Wicked Pleasures (82 page)

‘Max, it’s just occurred to me you can probably help me with something. Can I trust you?’

‘No,’ said Max. ‘You know you can’t.’

‘Well, I have to. I need some information.’

‘Charlotte! You’re not asking me to breach the Chinese wall, I hope. See how I’m picking up the jargon already.’

‘Amazing,’ said Charlotte. ‘No, it isn’t that. But I want to find out about Gus Booth. I don’t trust him. I don’t know why. Baby thinks he’s wonderful, but I don’t. And I’m intrigued by something. Just see if you can pick anything up on the grapevine. See if your new friend Mr Morton has anything to say about Gus Booth. It’d be quite easy for you to mention him, they all know each other.’

‘OK,’ said Max. ‘But if it puts Mr Morton off me, you’ll have to persuade Baby to take me on.’

‘No problem,’ said Charlotte.

He rang her after his third week. ‘I think I have a little information for you. Nothing secret, but possibly relevant. Which you may not have realized. Buy me dinner and I’ll tell you.’

‘I’ll cook you dinner,’ said Charlotte. ‘I don’t trust restaurants. Not when you’re talking secrets.’

‘The word is,’ said Max, ‘as you may know, apparently Gus Booth has just the hugest chip on his shoulder about not being allowed to work for Routledge. Well of course he can work for them, but can’t ever get any higher. Because of not being a Routledge by blood. The word is that he only married the fair Jemima to try and get onto the board, and it’s just no go.’

‘Goodness,’ said Charlotte, ‘how intriguing. He doesn’t seem like a man with a chip on his shoulder. Well, I must say he’s much prettier than Jemima. And quite a bit younger. I often wondered about it. But I don’t see what that’s to do with us.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you. This is a man consumed by jealousy. And ambition. Even if it doesn’t show. And a man to watch.’

‘And … ?’

‘God, you’re not very quick, are you?’ said Max irritably, pouring himself another glass of Alexander’s 1982 Fleurie. ‘This is nice. I’m not sure Alexander would be pleased we were drinking it.’

‘
You
were drinking it,’ said Charlotte primly.

‘Bossyboots. Look, Charlotte, can’t you see that a man in his position is
extremely well placed to trade? Information and so on. He could well still be trying to beat the blood ban. Is there anyone at Routledge you could do a bit of digging with?’

‘Only Sarah Ponsonby,’ said Charlotte, ‘and she wouldn’t see any bad in Hitler if he smiled at her nicely. But maybe I can think of someone else. Thanks, Max. I’m sure you’ll be running Mortons in no time at all.’

Charlotte began to watch Gus Booth as closely as she dared; his behaviour seemed beyond reproach. He came in early, left late, was unfailingly good-natured, charm itself. She was just beginning to think he had to be entirely above suspicion, when she went into his office late one night to pick up some files, and saw a message on his desk: ‘Call J.M. 2.30’ it said, followed by a phone number.

It was the work of a moment for her to ring. Jerry Mills’s secretary said he was at lunch, and Charlotte rang off without leaving a message.

Mills was lost to them as a client. Everybody at Praegers had thought they’d landed him – at Wimbledon – until he went to Routledge. What possible reason had he for keeping in touch with Gus Booth?

She went to Baby, and told him what she suspected, what she thought, what she’d heard. Baby was appalled. Gus was a great guy, he’d slaved on their behalf. Pulled in a lot of business.

‘Yes, and a lot of major clients have gone away again.’

‘You really can’t blame him for that. It’s a very tough time.’

‘Sure,’ said Charlotte, ‘but three of those people have gone to Routledge. Three. Gus Booth’s father-in-law’s bank. Baby, just think of that night when you took me for a drink at the Ritz. You said you really thought you might have got Boscombes. That Gus was having dinner with Tom Phillips. Then what happens? Tom Phillips says no. And a month later goes to Routledge.’

‘Charlotte, we’ve talked to dozens of people. Dozens. They’ve gone all over the place. It’s inevitable.’ He was beginning to look angry. ‘What good would it do Gus to have accounts going to Routledge from here? He doesn’t benefit. He can never work there. It doesn’t make sense. It’s a fairy story. Now please stop interfering in matters you can’t possibly know anything about. I have a very good relationship with Gus, he’s loyal and supportive, and I don’t want any shadows cast over it by someone with no grasp of the situation, no understanding of what’s involved.’

For the next two weeks she was very depressed. Baby was right, she had been acting like a Girl Guide. Or a prefect, she thought, cursing the old label that seemed so indissolubly fixed to her, certain that she was right about things, imposing her views on people, interfering in matters that were in no way her concern. And upsetting Baby, making everything worse when what he needed was an easy ride, a pleasant time. What did it matter – really – if Praegers wasn’t setting London alight, she thought to herself moodily, walking home one evening as she often did to Eaton Place. Baby wouldn’t be able to handle it all, even if they got every account they ever pitched for. It was probably
much better that things should be quiet. And she had upset her relationship with Baby, which was the last thing she would have wished to do, when she was so fond of him, so concerned for him; he was cool towards her, no longer stopped by her desk for a chat. She really had made a total hash of everything, simply by (as usual) taking too much on herself, being sure she was right.

‘You really are a disaster, Charlotte Welles,’ she said aloud to herself, throwing a heap of carrier bags onto the hall floor. She had gone shopping to cheer herself up, Browns had had a sale, and she had bought two executive suits, and some very frivolous shoes by Maud Frizon to counteract their sobriety. She might just as well not have bothered; she was never going to be high-powered enough to wear them. She went out again and bought a large pizza for her supper; she might as well get fat again, and retire to the country.

Three days later she got into the office very early. As she walked in the front door, Gus Booth walked out. He ignored her totally. Charlotte went upstairs, into her office and then next door to Gus’s. The incredible heap of papers on his desk was gone, the whole room was tidy and clear. She looked at it, startled. As she stood there, Baby came up behind her. He put his arm round her, gave her a hug.

‘You’re quite a girl,’ he said, ‘I owe you a big apology.’

He looked very pale, but he was smiling, albeit in a rather subdued manner. ‘Crikey,’ said Charlotte, lapsing as always into schoolgirl slang when she was particularly excited or upset. ‘What happened?’

‘Gus just – left. Come and have a coffee. I’ll tell you all about it. I’m sorry I bawled you out, darling. Really.’

‘Baby, I didn’t actually recognize that as a bawling out. You should listen to your own father if you want to hear a bawling out.’

‘I frequently have,’ said Baby.

Gus Booth had been feeding clients to Routledge for months. Not all of them, naturally, but the ones he felt would be most prestigious. He would gain their confidence, then tell them in private that although Praegers was a great bank in New York, they just didn’t have the clout, the experience in London. ‘Take a look at my father-in-law’s set-up,’ he would say. ‘He has a really great team there.’

And not unnaturally the clients would generally agree and take their business there. The ones that didn’t were certainly not going to go to a bank where one of the senior executives was expressing doubt as to its capability. And the pack-of-cards syndrome was soon working very efficiently against Praegers.

‘But why?’ said Charlotte. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘He thought if he sent them enough business, Routledge would bend the rules, make him a partner. Of course they won’t. Ever. But he lives in hope. He’s a fool. And what he has against me, in particular, is that I represent exactly what he can’t have. Inherited privilege.’

‘God,’ said Charlotte, ‘that’s sick. How on earth did you find out?’

‘Well, I just told Gus I’d had a very long chat with Tom Phillips. And with Jerry Mills. He was very quiet for a bit and then he asked me what I was going to do. I said I didn’t know, and he just started talking.’

‘Well,’ said Charlotte, ‘that was very clever. But suppose he’d called your bluff ? Or asked them, even?’

‘Well, that would have been fine,’ said Baby, looking faintly surprised. ‘I did have a long chat with them. Both of them.’

‘But suppose I’d been wrong?’ said Charlotte.

‘Darling, the chat had nothing to do with you. Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been asked to serve on a charity committee. I wanted to know if either of them would like to join me.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. ‘So you weren’t actually setting Gus a trap at all?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Baby. ‘I never for a moment thought you were right. You obviously have much sharper antennae than I do. Fortunately. I owe you one, as they say. And I apologize again for being so – sceptical. Anyway, here’s to a good run-up to Big Bang.’ He raised his mug of coffee to her, and for a moment he looked young again, and handsome and carefree, the nightmare of his illness suddenly receded.

‘To Big Bang,’ said Charlotte.

She looked at her uncle thoughtfully. She wondered if he was quite as naïve as he pretended. She supposed she would never know.

Angie, 1985

So far, Angie thought, this wasn’t working out too much like fiction. If they had been in a novel, and Baby had had an incurable disease, he would have spent his days maximizing on what life had still to offer him, and she would have been constantly at his side, sweetly serene, bringing comfort and cheer to him, easing his path, and helping others, notably his family, to do the same. The reality was that Baby was difficult, querulous, irritable, refused to do any of the things the doctor had advised, insisted on continuing to do everything, to work, to walk, to entertain, thereby exhausting himself (and becoming still more irritable), quite possibly, he had been advised, hastening the progress of his illness, and wouldn’t allow her to tell anyone else in the family about it. It was as if, having told her, he wanted to transfer the entire burden onto her shoulders, and in some strange way, rid himself of it.

Her initial instinct had been to put her company in the hands of her very able deputy for however long was necessary; for the first time she could actually see her work as something self-indulgent and, to all practical purposes, unnecessary. But as the days went by, and Baby grew increasingly fretful and difficult, she changed her mind; her work, far from being self-indulgent, was a lifeline, an escape from the constant claustrophobic nightmare of what was happening to her. Instead of retiring, she shortened her working day, warned her staff she would be taking a considerable number of holidays in the near future, and put any plans for expansion on hold; and returned to the house and Baby every night refreshed and restored. And Baby, strangely restless, working with an energy and determination his staff had not seen before, was happy with the arrangement himself. Praegers was beginning to prosper now; three new major clients won during the summer, Gus Booth replaced by an Old Etonian, Tim Atkinson, acquired at some expense but proving himself infinitely worth it as he trawled what were still surprisingly well-stocked waters for clients, and the staff, motivated by the new and visible success, had turned what had been a collection of rather disparate people into a committed and even excited team.

‘It’s happening at last,’ said Baby to Angie over dinner. ‘Praegers has come alive. Just in time for me to do the opposite.’ But for once he was smiling, good-natured.

Angie smiled back at him, and thought she would have given everything she had for him to be as well and as happy as he looked at that moment.

‘I think we should go to New York,’ she said to Baby, a few weeks after she had seen Dr Curtis. ‘We must tell your parents, and I don’t think it’s news that can be relayed over the telephone. And we really have to tell the boys. And Melissa.’

Kendrick was coming over in the summer, for a vacation, to see Georgina and then taking her back with him. Surely, said Angie, he needed to be told before then? Georgina knew, she was bound to say something, it wasn’t fair on her, to ask her to keep the secret. And if they were telling Kendrick, then they must tell Freddy.

‘I don’t see why,’ said Baby mulishly.

‘Oh Baby, don’t be absurd. Quite apart from anything else, Freddy’s future will be affected drastically.’

‘Why?’ he said again. He was clearly intent on making things as difficult as possible for her.

‘Well because – because when you – if you –’

‘Die?’ said Baby, darkly, an aggressive light in his eyes.

‘Yes, all right, die,’ said Angie, struggling to be patient, ‘or at least become ineffective, then Freddy will be taking over. Much earlier than he might have expected.’

‘I wonder which of us will go first,’ said Baby morosely. ‘My father or me.’ Angie sighed, and tried to put her arms round him. He pushed her away gently.

In the end she did manage to persuade Baby to go with her to New York, to see Mary Rose and the children. ‘And your parents, Baby, you must tell them.’

‘Well,’ he said heavily, ‘well, we’ll see.’

In fact they went to see Fred III together at Praegers; Angie sat in silence as Baby told him, and watched Fred become old and somehow shrunken before her eyes.

He sat looking at the two of them, in a silence so heavy that she could scarcely hold her head up, continue meeting his eyes.

‘No hope then?’ he said finally.

‘No hope. I’m sorry,’ said Baby, rather weakly. The apology came from the conditioning of a lifetime; Angie thought, with a flash of black humour, that Fred would probably even manage to bawl him out for this. But he didn’t.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘At least I – we know exactly where we are.’

‘Yes. But it’s not so terrible – yet, Dad.’ Baby had forced a bright smile. ‘I have years, I’m told. Years. The progress of the disease is very slow. We should be grateful for time to – to plan. To work out what will happen at the bank, to Freddy and – I suppose Charlotte.’