Wicked Pleasures (83 page)

‘Silly little thing,’ said Fred irrelevently. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s fine. Doing well. She’s a bright girl.’

‘I’ve been telling you that for years,’ said Fred irritably. He was clearly clinging to the subject of Charlotte, having something different to focus on.

There was a silence.

‘Max has been given a job at Mortons,’ said Baby, in an attempt to keep the conversation on a less nightmarish level. If he had wanted to distract his father he could hardly have succeeded better.

Fred’s brilliant eyes flashed, his face flushed. ‘Mortons? A grandson of mine working for a British stockbroker? What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Well,’ said Baby patiently, ‘he wanted to work for Praegers. If you remember. And you turned him down. He’s genuinely keen.’

‘Well, I was upset at the time,’ said Fred, ‘Charlotte had been fooling around. I didn’t feel another Caterham was a good idea. But if the boy’s really keen – well, I suppose it won’t do him any harm. Mortons is a good firm. At least it’ll get him away from that terrible life he’s been leading.’

‘Yes,’ said Baby. ‘I suppose it will.’

Fred sighed, returning before their eyes to the heavy, sad purpose of the conversation. ‘Who on God’s earth is going to tell Mary Rose?’ he said.

‘I already have,’ said Angie.

Fred turned away from her, and looked down the street towards the waterfront. Then he swung round and jabbed savagely at his intercom.

‘Peggy?’

‘Yes, Mr Praeger.’

‘Peggy, bring in a bottle of Krug, will you. And don’t put any calls through. None whatsoever.’

‘Mr Praeger, the Governor of the Bank of England is due to call at three thirty. If you remember.’

‘I do remember. Tell him I’m out. And then have my car brought round to the front in – forty-five minutes, OK. And get my wife on the phone now, will you.’

‘Yes, Mr Praeger.’

She came in with the Krug and three glasses. Fred III opened the bottle, poured it, handed first Baby and then Angie a glass.

‘You’re quite a kid, aren’t you?’ he said to her. ‘Here’s to courage.’

The interview with Mary Rose had actually had rather more of the elements of black comedy than tragedy. They had sat together in Peacock Alley at the Waldorf and Angie had ordered ice tea and Mary Rose had ordered orange pekoe, and Angie had told her that Baby was ill, and Mary Rose had implied in quite strong terms that if it was his heart then the blame was entirely down to Angie, for not supervising his diet properly. She had travelled some way down that particular road before Angie had managed to convey to her the details of the illness Baby was actually suffering from and that it was invariably fatal. Whereupon Mary Rose had glared at her and said, ‘I don’t know how you can come here in that ridiculous red coat and those terrible boots and tell me my husband is dying.’

She went on to upbraid Angie further on the shortcomings of English doctors, and their inability to diagnose and treat any disease more serious than the common cold; and then finally she stood up and said she had to get back to her office. ‘I can’t waste any more time on this sort of thing.’ And then she had suddenly looked at Angie, and her face softened, and her eyes were no longer cold, and she said, ‘I would like to tell you that I think it was very brave and good of you to come. I – I appreciate it.’

Angie sat staring after her, a most surprising haze of tears behind her eyes.

Baby told his children alone. He called them to the hotel, and Angie went out shopping; when she got back, he was alone, and very drunk.

‘This is a shit of a thing,’ was all he said.

The summer was actually fairly happy. Angie managed to persuade Baby to spend much of August at Watersfoot – ‘Not because you’re ill, Baby, no, because it’s a time when quite a few people take just a few days off. And because we’ve spent around a million pounds on that house, and it might be nice to spend just a couple of weeks there.’

She sounded as exasperated as she felt; Baby grinned at her and took her hand.

‘I’m sorry. Am I very awkward?’

‘Very.’

‘Will you take August off as well?’

‘I will.’

‘OK. Let’s see if the kids can join us.’

The kids did. Or at least Kendrick and Melissa did. Freddy only came for a week and spent much of that in London. He was odd towards his father, almost cold: Baby surprisingly accepted it with cheerful grace. ‘He doesn’t know what to do, how to treat me. He’s embarrassed.’

Angie thought there was another reason: that Freddy was feeling, however unwillingly, ambivalent about Baby’s illness, knowing that he would get the bank sooner, and finding the prospect exciting, even in his undoubted grief.

‘He’s a cold little fish,’ she said to Mrs Wicks. She found talking to her grandmother strangely helpful, in trying to survive some at least of the innumerable crosscurrents that were raging around her that summer. ‘I can’t stand him. And he’s very very ambitious. But he knows it’s wrong even to think about that. I think he’s genuinely fond of Baby. And it’s making him feel awkward. Or rather more awkward. Poor Charlotte, I don’t envy her her business partner.’

‘You’re beginning to sound like someone quite different,’ said Mrs Wicks, looking at her with a wry smile. ‘This thing is going to be the making of you, Angela.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Angie with a heavy sigh. ‘It’s more likely to finish me off, I think.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Wicks. ‘Tough stock, we Wickses.’

She needed to be of tough stock, Angie thought. Apart from the increasing problems of Baby’s see-sawing morale, monitoring the progress of his illness (hideously fast it seemed to her), coping with the twins (and their new, fiercely protective nanny), she had to handle Kendrick and Melissa as well. And it wasn’t easy.

She made an enormous effort to work on gaining Melissa’s friendship, to break through Kendrick’s slightly strained politeness. In the end she won Kendrick over by going on the offensive. She sat him down, literally, in the
kitchen one night, after Baby had gone to bed, and Georgina for once was not with them (God, young love was wearing to witness), poured him a large glass of wine and said, ‘Look, Kendrick, we have to talk.’

Kendrick looked at her nervously. ‘Well I was just going to –’

‘You weren’t just going to anything,’ said Angie firmly. ‘And if you were it can wait. Kendrick, I know how you must feel about me, and I would probably feel the same, if I were you. The whole situation is hell. It isn’t too much fun for me either, actually. But no doubt you think I’ve got myself into it and deserve anything I get.’ She looked at Kendrick and grinned suddenly. ‘Well, I have. And got more than I bargained for.’

Kendrick looked at her awkwardly and then at his feet.

‘The thing is, we have to see it through together. After your father has – died –’ she forced the word out, knowing it was important she made him face it – ‘you need never see me again. That’s fine. I’d be sorry, because I like you, but that isn’t very important either. But – well, for the next two or three years, or however long it takes, he’s going to be a lot happier if we all seem to be getting along. I’m sure you feel it would be simpler if he was still with your mum, and of course it would, but life isn’t like that. I’m with him now, and I really want to do my best for him. I –’ She paused. ‘I love him, Kendrick. Very much. If we could be friends, or seem to be friends, it would make life a lot easier. What do you think?’

Kendrick was silent. Then he said, ‘Well I – I don’t know. Could I have another glass of wine?’

‘Sure,’ said Angie with a grin. ‘Have the whole bottle. The whole cellar. I’m quite open about this, Kendrick. I’m out to buy your friendship.’

He smiled rather sheepishly back. ‘Thanks. I’ll make do with just the glass.’ He drained it rather quickly; Angie refilled it.

‘How’s Georgina?’ she said conversationally. ‘She looked a bit tired, I thought.’

‘Yeah, she is. She’s been working very hard this vacation. And she has to take care of her father, you know, the burden very much falls on her.’

‘He’s not an invalid,’ said Angie briskly. Typical of Georgina, to make a drama out of taking care of a perfectly fit man. Georgina had always irritated her. She should have
her
problems, she thought.

‘No, but he is a little lonely,’ said Kendrick earnestly. ‘Georgina feels she has to be with him as much as she can. Charlotte and Max are in London all the time. It’s a big worry for her.’

‘Well, I see quite a lot of him,’ said Angie briskly, not sure whether this was a good line to pursue or not, ‘and he seems quite happy. He is vague, of course. But he always has been. Anyway,’ she added, struggling not to appear unsympathetic, ‘I’m sorry she’s so tired. I hope you’ve had a good time together this summer, the two of you.’

‘Oh we have,’ said Kendrick. He had drained the third glass of wine by now. ‘Um – the thing is, we – well, the thing is – Angie –’

God, will he ever get it out, thought Angie wearily. ‘Yes, Kendrick?’ she said.

‘The thing is, we’d like to – to get engaged. But we feel that with Dad so ill
and Alexander so – well, so lonely, it perhaps isn’t the best time. What do you think?’

‘I think,’ said Angie carefully, ‘it would be absolutely the best time. I know your father would be thrilled. And you can have a word with Alexander yourself. Ask him formally for Georgina’s hand. He’d like that. He’s very old-fashioned. And if you want a good word put in for you, ask me. I get on very well with Alexander.’

‘Thanks,’ said Kendrick. ‘Thanks very much. I really appreciate that.’

His pale face was flushed, his blue eyes still avoiding Angie’s. Nevertheless, she felt acutely aware that she had won a considerable victory.

It was Max who helped her win Melissa over. Angie had grown close to Max over the past difficult weeks; he had been quite shocked and upset about Baby and asked her to supper with Tommy and him one evening.

‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ said Angie, ‘I can’t leave Baby in the evening.’

‘Why on earth not?’ said Max. ‘He’ll survive. He actually looks perfectly healthy to me. Ask your gran to cook him supper. And you need a break, you look terrible.’

‘Thanks,’ said Angie. But she went.

She was rather touched by the two of them, and the trouble they took to cheer her up. They had booked a corner table in a small Italian restaurant where they clearly spent a great deal of time, and had a bottle of champagne waiting when she arrived.

‘Of course we can’t afford it,’ said Tommy cheerfully when she remonstrated, ‘but it’s only the house one, and you’re worth it.’

Tommy was full of funny stories, and Max told tales of his new life as a trainee at Mortons. They asked her about her business, and how she was managing to run it still while she had so much else to worry about; they told her they thought she was wonderful; they asked her if there was anything they could do to help. Angie told them not yet, but it was very nice to know they were there. They all got rather drunk and started swopping dirtyjokes; Tommy then insisted on escorting her home by taxi, and when they pulled up just short of the house (just in case Baby was looking out of the window) he kissed her hand, and told her she was a brave lady. Angie went into the house feeling more cheerful than she had done for weeks.

She called Max in the middle of August, and said, ‘You know you said you’d like to help. Here’s your chance.’

She told him about Melissa; that she was rude, unhelpful, difficult with her father as well as to her, refused all offers of friendship, wouldn’t even come to the family supper table unless she could find no way out, and then sat in silence, opting out of any conversation, and asked to be taken over to Hartest whenever Kendrick went with Georgina ‘to see darling Uncle Alexander’.

‘It’s hurting Baby dreadfully. You know how he adores her. She’s always had a thing about you, Kendrick says. Can you talk to her?’

‘Sure,’ said Max. ‘Consider it done. I’ll call her tomorrow, get her up to
lunch or something. She’ll like that. Silly little thing. How’s Baby?’

‘Getting worse rather fast,’ said Angie, and was surprised to hear her voice tremble.

Melissa came back from her day in London with Max looking rather shamefaced, rushed into the kitchen and threw her arms round her father. ‘It’s lovely to be back,’ she said, ‘London is just gross. Can we all play Monopoly or something after supper? Angie, that is one great sweater. And something smells gorgeous. Would you like me to babysit for the twins tomorrow so you two can go to the movies or something?’

The fact that the nanny was there and scarcely allowed the twins’ mother near them, never mind anyone else, and there was no cinema for at least twenty miles, appeared to have entirely escaped her; but it didn’t matter.

Angie phoned Max to thank him two days later. ‘She’s still behaving like an angel. What did you do?’

‘Oh,’ said Max, ‘applied a little emotional blackmail. It wasn’t very difficult.’

It was weeks later that Tommy described to Angie, laughing, the precise nature of the emotional blackmail. ‘He told Melissa he’d always thought she was a really nice person, the kind he liked being around, and from what he’d heard recently she was nothing of the sort, and that it made him really sad. Melissa apparently sat there with tears pouring down her cheeks, and promised to reform.’