Wicked Pleasures

by Penny Vincenzi

  Angie felt first pain, than panic running through her, stabbing at her.

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘that’s it. I knew I shouldn’t have told you. Sorry, Max. Forget it. Big mistake. Big.’

  ‘Angie,’ said Max, and he turned round slowly, and his face was still expressionless, but his voice was shaky, oddly deep. ‘Angie, it’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Honestly. Ridiculous. God knows what everyone will say.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, and she laughed suddenly, ‘I expected all kinds of reactions, but not this one. So what are you saying, Max? What exactly are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying this settles it, you silly cow. Once and for all. We can get married. And it had better be quick. I don’t want any more little bastards cluttering up the Caterham line.’

  Chapter 63

  Alexander, November 1987

  It was so horrible, he felt sick. All the time. Max, marrying that little slut. Telling him calmly that it was going to happen. Sitting there, on the sofa in the library, holding her hand, the pair of them smiling at him.

  Her, Angie, his wife’s little East End charity case, coming to live here as Countess of Caterham. It was disgusting. What on earth was Max thinking about? She was old enough to be his mother. Apart from anything else, she wouldn’t be able to provide him with an heir. They obviously hadn’t considered that one. And she was so totally wrong. Wrong for Max, wrong for Hartest. Quite sweet, in her way; he’d been fond of her once. But common, vulgar, ignorant. No taste. You had only to look at that house she lived in in London, with its ankle-deep carpets and those dreadful fancy curtains, to see what she’d do to Hartest. It would be as bad as the Arabs. Worse, possibly. God, this was a nightmare. No sooner had he got rid of one spectre, of that dreadful boy Kendrick coming to live here, than he found himself confronted by another.

  Unpleasantness. Scandal. There had been enough of that lately. It had half amused, half angered him that they thought he had seen none of the stories in the press. They seemed to regard him as some kind of half-wit. It had been worrying, that: not as worrying as Fred III’s threat to sue the press. Ringing him up like that, across the Atlantic, asking him what he thought they should do about it. Everyone knew the way to handle the press was keep quiet. Well, he’d dealt with Fred all right. And made sure Hartest was finally safe at the same time. They all thought he was so stupid. So vague and stupid. It was probably just as well, otherwise it would be much more difficult for him. But sometimes he thought that he would love to tell them. He would tell them. One day.

  But not yet. He had to sort out this marriage of Max’s first. Why on earth couldn’t Max have stayed with Gemma? Sweet, suitable child. He really had been happy about that. She had loved Hartest, loved Max; she looked right, she was right.

  Stupid, crass boy; it was absurd.

  It had to be stopped.

  Chapter 64

  Angie, Christmas 1987

  ‘Let’s have Christmas here,’ said Angie. ‘At Watersfoot. I’d like that. It’d be fun.’

  ‘OK,’ said Max. He was lying, with his head on her still concave stomach, looking extremely contented. ‘Just think, Angie, he’s in there. My son. It’s amazing.’

  ‘It might be your daughter. And anyway it’s not just yours. It’s mine as well.’

  ‘Nah. It’s a boy. I know it. And if it’s a girl you can have another.’

  ‘Max, I’m a little old for raising vast dynasties. I still can’t quite believe I let this happen. I hate being pregnant. I hate babies. I told you, this is the last one.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. You don’t think we ought to have it at Hartest? Christmas I mean?’

  ‘No,’ said Angie sharply, ‘I don’t. Alexander hasn’t really got used to the idea yet. About us. I don’t feel – comfortable with him.’

  Max shrugged. ‘OK. We’ll stay here. That’s fine. I don’t mind. But you’re wrong about Alexander. He’s really happy about it. He told me. Tears in the eyes. Poor old sod. I’m afraid he really is a bit gaga these days. Not quite all there.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Angie, ‘I think you could be right. But he’s very sweet. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  ‘No, of course he wouldn’t,’ said Max. He sounded slightly shocked.

  They were getting married on New Year’s Day. In the register office at Marlborough, family only. Angie was still in a state of shock. It was not only from the realization that she was pregnant, although that had been disturbing enough. ‘You’re a clear case of the last-minute syndrome, Mrs Praeger,’ her doctor had said to her. ‘The old wives would have us believe it’s a last-ditch stand on Mother Nature’s part. Medical science can’t verify or explain it, but certainly a great many babies are born in their mothers’ fortieth year. And those very low-dose pills do have a failure rate. Miss one, and you’re vulnerable, miss two, and you’re certainly at risk.’

  She had of course; she had missed two. The night of the party and the next night, with all the dramas and tensions, the excitement of at last, at long last being in bed with Max. Even so, it was unlike her; the rigid efficiency that normally ruled her life would have seen to such things. ‘I’m obviously getting soft,’ she said to Max, ‘I have to get a grip on myself.’

  And then the almost frantic eagerness with which Max had greeted the news; she had expected him to be at best cautiously pleased, not ecstatically happy and determined to marry her. She had counselled caution, said they must wait, get used to the idea still, that Max must be absolutely certain of his motives. Max had told her she was a silly bitch and that he was absolutely certain; after two weeks of exuberant daily declarations of love and determination, she gave in, because she wanted to more than anything else in the world, and said she would marry him, soon after Christmas. She was feeling lousy at the moment anyway; and they had to tell the others. They hadn’t told them about the baby; one shock at a time, they felt. Let them get used to the idea of the marriage first.

  Alexander had been sweet: vague, but happy, had kissed her tenderly and said it was wonderful that at last she was really going to be part of the family. Georgina had been quite sweet too; a little more guarded, but she had made a nice little speech about how lovely it was to see Max so happy, and she thought Angie deserved to be happy too. Charlotte had clearly been appalled. She had forced a smile, said how lovely and congratulated them both, but then after a strained ten minutes had hurried off, pleading an urgent call to New York. She had looked actually upset; Angie was torn between feeling hurt and wanting to shake her by the hand and tell her she’d every right to feel upset, she would do as well, it was an extraordinary liaison for Max to make. But she was too happy to care.

  Three days before Christmas she was sitting at Watersfoot, wrapping up presents and waiting for Max to arrive from London, when the phone rang. It was Alexander.

  ‘Angie, my dear. I know this is asking a lot, but I wondered if you would come over this afternoon. Or perhaps early this evening, around six. For a drink. I’d so love to see you.’

  ‘Alexander, I’d love to come, but I am rather busy. Christmas, you know.’

  ‘Oh.’ He sounded disappointed – worse, deeply upset. ‘Well. Never mind. It’s just that I – well, I’ve been worrying about a few things, Angie. Silly I expect, but I would like to discuss them with you. But never mind. Of course you’re busy. Especially at Christmas. Living alone has made me selfish.’ His voice sounded shaky, almost tearful.

  ‘Alexander, I –’ she said.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Of course it’s much too far for you to come. I just thought – well, never mind.’

  ‘Alexander, of course I’ll come,’ she said, ‘I’d like to see you too. I can bring your Christmas present. Is Georgina there?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, she should be. She’s going to have supper with the Dunbars a little later, but I know she’ll be pleased to see you.’

  ‘Good. Well look, I’ll be with you in about – two hours? I’ll just fin
ish here, and make sure the twins are OK. They’re at a party. And then I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Angie. I do appreciate it. I shall look forward to seeing you, my dear.’

  She arrived at Hartest at about six thirty. The traffic cutting across Marlborough had been terrible. As she turned off the road across the downs, and into the twisting winding lane that led to Hartest, she noticed that her petrol was very low. Damn. She should have filled up before. Oh well. Too late to do anything about it now.

  Alexander was waiting for her on the steps; he looked tired, but his face was soft and welcoming as she ran up the steps. She handed him his present, and kissed him. ‘Happy Christmas, Alexander.’

  ‘And to you. What a beautiful parcel. Come in, my dear. Would you like a drink, or some tea?’

  ‘Tea I think, Alexander. I’ve got to drive back.’

  ‘Fine. Mr and Mrs Tallow are out, I’m in charge. Come down to the kitchen, I’ll make it for you.’

  Angie followed him down to the great kitchen. Suddenly, inconsequentially, she remembered vividly the first time she had seen it, when Virginia had been radiant with happiness over the newly born Georgina, and Alexander had been young and dashing, and Charlotte had been a little girl in red wellingtons; it seemed a long time ago.

  ‘Is Nanny here?’ she said.

  ‘Nanny’s gone to see her unfortunate sister in Swindon. For the whole Christmas period.’

  ‘So you really are all on your own?’

  ‘Oh yes. Well, Georgina will be here, of course, and George. As I told you, they’re at the Dunbars’ this evening. And Charlotte is arriving tomorrow. Sugar?’

  ‘Yes please,’ said Angie.

  Alexander didn’t have tea. He poured himself a large whisky.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s go up to the library.’

  He sat down in one of the large shabby leather chairs on one side of the fire; Angie sat in the other.

  There was a silence.

  ‘Alexander,’ she said, ‘Alexander, I –’

  He interrupted her. ‘You must think me very foolish,’ he said, ‘to be worried about you and Max. But I can’t help it. Max is –’

  ‘Very young,’ said Angie.

  ‘Well, yes. And impressionable. Of course I’m delighted he’s going to settle down. And of course I’m delighted that it’s with someone we all know and like so much. But –’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ said Angie, ‘I’m old enough to be his mother.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He smiled at her rather awkwardly.

  ‘You’re not the first person to express that point of view.’

  ‘I’m sure not. I just worry, you see, that – well, in a few years –’

  ‘Of course. I’d worry too. If he was my son. I am worried. But we’ve talked about that. And decided to take it head on. When and if it happens.’

  ‘I see. Well – that’s reassuring in itself. That you’ve considered it.’ He poured himself another whisky. ‘And then of course there’s the matter of children. I’m not sure – oh dear, this is very delicate –’

  ‘Alexander, it isn’t so delicate. You think I’m too old to have children. To provide an heir for Hartest. Is that it?’

  He looked at her awkwardly. ‘Well – yes. I suppose it is.’

  ‘Well …’ She hesitated, still not sure as to whether she should tell him. ‘Well, amazingly I’m not. We haven’t – told anyone else yet. But – well, I’m pregnant. Now. With the heir to Hartest. Slightly surprisingly, I have to say. But of course I’m not that old. I’m still actually in my thirties. By the skin of my teeth. I hope you’ll be pleased.’ She had been looking into the fire; she turned to face him again, caught him off guard. His expression was extraordinary: just for a moment she saw in it intense surprise, shock in fact, almost – what was it? Horror? No, that was too strong. But certainly a very violent emotion. It was – yes, it was fear. How odd. She felt fear in herself: just for a moment. Then it was gone, so swiftly she thought she must have imagined it, and he smiled, warmly, put out his hands towards her. ‘Angie, my dear, that is truly lovely news. Many congratulations. Well, it certainly removes one of my greatest worries. I think this definitely calls for some champagne. Driving or not. You must have some. We must have some. You can have a little supper with me afterwards, a sandwich or something. You’ll be fine. Or –’ he looked at her anxiously again –‘are you not allowed to have champagne?’

  ‘Oh, I think so.’ She didn’t actually want any, but she was so pleased at his reaction, so touched at the effort he was making that she knew she must have some. ‘I’d love it.’

  ‘Stay there, my dear. I’ll fetch it. I won’t be long.’

  He came back with the tray, smiling; popped the cork, poured her a glass.

  ‘Aren’t you having any, Alexander?’

  ‘Oh – well, you know. I’ve been drinking whisky. It won’t quite go. But a little, yes, of course. We must drink to the baby’s health.’

  He poured himself a glass; a rather small glass, she noticed, raised it to her.

  ‘To the heir! To my grandson!’

  ‘The heir,’ said Angie. She felt slightly silly. She drained her glass rather quickly, held it out for more. She noticed he hadn’t touched his, after the first sip.

  ‘How are you feeling? And when is – is the baby due?’

  ‘Oh – in June,’ she said quickly. ‘And of course we’ll be married in a week. So he’ll be very legal. Very legitimate.’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled again. ‘I note you expect a boy?’

  ‘Yes, well, you know, I think it’s more the power of positive thinking. Being determined, you know? That it will be.’

  ‘And how do you feel?’

  ‘Oh – fine. Better than with the twins, actually.’

  ‘Good.’

  She realized the room was spinning slightly. She’d obviously drunk too much too quickly. Shit. She somehow wasn’t enjoying this very much. It was uncomfortable. She wished Georgina had been there. Or even Mrs Tallow.

  She smiled slightly nervously at Alexander.

  ‘I feel a bit dizzy. Too much champagne. Could I take you up on that sandwich?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll fetch it for you. You stay there, and rest. I’m so sorry, my dear.’ He looked concerned. ‘I’ll bring you some coffee as well, if you like.’

  ‘That’d be nice. Thank you.’

  She sat for a while, leafing through a copy of The Field, trying to tell herself she didn’t feel as drunk as she actually did. She felt sick as well now, and she had a bad headache. And the room, unless she concentrated really hard, rocked a bit. If only, if only she hadn’t had the champagne. It had been really, seriously stupid. Although she’d always been perfectly all right before, on champagne, when she’d been pregnant with the twins. Well, she was older now. Maybe she should be more careful. She wondered if she’d be all right to drive home. Maybe she should ring Max and get him to fetch her. She looked at her watch: already nearly eight. He’d probably be home any minute. She went over to the phone and dialled Watersfoot; the nanny answered.

  Max wasn’t home; but yes, she’d tell him when he came in to phone Angie at Hartest. Angie sat back and decided to try and relax for an hour or two. Then if she felt better, she’d go.

  Alexander came in with a tray of sandwiches, a bottle of Perrier and a pot of coffee.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘this should sort you out. Smoked salmon. Is that all right? It was all I could find in the fridge.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Angie. ‘Just what I want.’

  She wolfed down three of the sandwiches, and drank two glasses of Perrier; the room steadied a little. She felt less sick.

  ‘You look better,’ said Alexander, smiling at her. ‘You obviously need feeding up.’

  ‘Eating for two,’ said Angie, smiling back.

  There was a silence. Then he said, ‘Angie, there was something else. I –’

  Angie took a deep
breath. This was it. And she was feeling uninhibited enough to meet it head on, cope with it. She leant forward, put her hand on Alexander’s knee.

  ‘Alexander, don’t. Don’t even say it. I know it must have been awful for you, that terrible day, it’s haunted me ever since. I’m so terribly sorry. But I have never ever told anyone and I never will. Really. I swear it.’

  Alexander looked at her and an expression of great bewilderment spread over his face.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  A fresh wave of dizziness hit her; but she ignored it. She had to get this out of the way, aired, so that it would recede again, safely, into the background of all their lives.

  ‘Alexander, I’m talking about the morning when you told me you were – about your – about the impotence.’

  There. She’d done it. She’d said it.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Alexander again.

  ‘Alexander, don’t, you don’t have to pretend. Really you don’t. You told me and I respected it, and I just wanted to reassure you that as far as I’m concerned it never happened. I never knew. I’ll never tell Max, never tell anybody. Don’t worry about it, please.’

  Alexander nodded. His eyes had their vague look. He was obviously thrown by her broaching it. But at least it had been done.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes. Good. Thank you.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it? At all?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Oh no. No I don’t think so.’ There was a long silence. And then he looked at her, and his face was quite different suddenly. It was not vague at all, it was sharp and very intense.

  ‘So you knew?’ he said. ‘You did know?’

  ‘Alexander, of course I knew. You told me.’

  There was a very long silence. Then he said, and his voice sounded very strange, almost rehearsed, ‘Yes. Yes of course I did. I remember now. Yes of course.’

  Another long silence: then he said, ‘Perhaps I do want to talk about it. Perhaps it would be a good idea. I never have, you know. Not since – since Virginia.’ There were tears in his eyes now, she saw; he was looking out at the parkland, bright with the frosty moonlight. Angie sat motionless, silent; waiting.