Wicked Pleasures (54 page)

Two days later she was walking along the corridor towards the end of the day when she bumped into Gabe. ‘Oh, there you are,’ he said, dumping a corrected set of minutes into her hands. ‘Look, get these Xeroxed, will you, and distributed. The boys and I are going out for a small celebration. See you later.’

Charlotte took the minutes and wandered back in the direction of the Xerox machine. She looked down at them, to see which of the dozens she had done that week they were, and found them blurred; it took her a few seconds to discover the reason:
that she was crying. She fled in the direction of the office she shared with Gabe, and finding it mercifully empty, sat down with her head on her arms and started to cry, quite quietly, but very hard. She would probably have gone on for some time, had she not felt a hand on her shoulder, and heard a voice that combined an odd softness with what she now recognized as a thick Brooklyn accent, saying, ‘Is this a private party or can anyone join in?’

Charlotte turned round sharply and looked up into a face that was so genuinely interested, so sympathetic, so concerned, that
(those being such unfamiliar qualities to her these days) she cried harder than ever. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hiccuping mildly into an already sodden Kleenex, ‘really sorry. I’m not doing the cause of the professional woman a lot of good here, am I?’

‘The professional woman can take care of herself,’ said the owner of the face, passing her a handkerchief. ‘I never liked her too much anyway. Here, blow your nose on this, it’s spare and dry.’

‘Oh no, I couldn’t. Really,’ said Charlotte.

‘I promise you, I always have a spare handkerchief for ladies in distress. My raincoats I lose, my handkerchiefs I keep. It’s a different way round from most people.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now what is the matter?’

‘Oh – nothing. I’m being a baby,’ she said, blowing her nose and looking at him. He had an extraordinarily nice face; not good-looking but oddly sexy, with its concerned brown eyes and slightly lopsided smile.

‘I like babies. Boss been unkind to you?’

‘Very.’

‘Nasty people, bosses. I have been known to be quite unkind on occasions myself. What do you do here?’

‘Oh,’ said Charlotte, with a sigh, ‘not a lot. And I don’t like what I do.’

‘I should leave in that case,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing worse than doing work you don’t like. I’m quite serious. You’re English, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘So what misfortune brings you to this godforsaken city?’

‘Oh – the opportunity,’ said Charlotte. ‘Of working here.’

‘I should hurry home. Whereabouts in England do you live?’

‘In Wiltshire,’ she said and at the thought of it, the rolling hills, Hartest, the kitchen fire, Nanny and Mrs Tallow, she started crying again.

‘I never went to Wiltshire,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I only know London and Scotland.’

‘My grandmother lives in Scotland,’ said Charlotte.

‘She does?’ he said. ‘I wonder if I ever met her. Is she anywhere near Edinburgh?’

He gave Edinburgh at least five syllables; Charlotte had to laugh. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘So who is this sadistic boss of yours? I wonder do you know Baby Praeger, by any chance? I’m looking for him.’

‘Wrong floor,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’ll take you down. Yes, I know him. He’s my –’ She stopped herself. She didn’t want this sympathetic stranger thinking she was pulling rank. ‘My boss’s boss.’

‘Now listen,’ he said, ‘I really mean you should leave here if you’re unhappy. It’s crazy spending your days somewhere you don’t like. It’s the most important thing in the world, I always think, your work. Or rather being happy in it.’

Charlotte stood up and said, ‘I can’t really leave. Honestly I can’t. I wish I could, though. Thank you for being so kind. And for the handkerchief. Follow me.’

They were halfway down the corridor when they met Fred, lost in a cloud of cigar smoke, his arm round Freddy’s shoulders.

‘Michael!’ he said. ‘Looking for me?’

‘No, I’m looking for Baby. We have a little bit of business to finish. I got lost and this very kind and rather sad young lady is showing me to Baby’s office. You should take better care of your staff, Fred. I found her weeping into her company minutes.’

‘Indeed?’ said Fred slightly ominously. ‘Well, people who work here have to learn to be a little resilient. And I really don’t have time to watch over every tiny emotional crisis. All right, Charlotte, I’ll show Mr Browning to Baby’s office.’

Charlotte smiled rather weakly at her new friend and made her way back to her own office. So that was the legendary Michael Browning. It had been a very big coup for Praegers, getting some of his business. He was worth at least three billion dollars, she had heard, most of it from his BuyNow Supermarkets; he had not been in the least how she had imagined, from all the awestruck descriptions she had heard of him. Gabe had had to do a report for him only two weeks after she had arrived, and had gone into paroxysms of nerves and hyper efficiency. Charlotte would never have dreamt the instigator of such neurotic activity could be a person with spare handkerchiefs to dry the eyes of weeping females and spare time to listen to their troubles. She could have fallen in love with Michael Browning, no trouble at all, given even half an opportunity. Which of course she wouldn’t be.

She had just settled back at her desk, sorting through the minutes Gabe had
given her, when her phone rang. It was Fred.

‘Get down here, will you?’ he said. His voice was expressionless.

Charlotte brushed her hair, sprayed herself with Diorissimo, dabbed some make-up onto her still blotchy face and set off down the corridor again. If she was to have the pleasure of renewing Michael Browning’s acquaintance, she wanted to look as good as possible.

She wasn’t: Fred was alone.

‘How dare you,’ he said, ‘go whining and whingeing to a client? An important client. How dare you?’

He was terribly angry; Charlotte, who had never seen anything but adoration in his eyes, suddenly discovered a new Fred Praeger, and why everyone was so frightened of him. She met his eyes steadily. ‘I didn’t know he was a client and I didn’t go whining to him. He – he found me. Crying.’

‘Crying! In the office!’ Fred looked at her contemptuously. ‘For the love of God, Charlotte, how old are you and what do you think you’re doing here? This is not some fancy house party, this is a business. Involved daily in the transaction of several billions of dollars. Kindly try to remember that and adopt a professional approach to it.’

‘But –’

‘Charlotte, you’re in a grotesquely privileged position here.’

‘I am not! That’s not true. Gabe Hoffman treats me like – like dirt.’

‘And has it not entered your pretty, pampered little head to think why? Because one day, unless my patience fails me, and Baby’s patience fails him, you will be in a position to treat Gabe Hoffman like dirt. And he knows it. You may find that a pleasing prospect. I do assure you, Charlotte, he does not. What he’s doing is extracting revenge. Before rather than after the event. Try to remember that. And behave yourself in future, otherwise it isn’t going to happen. Ever.’

She went home for Christmas, exhausted, discouraged, sore at heart. She managed to persuade everyone that she was having a wonderful time, except for Nanny, who found her sitting in the library on Boxing Day, staring blankly out of the window.

‘It’s not quite right for you at the bank, is it?’ she said.

‘Not quite,’ said Charlotte. She was too tired to argue with Nanny. ‘How did you know?’

‘You’ve put on weight,’ said Nanny severely. ‘You always did eat too many sweets when something upset you.’

She got back to New York on 2 January and went back to work on the third; she sat on the downtown express train and felt more miserable than she could ever remember, apart from when her mother had died. She walked rather slowly up out of the Wall Street subway and up William Street towards Pine Street. It was only seven o’clock and it was still dark. The narrow streets seemed as heavy as her heart. She remembered how she had felt as she had walked that way the very first morning, how excited she had been, and she wondered, just for a moment, if it was worth it. Then she physically gritted her teeth. ‘This won’t
do, Charlotte Welles,’ she said aloud. ‘Pull yourself together.’

She had scarcely walked into the door, asked for her key, when Baby suddenly appeared at the bottom of the staircase. He was white, and he was breathing very heavily.

‘Baby!’ By common consent they had dropped the Uncle. ‘Happy New –’

Baby ignored her. He didn’t even see her. He walked straight past her and out of the door. Charlotte had never seen such rage and such determination on his good-natured face.

Baby had come into the bank that morning early, walked into Fred’s office and told him he was asking Mary Rose for a divorce.

‘Apparently he has a – a mistress,’ Betsey told Charlotte later, hardly able to look her in the eye, ‘and she’s pregnant.’

‘Pregnant!’ said Charlotte. She was silent for a moment and then the English schoolgirl spoke. ‘Golly.’ She was torn between shock that anyone of Baby’s generation could be so foolish and so irresponsible and a certain sneaking pleasure that the uncle she loved so much was at least still having some fun out of life.

‘Yes, dear. I’m sorry, you must find this so upsetting. Apparently this girl lives in London. She’s English.’

‘English!’ said Charlotte. ‘It surely can’t still be Angie? Angie Burbank?’

‘Yes, dear, it is. Why, have you heard of her?’

‘Well, she used to work for Mummy.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Well, it’s been going on for many years. There was some scandal many years ago. Fred – got rid of her. Or so he thought.’

‘How on earth did he do that?’ said Charlotte, amused.

‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s very little your grandfather can’t do if he puts his mind to it, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Charlotte. ‘Goodness, Angie Burbank.’

‘You don’t remember her, do you?’

‘No, not really. So what’s going to happen?’

‘Well, Baby has told your grandfather that he’s leaving Mary Rose. And of course your grandfather told him he was to do no such thing –’

‘Uncle Baby is nearly fifty –’ said Charlotte.

‘Not to your grandfather,’ said Betsey briskly.

‘So then what?’

‘Well, your grandfather said he would disinherit Baby, if he left Mary Rose, but of course he officially and formally made Baby chairman when he retired. As Baby pointed out. Oh, I do believe there was a terrible row. Anyway, Baby has gone over to London tonight, to see this woman, and your grandfather is locked in with the lawyers seeing what can be done.’

‘Well it’s ridiculous,’ said Charlotte. ‘I mean, I just don’t see what Grandfather can do about any of it. What it’s got to do with him at all, really.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Betsey, ‘I’m afraid you still don’t know him very well, Charlotte.’

CAngie, 1984

Well, the easy bit was certainly over, Angie reflected, swinging down Harley Street in the pale January sunshine, after a very satisfactory consultation with her gynaecologist. Yes, everything was fine, Miss Burbank was roughly ten weeks pregnant, no, there was no need to worry about anything, and no, mid-thirties was not in the least old to be having a first baby, provided she took reasonable care of herself and didn’t work too many eighteen-hour days. They would run all the tests, just to make sure, but he was convinced she had nothing to worry about. The gynaecologist was too fashionable and expensive to inquire about the baby’s father; Miss Burbank was clearly not about to be taking up residence in a home for single mothers, and was clearly going to be able to pay his bill, and beyond that he had no interest in her circumstances.

‘So,’ he had said, smiling at her over his large desk, ‘a late summer baby. Let’s hope it’s not too hot.’

Angie looked down on her entirely concave stomach, encased in a sliver-slim black silk skirt, and tried to imagine what it was actually going to be like, to see it, feel it burgeoning with this child. It was still so much a fantasy, she still couldn’t quite believe in it. But it was definitely going to happen. She was going to have a baby. And she felt wonderful, strong and happy and not even sick, and Baby would feel wonderful too, when he stopped wetting himself and worrying about his father and Mary Rose and the bank. That was a bit of a worry, but she knew she could handle it; she was only after all at the end of Stage One of her plan. Which so far was proceeding more quickly, if not more smoothly, than she had hoped. She had expected to spend a little more time becoming pregnant; but it had only required one trip to New York. She had of course timed that trip extremely carefully. It coincided exactly with the middle of her cycle.

Baby hadn’t looked quite as she’d imagined he would when she’d first told him; he had come over to London for forty-eight hours just before Christmas and they’d been having dinner at the Gavroche and she’d said Baby, I have some news, and put her hand on his and he’d said, looking very excited, was she going to be able to spend more time in New York and she’d said no, rather the reverse, she was actually going to have to settle down a bit and take things a bit more quietly and he’d looked at her rather oddly and said why, and she’d said, ‘Well, Baby, because I’m going to have a baby. No, that’s wrong. We’re going to have a baby.’ And he’d gone quite white, and just stared at her and she’d said, ‘You don’t look very pleased,’ and he had sort of shaken himself and said, forcing a smile, ‘Well of course I’m pleased,’ and she’d said, ‘Well, aren’t you going to give me a kiss or something?’ and he’d said, even more oddly, ‘Angie, I don’t understand. How did it happen?’

And ‘Baby really!’ she had said, ‘I’m amazed you don’t remember. Just about
seven weeks ago, that lovely week we had in New York,’ and he’d said, ‘Of course I remember, but surely you’re on the pill?’ And she’d said yes, of course she was on the pill, but her doctor had changed the brand, because she’d been getting a lot of headaches, and put her on a lower dosage one, and that did put up the risk of a pregnancy. ‘But of course I never thought it would happen. Never. But it has. And I’m so happy about it. So terribly happy. Aren’t you? Baby, you’re not upset are you, or cross or anything? Because I couldn’t bear not to have your baby. I really couldn’t.’