Something Dangerous

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘And give up work, I suppose?’ she said, her voice stronger now. ‘Give up work and be Mrs Laurence Elliott, taking care of you and your houses, commissioning interior designers, spending my days shopping and at the Elizabeth Arden salon, that’s what you’d want, isn’t it, Laurence?’

  ‘Give up work?’ he said, and his expression was astonished, ‘of course not. I know you better than that, Barty, I would hope. Nothing could be more guaranteed to see you off than that. No, of course I would expect you to go on working. I’d want you to. I’m proud of you, of how clever you are. And then, you see, and this is my idea, I could give you Lyttons New York, that is, my share of it of course, as a wedding present. Now, isn’t that a wonderful idea?’

  CHAPTER 23

  Kit looked at his mother and wondered why she was crying; it was hugely unusual, she hardly ever did cry. And – at this moment, on receiving this news, he’d have expected something a bit more – cheerful. He looked at his father; now he was certainly looking cheerful, setting down his coffee cup with the painstaking care with which he did everything these days, since his stroke, holding out his good hand for Kit to take.

  ‘Well done, Kit,’ he said, ‘very, very well done. Not many people manage that, scholarships to both. But you’ve earned it, you worked very hard.’

  Celia blew her nose and came over to hug him.

  ‘Congratulations, dear, dear Kit,’ she said, ‘we’re so proud of you. It’s a huge achievement. Which will you choose, do you suppose?’

  ‘I – haven’t really been able to think yet. Too excited. But I imagine Oxford. Don’t you? Family traditions and all that, you were there, Father, after all, and Barty of course, and Sebastian as well—’

  ‘Of course. Yes, I think it would probably be best. Oh dear, I’m going to cry again—’

  She reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, wiped her eyes, then looked at Kit and smiled rather unsteadily.

  ‘We must tell Sebastian,’ she said.

  ‘What, both? Well done, old chap. Very well done. Can I take you out to lunch?’

  ‘You certainly can. Mother’s planning some celebration dinner tonight but today I’m at a loose end. Both the parents have gone to Lyttons of course.’

  ‘Of course. Well, I’m at your service. Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Oh – you choose. Could Izzie come too?’

  ‘She’ll be at school.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Pity. Could I speak to her, is she there?’

  ‘Yes she is. We’re just finishing breakfast. Don’t keep her long though, or she’ll be late.’

  It was evidence of the great change in their lives, thought Kit, that Izzie and Sebastian now breakfasted together as a matter of course. No one had the faintest idea what had wrought the miracle, nor would they dream of asking; they were all simply thankful for it: that Sebastian seemed finally, and almost ungrudgingly, to have accepted his daughter and, moreover, to be prepared to enjoy her and her presence in his life.

  He was still extremely strict with Izzie, still treated her rather distantly, but it was no longer in the least remarkable to see them walking together hand in hand, or seated across a table from one another, talking intently and seriously and even on rare occasions, exchanging rather brief, but undoubtedly affectionate, kisses.

  Izzie remained much the same, quiet and well-behaved, but with a new and very sweet confidence about her; the great change was in Sebastian. He was gentler, he had more patience, was less given to irritable outbursts and to making contentious statements, and as Venetia remarked, there was at least some point in issuing invitations to him; he did not often accept, but it was no longer a foregone conclusion that he would not.

  Most importantly, his old restlessness and energy had returned; he and Izzie had taken to walking on Sundays, first on rather modest forays in the great parks of London, then further afield into the Surrey countryside, and there was even talk this year of a week on the Pennine Way.

  ‘He might not in the end,’ said Izzie to Kit, her small face earnestly concerned, ‘you know how he can never quite make up his mind about what he wants to do. But I think he will, and it will be such fun.’

  Strange fun for a little girl, Kit had thought, a long hard walk with a testy old man; but if it was going to make them both happy, then it was not for him to say so.

  ‘That’s splendid,’ he said, ‘absolutely splendid. I wish that I could come,’ he added hastily, seeing her look of anguish, of torn loyalty, ‘but anyway, I know how important these walks are to the two of you, I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way.’

  Sebastian raised his glass to him now; he had been waiting for him at the Savoy Grill, a bottle of vintage Perrier Jouet on ice at his side.

  ‘Well done again, Kit. Very well done. It’s an incredible achievement. I hope you’re going for Oxford.’

  ‘I think so,’ said Kit, ‘although I did like the people at Jesus very much. But Christ Church is so gorgeous, and Father was there and you of course—’

  ‘And you’re reading law? Or haven’t you decided about that either?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I want to go to the bar. I still have a slight hankering after the Church, but I don’t think I’m quite – humble enough.’

  He smiled at Sebastian, a brilliant self-mocking smile.

  ‘I don’t think bishops and so on are very humble,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘No, but you have to start at the bottom, and they don’t come much humbler than curates. I’d never have eaten that egg, you know, I’d have sent it straight back.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t,’ said Sebastian briskly, ‘your manners are much too good. But I think you’ll enjoy the bar more. And it’ll make your parents happy, particularly your mother. Not that anyone should choose a career to please their parents.’

  ‘No, but if it’s going to anyway, it’s a bonus. Poor old Father, I really don’t think he can go on at Lyttons much longer. He struggles in every day, but it’s such an effort for him. And he so hates having to be pushed about in that wheelchair, either by his secretary or my mother, he finds it humiliating.’

  ‘Just the same, I’m sure it’s better for him than sitting at home brooding. How’s Jay getting on, by the way?’

  ‘Really brilliantly,’ said Kit, ‘he just can’t seem to do anything wrong. Any book he’s involved with just flies out of the bookshops, all his ideas seem to work and you know it was him who pushed through that notion of Venetia’s about the Lyttons Children’s Book Club? Against Father’s wishes of course, it being what he calls a gimmick.’

  ‘I had – heard,’ said Sebastian, who had heard the story at great length, not only from Jay himself, but from Venetia and Celia. ‘It’s doing really well, I believe?’

  ‘So they all say. It’s terribly hard on poor old Giles,’ he added, draining his glass, nodding to the waiter to refill it, ‘nothing ever goes right for him. And now this book of Barty’s, the one that’s had such a great success in America, that’s being published here and Mother is working on it apparently, assisted by Jay. Which has upset Giles as well.’

  ‘I’m sure it has. It’s a marvellous book that, have you read it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You must. Now then, come along, what are you going to eat? The guinea fowl is delicious, so is the venison—’

  Venetia parked her car outside Lytton House and ran inside. She was late; damn. For a meeting, an important meeting; her mother would be furious.

  She was often late. It was all very well being a working woman, but it didn’t exactly go with motherhood. Of course she had Nanny and the rest of the nursery staff, but that didn’t stop them asking her a dozen times a day what one or other of the children should be doing, consulting her about their health or their manners or their social lives or their extra lessons. She supposed she ought to leave more of the decisions to Nanny, but she didn’t want to, she liked to be involved still, and she also liked to be sure that the girls were at the best ballet school, t
he boys doing their piano practice properly. Roo particularly was very good at fixing Nanny with his large brown eyes and telling her he’d done his when he’d done nothing of the sort. A brilliant liar, was Roo; rather like his father.

  Venetia switched her mind away from Boy and his talent for lying and concentrated on the meeting and its content. It was important, involving the publicity and sales people, and the studio, who were designing the latest manifestation of the book club, a newsletter.

  ‘Which we can send to schools, I thought, as well as the bookshops and of course the existing members. There could be a token in it, that would entitle them to sixpence or whatever off the next book they ordered if they were joining—’

  ‘Not sixpence, Venetia,’ said Jay, ‘far too expensive.’

  ‘Well all right, threepence then. Also, I wondered if we might do a paperback version of the last Meridian, which could be offered at a low price with the new one.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Oliver looked rather as if she had suggested they sold Lyttons books off a barrow in Cheapside. ‘We will do a paperback of any of the Meridian books over my dead body.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said no, Venetia. There are some literary standards which have to be maintained: even in the abyss in which the book trade has found itself.’

  ‘But, sir,’ – Jay always called Oliver ‘sir’ in the office – ‘you said yourself that the Penguins were proving a successful sampling device.’

  ‘I am aware of that, Jay. I admit I was wrong in the first instance to refuse to go in with Mr Lane’s scheme. And I agree we have had some success with them – the Buchanans particularly. But the Meridian books are of the very highest quality, I could not even countenance cheapening them in such a way. And they hardly need the help of – what was it you said, a sampling device? Dear me. God preserve me from modern terminology.’

  ‘Well it was worth a try,’ said Venetia to Jay when the meeting was over. ‘Maybe we can find some other children’s book to offer. Otherwise, I think it’s all going swimmingly, don’t you? I liked the designs and I thought the idea of a badge was awfully good. My children love things like that. Goodness, look at the time, I must fly. Thanks, Jay. Give me a kiss. See you—’

  ‘Venetia, can I have a word please?’

  ‘Mummy, I can’t stay. I’ve got to get to Elspeth’s school by two, she’s in a play and I said I’d be there—’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. You are supposed to work here you know, it really might be an idea for you to remember that. It’s not some kind of hobby you’ve found for yourself—’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Venetia flushed, ‘and I do know. But I did promise her and she’s going to be the chief flower in the garden and—’

  ‘Oh, go if you must. This time. But you really must get your priorities straight, Venetia. It isn’t fair to your colleagues. How do you think they feel to have you constantly rushing off, when they have to spend the full nine-to-five or rather nine-to-seven-or-eight here in many cases?’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, I know. But it is important, don’t you think? To be there for the children?’

  ‘It’s a choice you have to make, when you decide to work,’ said Celia, ‘I was always at the office, Nanny dealt with all your arrangements.’

  ‘Yes and—’ Venetia stopped. It would not help her cause to tell her mother how often they had all been distressed by her absences from concerts and plays, how inadequate had been Nanny’s help with their homework: or even that she and Adele might have succeeded further with their education with a little more parental input. Her mother had been wonderfully supportive over the past two years; the least she could do was earn the faith she had shown in her.

  It had been Celia’s suggestion that she should come to work at Lyttons. She had been crying – again, saying how useless she was, how pathetic, wondering aloud if she would ever find anyone again.

  ‘Probably not. I shall have to spend the rest of my life living alone, looking pathetic, everyone sorry for me. What do I have to fall back on now? More frocks, more lunches, I suppose, with a lot of other stupid women, half of them who fancy Boy anyway, whispering behind my back – poor Venetia, couldn’t keep her husband, can’t find another.’

  Celia had looked at her and her voice had been quite sharp as she said, ‘Venetia, please. Has it never occurred to you that there might be more to life than being someone’s wife? Finding “another” as you put it?’

  Venetia sniffed, blew her nose. ‘Don’t start that, Mummy. About how I ought to work, do something on my own account. I’m not up to it, and I don’t want to and that’s all there is to it. One of the reasons Boy left me was because I was stupid, I don’t see why you can’t understand that, instead of going on and on—’

  ‘Venetia, Boy did not leave you because you were stupid. Far from it. He left you – or rather had his liaison – because he felt frustrated by you. He knows as well as I do that you are extremely clever. But for some reason, you have always refused to demonstrate the fact.’

  ‘That’s so unfair. I’ve always had children to look after. A house to run. I didn’t have time to do anything else. And anyway, I didn’t want to. And I don’t now. Leave me alone, Mummy, I’m not like you and the sooner you recognise the fact the better it will be for both of us.’

  ‘I think you’re very like me in some ways,’ said Celia, ‘but I won’t argue with you about it now.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  She said nothing more for a few weeks; then she arrived at the Warwick house one day to find Venetia raging, as she had never heard her, at Henry and Roo. Henry was staring at her in silent insolence, but Roo was clearly shocked, white-faced, tears rolling down his face.

  ‘I want Daddy,’ he said.

  ‘Well you can’t have Daddy. He’s not here. Just get that into your head, Roo. Daddy’s gone.’

  ‘Yes, he has,’ said Henry, looking at her scornfully, ‘and it’s unfair to take it out on us. Come on, Roo, let’s go and find the girls.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Venetia, bursting into tears herself as Henry slammed the door, ‘he’s right, that’s exactly what I am doing. Taking it out on them. It’s not fair. But I feel so lonely, Mummy, so lonely and miserable and useless. I don’t know what to do.’

  Celia looked at her. ‘I wish you’d let me help you.’

  ‘You can’t help me. No one can.’

  ‘I can give you a job.’

  ‘A job? Oh, Mummy, don’t start that.’

  ‘Why not? It would distract you, get you out, stop you feeling so sorry for yourself—’

  ‘Look,’ said Venetia, ‘it wouldn’t work. I can’t come and work at Lyttons just because my husband’s left me, people would laugh at me. And I’d be useless—’

  ‘No you wouldn’t. That’s the whole point. You’d be very useful. Venetia, do you really think I’d want to have you working at Lyttons if you were going to be a liability? Do give me some credit.’

  Venetia looked at her. It was quite true; her mother was far too professional to consider such a thing.

  ‘Several times recently you’ve made some very good, commercial suggestions. The most recent being your suggestion of a Lyttons book club. And then there was the cookery book idea—’

  ‘Daddy really loved that!’

  ‘Your father usually comes round in the end. I think you have a good, hard, business head, Venetia. I’m not suggesting you should start editing. But Giles is frankly not up to much, and LM can’t go on for ever, we need more input on the commercial side. I would like you to think about it. This would be a strictly business arrangement, Venetia. If it doesn’t work out, then I would be the first to want to end it.’

  ‘And then I’d be worse off than ever. Everyone would know I was so stupid I couldn’t even make a job invented for me by my own parents work—’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Venetia. Don’t be such a coward.’

  ‘A coward!’

  ‘Yes. You can’t go on for ever
not doing things in case they don’t work out. You have to take risks, be positive.’

  ‘I don’t feel very positive. You don’t understand. I feel dreadful, feeble and hopeless, you can’t imagine, you’ve never had to cope with anything like this.’

  ‘Venetia,’ said Celia, ‘I have had to cope with more than you might imagine. In what is beginning to seem like quite a long life. And in every case, having my work, having something to throw my energies into, absorb my unhappiness, has been an enormous help. Now please do consider this. For my sake as well as yours. I would love to have you at Lyttons. And I think you would love being there. Give it a trial at least. I’m sure you won’t regret it.’

  Venetia looked at her in silence for a long time; Celia knew what she was doing, visibly drawing together her courage, her will power.

  Finally she said, ‘Yes. Yes, all right, I will. I can’t go on like this anyway. And if you really mean it about wanting me. For your own sake, I mean.’

  ‘I do. I really do.’

  Venetia smiled at her. ‘I hope you won’t regret it.’

  ‘I truly believe that neither of us will.’

  ‘Well – thank you anyway. Mummy—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you’ve had to cope with? That I can’t imagine?’

  ‘No,’ said Celia, ‘no, Venetia, I’m not.’

  Venetia had started nervously, and in a modest capacity, but she learned fast and proved herself faster still. She began working as LM’s assistant, writing out bills of sale and invoices to bookshops and libraries; at the end of two years she had her own office, and title: Manager, Lyttons Commercial Development. She discovered that her mother was right, that she did indeed have a sharp, shrewd brain; it not only recognised commercial opportunities but proved itself capable of creating them.