Wicked Pleasures (40 page)

It was Pete Hoffman who first alerted him to Chuck Drew’s activities; he seemed to be getting overly involved in the M & A side, Pete said, and talking too much about the deals as well. He was also very buddy-buddy with Henry Keers. ‘He moves in a circle of extremely high-profile people, Baby. I think you should have a word with him about discretion. It only takes one slip to get hoisted with insider dealing.’

Baby smiled politely and ignored the advice. He also managed to ignore the fact that Chuck appeared to be living beyond his means, and within a fairly short space of time had bought himself a Maserati, commissioned the building
of a house in Florida and was having his New York apartment done out by Robert Metzger. Even Jeremy Foster remarked on it over a dinner with Baby, much of which was spent bemoaning the parlous state of his marriage, and Isabella’s threat of instituting divorce proceedings if he didn’t start, as she put it, behaving like an adult. Baby told him he should take Isabella’s advice. Jeremy said he was really, genuinely trying, that he loved Isabella more than anything in the world, and after sinking several more glasses of bourbon, returned to the subject of Chuck Drew.

‘Metzger doesn’t come cheap, I mean he charges a hundred grand just to walk in the door. And nor do Maseratis. I’m pleased for him, don’t get me wrong. But you must be paying him a fortune.’

Still only mildly concerned, Baby called the salaries division next day.

Praegers were not paying Chuck Drew a fortune; what he was getting was clearly not enough to finance Maseratis and mansions in Florida. Pete Hoffman’s words about insider trading suddenly resounded in Baby’s head.

He had a showdown with Chuck; asked him where he was getting his money from. Chuck told him, fairly pleasantly, to mind his own business, and Baby said he felt it was very much his business, that he needed to be assured that there was nothing untoward going on under Praegers’ aegis, and that if Chuck wouldn’t tell him he intended to find out anyway. He asked Chuck for details of all his financial affairs, and if he had any accounts in Zurich or the Bahamas. Chuck swore he hadn’t; he remained calm, almost complacent in the face of Baby’s agitation. Baby was baffled by his reaction and tried to reassure himself that if Chuck had genuinely been up to something, he would have been a lot more worried. A check on his credit rating and bank accounts appeared to reveal in any case that he was telling the truth. But Baby didn’t believe him. He told Chuck if he wouldn’t tell him the truth, he might be forced to call in the Securities and Exchange Commission. Chuck looked at him with the same complacent calm and said nothing.

Two days later Jeremy Foster called him; could they meet, to talk about Chuck?

Jeremy was shocked, shocked to death, he said; Chuck had admitted to him that he had been involved in insider trading, had made a fortune on several recent Praeger deals, purchasing the shares in the name of two aunts, one in Iowa, one in Wisconsin, neither of whose names most conveniently was Drew, and paying the resultant profits into their accounts. Baby, equally shocked, said he would have to report Chuck to the SEC, that Praegers’ reputation was at stake.

Jeremy looked at him. ‘Do you really mean that?’

‘Jeremy, of course I really mean it.’

‘I don’t want that, Baby.’ Jeremy’s eyes were hard, suddenly, and blank. ‘Our association, that is Fosters and Praegers, goes back a long way,’ he said. ‘It would be very sad if anything damaged our good relations.’

‘Jeremy,’ said Baby, ‘what on earth are you saying?’

‘You know what I’m saying,’ said Jeremy, and his eyes were blanker still. ‘I
want Chuck kept on. As a partner. I promise you nothing untoward will ever happen again. Just wipe the slate on this one, will you, Baby, please.’

Baby looked at him. He thought of the Foster account, the billions of dollars that were involved, year on year; the way the sheer weight of their business gave Praegers a status beyond its size; he remembered his father’s words about how there was nothing, nothing you would not do for a client, an important client; and he waited for quite a long time, and then he said,‘Very well, Jeremy. But I want Chuck’s assurance that nothing of the sort will ever happen again. OK?’

‘OK,’ said Jeremy. His relief was visible; his relaxation almost tangible. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much, Baby.’ He smiled, his most winning smile; he had changed again, into the old Jeremy, no longer stern, no longer hostile. ‘Can I buy you lunch?’

‘No thank you,’ said Baby, slightly distantly.

It was Isabella who explained it all to him, many months later. She didn’t know what she was explaining, but Baby found her crying, very drunk, in one of the bathrooms at a party they were all at.

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘it’s not so bad is it? I thought you and Jeremy were all right again.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘oh, Baby, I don’t know. I keep forgiving him, and then I learn some other awful thing. The latest is some black tart, and I do mean tart, he’s seeing all the time.’

‘Poor Isabella. Can’t you poison her tea or something?’

‘Baby! If only it was
her
tea. The tart is male. I can’t stand it. It is total humiliation. I thought it was all over, that – that particular little behaviour pattern. Ever since he had that thing with Chuck, I –’

She stared at him, her tears abruptly stopped, her eyes wide with terror. ‘Oh God, Baby, oh shit, I never said that, I forgot Chuck worked for you, please please forget it, forget I said …’

‘Of course I will,’ said Baby, patting her hand absent-mindedly. ‘Of course I will. Don’t worry, Isabella, I’m a great keeper of secrets. Here, take my hanky, and let me get you a drink.’

He went out to the bar to find her a drink. His mind was whirling, and he felt rather sick.

He had been feeling particularly good the day of the heart attack. He and Angie had had a very good few days: Mary Rose and the children safely in Nantucket, most of New York away. He had been sleeping at home, in case Mary Rose phoned, and getting up as early as three or four, putting on his running clothes, and going down to the Village and Angie; Nancy the maid, who was a sound sleeper, only knew when he came home again, and had several times told Mary Rose that Mr Praeger was out running, and had more than once added that in the dreadful heat of a New York August, she thought it was a little unwise.

Baby often reflected later that if he had in fact done a little genuine running, he might not have had the coronary at all.

Charlotte, 1983

Wild Rose Cottage, Watery Lane, Tellow, Nr Skibbereen, West Cork

Charlotte booked a flight to Cork on 6 January and then booked a car as well. The car-hire company at Cork was a small one; they told her they would be sure to save her a fine car.

She had intended to go alone, but two days before she left, Georgina came to her room where she was desperately trying to catch up on some reading, and said that Max was drunk.

‘At least I think he’s drunk. He’s behaving very strangely anyway.’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Well yes it does, a bit, Daddy wants to see him immediately, to sort out this skiing trip at half term, and he’s absolutely plastered in his room. Daddy’ ll go mad.’

‘Oh all right, I’ll go and try to sort him out. God, he’s a nightmare,’ said Charlotte with a sigh.

‘Yes, he is. Look, you go and see him, and I’ll tell Daddy I can’t find him, and he must have gone for a walk. Stick his head under the cold tap or something.’

Max wasn’t drunk, he was stoned. He had a large supply of cannabis in his room, Charlotte discovered, stacked under his mattress in several small silver parcels, and he had been smoking it fairly restrainedly, he told her, all over Christmas. Today, bored and depressed at the prospect of going back to school in a few days, he had decided to take a little more than usual.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, giggling helplessly as Charlotte scolded him, piling all the parcels into the pocket of her jacket, ‘I’m really sorry. It’s no use you doing that, I can easily get some more.’

‘Oh Max, how can you be so stupid? Where are you getting it from anyway? School?’

‘Course not. A friend. A good friend. Meeting him tomorrow actually.’

‘Where? Who is this friend?’

‘In Swindon. Can’t tell you who. Good friend though. You’d like him. Charlotte, come and join me, come on, you need to relax a bit. I’ve got a joint right here, we can share it.’

‘Max, for Christ’s sake, don’t you realize what you’re doing? You’re mad. Daddy’ll flog you personally.’

‘Course he won’t. He won’t find out. Charlotte, stop fussing. Come and sit down here with me. Come on. Now just pass me that box, would you, and we can –’

‘Max, I’m going downstairs to tell Daddy you’re ill. He’s looking for you. And I’m going to lock you in your room. And tomorrow I’m going to try and knock some sense into that stupid, empty head of yours. What on earth do you think is going to become of you at this rate? You’re already in trouble for running a casino at school, of all places. You’ll get expelled if you’re not careful. And then Daddy says he won’t even try to sort anything else out, it’ll be the comp for you.’

‘Well that’s fine by me,’ said Max, smiling slightly groggily at her, ‘I’ve always fancied co-education. So much more healthy. And then I could go to the sixth-form college like Georgie, and do something meaningful like cookery or woodwork.’

‘I don’t know what makes you think they’d have you,’ said Charlotte.

‘You’re being really silly,’ said Max, rolling onto his back and smiling radiantly up at the ceiling, ‘really really silly. I can’t begin to tell you how silly you’re being.’

‘You can try in the morning,’ said Charlotte, picking up the box of cigarette papers and the cigarette rolling machine Max had on his desk, ‘meanwhile I’m taking this lot out to the stable yard to burn it.’

‘Enjoy!’ said Max. ‘It’s good stuff.’

In the morning he was totally uncontrite, but slightly nervous that Charlotte might tell Alexander.

‘I won’t,’ said Charlotte, ‘if you promise never to do it again.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to do that,’ said Max, looking quite shocked.

‘Why?’ said Charlotte. ‘Because you’re hooked, I suppose.’

‘Oh Charlotte darling, you’re so naïve. You don’t get hooked on hash. It’s no more addictive than – than cornflakes.’

‘You can tell that to the marines,’ said Charlotte briskly. ‘And Daddy.’

‘Oh Charlotte, you wouldn’t tell him would you?’

‘I will if you don’t promise.’

‘Oh shit,’ said Max. ‘Oh Charlotte, you wouldn’t.’

‘Oh Max, I would.’

‘All right,’ said Max with a sigh. ‘All right, Charlotte. You win.’

‘You are never, ever to do it again. And if I find you are, I shall go to the police. And I’m not daft, Max, I shall check. All the time. And I do hope you’re not stupid enough even to take it to school.’

‘No. Well, not much of it. Occasionally I have a bit. A very weedy weed. But no – all right. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll stop. I’ll enjoy stopping, actually, just to show you how easy it is. So you can see it’s not addictive. All right?’

‘All right,’ said Charlotte slowly. ‘But I’m going away tomorrow for a few days. I certainly don’t trust you not to if I’m not here. So I’m going to take you with me. Just to keep an eye on you.’

‘Where are we going? Goody goody. I like little trips.’

‘Ireland.’

‘Ireland? What on earth for?’

Charlotte looked at him and felt her mind go into overdrive, the long-postponed decision made almost for her. ‘I’ll tell you when we get there. Now sort some stuff out. I’ve already booked you onto the flight.’

‘Is Georgie coming?’

‘No. She’s got exams as soon as she gets back, and she says she can’t go away.’

‘Does she know why you’re going?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Charlotte.

It was raining when they landed at Cork, a soft, grey, misty rain. Charlotte sniffed the air; it was oddly sweet and silky.