She decided she must speak to Piers; somehow she thought he might make her feel better about it. Very unlikely really, of course: he didn’t make her feel better about much. Increasingly, it seemed to Chloe that she was the source of strength in their relationship, she who must provide stability, normality in an increasingly quixotic life. Piers could bring her his distress, anxiety, self-doubt; she must not trouble him with hers. But she was worried, worried that he was there, in the centre of this awful storm; she needed to speak to him: there might be rioting or something, there had been so much lately. She dialled the operator and gave her the number of the Beverly Hills Hotel.
‘Mr Windsor, please,’ she said when she was put through, ‘Mr Piers Windsor.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr Windsor is no longer here. He checked out twenty-four hours ago.’
‘Checked out?’ said Chloe stupidly. ‘He can’t have done. Are you sure?’
‘I’ll just double-check that for you,’ said the girl. She returned to the phone after a minute or two, sounding irritatingly cheerful, almost smug. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s gone.’
‘Well, do you have an address? Or a number, where he’s gone?’
‘No, ma’am, I’m sorry. May I have a name should he return, ma’am?’
‘No. No, it’s all right – I’ll leave it.’ She wasn’t going to afford her the pleasure of thinking she was a duped wife. ‘Thank you.’
‘Very well, ma’am. Have a nice day.’
Now what? Now where was he, where had the bastard gone? How could he do this to her, tell her he was somewhere and then just go, move out? Suppose there was some kind of an emergency, then what would she do? Then she started to wonder why he might have done such a thing, who he was with. ‘Shit, Piers,’ she said, staring at the phone, tears of frustration and misery welling in her eyes, ‘where are you, what are you doing?’
The phone rang suddenly; she snatched it up. It must be him: the hotel had obviously made a mistake. She must tell him to give them a ticking off.
‘Piers? Piers, I . . .’
‘Sorry, Chloe, not Piers.’ It was Magnus Phillips’s voice. ‘What’s the matter, you sound upset?’
‘Oh,’ she said, dashing the tears out of her eyes, trying to make her voice level, ‘oh, not, not at all. Not really. Hallo, Magnus.’
‘Yes, you are. What’s the matter?’
‘Oh – well –’ She knew this was foolish, began to regret it the minute she started to speak, but she had to tell someone. ‘It’s just that Piers has – well he’s not where I thought he was.’
‘Which was?’ The deep, slightly rough voice sounded kind, even if mildly amused.
‘At – at the Beverly Hills Hotel.’
‘Well, I expect he’s out at some important meeting with some Hollywood moguls,’ said Magnus soothingly.
God, thought Chloe, he must think I’m totally witless. ‘No, he isn’t. Well he might be but that’s not the point. He’s checked out and he didn’t tell me. Didn’t leave a message or anything. Of course I wouldn’t worry normally,’ she said quickly. ‘I mean he’s always dashing around all over the place, it’s just that with this Kennedy business I wanted to speak to him. Make sure he was all right, you know?’
‘Chloe, I’m sure he’s fine,’ said Magnus. ‘I don’t suppose he was anywhere near the Ambassador Hotel at the time, and if he was –’
‘No, of course not,’ said Chloe, ‘I just thought there might be riots or something, you know?’ She was horribly aware that she sounded increasingly silly: exactly the sort of person all Piers’s friends thought she was. She would have given anything not to have started this conversation.
‘There aren’t any riots,’ said Magnus firmly, ‘but if you like I’ll confirm that with the news desk and ring you back. Would you like me to try and track the old bugger down? We hacks have ways and means of doing these things.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Chloe, horrified at the thought of Piers’s reaction should Magnus be successful in his tracking down. ‘Of course not. You’ve been very kind, Magnus. Really. Thank you. I’m sorry to have been such a nuisance.’
‘You’re not,’ he said, his voice unusually gentle, and rang off; two minutes later he rang back. ‘No riots,’ he said. ‘LA reported totally calm and peaceful. A lovely day. I expect he’s taken off to the beach.’
‘I expect so,’ said Chloe miserably. ‘You won’t mention this to him, will you, Magnus? That I told you I was worried and everything? He tends to be a bit mysterious, it’s just one of his little ways.’
‘Of course not,’ said Magnus. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
She often thought of that remark in the years that followed.
Next morning Piers rang.
‘Hallo, darling. Everything all right?’
‘No,’ said Chloe, ‘not really. I’ve been frantic with worry, Piers. Where have you been?’
‘What do you mean? You know where I’ve been.’
‘I don’t actually. I rang you yesterday, at the Beverly Hills, and they said you’d checked out. Where were you, for heaven’s sake? And why couldn’t you have told me? I get so sick of you doing this sort of thing, Piers. Suppose there’d been a crisis. I was worried to death about you being there, when Kennedy had been shot; it’s so unfair, you know how much I –’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he said, ‘how many more times do we have to go through all this? I’ve told you a dozen times, Chloe, I am not some suburban husband, on call every hour of the day. I went over to Herb Leverson’s place, we were working on this deal, putting this production finally together, it got late, I stayed over, I’m still here. Now are you satisfied? I really have to have freedom to move, Chloe. I can’t tell people like him that I have to get back to my hotel in case you’re looking for me.’
‘You could have rung me. Or left a message.’
‘I tried to. All the lines out of town were jammed. I don’t suppose you thought of that. Anyway, I’m going to stay in LA a couple more days. We’re thrashing this thing out slowly and it’s a painful process. I don’t want you ringing me here, things are at a delicate stage, but I’ll call you again tonight, if you want me to. Otherwise I’ll be back at the Beverly Hills tomorrow.’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t bother ringing, Piers. I really don’t want to talk to you.’
She put the phone down. Bastard. Bastard. She was too angry even to feel hurt. Later she felt remorseful: it was all true, he did need to have time and space to work, he couldn’t be expected to check home all the time, it was terribly unreasonable of her to behave as she did. Now they’d be off on the wrong foot when he did get home. And she’d made a fool of herself with Magnus Phillips. Oh, God.
Early that evening Joe turned up on her doorstep, a bunch of rather wilting flowers in his hand. ‘I wondered if you’d like to come out and have supper with me. As you’re all alone.’
‘Oh – Joe, you’re so kind. I don’t think I want to go out, though. I’m awfully tired. Ned’s got a cold and never stops crying. Stay and we’ll eat something here.’
‘Fine. Anything’ll do.’
She made him an omelette and a tomato salad; they consumed nearly a bottle of white wine, and she began to feel better, told Joe how silly she had been about Piers.
‘It doesn’t sound too silly to me. He ought to tell you where he is.’
‘I know. But I’m sure it’s difficult sometimes. And I was upset anyway. About Kennedy. It’s so terribly sad. That family seems to be doomed. I feel so sorry for Ethel, all those children. Just as well Piers isn’t here, really, I’ve been crying about it, it always makes him cross when I cry.’
‘Oh really?’ said Joe, in the cool voice he always adopted when she said anything about Piers he didn’t quite approve of. ‘Why should he be cross because you cry?’
/> ‘Oh, I expect it’s awfully irritating. You know how emotional I am.’
‘Not really,’ said Joe, ‘you always seem very steady to me.’
‘Well, maybe you don’t see as much of me as he does.’
‘Unfortunately. Well, never mind. When’s he back?’
‘Oh, in a couple of days, I think.’
‘He likes it over there, doesn’t he? Always going there.’
‘Yes. Well, he has lots of friends there. He and it go back a long way, I suppose. I expect it seems like a second home to him.’
‘Maybe. Is it really such a long way? Back I mean?’ His voice was very casual, almost disinterested.
‘Much further than we’re all supposed to know,’ said Chloe and her voice was amused, almost indulgent suddenly. ‘He really is such a baby, Joe. You’ve no idea.’
‘In what way?’
‘Oh, you know, he’s so – well, so over-sensitive. Can’t bear criticism. Oh, it’s naughty of me to be running him down when he’s not here.’
‘Darling, you’re not running him down. Seems to me you pander rather to his little vanities. I call that sweet.’
‘Well, I don’t know. Not really.’
‘So what’s all this about us not knowing about him being in LA.’
‘Now you are not to mention this, Joe, his mother told me, and I promised her I never would, but I know I can trust you. Well, he went to Hollywood for a bit, years before he was such a hit. And he’s always kept quiet about it, denies it even, because he was a total failure, never even got a screen test. Isn’t that sad? And sweet really, that he should be so insecure.’
‘Very sweet,’ said Joe. ‘Darling, let’s finish that bottle, and then have you got any red? I suddenly feel like a full-blooded drink.’
Now that was – interesting. Joe fought to keep it as only interesting. Nothing more. Interesting that a man so successful, so gifted, should be ashamed of an early unsuccessful foray to Hollywood. Interesting that he should be so ashamed he denied being there. Interesting that Naomi MacNeice, who had been so intricately involved with Byron Patrick’s downfall, should have mentioned an Englishman and a film of Piers’s in her ramblings about that downfall. Only interesting.
Piers returned from Hollywood high on the triumph of having actually interested a Hollywood producer in a film of A Midsummer Night’s Dream he had long wanted to do. He seemed totally uninterested in Bobby Kennedy’s death, in Chloe’s sorrow over it, but at least he had forgiven her for making a fuss about disappearing: in fact he seemed particularly delighted to see her, and brought her a huge bunch of red roses and a bag from the Beverly Hills Chanel shop. ‘You must come next time I go to LA, darling, you’d love it.’
‘I expect I would,’ said Chloe, too relieved that he had forgiven her to point out that he had always discouraged her from doing anything of the sort.
Ned was to be christened in the small church near Stebbings. Piers, high on his successful deal with Herb Leverson and the fulfilment of his ambition to film A Midsummer Night’s Dream, was using it as an excuse for a party.
‘You will come, won’t you, Joe? You and Mummy?’ Chloe’s voice on the phone was anxious. ‘I’m going to need you. Badly.’
‘Of course we’ll come. Try and keep us away,’ said Joe, his heart sinking at the thought of yet another of Piers’s theatrical bashes.
Chloe had asked Jolyon to be Ned’s godfather. ‘I know it’s funny, when I hated him so much all the time I was growing up, but he’s really sweet now, and he loves both the little ones.’
‘And who are the others?’
Chloe’s voice darkened slightly. ‘Well – the godmother is Maria Woolf. She’s backing Piers’s new venture.’
‘What, the film? I thought he had Somebody B. de Somebody from Hollywood doing that?’ said Joe.
‘Yes, he does. This is different, a modern play, by someone frightfully grand, the new John Osborne, everyone keeps calling him.’
‘Oh,’ said Joe, ‘not Nick Grimond?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Is he good?’
‘He’s not bad,’ said Joe. ‘His first play won all kinds of awards last year.’
‘Yes, and so will this one, Piers says. It’s about politics.’
‘Sounds thrilling.’
‘Joe, don’t be naughty. Anyway, Maria is backing that. And Piers wants to thank her. Quite rightly.’
‘Quite rightly.’
‘Any other godfathers?’
‘Well, you see, I thought Damian would be good. But Piers seems to have gone off him, I don’t know why. We haven’t seen him for months. It’s so odd, when he used practically to live here. So it’s someone else quite surprising really, Magnus Phillips. Not really very godfatherly, I wouldn’t have thought, would you, but Piers is very keen. He thinks Magnus is wonderful. Well, he is of course, he was very kind to me when – well anyway, I do like him.’
‘Is he still doing this book about Piers?’ said Joe.
‘No. Piers has taken fright now at the idea. He read that one about the politician and backed off.’
‘Quite right,’ said Joe.
‘He even wrote to Flavia, Magnus I mean, wanted to talk to her. I think that was what put Piers off. I was very relieved, to tell you the truth. But like I said, I do like Magnus. And I think he’s very sexy.’
‘So does your mother,’ said Joe. He was quite sorry Magnus Phillips would no longer be writing a book about Piers. It would have been a lot of fun to read. He might even have offered the odd anecdote himself.
The day of the christening was beautiful: warm and cloudless. Joe and Caroline arrived with Jolyon at midday; there was a marquee on the lawn of Stebbings, tables set with champagne and glasses under the great chestnut tree, and a man dressed in white tie and white tails sat at a white piano playing music from popular classics, West Side Story, Hair and (inevitably) The Lady of Shalott. Piers was standing on the steps of the house, greeting his guests; he was smiling, at ease, smoothly happy. He was wearing white trousers with a pink shirt and white loafers; he was very tanned, and his hair was indisputably lighter, streaked with gold highlights. He held out his hand to Joe, put his arm round his shoulders at the same time. ‘Hallo, Father-in-Law,’ he said. ‘Great to see you.’
Joe particularly hated this joke. ‘Morning, Piers,’ he said briefly.
‘And Grandmother! You look so wonderful, Caroline, impossibly glamorous and young. What a lovely dress. Jolyon, good to see you. Remind me to have a chat with you later about that job. Maria, my darling, how glorious you look, and Jack, dear boy, welcome. Do all go through and help yourself to a drink, find Chloe. Have to stay here, doing my hostly duty.’
‘What job?’ said Joe suspiciously to Jolyon.
‘Oh – he might be able to get me a job in some theatrical agency,’ said Jolyon. ‘Just for a couple of weeks, at the end of the summer. Before I go to college,’ he added hastily.
‘How too kind,’ said Caroline sweetly. ‘He might have talked to me about it, I think.’
‘Oh, Mum, don’t get heavy,’ said Jolyon. ‘It’s really kind of him.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Joe. He felt a dreadful unease suddenly and he couldn’t think why: it was kind of Piers, very kind, to get a callow eighteen-year-old boy a job for the summer, in a place where he might very well be a nuisance. He would just have preferred Piers to talk to Caroline first.
‘Oh, there’s Chloe,’ said Jolyon, patently eager to distract them. ‘Chloe! Over here!’
Chloe, stunningly pretty in a floating pink lawn dress, and a huge-brimmed straw hat with pink streamers tangled with real pink roses in it, was patently nervous, and immensely relieved to see them. ‘Mummy, you look lovely. Hallo, Joe.’
‘Don’t I look lovely?’ said Joe plaintively.
‘No, you don’t,’ said Caroline. ‘I’m sorry about the shirt, Chloe, he spilt coffee down it when we stopped on the way, and of course had nothing to change into. I’m so embarrassed.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Chloe, ‘and anyway, they’re all so style-conscious here, they’ll probably think it’s a new thing, having a brown stain right across a white shirt.’
‘Hey,’ said Jolyon, ‘hey, Chloe, you’re getting quite witty in your old age.’
‘Thank you,’ said Chloe, smiling a sweetly barbed smile. ‘Love you too. That really is a great dress, Mummy.’
‘Thank you,’ said Caroline graciously. ‘It’s Ossie Clark.’
Joe looked at her in surprise. He never really noticed what she looked like any more.
The dress was nice: very floaty, in a kind of blue and green, with flowers printed into it. He resolved to look at her more carefully in future.
‘Magnus!’ said Chloe. ‘How nice! Come and talk to us.’
Magnus smiled at them all, kissed Chloe’s hand and then fixed his attention on Caroline.
‘Mother of the bride,’ he said. ‘You look more like her sister than ever.’
‘Shall I kick him or will you?’ said Chloe, laughing.
‘Neither of us,’ said Caroline. ‘I always like that one.’ Her lips smiled, but her eyes, held by Magnus Phillips’s dark ones, were solemn.
Joe felt a sudden rush of fear, then stifled it. The guy was a shyster. And vulgar with it. Not Caroline’s type at all.
‘Oh boy,’ said Jolyon, breaking into a slightly awkward silence. ‘Now who is that? Boy, what a pair of legs.’ The legs belonged to a girl of extraordinary height and slenderness, with a great tangling cloud of dark hair and huge dark eyes.
‘Oh,’ said Chloe quickly, lowering her voice, ‘that’s Annunciata. Annunciata Fallon. Actress. Or rather would-be actress. Desperately wanted to be the Lady. Beware, Jolyon, she eats big boys for breakfast.’
‘I’m game,’ said Jolyon. ‘Can you introduce me?’ He stood, his eyes huge with awe, gazing at Annunciata who was wearing a white satin shirt, slashed almost to the waist, and white satin shorts.
AN Outrageous Affair Page 48