Lovers and Liars Trilogy

by Sally Beauman

‘So, my dear,’ she said, ‘now you know everything, and I want your considered opinion: Should we admit her to the Conrad, yes or no? I feel you can help me here. I’m not young any more—but you, you also have a child, you’re also divorced. You’re a modern young woman, and Colin thinks you have excellent judgement…’

  ‘He does? Thank you, Colin.’

  ‘Of course. He admires it no end. It was Lindsay’s judgement you were admiring, wasn’t it, Colin? Just the other day?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colin, somewhat fixedly.

  ‘So there you are then. You must tell me how to vote tomorrow, Lindsay. I rely on you entirely, my dear.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s very simple,’ Lindsay began. ‘It seems to me that you’re proposing to blackball this woman for the most appalling reasons. How can you reject someone for being a woman? Or divorced? For having earned a lot of money? For having a child?’

  ‘Orgies, rumours, fans,’ said Emily. ‘Don’t forget those.’

  ‘Have your sources—I think you called them your spies—produced any evidence of anything remotely resembling orgies?’

  ‘Well, no,’ Emily replied, with deep regret. ‘There remains a lack of evidence, although the enquiries have left no stone unturned.’

  ‘I know those stones,’ Lindsay said, with some asperity, ‘and I know what comes out from under them when you lift them up. Surely…’

  ‘I remain suspicious of the fans myself.’ Emily bridled. ‘And of journalists who, in my experience, are unprincipled people capable of insinuating themselves anywhere. Even here.’

  ‘I am a journalist.’

  ‘So you are, my dear, but of a very different kind. I was referring to seedy little men in mackintoshes. Scandalmongers. I’m sure you know the breed.’

  There was a silence. Lindsay began to see that Emily was very far from mad—and she played a mean game of conversational tennis. The harder Lindsay hit the balls, the harder they were returned. Emily also had a rich variety of stroke play. Lindsay’s volley on ‘stones’, low and well angled, she had thought, had been sliced back with a lot of topspin. She was losing all sympathy with Colin’s Aunt Emily, Lindsay decided; amusement at her antics was ebbing fast.

  In particular, she disliked the way in which Emily insistently coupled her with this unknown woman seeking admission to the Conrad. Where were the similarities between them, beyond the fact that they both had children and were both divorced? Why all that stress on fertility, on breeding? The sensation was growing on her that, for some incomprehensible reason, it was she herself who was now on trial.

  ‘Have you met her?’ she asked now. ‘You must have met her, presumably? Did you like her?’

  ‘I have met her once. I thought her a consummate actress. As to whether I liked her, I couldn’t say.’

  ‘But you found nothing to dislike? Or distrust?’

  ‘Not on that occasion, no.’

  ‘Then you must admit her,’ Lindsay said. ‘You must see, you can’t let prejudice and rumours influence you here.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Emily.

  ‘I knew you’d say that.’ Colin revived. He gave Lindsay a warm smile. ‘There you are, Em. Maybe you’ll listen to Lindsay, since you won’t listen to me.’

  Lindsay at once felt encouraged; she warmed to her theme. ‘The only thing is,’ she continued, ‘it’s no good wasting your vote. So, if the other four are opposed to her, you’d have to find a way of bringing them round to your view. You only need two additional votes…I wonder, are the granite men against?’

  ‘So I believe.’

  ‘Then could you influence Biff, perhaps? I’m sure you could, by the sound of him…’

  ‘Of course she could!’ Colin rose, with an air of excitement. ‘Biff always listens to Emily; he does whatever she tells him to do. She can twist him around her little finger. He’s putty in her hands…’

  ‘Colin, you are mixing your metaphors.’ Emily said. ‘Calm down.’

  Lindsay gave Emily an appraising look. She could see it would be more productive to appeal to Emily’s power-lust—well-developed, she felt—than to her sense of fair play.

  ‘I don’t suppose you could influence Henry Foxe,’ she began, in a doubting tone. ‘No, almost certainly not. That’s a shame…’

  Emily drew herself up, resentful of this slight to her powers. ‘Not impossible,’ she said, eyeing Lindsay in a thoughtful manner. ‘A woman of ingenuity might find a way…’

  ‘Really?’ Lindsay gave her an innocent look. ‘He’s not decisively against then?’

  ‘My dear,’ Emily drawled, ‘Henry Foxe is on the fence—which is where he’s been for most of his life. One of the problems in 1932, and if you’ll forgive my being frank, not the only one, my dear…’

  Emily gave a slow, ribald, reptilian wink. Lindsay, startled, decided to take this as a sign of encouragement.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you could get him off the fence,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you could persuade him…’

  ‘Possibly.’ To Lindsay’s delight, she saw that the light of battle had begun to dawn in Emily’s eyes. ‘Henry Foxe is the kind of man who likes having his mind made up for him…You know the type, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately, and I can’t bear them. I hate men who dither around…’

  ‘For the first thirty years of Henry’s life,’ Emily continued, still eyeing Lindsay in a thoughtful way, ‘Henry’s mother made up his mind for him, then his wife took over, for the next four decades. His wife, a tedious woman, not one of my dearest friends, is now dead…However, like many men—and I’m sure you’ll be equally familiar with this phenomenon, my dear—Henry Foxe requires the illusion that he has made up his own mind without assistance, especially from a mere female. So any persuasion has to be undertaken with stealth…’

  ‘Difficult.’ Lindsay frowned. ‘I do know the type—only too well. I work with at least ten of them. I wonder, does he have any sense of gallantry? A spark of chivalry? That could help…’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ cried Colin, animated again. ‘That’s brilliant, Lindsay. The white knight rides to the rescue of the beleaguered woman…’

  ‘Chivalry, my eye,’ said Emily, somewhat grumpily. ‘Henry Foxe’s instincts are not yours, Colin. He is not chivalric; he is cautious—as I discovered in 1932.’

  ‘Reasoned argument?’ Lindsay ventured.

  ‘You jest, my dear.’

  ‘Then I give up.’ Lindsay gave a sigh and a smile. ‘There’s only one thing for it, you’ll have to use your womanly wiles.’

  This remark, not intended with any great seriousness, produced in Emily a sudden and dramatic change. Her expression became cold.

  ‘Really? Isn’t that somewhat underhand? I have never approved of such manipulations myself—one of the feminine characteristics I least admire…’

  ‘Em.’ Colin rose, his expression suddenly anxious. ‘Don’t be absurd. Lindsay didn’t mean…’

  ‘Besides…’ Emily, ignoring him, pressed on. ‘Besides—do I want to change Henry’s views? I’m not at all sure that I do. Henry will almost certainly come down against her, in the end, and I feel he is right.’

  She gave a small fretful gesture and rearranged her pug. Her feathers were ruffled, Lindsay realized, and there was now disapproval in those cold, blue, raptor eyes.

  ‘Forgive me, my dear,’ she continued, ‘but I feel you are being more than a little hasty here. You seem to assume I agree with you. I don’t recall saying that. This is a serious issue, after all. I have lived in the Conrad building all my life. I plan on dying in this building…’

  ‘But I thought—you asked for my view…’

  ‘My dear, you have been trying to railroad me—you, and this nephew of mine here.’

  ‘Persuade, Em, not railroad. Look, it is getting very late, and I really think…’

  ‘Am I not to be allowed my say?’

  ‘Of course you are, Em, but…’

  ‘Festina lente,’ Emily pronounced, magnifi
cently, turning that blue-ice gaze back upon Lindsay. ‘That is and always has been the motto of this building. Do you know what it means? Colin will translate, since he had a classical education…’

  ‘It means “Hasten slowly”,’ Colin said, his tone now openly mutinous, ‘and everyone knows that. Emily, it’s time for us to go…’

  ‘Hasten slowly. Precisely.’ Emily, still ignoring him, swept on. ‘A very wise dictum, as you will appreciate, Lindsay, should you ever reach my age. Change should always be gradual—especially so in a place such as this. The Conrad is an institution, one of the last of its kind in Manhattan. It has its traditions and its standards. You can buy or manoeuvre your way into most places these days, but neither money nor manipulation will gain you admittance here. We do not lower the drawbridge without the most careful consideration, and we are not taken in by sweet talk and feminine wiles…’

  She fixed her eyes on Lindsay even more intently as she made this final remark, and Lindsay found she was becoming angry.

  ‘Consider,’ Emily continued, gesturing at the room, crammed with all its costly spoils. ‘This is a safe building. There may be crime on the streets of this city, but it never infiltrates here. People lead quiet lives in this building; they honour its traditions, because that is and has always been our way. It is staffed by a loyal group of people, retainers, one could say, most of whom, like the residents, have been here many, many years. They know their place. They are well remunerated, and well cared for, and they love this building as much as I do…That is why, as my nephew will no doubt have pointed out to you, it is run with supreme efficiency and remains so well-preserved…’

  ‘I endorsed this building from an architectural point of view, Em,’ Colin interjected, his manner now also cold. ‘I didn’t endorse these views of yours—and you know that perfectly well.’

  ‘I haven’t finished, Colin. Please have the goodness not to interrupt. Wait your turn.’ Emily fixed her gaze upon Lindsay again. ‘I want your friend to understand the issues here. You see, my dear, we are like a little state here…or you could say, perhaps, that we are like a family. We have to be very careful not to admit the wrong element. By admitting into our circle the wrong type of person, we could sow the seeds of our own destruction. I have seen it happen so many times. We have to be sure that anyone we admit to our little family, not only understands our ethic, but shares it. For anyone seeking admittance, there really is only one question: Are you one of us? Do you belong?’

  Lindsay, unlike Colin, had listened to this speech quietly and without signs of impatience. It had left her very angry indeed. She had heard this argument, or variations upon it, many times; it shored up a variety of causes, and she was in sympathy with none of them. She was now in no doubt as to why Emily had raised this whole issue; Emily evidently still suspected her of designs on Colin, and she was being told, in no uncertain terms, that if she wished to be acceptable to his great-aunt, she had better tow the line.

  She looked at Emily carefully and saw that a game had been being played with her throughout the evening. Emily had treated her to an odd rag-bag of personae: there had been the Miss Havisham hauteur, the dotty aunt diversion, the dragon-lady, and the sibyl. Now Emily had morphed—and morphing was what it resembled—yet again. She understood that Emily had been playing a game of several sets with her; now, having tested her, and manoeuvred her, and finagled her into some unwise net-play, she seemed convinced that these final hard base-line drives had won her the game. Lindsay was not sure which aspect of all this angered her most: Emily’s assumptions as to her own marital intentions, or her calm conviction that, having stated her case thus, Lindsay would promptly back down.

  Lindsay rose. ‘We obviously think very differently,’ she said, with great politeness. ‘I’m sorry, but you asked for my opinion, and it hasn’t changed. Now it’s very late, and I’ve stayed far too long…’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Emily, with a sidelong glance at Colin. ‘I suspect you think I’m a dreadful old reactionary, my dear.’

  This was a well-timed lob; Lindsay decided to go for the overhead smash in return.

  ‘Mistaken,’ she said, ‘unjust, and probably unwise.’

  ‘Unwise, my dear?’

  ‘Of course. All institutions have to adapt; even the Conrad. If they don’t, they ossify. They become—fossilized.’

  She paused. Emily had not taken either ‘ossify’ or ‘fossilized’ too kindly—and indeed, they sounded backhanded, Lindsay realized, given Emily’s age. She at once regretted the terms; however strong her own feelings, she had no wish to upset a woman of eighty-five.

  ‘Can we not agree to differ?’ She held out her hand with a smile. ‘I’m very glad to have seen the Conrad, and it was good of you to invite me…’

  Good manners failed to conciliate. Emily stretched out her ossified and arthritic fingers, so the magnificent diamond flashed against the light.

  ‘Do you know, Colin,’ she remarked, her manner peevish, as she briefly took Lindsay’s hand, ‘I feel rather tired. All this idealism must be exhausting me. Ring for Frobisher, will you? I think I must retire, and you must show this charming young woman back to her hotel…No, no, my dear, I insist. New York can be a very unsafe place at night. You need a man at your side…’

  She took Lindsay’s arm and began to guide her towards the door.

  ‘So nice to have met you, my dear. I do hope we meet again.’ She peered at Lindsay, as if trying to remember who she was. ‘So many things I wanted to ask you—and I forgot; my age, you know. Let me see…Colin tells me you’re going to write a book, I think?’

  ‘I’m going to try, yes.’

  ‘And move to the country too, I hear? Delightful.’

  ‘It’s what I’m hoping to do,’ Lindsay began, now feeling guilty and embarrassed. Emily was morphing again, she could sense it. They were now inching towards duchess, and there were symptoms of Lady Bracknell, too.

  ‘Lindsay thinks the country would be more economical, Em.’

  ‘Economical?’ Emily stared. ‘In my experience, the country is always vastly expensive. All that nature to tame. One never stops writing cheques…’

  ‘I’m only looking for something small,’ Lindsay said, edging towards the door. ‘Just a hovel, really, with…’

  ‘A novel?’ Emily frowned. ‘You’re looking for a small novel? Well, there are plenty of those these days, my dear. I have novels here—you’re very welcome to borrow them. I prefer history—Gibbon, you know. I rarely read fiction, except on airplanes, when I like to get my teeth into something plump and juicy, with lots of that very vulgar gold lettering. Ah, here’s Frobisher. Just trot along with her, my dear, and she’ll help you find your coat. Perhaps you’d like to see the library on your way out? We’ll discuss novels, small or otherwise, some other time. I would value your opinion on Edith Wharton—a great friend of my mother—and Barbara Taylor Bradford, who never fails to amuse, I find…Now, I must just have a brief word with Colin…’

  Game, set and match, Lindsay conceded, as with thanks and courtesies she escaped. Frobisher closed the door firmly, and for some while there was silence in the drawing-room beyond.

  During the silence, Colin walked around in a complete circle. He returned to the chair in which Lindsay had been sitting and sank down in it, clasping his head in his hands. Emily, who had been rocking with silent laughter from the moment Lindsay left, now laughed aloud. She sat down on the sofa, still laughing; she kissed her pug on its crinkled snout, settled it on her lap, and took a congratulatory swallow of bourbon.

  ‘My Lord, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in ages,’ she remarked. ‘The last time I had that much fun was at Maud Foxe’s funeral. And you enjoyed it too, you wicked boy—so don’t pretend otherwise and don’t glower.’

  ‘Enjoyed it?’ Colin groaned. ‘I was in torment. Torment. Why couldn’t you stick to the script?’

  ‘Because it was too darned boring, and a whole lot less effective than my approach. Th
at was inspired to ask her about the Lawrence woman. I gave a virtuoso performance. I deserve an Academy Award.’

  ‘It was several miles over the top. It was way up in the stratosphere. Why did I let you talk me into this? I should have known you couldn’t be trusted. You know what she’s going to think now? She’s going to think insanity runs in my family. It didn’t occur to you that might be a little counter-productive? Oh God, God, God.’ He rose and began to pace up and down. ‘I was in agony. Poor Lindsay—how could you be so unfair?’

  ‘Poor Lindsay coped very well. Her footwork could have been a little faster, but she has grit. I approve.’

  ‘I told you that. Courage, a kind heart and the most beautiful eyes in the world. Oh God. Give me the verdict. Have I a hope, Em?’

  ‘Fossilized!’ Emily laughed again. ‘I did so enjoy that. She was outraged, you know—quite pink in the face. And I’d put my argument so well.’

  ‘You were intolerable. You put her in an intolerable position. Why, why, why couldn’t you stick to the lines I wrote?’

  ‘Because I’d have learned nothing. Instead of which, and entirely thanks to me, I’ve learned everything I need to know.’

  ‘Oh sure, and she’s learned to hate you. Bloody great. That’s really going to help me. Well done, Em.’

  ‘Nonsense. She’ll come around; she has a generous nature, and next time I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise…’ She paused. ‘Thanksgiving?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Their eyes met. ‘But I’m not sure yet. I’m having to be very, very careful. I’m not going to mess this up, and none of it’s easy. I want…’

  He hesitated. ‘I just want to take her in my arms all the time.’

  ‘So I observed.’

  ‘Oh God, God. You can’t have done. You don’t think she noticed? When I took her hand?’

  ‘Oddly enough, no. But then she doesn’t know you as well as I do…Could you stop walking up and down, Colin? It’s making me quite dizzy.’

  ‘I’ll have to go; she’ll be waiting. Come on, Em, I want to know what you think.’

  ‘We have a couple of minutes. Frobisher will keep her well out of earshot. Why can’t I tell you when you get back from the Pierre? Always assuming, of course, that you do get back from the Pierre…’