An Absolute Scandal

by Penny Vincenzi

  If Frances had heard them, or indeed inspected the sheets, as Florian had predicted, she gave no sign of it. She greeted Annabel at the breakfast table quite warmly, offered her hash browns and mushrooms and orange juice, and said she hoped she had slept well.

  “Very well, thank you,” said Annabel. “That was a wonderful, wonderful evening. Thank you so much. I shall never forget it.”

  “Good. I’m so glad.” The smile came, the awful, chilling smile. How did she do that?

  “And today we’re going to just wander around,” said Jamie, who had come in, sitting down beside Annabel, “take it easy. I thought this evening, Annabel and I would go out for dinner on our own, if that’s all right. We could go to Legal, the one down by the Aquarium.”

  “Legal?” said Annabel.

  “Yes, short for Legal Seafoods, probably the most famous seafood restaurant in the world.”

  Not more than Wheeler’s, that’s for sure, thought Annabel, but she smiled and said, “How lovely.”

  “What a good idea,” said Frances, “and you know, Bif and Dana love it there, maybe they might join you,” and just as Annabel’s heart was doing a combination of sinking and raging, Mr. Cartwright said, “Frances, leave them be. They want to be alone, for God’s sake,” and she restrained herself with great difficulty from going over to him and kissing him.

  And as they left the house, walking through the cobbled streets with all the pretty little shops and cafés that marked out Beacon Hill, and down across the Common into the town, she felt she was seeing the real Boston, stylish and charming, and she loved it. They walked down Newbury Street, where the posh shops were, Chanel and Gucci and Ralph Lauren. “Mother and the girls are planning on bringing you here tomorrow,” Jamie said. And he showed her a jewellery shop on Boylston Street called Shreve, Crump & Low where, it seemed, all the very best diamond rings for the very best people’s engagements were to be bought. “Dad bought Mother’s ring here, and Bif bought Dana’s, and Joe Kathleen’s,” said Jamie. She wondered why he was showing her; but she admired it and said it reminded her of Tiffany’s.

  “You know New York, do you?” said Jamie and seemed surprised; she felt mildly irritated that he might see her as a sort of naïve traveller, dazzled by being in the States at all.

  “Jamie, I’ve been to New York, several times,” she said, “and L.A. and San Francisco. And Disneyland when I was little,” she added. “Where you must have been lots of times,” and was shocked when he said he never had. “Mother didn’t think it was somewhere she wanted to go,” he said without a hint of resentment.

  It was very hot when they got back and the garden, with its big trees, looked inviting. But Frances was there, and so was Kathleen: Kathleen looking flushed and rather agitated.

  “Kathleen has some wonderful news. She’s going to have a baby. She’s just had it confirmed by her doctor. Isn’t it exciting?”

  “Kathy, that’s great news,” said Jamie. He went over to her and gave her a hug. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Jamie.”

  “How lovely,” said Annabel. “Congratulations, Kathleen.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t want to say anything until the test results were in. But there’s no doubt about it, it seems.” She looked down at her stomach and smiled rather foolishly. “I can’t quite believe it.”

  “She’s feeling fine, apparently,” said Frances. “No sickness, not tired—you’re very lucky, Kathleen. Well, we must drink a toast. Only I suppose we should do it in something nonalcoholic. I’ll ask for some fruit punch. My goodness, a grandmother at last! I thought it would never happen. I must tell Daddy. He’ll be very excited.”

  “I’ll come and help with the drinks,” said Jamie.

  Frances walked briskly into the house, Jamie following her; Annabel smiled at Kathleen.

  “Joe must be thrilled.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s coming over later. Mother’s already arranging something special for dinner, asking Dana and Bif over. I know you were going out, but I hope you’ll stay. It would be nice to have you and Jamie here.”

  “Yes, of course we will,” said Annabel. “I feel very honoured to be part of it.” And she did; she really liked Kathleen.

  Jamie reappeared with a tray of drinks. “Here we are. Mother is already on the bush telegraph. Dad’s coming right home, and Caroline and Jerome are coming over too.”

  “Caroline and Jerome?”

  “Yes, well, Mother felt they must be part of the evening. She is your godmother, after all.”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Only thing is,” Jamie said, lowering his voice, “this is going to make things a little difficult for Dana.”

  “I know it. I thought of that. It will increase the pressure on her a lot.”

  Frances had reappeared, she was smiling radiantly. “Caroline and Jerome are on their way. They’re so thrilled. I knew you’d want them here, Kathleen.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And I’ve sent a fax to Grandma Cartwright. She’ll be over the moon; she’s always said it was her one remaining ambition, to be a great-grandmother. My goodness, I feel quite overcome with the whole thing. Such a lot to plan and to think about, isn’t there?”

  Anyone would think, Annabel reflected, sipping her fruit punch, that it was Frances’s baby.

  It had been a very nice evening; Richard felt suddenly more cheerful. They had gone, he and the children, to see Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and then, as a really special treat, to tea at McDonald’s in Kensington High Street. Richard knew he shouldn’t approve of McDonald’s, but the children loved the novelty of eating with their fingers and the little cardboard containers of chips and the sickly sweetness of the milk shakes. When they had finished, he said, “Right, home. The tube’s just over the road. One stop to the Central Line.”

  They were waiting to cross the road, when an open-topped tourist bus pulled up by them. Rachel gazed at it, transfixed.

  “Can we go on that?” she said. “Oh please, please, Daddy, please! Up on the top, please!”

  “It’s going the wrong way, Rachel.”

  “Doesn’t matter, does it?” said Emma. “Doesn’t matter if we’re late, it’s the holidays. Oh please, Daddy, it would be fun. Please!”

  “I don’t suppose they’ll let us on,” said Richard, but luck was not on his side: it was one of the stops on the circuit where people could get on and off.

  They got on.

  The evening sun was very warm and the plane trees practically brushed their heads as they drove along. And there was Kensington Gardens, on their left and—“Look, there’s Mummy!” shouted Emma suddenly. “Look, in front of that hotel. Look, there, with that man, see? Mummy, Mum, Mum! Oh and look, it’s Simon, it’s Tilly’s dad. Mum, look up here, on the bus!”

  And they all started shouting, shouting and waving; but Debbie neither heard them, through the thick noise of the traffic, nor saw them, for she was reaching up to kiss Simon, and as they all watched and waved, they saw him put both his arms round her and give her a hug; and then they began to walk slowly down the ramp, his arm round her shoulders, hers round his waist.

  The children, faintly anxious by now, looked at their father, who was very white. Emma moved closer to him, slipped her hand through his arm.

  “They’ve probably been doing some work together,” she said, some deep precocious instinct telling her that such comfort was necessary.

  Chapter 30

  JULY 1990

  Thank God for the Daily Mail, Joel thought. That small miracle, worked for him by Nigel Dempster with an item headed TROUBLE IN PARADISE? The paradise referred to was Paradise Island, just off Nassau, and the trouble upon it was the failure of a building company to complete the renovation work on one of the private homes on the island, owned by one Mick Bridgeman.

  Multimillionaire British industrialist Bridgeman is furious at being forced to entertain a party of guests at the Ocean Hill Hotel, rather than at his h
ome. Bridgeman’s lawyers have been instructed to sue if the house is not finished within the next two weeks. The persistent frolicking of Bridgeman’s stunning young wife, Thandie, with another guest, rock musician Nelson Crewe, has not improved Bridgeman’s mood. Other guests include Italian supermodel Bibi, the fashion designer Giles Courtney and his friend Dick “Tracy” Lord, and Irish charmer Tim Allinson, walker to the stars. Watch this space for further fireworks.

  “Got him!” Joel shouted, and punched the air, and then rushed out of the office.

  Hugh Renwick, the News Editor, was extremely unimpressed. “Course you can’t go swanning off to the Bahamas. It’s a wild-goose chase. I just don’t buy this story anyway. Lot of rich spoiled people who can’t take their medicine when they clearly have to.”

  “But it isn’t like that,” said Joel, thinking of Catherine, of Gillian Thompson, of Neil Lawrence, of Simon Beaumont. “There’s much more to this story, I swear to you. People are in complete despair, actually topping themselves—I’ve got a lot of stuff now, from people who’ve talked to me, stories that would really touch the readers’ hearts.”

  “Well, none of it touches mine. Sorry, Joel. Just drop it, would you. I need you for good solid stories, not this fancy crap. Like that piece on educational trusts I asked you for. How’s that going?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a few leads,” said Joel impatiently. He thought of Tim Allinson, sitting out there, juicily ripe for plucking; in a few days he could be gone and so would any chance of getting his story. He could hardly bear it.

  “Well, get on with it. Otherwise you’re going to find yourself in Shit Street rather than Fleet Street, I warn you.”

  “Yes, OK,” said Joel, “but you could be sorry.”

  “We saw you, we saw you!” The children came into the kitchen where Debbie was sitting, checking the post. She had got home five minutes before them.

  “Saw me where? What are you talking about? How was the film?”

  “Great,” said Alex.

  “Lovely,” said Rachel. Emma was rather quiet, looked at her mother awkwardly as she poured herself a glass of squash.

  “Where did you see me?”

  “Coming out of the Royal Garden Hotel,” said Richard. His voice was very cold. “With Simon Beaumont.”

  “Oh did you?” She felt herself flush; and cursed it. As if she had any reason to. “Yes, we were having a drink. He’s been fired, you know, from the bank and I—”

  “I don’t think we should talk about it now,” said Richard.

  “Richard, there’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Good. Well, come on, children. You did promise straight upstairs. And then I want to ring Granny, see if you can go down to stay with her a bit sooner.”

  “Ye-es! Could we?”

  “I’m not sure I want them to,” said Debbie. “I’ve got things arranged for the end of the week.”

  He looked at her with such withering dislike she felt sick. “Really?” he said, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  “Well, at least I know the real reason why you don’t want to go to Scotland,” he said. It was much later; Debbie was in the sitting room, ironing and watching Wimbledon highlights.

  She stared at him. “What did you say?”

  He switched the television off. “I said I know now why you don’t want to go to Scotland. It would put an end to your relationship with Simon Beaumont.”

  Her stomach lurched. Had Flora…? No, no, surely not. “Richard!” she said, struggling to sound calm. “You’re going mad. Of course I’m not having a relationship with Simon Beaumont.”

  “Is that so? Is that why you were coming out of a hotel with him, kissing him, carrying on—”

  “Please don’t be so ridiculous. I was not carrying on. We’d had a drink, he’s been fired, I wanted to cheer him up.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you did. Lucky man. It’s a long time since you wanted to cheer me up.”

  “That is so untrue,” she said in a low voice.

  “It is not untrue. I can’t remember when we last had sex. Anyway, let’s not argue about that. We have to decide what to do.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I mean about our marriage”

  “Our marriage? I don’t understand you—What is all this about? I am not having an affair with Simon Beaumont, nothing could be less likely, he’s just been rather kind to me and—”

  “Debbie, I’m not stupid. I’ve observed you with him. You’re obviously obsessed with him. Tell me something, truthfully please: Was that the first time you’ve met him in London?”

  “Well, no.” It seemed better to tell the truth; lying was dangerous.

  “I see. More drinks in other hotels?”

  “You’ve got this so wrong, I can’t begin to tell you. I don’t fancy him. Get that into your skull, would you? I do not fancy Simon Beaumont.”

  “Oh, shut up,” he said wearily. “Anyway, I’m going to take the children down to Mother’s tomorrow. I don’t want them upset by all this, and we really do have to get things sorted out. Not just our marriage, but what I’m going to say to Morag Dunbar, and—”

  “Yes, I wondered when we were going to get round to her. What did you think of saying to her? ‘My wife was kissing a man on the steps of a hotel in broad daylight and I’m going to divorce her.’ She’ll think you’re insane. You are insane.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion,” he said, “but I’d like the children’s things packed, please. I’ve spoken to Mother and she’s happy to have them tomorrow. She’s expecting us around teatime.”

  There was clearly nothing she could do about it; he seemed absolutely determined. She nodded and said quietly, “Yes, all right.” But she felt sick. What if Richard asked Flora if she thought there was anything between her and Simon? What might she say? What in God’s name might she say?

  Lucinda opened the letter.

  Darling Lucinda,

  How wonderful to hear from you. My life has not been the same without you. In fact, I can’t imagine how I’ve survived. I’m intrigued by your request. I’m happy to help if I can, but I think I’d like to know a little more. I’m coming to London en route to France in the last week of July. I’ll be with Greg, my partner—you’ll love him, Lucinda, and he’ll love you. Let’s meet then and you can tell me all about it. Longing to make the new man’s acquaintance.

  All love, Virgil

  “Damn,” said Lucinda. “Damn damn damn.” It was getting tougher; she was tempted to give up on this one. And Blue was pressing her harder and harder about moving; she just didn’t know how much longer she could hang on. But if she didn’t—well, that would be Nigel done for. She really needed to talk to someone about this. Someone with lots of common sense. But they’d need to know Blue as well as Nigel. Like—well, maybe like Simon. Yes, she’d talk to him about it. Take him out to lunch. See what he thought.

  She reached for the phone.

  “Debbie, dear, it’s Flora.”

  “Hello, Flora,” she said carefully. She was sitting in her office at Know How Promotions.

  “I haven’t heard from that young man yet, the journalist. If he wants to talk to me, it had better be today. Once the children are here, it will be very difficult to find the time.”

  “Oh, OK. I’ll call him. Sorry, Flora.”

  She rang Joel, too weary and miserable to feel even remotely awkward; told him what Flora had said.

  “Oh sorry. Yes, I was going to call her. But—well, to be honest, Debbie, I don’t think I can do this story after all. The editor’s more or less told me to spike it. But I will ring your mother-in-law. It would seem rude not to. Thanks, Debbie.”

  Flora was a fantastic interviewee; she didn’t waffle on, didn’t get emotional, just gave him the facts—which were pretty dramatic, losing first her husband and then everything she had as a result. He thanked her and then sat thinking for a while, replaying bits of the recording. And in a rush of reckless co
urage, decided to finance the trip himself. Some stories were too good to be missed. And then he rang Debbie back. “Just to let you know, I’ve spoken to your mother-in-law. She was just ace. Thanks so much.”

  “Don’t be silly. I didn’t do much.”

  “You led me to her. And I’ve been thinking: I know this is a good story. I’m going to do it anyway. I’ve got this incredible lead, bloke out in the Bahamas—”

  “The Bahamas? You going there? Doesn’t sound as if your editor’s spiking it.”

  “He’s not paying my fare—I am.”

  “Gosh. That is quite a gamble.”

  “I know. But I think it’ll pay off.”

  “Great.”

  She was taking this call in her office, feeling totally wretched. The children had hardly said goodbye to her, they were so excited about their extended visit to Gower. Richard had said he would be staying down there himself until Saturday; and every time she thought of him talking to Flora about her and Simon—surely, surely he couldn’t be that mad?—every time she thought about it, she felt she was going to throw up.

  She was horrified to feel a sob rise in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Well, have fun. I must go. Bye, Joel.” She slammed the phone down, threw her head back and fought down the tears. This was ridiculous! The phone rang again.

  “Debbie? It’s me. Are you all right?”

  She was not going to tell him about her troubles. She just wasn’t. “Yes. Yes, I’m absolutely fine. Thanks.”

  “Oh, good. I thought you sounded a bit down.”

  “No, no, not at all. Couldn’t be higher actually,” she said. Only on the word “actually” her voice wobbled.