Wicked Pleasures

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, I’d better come. Anyway, I want to see Grandpa. And Grandma.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let me know when you get here. It’d be nice to see you anyway.’

  For the second time in five minutes Charlotte thought she might faint.

  She wanted to ring Betsey straight away, but it was clearly out of the question for several hours. She got up, showered, dressed (noting to her intense misery that the waistline of the new Margaret Howell suit she had bought only a month ago was already tight, God, she must get back on a really good diet), packed a bag, booked herself onto a flight out of Heathrow late that afternoon, and went into the office.

  She went in to see Peter Donaldson as soon as she arrived. She liked him more and more, and felt ashamed now of her dismissal of him as dull in her first wretched weeks in London. He had always been kind to her; he was supportive and generous, swift to give credit where it was due.

  ‘Peter, I’d like to take a few days’ holiday, if that’s OK. My grandfather isn’t terribly well, and I had a call this morning. I’m sorry, I know it’s a bad time, but–’

  Donaldson looked alarmed. ‘I hadn’t heard anything. I’m so sorry. Should I be doing anything?’

  Well, that confirmed there was something strange going on. In the normal course of events, he would clearly have been notified that Fred III was not well, that changes might be taking place, that there was talk of Chuck Drew coming to London.

  ‘No no,’ she said hastily. ‘Apparently he’s very anxious no one should fuss. He’s very sensitive about his health, you know.’

  ‘Well, I expect he is,’ said Donaldson. ‘If I was eighty-four and running a bank I’d be more than sensitive.’ He smiled at her, but she could detect the anxiety in his voice. His appointment had been slightly unexpected, and initially seen as temporary, when Baby had died. He had done a superb job, but he had never been confirmed as chairman, London. It was a sensitive point.

  ‘Oh well, let’s hope it’s nothing, as usual,’ said Charlotte. ‘Anyway, I’ll be back next Monday, I promise. And I’m not going till this afternoon.’

  ‘Fine. But brief Billy Smith, won’t you, on everything that might go through?’

  ‘Of course.’ Billy Smith was her assistant: bright, keen, ambitious. She knew she was lucky to have him.

  She went back to her office, and asked her secretary for a coffee. ‘Biscuits, Charlotte?’

  ‘Oh God, no,’ said Charlotte, suddenly fiercely aware of her waist band digging into her as she sat down, ‘I’m on a diet, Liz. As from today.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Liz. She had, in the last six months, seen Charlotte on five different diets.

  At lunchtime she called East 80th Street. Her grandmother came to the phone, sounding frail and something else – what was it? Cool. Yes, definitely cool.

  ‘Charlotte! How nice to hear from you.’

  ‘How is Grandpa?’

  ‘Well –’The voice hesitated. ‘Well, he’s coming along, I think. Yes, definitely coming along.’

  ‘Is he in bed?’

  ‘Yes dear, of course he’s in bed. Have you been very busy, Charlotte, or something? I have to tell you he was a little hurt, not to have heard from you.’

  ‘Grandma, I – I didn’t know. Until this morning.’

  ‘Oh Charlotte dear, don’t be silly. I asked Freddy to call you straight away and he told me he had. When I didn’t hear from you I checked with him.’

  ‘Freddy –’ Charlotte stopped. She felt very cold suddenly, and very angry. How could Freddy have been so cruel, so ruthless? It was one thing playing power games in the office, but to try to manipulate her through the feelings of two old people was quite another.

  ‘Grandma, I’m truly sorry. I – hadn’t understood. I’m coming over tonight. Could Hudson meet me?’

  ‘Well –’ Betsey sounded slightly warmer. ‘Well, I expect so, dear. What time is your flight?’

  ‘Gets into JFK at seven. Local time. If he’s not there, I’ll take a cab. Don’t worry. Could I speak to – no, on second thoughts, just give Grandpa my best love, and tell him I’m coming. Bye, Grandma.’

  She called Freddy’s number. He was out all day, said his secretary, was there any message?

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlotte briskly, ‘just tell him I called, and that it was thoughtful of him not to worry me about my grandfather’s illness, but I would really rather have known.’

  ‘Oh, right – er – fine.’ The secretary sounded slightly awkward. She was obviously in on the conspiracy. Well, Charlotte thought, visualizing her sharply, over-crimped, over-glossed, with Dynasty-sized shoulder pads, she’d never liked her. If she got this thing sorted, she’d take great pleasure in telling her a few facts of life.

  She called Gabe next. ‘I’m coming over tonight. I’m going straight to the house. Maybe we could talk in the morning.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Give me a call.’

  He sounded his old self, abrupt, detached. She sighed, and stopped even thinking about the biscuits she had turned down. The best thing Gabe had ever done for her was wreck her appetite.

  Before she left, she called Georgina.

  ‘Hi, Georgie. How’s George? God, I wish you hadn’t given your baby the same name as yourself.’

  ‘Displaying his usual good healthy appetite,’ said Georgina. ‘I feel like that milking machine in the cowshed.’

  ‘Do you mind being a milking machine?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘I’m going to New York for a few days. Grandpa isn’t very well. Nothing serious, I don’t think. I’ll call you when I get back. How’s Daddy?’

  ‘Daddy’s fine.’

  Georgina was back at Hartest, with her baby. She seemed different: tranquil, happy, relaxed. She said vaguely, if anyone remarked upon it, that it must have been motherhood that had done it to her. To the amazement of everybody but Angie, who said he was displaying classic parental guilt, Alexander had arrived at Queen Charlotte’s with a bouquet of flowers so big he could scarcely be seen behind it, and tears in his eyes, and begged Georgina to forgive him, and to come home. She had said she wouldn’t, and that she liked London and living on her own; after four nights of getting little more than two hours’ unbroken sleep, and George developing both a cold and a nappy rash, she packed up her Golf and went gratefully home to Hartest and to Nanny. It was something of a relief to the rest of the family. They all loved her, but it was generally agreed that she was hardly capable of looking after herself, let alone herself and a baby.

  Her grandmother greeted Charlotte in the first-floor drawing room at East 80th Street with arms outstretched. She looked older, Charlotte thought with a pang, much older. Charlotte had been over to see her soon after Baby had died, and she hadn’t looked so bad then; she had still been in shock, perhaps. She was somehow collapsed-looking, not just shorter, as old people always become, and thinner, but without substance.

  ‘Charlotte! It’s lovely to see you. Come and sit down, darling. How was the flight?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Charlotte. ‘How are you, Grandma?’

  ‘I’m OK, dear. A little tired of course. You look tired too, Charlotte. I expect you’ve been working too hard.’

  ‘Just a bit,’ said Charlotte. ‘But it’s good to be busy. The London office is such a success now, Grandma, Uncle Baby did such a good job setting it up. He’d be so happy to see it now.’

  ‘I’m sure he did,’ said Betsey, her face suddenly alight at being able to talk about Baby. ‘He was such a brilliant man. Such a success at everything he turned his hand to. I remember when he was just a little boy and he had his first bicycle, he was riding round the yard on it in just about five minutes. Your mother had so much more trouble, poor darling. And then –’ Her voice drifted on.

  Charlotte listened, sipping her orange juice, longing for something stronger. After five minutes or so, she said, ‘Can I see Grandpa?’

  ‘He’s asleep, darling. He sleeps a lot. And it�
�s important for his recovery, Dr Robertson says. He’s been so good, has Geoff, coming in every day.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Charlotte. ‘Do you think he’ll wake later, and I can see him? Or should I just go to bed soon? I’m terribly tired, it’s two in the morning, my time.’

  ‘You go to bed, darling. He was so pleased you were coming, although he pretended to be cross, of course. That you hadn’t been before.’

  ‘Yes, I’m so sorry,’ said Charlotte. ‘It was just a terrible mix-up in the office. I was out for about three days, and I never got the message. You should have phoned.’

  ‘Well, dear, I would, but Freddy was so insistent you knew. I know how busy you are –’

  ‘Not for you and Grandpa,’ said Charlotte, kissing her. ‘Now I think I might go to bed, if you don’t mind. And stop waving those potato chips at me, Grandma, the temptation is making me feel quite faint.’

  She was allowed in to see Fred after breakfast. He looked a lot better than she had expected, sitting up in bed, freshly shaved, his brilliant blue eyes sharp behind his glasses, spruce in his Brooks Brothers striped pyjamas, the bed littered with the Journal, the Times, and the latest copies of Fortune and the Institutional Investor. He glared at her, then held out his hand and pulled her down to kiss her.

  ‘Took your time coming, didn’t you?’ he said. He spoke crossly, but there was genuine hurt behind his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Grandpa, I really didn’t know. Nobody’s fault, I was out of the office for a few days. Anyway, I’m here now. How are you?’

  ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ he said irritably. ‘Damn chap Robertson won’t let me out of bed for another day. It was nothing, nothing at all, just a dizzy spell. Probably had too much to drink at lunchtime. I want to get back to the bank, and he won’t let me. Not for another week, he says.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too long,’ said Charlotte carefully, ‘and I’m sure it’s in good hands. I presume Pete is looking after things?’

  ‘Well, after a fashion. Boy doesn’t really know what he’s doing,’ said Fred irritably. Charlotte thought of the white-haired distinguished-looking Pete Hoffman, with his thirty-five years of banking history, and wondered how he would feel at being called a boy. Probably like it, she thought.

  ‘Well, how’s the London office? Donaldson still making out all right? I’ve been worrying about him, keep meaning to come over, sort it out.’

  ‘Absolutely fine, really. He’s a very good man, Grandpa. I mean, obviously you know how well we’re doing.’

  ‘Well? No I certainly wouldn’t call it well. All right, was the best news Chris Hill could give me. Should be getting better results in this boom, Charlotte. Obviously Donaldson hasn’t got the fibre. Pity. He’ll have to be replaced. Just as soon as I’m up to it. Hill’s got some good people he’s put forward. Suggested Chuck Drew amongst others. He’s very sound these days.’

  ‘Grandpa –’ Charlotte’s mind was whirling. ‘Grandpa, I don’t know what –’ She stopped. There was no point trying to tell him the picture Chris Hill had presented was wrong: not until she had a clearer idea what was going on. He would simply start bawling her out again and telling her she didn’t know what she was talking about.

  ‘Grandpa, what?’ said Fred. He looked flushed suddenly, and frailer than she had realized. She backtracked hastily.

  ‘Oh – nothing. It’s lovely to see you. Grandma seems well.’

  ‘Yes. She’s getting old, of course,’ said Fred, slightly dismissively, as if he was a young man in his prime. ‘Worries about things. Now how long are you going to stay? Want some coffee, Charlotte, and what about a croissant?’

  ‘I’d love some coffee,’ said Charlotte, looking longingly at the croissant. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And how are you making out? Doing anything much yourself yet? You should be. Clever girl like you. Damn fool you were, messing everything up here,’ he added.

  ‘I’m doing plenty,’ said Charlotte. ‘Loads of divestitures. Deal with lots of the clients myself. I’m loving it, Grandpa, really I am.’

  ‘I hope that idiot isn’t giving you too much to do,’ said Fred. ‘You can’t run before you can walk. Probably time we got you back over here. How’s that brother of yours?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ said Charlotte, not even attempting to analyse how she felt at the prospect of coming back to New York, but experiencing a rush of pleasure that it was so clearly a possibility, ‘he’s doing really well, at Mortons. He’s on the money desk. Making a fortune. He’s just bought a Porsche.’

  ‘A Porsche? I thought he was hard up,’ said Fred. He looked rather cross. ‘Or did your father buy it for him? I imagine not, the way things –’ He stopped suddenly.

  ‘Way what things, Grandpa?’ said Charlotte. ‘What were you going to say?’

  ‘Oh,’ he said quickly, ‘I don’t approve of fathers buying toys for their grownup sons.’

  Charlotte let it pass. But she was faintly intrigued.

  ‘Yes, well all the traders have Porsches,’ she said. ‘They leave a trail of them everywhere. Porsches and empty champagne bottles. They’re like a lot of very overexcited little boys. At an endless party.’ She realized she sounded rather prefectish and tried to lighten her tone. ‘But it’s all good fun. And very good for business.’

  ‘I don’t know that I like the idea of my grandson making a fortune for Mortons,’ said Fred slightly petulantly, ‘it doesn’t feel right at all. If he’s any good at what he does, he should be working for Praegers. I might tell him so.’

  ‘I don’t know that he’d want to change,’ said Charlotte carefully; she knew that Max’s prime ambition these days was to move over and work for Praegers. ‘He loves Mortons. And like I said they’re paying him a lot of money.’

  ‘Money isn’t everything,’ said Fred as if he had spent his entire life working for a pittance himself. ‘What about family loyalty, eh? Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  ‘Well, but Grandfather, you said he couldn’t have a job at Praegers,’ said Charlotte. ‘He asked you. It’s not his fault.’

  ‘Well, he was still doing that bloody silly modelling then,’ said Fred crossly. ‘He’s proved himself now. Is he still going out with Old Daddy Morton’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlotte, struggling not to sound disapproving. She didn’t like Gemma, she thought she was self-centred and empty-headed. ‘Yes, they spend a lot of time together. How did you know anyway?’

  ‘Your father told me,’ said Fred.

  ‘Daddy! When on earth did you see Daddy?’ said Charlotte, amazed. Alexander and Fred’s dislike of one another was legendary. There was something going on here, clearly; Fred’s earlier remark was more significant than he was going to admit.

  ‘Oh – last time he was over here,’ said Fred briefly. ‘Didn’t you know about that?’

  ‘Well, I knew he came. I thought it was – well, I didn’t really know what it was,’ said Charlotte lamely. ‘You know Daddy. You can’t get him to talk about anything if he doesn’t want to.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ said Fred. ‘And it’s no business of yours that he came.’ He looked a little uneasy. ‘Now then, who’s this coming upstairs? Oh God. Geoff, not again. I told you not to come back until I was ready for a game of golf.’

  Charlotte caught Geoff Robertson on the stairs as he was leaving.

  ‘How is he?’ she said.

  He smiled at her rather distantly. ‘He’s OK.’

  ‘Not in any danger?’

  ‘No. As long as he’s sensible.’

  ‘So will he be able to go back to the bank?’

  He looked at her as if she was extremely stupid.

  ‘No of course not,’ he said. ‘Well, only in the most minimal capacity. He had a heart attack, you know. It wasn’t a very major one, but at his age, any one at all is serious. It’s a miracle he’s recovered to the extent he has.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. ‘Oh, I see.’ She felt very helpless suddenly.


  Geoff Robertson looked at her. ‘They’re a very good loyal bunch of men at that bank,’ he said suddenly. ‘Almost every day I get a call from one or other of them. Mr Drew, and Mr Hill. And young Freddy of course. Asking me how he is. Very concerned, they all are.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Charlotte. ‘They are all very concerned. It’s true.’

  Gabe suggested they had a drink after work.

  ‘Harry’s Bar,’ he said, ‘six. I may be late,’ he added, ‘and I almost certainly won’t be able to stay long.’

  ‘Oh, fine,’ said Charlotte.

  She had drunk two large spritzers and was already feeling slightly light-headed when he finally came in at a quarter to seven. It was two years since she had seen him, and she realized, with the sweet pang of pleasure that began in her head and moved by a circuitous route through every possible area of her body, that she should abandon any thought that she might have had of falling out of love with him, or even of growing immune to the intense assault he launched on her senses by the simple fact of entering the same room as herself. He looked exactly the same; quite how she might have expected him to have changed she could not imagine, but against all logic she had. The same towering body, huge shoulders, long long legs that he never seemed quite able to find a satisfactory resting place for; the same wild dark hair, brooding brown eyes, rather full mouth; the perfect teeth, the reluctant smile, the crushing handshake (Charlotte, submitting her hand to the handshake, found herself shrinking from it even despite the considerable pleasure of being in at least some physical contact with him), and then, as he sat down opposite her, winding his legs carefully round the chair legs, the voice, the deep, dark, almost gravelly voice, God, she had missed that voice, oh God, she’d missed it: ‘Hi,’ it said, the much-missed voice, the much-loved voice, ‘you’ve put on weight.’

  Charlotte felt sick: with disappointment, with anger, with shame. She stared at him, and could think of nothing, nothing to say that wasn’t foolish, self-denigrating, crass. She felt a blush rising in her neck, right up to her forehead; tears of sheer misery rose up behind her eyes. She looked down, looked away; then forced herself to meet his gaze. He was grinning at her now, his eyes dancing with evil mischief at her; he reached out and picked up her glass.