An Absolute Scandal

by Penny Vincenzi

  “He didn’t tell you!”

  “No. He couldn’t bring himself to. It wasn’t just that he thought I’d worry, he thought he’d look foolish. I only found out when he was ill and I discovered he’d cancelled the medical insurance. By which time he owed a lot of money. Almost as much as our house in Guildford is worth. It was a dreadful shock. But that didn’t matter to him nearly as much as having to confess to me. And he won’t talk about it to anyone else, he won’t even tell our children. I had a terrible time getting him to come here this evening.”

  “So what are you going to do?” asked Debbie. She felt genuinely sympathetic.

  “Well, we can sell the house and buy somewhere much smaller. But that will only be this year’s debt. Goodness knows how we’ll manage next time.”

  “It’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, dear, that’s kind of you. Oh, I see your mother-in-law coming back now. She’s more the sort of person I think you’d expect to be a Name—but you know, there are an awful lot of people like us, much more ordinary people, who should never have been brought in in the first place, but who were, well, dazzled by it all. As Michael was.”

  “Yes,” said Debbie. “Yes, I hadn’t realised that.”

  George Meyer was back on the platform. He smiled into the room; he had a very nice smile, Elizabeth noticed.

  “Right. Back to business. I can see almost no one has gone, which means that everyone wants to explore the fraud possibility. Our very first task must be to find a good solicitor, preferably with a sound knowledge of Lloyd’s, who can confirm whether or not we have a case.

  “Now, as far as I can see, there is one very difficult decision to be taken. Who, precisely, do we sue?”

  He had everyone’s attention. Looking round, Flora was impressed that she was the only person doing so; everyone’s eyes were fixed on Meyer. She felt profoundly glad she had come to the meeting; if nothing else, it had created a camaraderie in a shorter time than she would have believed possible. And it was a very positive, almost excited camaraderie.

  “Anyway,” Meyer was saying, “I discussed the problem with my accountant, who came back to me with an interesting idea. ‘I don’t think you should sue Lloyd’s as a whole,’ he said. ‘The law protects the Council and all the others are like stallholders in a marketplace. Your best bet is to concentrate on the specifically named companies which have let you down.’ And that, of course, is what we should do—in my view. Step forward, therefore, Members’ Agents, Jackson and Bond. I don’t know if we could ever prove conclusively that they knew there was big trouble brewing yet failed to warn us when we joined. But it’s worth a damn good try. They certainly piled us recklessly into the Westfield Bradley Group. And unlike some other agents, they did little or nothing to switch us out of WBG into syndicates with a better track record, which I believe it was their duty to do.

  “Now there is clearly much more to be said; but there is one other crucial thing. This is going to cost us a great deal of money. But in my view, if the lawyers don’t get our money, then sooner or later Lloyd’s will. So to all intents and purposes it will be Lloyd’s money we are spending, which I find a comforting thought. Anyway, that’s quite enough from me; you are invited to stay for further refreshment and I shall be delighted to talk to anyone personally. Thank you all so much again.”

  There was a spontaneous burst of applause. Simon stood up and said, “I’m sure you would like to join me in thanking George Meyer for all his hard work, and for a most inspiring evening. I for one will undoubtedly be signing up.”

  He might have asked me, Elizabeth thought. It wasn’t actually Lloyd’s money that he’d be using, whatever Mr. Meyer might say; it was his—theirs—and she felt suddenly and fiercely angry.

  “We’re going,” whispered Lucinda. “Lovely to have met you both. I think your husband and Nigel have swapped cards. Bye!”

  “Bye,” said Elizabeth, forcing a smile, and then she caught up with Simon in the queue to talk to Meyer and said she was sorry, but she had to go; she had a lot of work to do still, and she’d get a cab home.

  “Fine,” he said, clearly unaware of the edge in her voice. “See you later, darling, thank you for coming.”

  “Oh, it was nothing,” she said, and left. Had she stayed she would have been still more annoyed, for Simon, having talked very briefly to Meyer, was now pushing his way through the crowd, trying to catch up with Catherine Morgan. He had been very moved by her story and her obvious loneliness, and he had been impressed by her courage in getting up to speak. He felt that here was one victim at least he could help. He tapped her on the shoulder; she turned round, flushed as she saw him and dropped her bag—the contents went all over the floor.

  “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” she said, as Simon dived down to recapture lipsticks, Biros, a diary. “Thank you very much.”

  “That’s perfectly all right. Think I’ve got everything. There you are. Look, here’s my card. I was thinking, I might well be able to find you a job. We employ a large number of secretaries and two of the girls are leaving next week. Come and see me if you’re interested.”

  “Golly,” she said, “how terribly kind. Of course I’d be interested. But I don’t think you realise, I can only do school hours.”

  “Yes, I realise it very well. I’m sure we can work something out. I’d like to help. As one Lloyd’s victim to another.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Catherine, her big grey eyes brilliant as she looked at him, “that is extremely kind. I—well, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything now,” Simon said. “Oh, God, I must go back, I’ve left my scarf on my seat. Bye, Catherine, see you again, I hope.”

  Debbie and Richard had gone home; Flora had been delayed talking to the nice Mary Gardner; she was buttoning up her coat and found herself near to Simon as they made their way to the door. He held it open for her.

  “Thank you. Quite an evening, wasn’t it?” she said.

  “Extremely interesting, I thought.”

  “Me too.” She held out her hand. “Flora Fielding. Are you on your own?”

  “Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. My wife’s just left—she had some work to attend to. How do you do, Mrs. Fielding. Simon Beaumont.”

  “Flora, please. My family have left too.”

  He smiled at her; he was very attractive, she thought, with his thick greying hair and smiling brown eyes.

  “Now tell me,” he said as they headed for the main door. “What did you really think? Will you be joining him?”

  “Yes, I’ll come on board. For a while at least.”

  “Oh, I’m delighted. Me too. I was pretty impressed by him, I must say. And I enjoyed your little speech.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where do you come from? Are you a Londoner?”

  “No, thank God. I live in Wales. Wet Wales.”

  “You’re not going back tonight, I hope?”

  “No, I’m staying with my son and his family. In…in Ealing.” She could never quite bring herself to say Acton, it sounded so dreadful. He looked at his watch. “Bit of a trek to Ealing. Have you got a car?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if I’ll ever find it again. I left it in a multistorey car park near Leicester Square.”

  “Mine’s there too,” he said, smiling at her again. “Look, why don’t I escort you there, make sure you do find it. I hate to think of you wandering those dangerous streets on your own.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but—”

  “No buts,” he said. “I never leave a damsel in distress.”

  “I’m far from being a damsel, I’m afraid.”

  “Nonsense. So—impertinent question, but it’s been a night for truth-telling. How bad are your losses?”

  “Well, I’m doing pretty nicely so far. At losing, I mean. Where do you think it will end?”

  “God knows,” Simon said.

  Chapter 10

  AUTUMN 1989

/>   It seemed to go on all night, the crying. He got up three times to try and comfort her, to take her in his arms; she shook him off, told him she hated him, buried her head in the pillow and wept on. Finally, somewhere near two o’clock, it stopped; in the silence he lay and hated himself.

  How had it happened, that with the very best of intentions he had brought this upon her, his beloved youngest daughter, forced her—as she saw it—to bid farewell to a pony that was more dear to her than anything else in the world. Simon’s remorse and guilt were huge; he would have taken and borne all her grief if he could.

  “Can’t I keep him in London?” she had said. “There are livery stables here, aren’t there? I could see him more probably than now.”

  And he had said, yes, she could; but asked her to consider how would he feel, her beautiful, free-spirited Boy, used to the hills and valleys of Sussex, of going out hunting on frosty mornings, taking fences, half flying across fields; how would he be, confined to a stable yard in Kensington, say, and limited to a neat and tidy canter across Hyde Park? They had investigated livery stables in the country too; less expensive, but how could she ride him without a home to go from, without the means to get there?

  It was terrible, the creeping tentacles of this thing: the unhappiness taking hold of more and more people, innocent people. So he had only been acting for the best, a decade ago, thinking to improve his lot and the lot of his family, to bring happiness, security, pleasure to all of them.

  Of what value was that to them now?

  “I’m going back to work,” Debbie said. This was something of an exaggeration, but she wanted to upset Richard as much as she possibly could.

  “Debbie, you can’t do that. You know we agreed—”

  “We agreed lots of things, Richard. Like we’d always be honest with each other.”

  “Debbie, please. It really doesn’t help, raking that over endlessly. I’ve told you so many times how sorry I am.”

  “Yes, you have. Funnily enough, I don’t seem to feel much better about it. Anyway, don’t you want to hear about my job?”

  “What about the children? Who’s going to look after them?”

  “After school, you can. You’re here, aren’t you, and it’s not rocket science. Rachel’s at school now, and you can pick her up quite easily, before you get the others. That’s what I do. After that, it’s pretty straightforward, just giving them their tea and making sure they do their homework. And then bathing them, of course. I’ll be home long before supper and I can still do that. I think you’re getting off pretty lightly really.”

  “Debbie, I can’t do all that! I have work of my own to do, you know that.”

  “Yes, well, you’ll have to do it later in the evening.” He looked so alarmed, she suddenly gave in and grinned at him. “Oh, and I did say, didn’t I, it’s only two days a week. Monday and Wednesday. So that really won’t be too difficult, will it?”

  They had settled into a truce; like all truces it was uncomfortable, but it was either that or leaving him. She was still desperate about the school fees; she had told Richard to make sure the children could leave their schools as soon as possible; he hadn’t argued, but when Emma came back on the first day appointed form captain and Alex had won a place by the end of the week in the under-tens rugby team, he had asked her if she was quite sure that leaving would be best for them.

  “I really can do at least two terms, and I know I’ll have a new job by the summer, so for their sake, Debbie, couldn’t you—”

  And of course she had given in; the only concession she won was that Rachel at least would start at the local primary with all her friends from play school. But she was left hurting, and very badly; she had not been exaggerating when she had said she would never trust Richard again. Something had been broken between them, and nothing seemed quite right anymore.

  “It’s a bit like having permanent indigestion,” she confided to Jan, “but all over. And especially when Richard wants to have sex. I just lie there seething and willing him to stop.”

  Jan said she did that most of the time anyway. “Well, willing Mike to stop, so I can go to sleep. Honestly, Debbie, remember when we couldn’t get enough? What happened? Babies, I suppose.”

  “Babies and housework,” sighed Debbie, “and predictability. Sometimes I think if Richard says what I know he’s going to say just once more I shall scream. And especially in bed. My God, how do we let them get away with it?”

  “So what does he say?” asked Jan with interest.

  “He says ‘I hope you’ve got a bit of energy left for me’ when he puts the light out. I mean, how erotic is that?”

  “Better than Mike. He says, ‘How are you feeling?’ One of these days I shall tell him.”

  “No, you won’t,” said Debbie.

  The job Debbie had got was with a PR company. They did a lot of book promotion, but they had recently moved into the health and fitness area, and as well as a couple of health clubs and a range of dance wear, had taken on a line of what they called “body cosmetics”—shower gels, body lotions, scrubs, and some special shampoos. The new venture wouldn’t pay for a full-time person, but two days a week was just about affordable.

  It wasn’t exactly her ideal job, but it meant two days a week out of the house, getting dressed up, going into the West End—well, Earl’s Court—and actually being with grown-ups. She was very excited. Equally important, it would pay her £8,000 a year, which was almost as much as she had been earning when she had given up last time.

  “OK, it’s not a king’s ransom, but it’ll help, won’t it?” she said to Richard. “Oh, and not one farthing of it is to go towards the school fees, OK?”

  Richard was silent.

  The company, Know How Promotions, was run by a husband-and-wife team, Anna and Peter Carter; Peter stayed in the back room and did the hard slog, and Anna went out and got the business. Debbie, who was uneasy with any kind of hard sell, was nevertheless terribly impressed by her. Anna was tiny, with cropped dark hair and large brown eyes, and an energy that seemed to explode out of her. Her voice, which was swift and clipped, would fly through presentations, blinding prospective clients with facts and figures, finishing by telling them they couldn’t afford not to employ Know How. Peter was much more laid-back and apparently rather slow on the uptake, but painstaking and astonishingly efficient; they made a formidable team. They employed four other full-time people. “We’ve never tried part-timers before, never quite believed in it,” Anna said to Debbie, “and I’m still not sure, to be truthful with you. You’ve got to prove me wrong.”

  Debbie was determined that she would.

  “Mrs. Fielding, isn’t it? Are you all right?”

  Flora had been hurrying through Leadenhall Market, anxious to get to Monument tube station; she had caught her heel in the cobblestones and it snapped. She was standing balancing on one leg, trying to work out what she could do to effect a temporary repair, muttering furiously under her breath. She looked up and for a moment couldn’t think who it was.

  “It’s Simon Beaumont. We met at the Lloyd’s meeting, nearly a month ago.”

  “Oh—yes. Yes, of course. I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s quite all right. Is there something wrong with your shoe?”

  “Yes, I broke my heel on the stones in the market. That’ll teach me to dress unsuitably. I should be in grandmotherly lace-ups, not tottering about two and a half inches above the ground.”

  “I can’t think of anything less suitable for you than lace-ups,” he said. “Here, let me see. Ah, yes, completely snapped. Oh dear. Where are you heading for?”

  “The tube station and thence to Paddington. I’ll just have to hop. Bloody stones. They’re very picturesque, but—”

  “They are, aren’t they? You know, this is where all our troubles started, just about three hundred years ago.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This was coffeehouse country. And Mr. Edward Lloyd had the initiative to open
one near Tower Wharf. All the shipowners used to go there, as did the merchants who dabbled in marine insurance. That was the beginning of Lloyd’s.” He smiled at her. “Look, I’ve got an appointment in Park Lane in half an hour’s time. My driver’s got nothing to do this afternoon except wait for me. He can take you on. And you could buy some slippers or something on the way.”

  “I couldn’t possibly. It would be much too kind.”

  “Now how could something be too kind?” he said. “Too cruel perhaps, but—anyway, come along. My office is a hundred yards away, so if you can just hobble there…I’d offer my arm if it wouldn’t seem a little forward of me.”

  “It wouldn’t,” she said, taking his arm gratefully. “So where is your office? And what does it do?”

  “It’s a small merchant bank. I’m one of the directors. Here it is. Now if you wouldn’t mind just waiting down here in reception a few minutes…”

  “Fascinating place, that market,” Simon said as the car passed it. “Do you know, every so often they release a falcon into it, very, very early, to catch the pigeons. The tourists don’t want to be showered with pigeon sh—poo. What are you doing here anyway? Why aren’t you in Wales?”

  “I came up to have lunch with my Members’ Agent.”

  “Did he have anything cheerful to tell you?”

  “Of course not. Another difficult year, he said.”

  “Mine too. Oh well. Have you heard anything from George Meyer?”

  “Not really. Have you?”

  “I had a very good lunch with him, and I’ve volunteered to help him look for a likely solicitor, but he was waiting to get some more firm responses in before we went on. Everyone might have expressed great interest that night, but a lot of it has evaporated. People are scared of further risk. So if you haven’t written yet, do. I don’t want to influence you, but it is at least something we can do.”