Wicked Pleasures (55 page)

And Baby had said, no of course not, he was terribly happy too, and he managed to smile at her again, and ordered some champagne, but he still looked very shaken and strained, and suggested they left the restaurant soon after that. And they had lain in the big bed in his suite at the Savoy, and he had been very quiet, and made love to her rather awkwardly and silently and then gone to sleep. Angie had begun to feel just a little nervous at that point; she had expected tenderness, excitement even, long discussions about what they were going to do, and what the baby might be and what its name might be, not this odd, quiet nothingness. She had woken up in the middle of the night and he had not been in the bed, and she had sat up and looked across the room and he had been sitting in a big chair by the window, staring out across the river.

‘Baby?’ she said, panic rising slightly uncomfortably in her throat. ‘Baby, what is it?’

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘nothing, I have indigestion, that’s all. Ate too much. You don’t have to worry about me. Go back to sleep.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Angie, getting out of the bed and going over to him, putting her arms round his neck, ‘of course I have to worry about you. I love you. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m pregnant.’

‘Do you?’ he said, and his face was very sad, and something else, almost frightened. ‘Do you really?’

And in a rare moment of truthfulness, she had looked into his eyes and said, ‘Yes, Baby, I do, I really love you.’

‘Oh God,’ he said, ‘that makes it almost worse.’

The panic rose again. ‘Why?’ she said.

‘Well because I love you so much. So terribly much. I can’t imagine life without you. You’re the one thing that’s kept me sane this last year. And now, you’re going to have a baby. My baby. And how am I going to go on living apart from you now? How am I going to bear it?’

‘Well,’ she said, sliding onto his knee, kissing his neck, his cheek, his hair, ‘well, Baby, you could start living with me.’

‘Oh Angie,’ he said, ‘how can I? How can you even think such a thing? Life is terrible at the bank, worse than ever. My father’s totally taken over control again. I’m fighting for survival. Only the other day he –’ He was silent for a moment, she felt fear run through his body at the memory. ‘Only the other day he said he really felt that maybe the share structure should be broken up, changed, that the senior partners should have much more of a controlling interest.’

‘Shit,’ said Angie, ‘do you think he meant it?’

‘I don’t know. Possibly not. But it was just one more body blow, to humiliate me.’

‘I thought,’ she said carefully, the panic rising again rather nastily, ‘that he had actually appointed you chairman or whatever. That he couldn’t do that any more.’

‘Yes, I’m chairman. In theory it’s mine,’ he sighed. ‘Although we all know it isn’t. And I do hold now a thirty per cent share. He has fifty per cent still and the partners the remaining twenty per cent. I don’t get that fifty per cent until he dies.’

‘And Charlotte and Freddy?’

‘At the moment their holding is notional. Well, they have a few shares. When I truly inherit, they take over my thirty per cent. Between them. It’s very complex.’

‘Baby, he’ll never turn over that bank,’ said Angie firmly, ‘he loves it more than anything in the world. You’ve always said so, and I saw a bit of it for myself, over the years. But you’ll get it in the end. I know you will.’

‘Well, maybe,’ said Baby. ‘But in the meantime it’s one hell of a struggle. And Dad uses every bit of ammunition he has to get me down. And he would sure as hell use this. He’d never let me leave Mary Rose. Never.’

Angie turned his head towards her. She started to kiss him, very slowly and tenderly. Baby’s arms went round her, tighter; she moved her hands slowly down his body, slipped her fingers between his buttocks; she felt him tense, felt his penis rising beneath her. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I love you so much.’

She slipped off his lap, knelt in front of him. She pushed his legs apart, took his penis in her mouth, working on it gently, greedily, pulling at it, caressing it, drawing at his desire. Baby groaned. His hands were in her hair, his head thrown back. ‘I love you,’ he said, and it was almost a cry of despair.

Later they lay quietly in bed; it was four in the morning, and the traffic was beginning to thunder along the Embankment. Angie’s head was pillowed on Baby’s shoulder; she turned her head and looked up at him. She could just see his face; it was less sad now, more thoughtful. She waited for a moment, thinking; then, because the thought had to be voiced some time, could not wait for ever, she said, carefully, casually serious, ‘Baby, have you ever thought of moving Praegers to London?’

He had laughed at first, as she had known he would; she had agreed it was a crazy idea, and left it, had not even menioned it again. They had slept for a while, then got up late, gone shopping. Angie bought him a cashmere coat, grey, with a black velvet collar: ‘That’s what they wear in London,’ she said, ‘in banking circles.’

‘How would you know?’ said Baby.

‘Oh, I know a lot of bankers,’ she said casually.

Baby bought her a ring, a great rock of a diamond, to wear on her wedding finger.

‘That’s for the baby,’ he said, ‘our baby. We can at least pretend we’re married.’

They were back in the suite at the Savoy; Baby was to leave in two hours. Angie smiled at him, kissed him. ‘Maybe it won’t always be pretend.’

Baby looked at her very steadily. ‘Angie, it will, I’m afraid. It has to be. I’m sorry.’

At which point she had moved into Stage Two. She hadn’t wanted to, she had hoped she wouldn’t have to, but she had been perfectly prepared to. She pulled away from him, walked over to the window and looked out, rehearsing the next few lines; she concentrated hard, her eyes filled with the obedient tears.

‘Baby, I don’t know if I can bear this,’ she said, turning towards him again.

‘Oh, darling, don’t,’ he said, moving towards her. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t talk like that. I’ll be with you more, I promise. I’ll take great care of you. I’ll get over much more often. Or maybe you could move to New York.’ He moved to put his arms round her; Angie pulled away.

‘Don’t. I can’t live in New York. You know I can’t. My work is here.’

‘You don’t need to work. I’ll look after you.’

Angie lifted her head. Her green eyes were very stormy. ‘I’m sorry, Baby, but I can’t live like that. I can’t be that exposed. I’m an independent woman. I need my work. In lots of ways. If you’re not prepared to make any kind of commitment to me, then I have to make my own plans.’

Baby looked at her and there was real fear in his eyes.

‘Angie, what kind of commitment can I make?’

‘You can leave Mary Rose.’

‘I can’t leave Mary Rose.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Baby, why not? You say you love me. You’ve been saying it for fifteen years. I’ve been very loyal, very patient. Now I’m going to have our baby. And all you can say is you can’t leave Mary Rose. Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t handle that. I really can’t.’

‘What do you mean?’ His face was grey with fear and pain.

‘I mean we really have come to the end of the road. Our road. And a fine old junction it’s turned out to be. I’m going to turn round and find a new one. On my own.’

‘And the baby?’

‘Well, clearly I will have to decide about the baby.’ Her eyes were snapping with contempt. ‘I had thought of it as our baby. It’s obviously simply mine. Don’t worry, Baby, I’ll look after it. One way or another.’

‘Angie, please. Please, I can’t bear it.’

‘
You
can’t bear it! What about me? Hearing you, year after year, say I can’t be with you, I can’t stay with you, I have to hurry back, my father might find out, my wife might find out. For God’s sake, Baby, you’re almost fifty. When are you going to grow up?’

She had been a bit frightened at saying that. It was very corny, and it was very cruel. It just might be counter-productive. She waited, staring at him; she saw his face turn completely white, watched him walk over to her, raise his hand, felt it hit her hard, right across her face. She flinched, but didn’t move, didn’t even look away. Then he suddenly came at her in a great rush of remorse and love and tenderness and concern, holding her, stroking her hair, shaking, weeping himself. ‘Angie darling, I’m so sorry, so terribly, terribly sorry. Please, please forgive me. I love you so much, so very very much. I’m a bully and a coward and I don’t deserve you. Christ, how could I have done that? Please forgive me, Angie, please.’

Angie said nothing, just stood there, drained, weak, genuinely shocked herself. Then she heard him say, as if from a great distance, very slowly, his voice strangely deep, ‘Angie, I would like you to marry me. Will you, please? Marry me?’

He was coming over tonight, for a long weekend. She had decided he should not stay at the Savoy, but at her house in St John’s Wood. As their relationship was now to be formalized, they should start being together openly. In preparation for this, she had had a very long talk with her grandmother. Mrs Wicks had initially been rather opposed to the idea of her marrying Baby, and still more opposed to the idea of her having his child, but being a romantic at heart, she was now rather charmed by the whole thing and had spent the past twenty-four hours giving the house what she called a Total, which meant cleaning it from top to bottom, touching up the paintwork here and there, and filling every room with flowers. She had offered to wait at table while Angie and Baby had dinner that night. Angie had said she didn’t think that was the best idea, maybe another evening, but she would like her to join them for a drink before dinner. Mrs Wicks had had her roots touched up, and a manicure in preparation for this event; when Angie came in she was waiting for her in her kitchen.

‘Kettle’s just boiled. There was a phone call. From his secretary in America. The plane left late, so he won’t be at Heathrow till five. Probably not here until eight. I said that would be fine.’

‘Oh good,’ said Angie, wondering briefly what other response there might conceivably have been to the secretary’s message.

‘What did the doctor say?’ said Mrs Wicks severely. ‘Told you to rest up, I expect.’

‘No, not really. He said I should be sensible.’

‘He doesn’t know you very well.’

‘No he doesn’t. Cheers, Gran.’ She lifted her mug to Mrs Wicks.

‘Cheers,’ said Mrs Wicks. ‘I really am looking forward to meeting this friend of yours, Angie. I was telling my own gentleman friend about him, and he said he had heard of your friend’s bank.’

‘Really?’ said Angie, surprised.

‘Yes. Well, you see, Clifford is very interested in the financial world. He often has a flutter on the Stock Exchange, and he reads all the financial papers.’

‘Oh does he?’ said Angie. ‘Well, perhaps they could meet some time. That’d be fun.’

She didn’t tell Mrs Wicks that she very much hoped her friend Clifford Parks would be reading quite a lot more about Praegers in the next few weeks.

Baby arrived looking tired but cheerful, with a large bouquet of slightly tacky flowers obviously bought from some stall outside the airport. Angie took his coat, led him into the drawing room.

‘Drink?’

‘Please. This is a lovely house, darling.’

‘Isn’t it? All my own work. Champagne? Thought so. How was the flight?
Oh, now Baby, this is my grandmother, Mrs Wicks. Mainstay of my whole life, and the most glamorous woman in the whole street. Gran, this is Frederick Praeger the Fourth. Otherwise known as Baby.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Mrs Wicks, holding out a well-manicured hand. She was indeed looking very glamorous; she had a new hairstyle which Henri in the High Street had been urging on her for months, a French pleat culminating in a pile-up of curls on the top of her head. She had worked out a new make-up as well, with a stronger glossier lipstick, and she was wearing a bright blue silk dress with very wide shoulders (as worn by Alexis in
Dynasty
), and extremely high heels.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ said Baby, smiling and bowing slightly over her hand. ‘But I certainly can’t believe you’re Angie’s grandmother. Her mother maybe.’

‘Well of course I was very young when her mother was born,’ said Mrs Wicks, smiling at him and fluttering her eyelashes rather hard. She had been practising this lately in front of the mirror and using it on Clifford, who had certainly found it very affecting.

‘I’ve heard a great deal about you,’ he said, ‘and I’m very pleased you’re well now. It must have been very tedious being in that rest home all those years.’

‘Gran, champagne?’ said Angie hastily. ‘Perhaps you’d like to pour.’

‘Now that’s a gentleman’s job,’ said Mrs Wicks briskly. ‘Remember your manners, Angela. Whatever would Mr Praeger think if I took over?’

‘I’d think it was rather nice,’ said Baby, sinking down onto the sofa, his eyes closing. ‘I’m very tired. It’s one in the morning New York time already.’

Angie sighed to herself. She clearly wasn’t going to get any joy out of Baby tonight.

In the morning he was more cheerful.

‘All hell’s broken loose,’ he told her, drinking the Bucks Fizz she had brought him in bed at eleven o’clock. ‘Dad’s threatened to disinherit me, Mary Rose says she’ll never give me a divorce, and the partners are all winding up for a battle royal. Talk about vultures.’

‘And such a succulent little morsel,’ said Angie, nibbling gently at his ear. ‘It’s going to be exciting isn’t it, Baby?’

‘I’d put another word to it, I think,’ said Baby. He sighed but he still looked cheerful, more positive than Angie had seen him for years.

‘He can’t really disinherit you, can he?’

‘Not strictly speaking. But he’s making me feel he can.’

‘And Mary Rose?’

‘Oh, frightful. Veering from martyred to humouring me, like some small boy who’s wet his pants.’

Angie kissed him. ‘I can’t wait to get into your pants.’

‘Let me finish this champagne. It’s much too good to hurry.’

‘Oh God,’ said Angie. ‘Husbandly mode already.’

‘Yes, and it’s wonderful. I’m loving it. How’s Junior?’

‘Junior is just fine. He had a full service yesterday.’