“Dudley will be in soon, he’s coming back specially to see you. Although he’s terribly busy.”
“That’s very kind,” said Catherine.
“And I had a golf match which I cancelled.”
“Well, thank you,” said Catherine.
“It’s a pity you don’t play,” Phyllis said. “You’d make some friends that way.”
“Maybe I could learn.”
“Well, I doubt it. Golf lessons are very expensive.” She was laying down markers already.
Lunch was not nice, fatty lamb chops, which the children could not force down, pushed to the sides of their plates. “I do hope they’re not fussy eaters,” Dudley said, noting this. “When I was a child we had to sit at the table until everything was gone. Never did me any harm.”
He said this a great deal. Catherine wondered, as she had so often, how these people could have produced her beloved Frederick. Over a trifle, which bore a strong resemblance to the ones served at motorway service stations, the move was discussed.
“It won’t be easy,” Phyllis said, “but we’ve discussed it and we feel that we have to offer you a home. It would be extremely uncharitable not to; you are our son’s wife and these are our grandchildren. Our friends are all filled with admiration.”
“Yes, it’s very, very kind of you,” said Catherine.
“Can we get down?” said Caroline hopefully.
“Not until I say so, dear. Now we thought we could convert part of the top floor into a sort of flat for you. So that you can be self-contained. We don’t want to be living in one another’s pockets all the time.”
“That would be marvellous,” said Catherine. “Would it have a kitchen?”
“Not as such,” said Dudley. “The cost of that would be prohibitive. But we thought we’d put in a gas ring and a point where you could boil a kettle, make yourself a cup of tea, that sort of thing. We imagined you’d make the children’s tea there, and so on, although of course you’re welcome to use our kitchen. As long as you give Phyllis plenty of notice.”
“And of course you’re welcome to eat with us if you want to,” said Phyllis, “but we thought you’d rather cater for yourself most of the time. Perhaps Sunday lunch we could eat together as a family.”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
“The children may play in the garden, of course, but they must treat it with respect. No bikes or footballs, young man.”
“Could we have a swing?” Caroline asked.
“It might be possible, I suppose, if we could find somewhere where it was out of sight. I’ll have a think about that.”
“Thank you.”
“I imagine you’ll be doing your own shopping,” said Phyllis. “I’ll keep a section of one of the fridges clear for you. So that we don’t get into a muddle. I presume you’re getting some kind of National Assistance money.”
“A bit,” said Catherine.
“And I’m very pleased to see you’ve got a car. You’ll be rather cut off here without it.”
“Oh, it’s not mine, I’m afraid. A friend has lent it to me for a while.”
“He or she must be a very good friend,” said Dudley.
“She is indeed,” said Catherine, thinking longingly of Lucinda, sweet generous Lucinda.
“Well, I don’t know what you’ll do down here without one. There is a bus, but only twice a day, morning and evening.”
“I—daresay you could give me a lift from time to time. Or maybe I could drive one of your cars occasionally.” There were three in the drive: a flashy new Jaguar, a Ford Escort, equally new, and a rather older, battered Polo.
“Well, I don’t know. Possibly the Polo. We keep it for emergencies though; I wouldn’t want it gone for long at a time.”
“What about things like the school run?” said Catherine, rather desperately. “How will I do that?” This was worse than she had expected.
“Ah, yes. Schools. Now, as I said in my letter, we are prepared to take on the school fees. It’s a great deal of money but—well, hopefully it will be worth it.”
“I hope so too. That’s terribly generous of you. I really do appreciate it.” “And then, as a quid pro quo, we would want complete control over their schooling. We would expect to choose the schools, to be very involved in their progress. We don’t want any bad reports,” said Dudley, looking rather sternly at the children.
“Well, of course. But I’d like to have some say in the choice of school.”
Dudley looked at her. “I suppose that’s reasonable,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. “But Phyllis and I have discussed the whole thing and we feel that Freddie should go to boarding school.”
“Boarding school!” Nothing could have prepared her for this horror. “What—straightaway?”
“In the autumn term, yes. There’s an excellent prep school near Shaftesbury, only about thirty miles or so away. Gets boys into all the major public schools. I imagine he’s very behind, all the upheavals he’s been through, not to mention that stint in the state system. We went to see this place the other day and it seemed excellent. They could take him, provided his present school gives him a good report.”
“But I don’t want—” Catherine looked at Freddie, who was wide-eyed with misery. “Er…Dudley, could the children go outside to play, please? It’s been a long drive down here and they do need to work off a bit of steam.”
“Well, I suppose so. Mind the flower beds, both of you. And no climbing the trees.”
“I really don’t want Freddie to go away to school,” she said, when the children were safely outside. “He’s not ready for it.”
“Nonsense. He’s nine years old. I went away at seven, didn’t do me any harm.”
“Well, I think it would harm Freddie,” said Catherine. “He’s just had this very bad bullying experience at school…”
“Yes, but that was at the state school, surely,” said Phyllis.
“It was, but his prep school in Fulham was just as bad, it seems.”
“Catherine, you can’t wrap children in cotton wool,” said Dudley. “He has to grow up, learn to cope. And for Caroline, there’s a very nice girls’ prep school about five miles away.”
“And that’s another thing, they’ll miss each other,” said Catherine. “They’re always together, terribly close. They’ll be terribly unhappy, they’ll—”
“Oh nonsense,” said Dudley. “Half Freddie’s problems, I’d say, not enough male influence in his life. Now I’m going to leave you girls to have a chat and get back to the office. Bye, Catherine. You can sort out exactly when you move in with Phyllis, but the conversion could take a couple of months.”
And he was gone.
“It was ghastly,” she said to Lucinda on the phone, “and I just don’t know what to do. Freddie’s really upset. But we’ve got absolutely no money, and we’ve got to live somewhere. Oh dear.”
“Catherine, I’m so, so sorry.” Lucinda’s voice was heavy with sympathy. “I wish I could help, I really do. But our house is so tiny, and—”
“Yes, I thought you were going to move?”
“Oh, don’t. So did Blue. So does everyone And we will, after—well, after the baby.”
“But why not now, when it’s easier?”
“Oh, don’t you start,” said Lucinda, and her voice wobbled. “Sorry, bit of a row last night. Blue really wants to move.”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh Catherine, it’s terribly complicated. I can’t explain.”
Chapter 36
AUGUST 1990
“Joel.” Hugh Renwick walked very fast into his office. Fast was good; slow was bad. “Joel, get it finished, let me have the rest. Not more than fifteen hundred words. Then I’ll decide.”
“Yes, OK. Thanks. Shouldn’t take too long.” He wasn’t going to tell him he’d actually finished the piece.
“Better not. If I do decide to run it, it’ll be Thursday’s paper. Maybe Friday.”
“OK.”
“But I probably won’t.”
“No.”
“And I want it pretty damn quick, as well. Don’t start wanking over it.”
“No, OK.”
Joel took his story into evening conference, handed it to Hugh at the end. He read it in silence.
“OK, it’ll do. We’ll shoehorn it into tomorrow’s paper.”
Tomorrow! That was better even than he’d hoped. It must be good.
“Have you called Allinson yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“Do it, soon as you can. And Lloyd’s as well—they’d better be given the chance to respond.”
“Sure.”
Hugh picked up his phone, then put it down again, and said, “So you paid your own expenses on this, did you?”
“Yup.”
“And what would you have done if I hadn’t run it?”
“I thought someone else would,” said Joel.
“Arrogant little bugger, you are, Strickland. Anyway, you can put a chit in, if you like. Just the airfare and the hotel—nothing else, mind.”
“Thanks.”
“And next time, you’re out on your ear—understood?”
“Understood.”
The accent that had become familiar to him came down the phone.
“Ocean Hill.”
“Oh, good—good morning,” said Joel, looking at his watch, doing a quick calculation. “Is Mr. Allinson there, please? He’s in Mr. Bridgeman’s party.” It was around lunchtime there; with luck, he’d catch the bugger by the pool. He hoped Tim hadn’t gone out on the yacht.
It felt like forever. It actually was quite a long time, at least five minutes. Thank God the News was paying.
Finally: “Hello, Timothy Allinson. Who is this?”
“Mr. Allinson, sorry to disturb your day. Joel Strickland here, Daily News,”
“Oh yes? What can I do for you?”
“I just wondered if you’d like to comment on a story we’re running in our paper, about Lloyd’s of London.”
“What sort of story?”
“It’s about the considerable hardship endured by people who were Names and really couldn’t afford the risk.”
“How extraordinary. That certainly isn’t a picture I recognise. Complete drivel, I assure you. I don’t know where you got your facts from, but—”
“Well, the thing is, Mr. Allinson, you have already contributed in some measure. You gave me some very interesting quotes yesterday. By the pool. About the way certain syndicates operated, how you operated on their behalf. Saying, for instance, that they had ‘lowered the bar’ as you put it, deliberately inviting people with quite modest incomes to become Names because they needed to keep the money coming in; only way they could cope with the rising spiral of claims.”
“What on earth are you talking about? Who did you say you were?”
“Joel Strickland. Oh sorry, I think I introduced myself to you as Joel Sherlock. It’s one of my pseudonyms. Confusing for you, I can see that. Anyway, I’m sorry you don’t recall it. I have it all on tape. Would you like me to read it over to you? It really is rather interesting.”
“This is outrageous! And let me tell you, if any of that appears in your newspaper, I shall sue.”
“That’s your prerogative, Mr. Allinson. Meanwhile, would you like to comment further on what you said?”
“Certainly not. Except to say that it is clearly a complete fabrication. I have always behaved with the utmost integrity.”
“So you would deny saying that, despite knowing Lloyd’s were ‘going through a bad patch,’ as you put it, you were still inviting people to become Names?”
“I have nothing more to say to you. Except to warn you once again that I shall sue if this story and its absurd claims gets into your paper.”
“Very well. Thank you, Mr. Allinson.”
Joel put the phone down and smiled at it. “That was for you, Miss Thompson,” he said.
Now he must ring Lloyd’s. Give them the right to reply too. And then maybe, just maybe, he should ring Debbie.
He didn’t actually ring her until the next day
“Hi. You OK?” He sounded more friendly now. Less cold, less distracted.
“Oh yes, fine. Thanks. What—what happened? About the story?”
“Oh, we’re running it.”
“Fantastic. I’m so pleased. When? And you haven’t been fired?”
“I haven’t. Well, not yet. And tomorrow. Hubby back?”
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
“And—”
“Oh, it’s fine. Well, you know. Fine as it could be.”
“Great.”
Go on, for God’s sake say something, she thought. Say something that means something. That might help. He didn’t. “How was it, in the Bahamas? Is it lovely there?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Really beautiful.”
“Good. Well, I can’t wait to hear about it.” There was a pause then; she felt more frightened than she’d ever been in her life, more than when Flora had found her and Simon in the kitchen…just sheer, gut-tearing terror.
And then he said it. Said he’d missed her, said he wanted to see her. Asked when could that be.
She said she’d have to check a few things out and that she’d call him back. And then sat staring at the phone wondering what on earth she was going to do.
Joel was looking very pleased with himself. “I just wanted you to know I got a lot of good stuff from our friend Allinson.”
“Did you now? Well done you. Did he confess to anything?”
“Enough to make a story, and it’s going in tomorrow’s paper.”
“Great. Worth the trip, eh?”
“Very much so. God, it was tough—five-star hotels, fantastic food, beautiful women—”
“Wish I’d been with you,” said Simon, laughing.
“You’d have loved it. Anyway, you’re very welcome to the tape, or at any rate a copy of it. What I got might not be enough to help you, not for a court of law, but it’s good background information at the very least. I really want to help you with your case, Simon. I owe you a lot.”
“OK. That’s very good of you—I appreciate it. Especially as I’ve just drawn a spectacularly blank card myself. I was feeling a bit downhearted. You’ve actually got some stuff on this tape, have you?”
“You bet. Our slimy friend Allinson saying all sorts of stuff about huge losses on the horizon which Lloyd’s knew about and how they’d felt the only way was to pull more people in, without actually being up front about it. It’s jolly good.”
“Joel, that sounds incredible. Fantastic. Thanks so much. God, maybe I’ve found the smoking gun.”
“The what?”
“What our very sexy lawyer calls the smoking gun: an admission by someone that something slightly dirty was going on. Very hard to come by.”
“Well, I should say this gun is definitely pretty smoky.”
“Good. Well, bless you. I’ll buy you the most stupendous lunch sometime. Now tell me, where did you go exactly? I love the Bahamas. Once stayed at the Cotton Bay Club, on Eleuthera. Glorious. Wonderful sailing. Very romantic too. Elizabeth and I were on our second honeymoon—or was it our third? Can’t remember.” He grinned at Joel. “It might amuse you to know I’ve been accused of having an affair with Debbie Fielding. By her husband.”
“Yes, I heard,” said Joel. He spoke without thinking. Simon stared at him. “I didn’t think anyone else knew. Who told you?”
“Er, can’t remember.”
“Joel! Come on. It’s important—this is my reputation at stake.”
Joel was silent; Simon sat watching him, reading his body language, working things out in his head.
“It wasn’t Debbie, was it?”
“It was, yes,” Joel said. Very reluctantly. Simon sat digesting this piece of information. Then he said, “You’re not having a thing with Debbie yourself, are you?”
“No, of course not. Well, not actually a thing,
no.”
“Look, it’s nothing to do with me, Joel, but that girl is dynamite.”
“I know it,” said Joel, clearly trying to appear lighthearted, amused.
“No, seriously. She’s quite…dangerous, I’d say. Not in herself, but she’s not very happily married. And she’s very emotional. Reckless even.”
“I daresay she is,” said Joel. He pushed his hand through his hair. “Honestly, Simon, can we just forget this conversation?”
“Well,” said Simon, “I know you probably see me as older than God, but affairs with married women—not a good idea. In my experience.”
“Look,” said Joel, “sorry and all that, but I really would rather not talk about this. In fact, I haven’t even said I’m having an affair with Debbie: you did. So let’s leave it, shall we?”
Simon looked at him; then he sighed, a heavy, almost despairing sigh. “All right, I’m sorry. But—just know that you’re playing with fire. Sorry about the cliché.”
“I’ll remember,” said Joel.
Simon left quite soon after that. He felt very optimistic suddenly. At this rate, they might even win. They would win. Lloyd’s would lose. He’d get his job back, buy another boat, stable Boy…
He could hardly sleep that night for excitement, made a very tired Elizabeth listen while he told her about it.
“I really think this could be a bit of good luck at last. What do you think, darling?”
“I think,” said Elizabeth sleepily, giving him a kiss, “that you should send Joel Strickland an enormous bottle of champagne.”
Early next day, Simon appeared on Catherine’s doorstep with a large bunch of white roses.
“Simon! Come in! That’s jolly naughty. Thank you so much. But—?”
“They’re to say sorry,” he said. “For failing you. Getting you into such a hole. I feel dreadful.”
“Simon, you did not get me into a hole. You gave me six super months. Golly, without that I’d be in a bin by now, I should think. Please, please don’t feel bad about it.”
“Well, I do. Can’t help it.”
“Try to help it. You look very smart, where are you off to?”
An Absolute Scandal Page 40