She thought a minute. ‘It said something like “The phantom caller from the airfield rang. Wants to talk more.”’
‘And you wrote that down?’
‘Yes I did. What’s so terrible?’
‘What’s so terrible is it’s indiscreet and cretinous.’ His eyes were dark and angry.
‘Oh Gabe, don’t be ridiculous. Of course it isn’t. It could mean anybody, anything. I was quite careful about it.’
‘Oh, very careful!’ His voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Careful would have been not writing anything down, careful would have been just telling me, careful would probably even have been telling him I was away and you couldn’t get in touch.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Charlotte irritably. ‘Don’t be so over-sensitive. Nobody, but nobody could make anything of that message.’
‘Many people could make a lot of it,’ said Gabe briefly and walked out of the office.
Freddy came to talk to Charlotte and Gabe just before lunch. He gave his icy smile. ‘I hear you just handled a deal without Gabe,’ he said.
‘Oh, well – not really,’ said Charlotte. ‘Just finished it off.’
‘Grandpa’s acting like you saw through the entire sale of Gulf Oil on your own,’ said Freddy. He was trying to smile, but his eyes were very hard, his voice harsh.
‘Well,’ said Charlotte, slightly helplessly, ‘you know Grandpa.’
‘Yes I do, Charlotte,’ said Freddy, and she was frightened by the hatred in his voice. ‘I certainly do.’ He was looking very pleased with himself.
‘I wanted to let you know,’ he said, addressing himself to both of them, ‘before the official announcement, that is, that I’m off to Harvard Business School this September, as you know. And confirmed as a junior partner on the main board, as from now, but with effect from my rejoining the bank. I’m moving into the Heir’s Room next week.’
‘Great,’ said Gabe. He stood up and shook Freddy’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder, as if the news was a tremendous surprise and Freddy had won his partnership in the face of really tough competition. Charlotte, feeling sick partly at Gabe’s display of sycophancy and partly at the fact that Freddy was clearly making his way much faster than she was up the Praeger ladder, forced a smile onto her own face.
‘Brilliant, Freddy. Well done!’
‘Yes. I am naturally very pleased.’ He looked at her, his pale blue eyes rather watchful. ‘I’m giving a dinner here. On Friday. In the main dining room, to celebrate. I’d like you both to come. It will be mainly family, which naturally includes you, Gabe, and a few major clients. Clement Dudley, Jeremy Foster, a couple of the International Paper people. Eight. Black tie. See you then.’
He left, making it very plain that there was no question of a refusal. Gabe met Charlotte’s eye in open conspiracy for the first time she could ever remember.
‘He clearly needs a pair of bigger boots,’ he said simply.
They were working late on Thursday evening. To Charlotte’s annoyance, she had had to cancel dinner with Jeremy. Gabe sensed her distraction, and was increasingly irritable with her.
And then his phone went. It was Fred III. Could he get on down to Fred’s office right away.
Gabe, looking just slightly thoughtful, went. Summonses to Fred III could never be taken entirely lightly. Little more than two minutes later, Charlotte’s phone went. It was her grandfather. ‘Get on down here,’ he said.
When she got to the office, the atmosphere was hideous. Gabe was white, his eyes like huge dark holes in his head. His fists were clenched, and he was staring at Charlotte as if he had never seen her before.
‘Ah. Charlotte. I believe this is your writing?’ Fred pushed a piece of paper at her; she didn’t need to look at it.
‘Yes. Yes it is.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to explain what it means.’
‘Well – it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t think. It was just a message. For Gabe.’
‘From?’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
God, if only she knew what Gabe had said so far, how much she could say, whether she was making things better or worse.
‘You don’t know. It reads as if you know. “Your phantom caller,” it says, “wants to talk some more.” Clearly you knew he’d called before. Come along, Charlotte, I would like a slightly fuller explanation.’
Charlotte looked helplessly at Gabe. He hadn’t moved; his eyes hadn’t moved either.
‘I – well –’
‘Charlotte, do you know who this person was, or do you not? Please answer me.’
‘Well – I’m not sure.’
‘Charlotte, I hope you’re not trying to do a cover-up job here. Out of loyalty.’ Fred’s voice was at its lightest, its most seductive.
‘No. No, of course not. I mean there’s nothing to –’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Right then.’ Her grandfather sat back more firmly in his chair. ‘Let me put the question more simply. Was the phantom caller as you put it, was he Beaufort or one of that crowd?’
Charlotte thought fast. She decided total honesty was the only way out of this. Covering up was simply making everything look worse for Gabe. ‘Yes. Yes I believe he was.’
‘Why do you believe so?’
‘Because – because Gabe had had a call two nights before. From – one of them.’
She didn’t dare look at Gabe, but she heard him sit down suddenly. She knew then she had made a bad mistake. Clearly he had been denying any knowledge of what the message meant.
‘Oh really. Do you know which one?’
‘Beaufort,’ said Charlotte. All was lost now, she might as well just give up, and tell everything. It made life simpler.
‘And how do you know?’
‘Gabe told me. He was very upset. And worried.’
Fred looked at Gabe. ‘Is this true?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you say so?’
‘I didn’t think you’d believe me.’
‘Fine. Why shouldn’t I have believed you?’
‘Because it was so – unbelievable,’ said Gabe. ‘I get a call in the men’s room in the middle of the night, at an airfield where no one knew I was, from Beaufort, wanting to talk business. How the fuck would he have known I was there, if I hadn’t told him?’
‘Don’t use that language in this office,’ said Fred.
‘Sorry.’
‘I don’t know. I have to tell you I do find it hard to believe.’
‘Well there you are.’ He looked at once sulky, angry and as if he was going to burst into tears.
‘And then you tell Charlotte about it?’
‘Yes.’
‘When and where did this conversation take place?’
He was talking to Charlotte now.
‘At – two in the morning. In my apartment.’
‘Dear God,’ said Fred, ‘this gets worse. Is he often in your apartment at two in the morning?’
‘Thankfully no,’ said Charlotte coldly. Fred’s eyes skimmed over her; for the first time he looked mildly amused.
‘He came specially. To ask me if I’d talked to anyone. He was very worried. I know he’d never talked to Beaufort before.’
‘So how do you suggest Beaufort knew where he was?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said Charlotte. ‘We talked for ages about it.’
‘Gabe? Any explanation?’
‘None,’ said Gabe wearily.
‘Well, I don’t get it,’ said Fred heavily, ‘and I’m not sure if I believe you. I’m going to make some inquiries. If I think you’ve even exchanged the time of day with these guys you are out of a job, and never mind if your grandfather was my godfather. OK?’
‘OK,’ said Gabe. He was looking more cheerful now suddenly; clearly hopeful again. ‘Could I ask you something?’
‘You could ask.’
‘How did you get hold of that message?’
‘Dick ha
nded it to me just now. When I was coming back into the building. Someone had left it on his desk around an hour ago. He said he hadn’t seen you, Gabe, all day, and he told me to give it to you. You know how he thinks he runs this place really.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Gabe. ‘Well – just a thought.’
‘I’ll see you both tomorrow,’ said Fred. ‘Goodnight.’
He didn’t look at them; they were dismissed.
‘Gabe, I’m so sorry. So very sorry,’ said Charlotte, half running beside him as he stalked along the corridor. He turned to glare at her; he looked so angry she thought he was going to hit her. Then he pushed ahead so fast it was impossible for her to keep up. When she finally got into the office he was pouring, most unusually for him, a paper cup of bourbon. She looked at him warily. He bolted it down, poured another, looked at her over it. She sat down, her legs suddenly weak.
‘You’re a silly bitch,’ he said, ‘a stupid silly bitch.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.
Gabe bolted the second cupful of bourbon. Then he said, and she never forgot it for as long as she lived, ‘But you were great. Thanks. Have a drink.’
She went over to him with her own paper cup and looked at him very steadily as he half filled it.
‘That’s OK.’
His eyes met hers, and somewhere in their depths there was a new warmth, a friendliness, an acknowledgement that she was not entirely distasteful to him. Then he said almost casually, ‘Fred made a call that night. Straight out of the Bloom meeting. He said he had to call home.’
‘So?’
‘So I don’t know. It might be interesting to know who was there. At the house I mean.’
‘Yes,’ said Charlotte. ‘Yes I suppose it might.’
Charlotte decided not to go home and change before Freddy’s dinner; the Friday night traffic would be terrible and might make her late. She took her dress in with her: red crepe, slithery and draped, from Mme Grès in her new ready-to-wear American line. It was a dress she would never have worn a year ago – a bold, extravagant dress which she knew didn’t even suit her, she was too short and too baby-faced for it – but it was certainly a dress to go to the lions in. And she had a feeling they were ready for her.
‘Charlotte, how nice!’ Freddy was standing by the door of the dining room, greeting his guests. ‘What a very grand dress. I do hope the occasion proves to be up to it.’
‘Oh, of course it will, Freddy,’ said Charlotte, smiling at him sweetly. ‘It is already, surely. Here’s a little congratulatory gift.’
She had spent a lot of much-resented time choosing a gift for Freddy and had finally settled on a gold moneyclip from Tiffanys. She resented giving it to him; she would have loved to have given it to Alexander or Charles, but clearly something was required. He took the exquisitely wrapped package and set it unopened on the small table beside him. ‘How kind of you, Charlotte. Thank you so much.’
‘My pleasure, Freddy.’
‘Charlotte, dear, you look lovely and so sophisticated in that dress!’ It was Betsey, smiling rosily above a mass of aubergine frills.
‘Grandma, hallo. I’m so glad you’re here. Where’s Grandpa?’
‘He’s coming, dear. He’s on the phone to Baby.’
‘Ah. Er – how is Baby?’
‘Fine, dear, I think.’ Betsey sounded mildly puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Oh – nothing.’
‘Now here’s Clement. Clement, dear, you’ve met my darling granddaughter, haven’t you?’
‘Indeed I have.’ Clement Dudley’s stern face softened into what for him represented a smile: a just detectable softening at the edges of his mouth. ‘I hear you are doing great things here, Charlotte. About to be promoted – or am I speaking out of turn?’
‘You certainly are.’ It was Fred; he had come into the room behind her. ‘That’s very long way off. Especially at the moment.’ But he winked at Charlotte as he spoke, and then eased Clement Dudley away from her. Charlotte stood, her heart thumping pleasurably fast. Promoted! To – what? VP? Must be. That was amazing. Fantastic. All the misery, the worry, the exhaustion of her week fell away; she felt warm, excited, pleasedly happy. She was doing all right: she must be. In spite of everything, her grandfather was pleased. She would shine at Praegers yet. She turned, smiling rapturously, as she felt a light hand on her back, and found herself gazing into Jeremy’s eyes.
‘Oh! Jeremy. Hallo. How are you? Is Isabella here?’
‘She is indeed. Over there, talking to Gabe.’
A pang of jealousy, irrational, violent, shot through Charlotte. Isabella was beautiful, charming, amusing, all the things she knew she was not; and Gabe was a sure-fire victim for such things. She looked across at the two of them, Isabella talking animatedly, Gabe laughing – he hardly ever laughed – his eyes taking in Isabella’s six feet of dark beauty, and thought how she must seem to him, a short, dull, bossy English prefect. She sighed, and Jeremy laughed.
‘Hey! What was that about?’
‘Oh – nothing. I was just thinking – well, how lovely Isabella was, and how much I’d love to be tall and – and amusing.’
‘Yes, and she is frigid, and interested only in herself,’ said Jeremy. ‘Believe me. Very very different from your lovely self.’
Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘Jeremy – I –’
But Freddy had come over to them: Freddy with an oddly pleased look.
‘Jeremy, how nice of you to come. You look very well.’
‘Oh I am,’ said Jeremy, ‘extremely well. I just had a little holiday, you know, last week. Did some sailing, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh really? Doesn’t Isabella mind your going off without her?’
‘No,’ said Jeremy. ‘She doesn’t. She hates sailing. But how do you know, as a matter of interest, that she wasn’t with me?’
‘Oh, I saw her. At the MOMA opening. I was there with my mother. And my grandmother. We invited her back for supper, but she couldn’t come. She was just a little put out that you weren’t there. She was with that interior designer, what’s his name, Dusty Winchester. So amusing. So effete. They were off to Elaine’s. Oh, not just the two of them, I don’t want to be putting ideas into your head. Quite a crowd were off. Although from what I know of Dusty, he’s not exactly a threat to any marriage.’
Charlotte had just taken a sip of champagne; she swallowed it very fast and almost choked. Freddy had been with Betsey that night. At the house at East 80th Street. And Freddy – dear God, Freddy had been at Gabe’s desk that morning, with that nonsense about the lunch date.
‘Excuse me,’ she said and moved across the room. Gabe was standing alone now, watching Isabella who had turned her lovely eyes on Fred.
Fred adored Isabella; he said she was the perfect woman. ‘And the perfect wife,’ he would add from time to time. ‘Like mine. Only mine’s better-looking of course.’
‘Gabe,’ Charlotte whispered, ‘Gabe, come outside a second.’
‘What? Oh, all right. Better not let Grandpa see us though. He’ll think we’re off to meet Beaufort.’
Outside in the corridor, she looked at him, half triumphant, half scared.
‘Gabe, Freddy was at the house that night.’
‘Freddy! How do you know?’
‘He just said so. He was at that – at some opening or other, with Betsey and Mary Rose. And then went back for supper. And Gabe, he was rooting through your desk that morning. It’s him, it must be.’
‘Holy shit,’ said Gabe. ‘Holy, holy shit.’
The evening was nearly over; she had got through it. Fred had made a short speech and Freddy a longer one. Everyone was chatting now; Fred III was leaning back in his chair laughing at something Isabella said to him. Charlotte felt almost faint with exhaustion and strain.
Freddy was watching her.
‘Charlotte! Are you all right? You look a little pale.’
‘Oh no. No, I’m fine. It’s all right. Just a bit too much brandy.’
Everyone was staring; conversation had ceased altogether. Betsey looked concerned. ‘Charlotte dear, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Really.’
‘You were looking so well,’ said Freddy. ‘Almost as well as you, Jeremy. Look at the pair of them, matching suntans. Or almost. You’ve been away too, haven’t you, Charlotte? Last week, like Jeremy. Quite a coincidence.’
Charlotte froze; she could not have moved if she had been ordered at gun point. She forced herself to meet Freddy’s eyes, his ice-cold blue eyes, staring at her in a kind of triumph, and realized suddenly, with clarity and absolute certainty, exactly what he was going to do. She was to be crucified, publicly, in front of her grandfather, Betsey, Isabella, Gabe, all the partners; everyone who mattered in her life. Knowing, knowing she was done for, that there was no escape of any kind, gave her courage; she smiled back at him, lifted her chin.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘wasn’t it?’
She saw Fred look at her sharply, look at Jeremy; she met his gaze almost boldly.
‘And where was it you went, Charlotte? The Bahamas, you said, I think?’ said Freddy.
‘I didn’t actually say,’ said Charlotte.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you did. But weren’t you sailing? With some very rich friend, I believe you said, who gave you that beautiful watch.’
‘Yes, I was sailing. In the Bahamas,’ said Charlotte. She was flushed now, looking down, but aware that Jeremy had drawn away from her, physically distanced himself as far as he could. There was a long silence.
‘I think,’ said Isabella, looking at Jeremy with some distaste, ‘we should leave, if you will excuse us, Fred, Freddy. We have to go to Aspen in the morning, for a weekend’s skiing. It’s been such a lovely evening. Thank you so much.’
Fred stood up slowly. He was still looking at Charlotte as if she was something totally abhorrent to him; with an obvious effort he switched his eyes to Isabella. ‘Of course. It’s been great to have you with us. Thank you for coming. Jeremy, goodnight.’ He shook Jeremy’s hand briefly, avoided looking at him. They moved to the door. The whole party was breaking up. Charlotte sat utterly still, her head bowed, waiting. Only as Gabe passed her, on the other side of the table, did she look up, meet his eyes. He was looking at her with an expression she had never seen on his face before: she was too sick at heart to try to analyse it.
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