‘Juliet—’
‘I hope you like this, it’s a new dish I got from Good Housekeeping, I know how you love chicken – wine?’
‘That would be lovely, although I thought we did agree not every night, not when we’re at home together, just the two of us. Still, as it’s open—’
‘Mummy and Daddy always have a glass of wine, every night, Mummy says it makes a meal that bit more special.’
‘Of course it does and it’s lovely, but again, rather expensive—’
‘Oh Charles, do stop going on about money, it’s so boring and that reminds me, I keep meaning to ask you, why don’t we open an account at Harrods?’
‘I’m a bit wary of accounts, Juliet, I think they’re dangerous things—’
‘Charles! This is getting very tedious. Now, I bought something else today, at Fenwicks, and I can’t wait to show you—’
‘I can’t wait to see it, darling, either.’
‘But you’re going to have to wait till bedtime. It’s really quite special.’ She looked at him from under her eyelashes.
‘Right. Well, I’d best eat up, hadn’t I?’
‘Well, I don’t want you rushing my meal. Are you enjoying it?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely. Really delicious, thank you. You’re so clever, darling.’
‘Not terribly. I just like looking after you. It’s all I ever wanted. I can’t wait for when I can do it full-time – don’t look so frightened, Charles, I know we’ve got to wait a bit. Now about this account at Harrods, I’ve actually got the forms here.’
‘Matt, hello, it’s Eliza. I’ve got the copy for you to check.’
‘Oh – great, thanks.’
‘Shall I bike it over to you?’
‘You could. Or you could bring it yourself. In case I have any comments.’
‘I do have a few other things to do, I’m afraid,’ said Eliza tartly. ‘And you can ring me with the comments. Or you could come over here.’
‘Er – I don’t think so. In this instance I’m the client.’
‘I’m not sure that’s right.’
‘I am.’
‘Matt, this is a ridiculous conversation. I’ll bike the copy over. And you can ring me with any comments.’
And please, please God don’t let there be any. Jack Beckham would go completely insane if he knew this was happening. ‘Copy approval is for advertising agencies,’ he said, whenever anyone – usually an interviewed actor – requested it. ‘They want fucking approval, they can pay for the fucking space.’
She was definitely feeling a bit odd about Matt. These weird things kept happening. Like at the church, and in the orangery, and when they’d had that fight and he’d kissed her. What had that been about?
It had been quite a kiss. She’d literally felt weak at the knees afterwards. Of course it hadn’t meant anything; it was just that they got carried away. But – well, she hadn’t quite been able to forget about it.
She was going to feel a bit silly seeing him now as well. He must think she was a bit of a tart, as well as all the other things, like snobby and bossy, and full of herself.
Although it had been – well – it had been his idea. Their relationship was very complicated. Not that it was a relationship, of course.
Her phone rang at five. ‘Got a few queries. Would you like to have a drink with me, so we can discuss them?’
‘No, Matt, I’m sorry, there really isn’t time.’
‘OK then, I’ll just bring this over later and come up to your office. How’s that?’
‘Matt, no.’
‘But I’ve agreed to save you the trip. And I’d like to see your office. You’ve seen mine, after all.’
‘Matt—’
‘I’ll be there at seven.’
At six forty-five Jack Beckham put his head round the door of her office.
‘Everything sorted for your November pages?’
‘Yes. Absolutely.’ It wasn’t, but she couldn’t afford to have him hanging around her office now.
‘Just remind me what you’re doing for the second feature.’
‘Oh – it’s these designs from the Royal College. I’m calling it “Why Not?” They’re quite revolutionary things, an all-in-one sort of dungaree boiler suit for instance.’
‘Sounds hideous.’
‘It’s not, Jack, it’s wonderful.’
‘Got any sketches?’
‘Yes, they’re here – yes, look.’
‘Oh, yes. I do remember now.’
‘Good, and then some bunny rabbit coats in all sorts of wonderful primary colours, like yellow and blue.’
‘That sounds better. Well, keep up the good work. Night, Eliza.’
‘Night, Jack.’
Phew. That had been close. Five to seven. He …
‘Eliza!’
He was back. God.
‘I’d quite like to do some men’s fashion in the not too distant future.’
‘Yes, of course. Me too. Wonderful idea.’
‘Good. Not worn by some fairy boys, mind, but red-blooded males – footballers, that sort of thing. Like – well, OK, this chap’d do. Boyfriend of yours? Looking for Eliza, are you? This way.’
Matt walked in. Eliza felt faint.
‘Oh – Matt. Hello. Yes. This is Jack Beckham, our editor. Jack, Matt Shaw.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Matt.
‘You look familiar.’ He peered at Matt. ‘Yeah, I thought I recognised you. You’re in our feature, aren’t you? The Intropreneurs.’
‘Well – I hope so. Yeah. Providing—’
‘Great photographs weren’t they, Eliza. Terry Donovan, wasn’t it? Like him, got a sense of humour. I particularly remember your pictures, Matt, up on that scaffolding. Brave of you, I thought.’
‘Yes, well, I’m used to it. But there are a couple of things I’d like to—’
‘We’re leading on you, as a matter of fact. Double-page spread, picture of you over two-thirds of it, then a column introducing the feature and leading into your interview. And we’ve got you on the cover as well, small picture that is, hang on, I’ll get the dummy. You’ll be pleased, I think. Too late if you’re not, it’s gone to press.’
He disappeared into the features department. Matt and Eliza looked at one another in silence. Then, ‘I am not,’ Matt said, ‘repeat, not—’
Beckham was back. ‘Right. Here it is, look.’ A small shot of Matt, dropped onto the corner of the cover, captioned. ‘The Intropreneurs, the new-style tycoons, talk about life at the top.’
‘What do you think about that then?’
‘It’s – it’s not bad,’ said Matt, ‘not bad at all.’
‘It’s bloody good publicity, I’ll tell you that. You should be grateful.’
‘I – I am, yes. Thank you.’
‘Good. Well, I’m off, see you tomorrow, Eliza.’
He slammed the door behind him. Matt looked at Eliza. She smiled at him, very sweetly.
‘What was it you were saying?’ she asked.
Chapter 20
‘Darling—’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘About?’
‘About Summercourt.’
‘Charles, if it’s about finding money to fix the roof, we really can’t help. We’re hardly coping financially ourselves. If we can’t afford to go skiing and you’re fussing about my clothes budget, then we certainly can’t afford to give your parents any money. They’ve got plenty of their own, surely, and they can always raise some on the house, Daddy suggested that when I mentioned it last time, it’s just not fair to ask us—’
‘Juliet, I’ve told you before they haven’t got any money, any at all—’
‘Well, that’s ridiculous, of course they’ve got money, they’re just worrying about their old age, Mummy said Granny was exactly the same, now please Charles, just don’t mention it again, I’m finding it very upsetting. I love your parents, of course I do, but it’s a
kind of emotional blackmail what they’re doing – Charles, where are you going?’
‘I’m going for a walk,’ said Charles. ‘I need to think. And please don’t talk about my parents in those terms, I don’t like it.’
Juliet stared at the slammed front door. She felt rather shocked. Neither Charles nor their life together was turning out quite how she had imagined.
He decided he would ask her. It couldn’t do any harm. She could turn him down of course, but then at least he’d have tried. And a few things recently had made him feel, well, differently about her. As if it wasn’t all quite as he had imagined. Like – like that moment in the church. And what that wonderful old bird the godmother had said. And – of course – the way she had kissed him back, that morning in his office. He still didn’t know quite how that had happened. Why he’d kissed her in the first place. Except that he really hadn’t been able to stop himself.
He just wanted to – what? Explore the situation a bit further. That was all.
And so he asked her to lunch, ‘to thank you, you’ve done me quite a big favour, actually, with that article, lot of enquiries’; she said she didn’t get much in the way of a lunch hour; and then he asked her for a drink after work; and she accepted.
And thus it was that Matt Shaw and Eliza Fullerton-Clark informed their respective regular dates that they would be working late the following Wednesday; each adding, without any further consultation with one another, merely obeying some rather basic instinct, that they had no idea when they might be back, and not to make plans for dinner.
Every time she thought about leaving Summercourt, Sarah felt like screaming. Not from misery or outrage or even trepidation, but from a sheer blind panic. Summercourt was not just her home, it was where she belonged, where her entire world was centred. Nowhere else was even imaginable; wherever it was she would feel herself a vagrant.
Summercourt gave her strength, courage, comfort; it was like a staunch, serene friend.
And now people kept telling her she must leave it, that it needed the most appalling sounding sums of money spent on it, that she couldn’t possibly nurse Adrian there.
The prospect seemed very nearly as dreadful as losing Adrian.
It was very close to unbearable.
If only, if only Eliza were to marry Jeremy. She knew it was wrong of her to think like that, to see Eliza’s future in such financial terms, her happiness as something essential to her own, but she couldn’t help it. The thought consumed her. And it wasn’t as if they weren’t in love with each other, they’d be terribly happy. It just had to be a matter of time; and until it happened, she mustn’t make any rash decisions. She would just stay calm and wait.
‘Emma, it’s Jeremy. Look – I just thought I should let you know. I’ve decided to ask Eliza.’
‘Jeremy, I’m so pleased.’
‘Yes. I thought this weekend. We’re going down to Norfolk together, so pretty perfect really.’
‘Absolutely. Well, Ma and Pa will be pleased. Particularly Pa. He’s always saying what a lively girl she is.’
‘I know. Anyway, I’ll have to ask her father first of course. Like to do things properly. Have to dash down tonight, only chance I’ve got. Eliza’s out working or something.’
‘Oh Adrian, isn’t it wonderful?’ Sarah’s voice was shaky. She felt slightly dizzy. ‘If only he could have stayed, I feel dreadful not giving him dinner.’
‘Darling he couldn’t stay, he had to get back, he explained.’
‘I know. And so sweet of him to come at all, it’s such a long way, he really does know how to behave.’
‘Indeed he does.’
‘Oh, Adrian! It’s like a dream come true. Darling Eliza. Oh, how wonderful.’
‘He hasn’t asked her yet. She might not accept.’
‘Adrian! Don’t say that. Of course she’ll accept. Of course she will.’
‘Well, she’s a very independently minded girl. And you know how much that job of hers matters.’
‘Charles, hello, darling. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, Mummy, I’m fine. I just rang to see how Pa was doing.’
‘Pretty well,’ said Sarah cautiously. ‘The drugs really are helping.’
‘Good. Well, I was hoping to come down this weekend, bring Juliet, but she’s not feeling too good—’
‘Oh, I’m sorry – Charles, she’s not – not—’
‘Mummy, she’s got flu.’ Charles’s voice was heavy.
‘Yes, I see. Well, give her my love. Yes.’
‘And how are you?’
‘Me? Oh, darling, I’m just fine. Feeling very good as a matter of fact.’
‘Really? Why’s that?’
‘Oh – well – just had some very nice news.’
‘What’s that, then? About the house?’
‘Oh – no. I can’t tell you, darling. It’s not my secret. I’m sure you’ll hear soon enough.’
‘Mummy, what are you talking about?’
‘Charles, I really can’t say. Except it’s – it’s family.’
‘Family? Well, it must be Eliza. What’s she done? New job?’
‘No, Charles, much better than a new job. She’s – well, Jeremy’s just come down and spoken to Daddy and—’
‘No! Good lord. Fantastic.’
‘But don’t tell anyone, will you? Because you see, she—’
‘Mummy, of course I won’t tell. Promise.’
‘Guess what?’ he said to Juliet over the supper tray he had taken her in bed. ‘Good news.’
‘Well, that makes a change. What is it?’
‘My sister and Jeremy Northcott are getting engaged.’
‘Gosh. That should stop you all worrying about Summercourt.’
‘Indeed,’ said Charles, stifling his irritation at this rather inappropriate response. ‘Now you mustn’t tell anyone because it’s not official yet. I hope you’re pleased.’
‘Of course I’m pleased. If she is.’
‘Juliet, I should think she’s over the moon.’
‘Well, she’s very lucky,’ said Juliet. Her voice had a distinct shake in it.
‘Goodness, Matt. Champagne! How amazing.’
They were in the American bar at the Savoy.
‘Yes, well, I’ve got some celebrating to do.’
‘Really? What?’
‘Oh, two big new clients in one week.’
‘That’s great.’
‘How about you, any news?’
‘I can’t think of anything particularly,’ said Eliza, ‘but I’m happy to share in yours.’
‘Annunciata, hello. How nice to hear from you.’
‘Hello, Emma. You free for dinner on Friday?’
‘Yes, think so, let’s just look – yes. Thank you.’
‘Good. I’ve got some quite interesting people coming.’
‘You always do.’
‘Want to bring anyone?’
‘No. Would you like me to?’
‘What about your beautiful brother? I’ve got another advertising bod coming – creative director of BBDO.’
‘I’m afraid J’s off to Norfolk.’
‘Oh, fine. With the fair Eliza?’
‘Well – yes.’
‘Really? How serious do you think that is? She tries to pretend they’re just friends.’
‘Well, they most certainly are not “just friends”. In fact—’
‘No! Don’t tell me.’
‘I don’t know what you mean, Annunciata.’
‘Goodness, wait till Jack hears about this.’
‘Don’t you dare tell him. It’s totally under wraps, he hasn’t—’
‘Of course I won’t. Must go, Jack wants me.’
‘Jack, you’ve lost our wager.’
‘Which one was that?’
‘The Eliza one. She’s getting engaged. And I’m afraid I was right. To someone pretty blue-blooded.’
‘Oh Christ. Not that tall blond twit?’
‘’Fraid so
. But can you blame her? He is one of the richest young men in England.’
‘I really thought better of her. She’s not leaving, is she? I couldn’t stand it.’
‘Well – I hope not. For all our sakes. But—’
‘I’ll have to have words with her. So, how much do I owe you, Annunciata?’
‘Twenty quid. But lunch at the Terrazza will do. I do so love it there.’
‘Eliza, I – don’t suppose you’d like to have dinner now? I’m starving. Or are you busy?’
‘I’m not – not really, no. It sounds lovely.’
‘OK. Well, have you been to Inigo Jones? It’s in Covent Garden?’
‘I have and I adore it. So beautiful.’
‘Great. I’ll go and find a phone and see if I can get a table.’
‘OK. Don’t be long.’
Now why had she said that? How not cool. How extremely sort of – of – Juliet-ish.
‘I won’t.’
He wasn’t long; he came back looking rather pleased with himself.
‘OK. Done. Ready at eight thirty. So we could have another.’
‘What, another bottle of champagne?’
‘If you like. It suits you, champagne.’
‘Thank you. In what way?’
‘Well – it’s got class.’
‘Matt, we’d probably better not get onto that.’
‘I didn’t mean that sort of class. I meant totally first rate.’
‘Right. Well – thank you. You’re pretty classy yourself. In a totally first rate sort of way.’
‘You reckon?’
‘I reckon. You’re clever. And funny. And that’s a great shirt.’
‘Thanks. I had it made. To my own specification.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘Chap in Jermyn Street. You know by the time we’ve walked to Inigo Jones, it will be well past eight. We could just have some more champagne there.’
‘OK. Pull me up. Oh, dear. I feel a bit dizzy. Might just go to the loo. I’m sure I look a complete fright.’
‘You look lovely,’ he said and his voice was very serious.
‘Juliet? Mummy. How are you, darling?’
‘Bit better. Horrid bug, this, though.’
The Decision Page 25