, ‘to anyone. I think you ought to let me mean it. I love you.’

‘Oh,’ said Angie. She sounded surprised. ‘Oh Max, of course you don’t. Maybe you think you do.’

‘No. I do. Can I please take that ridiculous garment off you?’

‘It’s a lovely garment.’

‘It’s lovely, but it’s ridiculous. You’ll look better without it.’

‘Max, it cost nearly a thousand pounds!’

He laughed, suddenly and oddly very happy. ‘Only you could say that. At this point. Maybe that’s why I think I love you. Well, let me take a bit of it off. Maybe five hundred pounds’ worth.’

‘Oh, all right! Undo the zip. That must have cost about a hundred.’

She sat up, turned her back to him. He came up behind her, pushed her hair away, kissed the back of her neck. It was very warm, it smelt, it felt, of desire: of perfume, tinged with sweat. He moved his lips slowly down her backbone; he put his arms over her shoulders, slipped them inside the top of her sequined bodice, seeking out her nipples, caressing them, stroking them with small, delicate movements. Angie moaned very softly.

‘You’re so lovely,’ he said, ‘so lovely.’

He began to undo the bodice, slipping his hands under her breasts, moving them down her body, feeling her flat stomach, her thick tangle of hair, her moist, sweet sex.

‘You’re so warm,’ he said, ‘all of you, so warm.’

Angie turned round suddenly, her face raw with desire. She put her arms round him, lay back, pulling him onto her. Her hands went inside his trousers, exploring his buttocks, moving tentatively, gently. Max was kissing her now, hard, harder, his tongue working in her mouth; he felt liquidly hot, wildly sweetly out of control.

She sat up suddenly, smiling; her catsuit was half off now, she was naked to the waist, her hair wild and tumbling around her. She reached out, began to unbutton Max’s shirt, her hands slipping down inside his trousers.

‘Oh God,’ he said, and he bent down and began to kiss her breasts, tenderly, carefully, as if they were very delicate and might break.

‘I love you,’ he said again.

And then the door opened and Gemma came in.

He found her, crying, in the kitchen, just standing there, sobbing amidst the dirty plates and empty bottles, the great skirt of her ballgown trailing in the spilt wine, tears running down her face, like a small child.

‘Gemma – please – don’t –’ There seemed little to say. He fell silent again.

‘Just get out, will you,’ said Gemma, quite politely.

‘Gemma, I can’t. You know I can’t. I want to help.’

‘That’s very rich,’ she said. She stared at him, her large brown eyes still brimming with tears, her face blotched and oddly ugly. ‘You want to help. The only way you could help is by going away and never coming back. Excuse me please, Max. I want to go back to the party.’

He watched her go; as she passed the end of the corridor, he saw Jonty Hirsch speak to her. Hirsch was holding a bottle of bourbon; he said something, offered it to Gemma. She took a swig from the bottle, smiled at him. He said something else to her; she hesitated, walked back into the kitchen, got two glasses out of the cupboard.