The Decision

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Matt, joke!’

  ‘OK, OK. See you tomorrow.’

  He would have said it was the last thing he wanted to do; but when he was in the cab, on the way to the Savoy, he realised he was quite looking forward to it. Life was so filthy at the moment, he felt like jumping off his new skyscraper half the time, home was hell, every evening an ordeal, being icily polite to Eliza, especially when Emmie was around because they both knew if they let it crack for a moment, the rage and the hostility would break through; making excuses to Emmie why they could never do things together with her, watching her sometimes sad, sometimes playing on it, putting it to her advantage, playing off one against the other … it was horrible.

  And then everyone kept tiptoeing round him at work, no one mentioning it, and putting up with his bad temper; and then Gina was so bloody pushy with her Sympathy and her Understanding – you could hear the capital letters – although he needed a bit of that, even his parents kept urging him to reconsider, that had really been a blow. He’d been horribly hurt.

  But at least Louise knew him inside out, he didn’t have to pretend and he could tell her to back off if it threatened to get heavy.

  God, he’d known her a long time – nearly as long as he’d known Eliza – and certainly a lot longer than he and Eliza had been together. He thought of the first time she came into the office, all long legs and big eyes, summing them up in a moment, making her claims, striking her deals – and then continuing to do so, for almost a decade.

  You had to respect her, he thought, and what she had achieved; and it was the real thing, what she did, a lot more impressive than photographing frocks …

  He looked terrible, she thought, as he walked into the Savoy; far worse than he had at the lunch. He must have lost at least a stone, and his face was gaunt and devoid of colour. He was obviously suffering a lot. And – wouldn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘Hey, Matt. You look great,’ she said, standing up, kissing his cheek briefly. Funny – all those years working together and the number of times they had exchanged even the most platonic embrace could be counted in single figures. However excited they were, however amazing the deal, or landmark they crossed – first really big contract, first million in the bank – she and Matt had never done more than grin at one another and perhaps give one another a thumbs up.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. What are you drinking?’

  ‘I’m not yet. I was waiting for you …’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK. I just love sitting around, looking as if I’ve been stood up. Martini? That’s what this place is about.’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  She was looking very good, actually, he thought. She’d got her hair cut in that new way, in layers, a bit like Eliza’s, only shorter, and she was wearing a red dress that although it was quite long swung open from the hips when she sat down, so that her legs were still well on display. She did have very good legs. She looked altogether expensive and sleek and successful; he saw several of the men in the bar looking at her, and felt an emotion that at first he couldn’t analyse and then recognised – again from the early days with Eliza – as a certain pride at being with her.

  ‘So,’ he said, sipping at the martini – he’d rather it had been an ice-cold beer, but never mind, the alcohol content was probably higher and he needed that – ‘So, how are things?’

  ‘It’s all pretty good. Got my sights on a spot in Chelsea – just on the edge of the park – for my next hotel. Americans will love it. Near the barracks, near Harrods, near the Albert Hall – perfect.’

  ‘Think you’ll get it?’

  ‘Not sure. Bit of an auction going on at the moment. But I’m pretty determined so—’

  ‘You’ll get it,’ said Matt and he meant it. ‘You always do.’

  ‘I appreciate your faith in me,’ she said. ‘And you, how’s it working out with Barry? Is he good enough?’

  ‘Providing I’m there too,’ said Matt, ‘you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Same with Roderick.’

  ‘I heard you might be breaking away from Roderick.’

  ‘You did?’ Her dark eyes became blank. ‘Well, that’s very interesting.’

  ‘True? Or just a rumour?’

  ‘Matt Shaw, if you think I’d tell you, of all people, something like that, you’ve lost the plot seriously.’

  ‘That means it’s true then.’

  ‘No, Matt, it doesn’t. It doesn’t mean it’s true or not true, it means I’m not going to tell you.’

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Professionally? Of course not. Why should I?’

  ‘Not even for old time’s sake?’

  ‘Least of all for that, Matt.’

  For the first time in months Matt realised he was enjoying himself.

  ‘Same again?’ he said nodding at her glass.

  They parted, slightly unsteadily, with another brief kiss, four martinis down, and agreed to do it again in a week’s time.

  There is temptation and there is serious temptation and then there is temptation almost beyond endurance. This came to Jeremy Northcott as he sank into a chair in the lobby of the Upper East Side apartment that remained at his disposal until the end of the year, kicked off his shoes and loosened his black tie, having got home from the reception for Mariella Crespi that evening. He had watched her as she stood smiling and looking utterly ravishing in a black crepe Pierre Cardin sheath dress, her hair pulled back in a chignon, being kissed and embraced and congratulated for over an hour; he had kissed her himself, breathing in her rich, heady perfume; he had chatted to her briefly and then waited patiently while she circulated the room ushered by M. Cardin himself and the director of the charity; he had sat not quite near enough to her at a dinner for the chosen few at Elaine’s; and danced with her only once when they went on to Studio 54 at two in the morning.

  And now it was four, and he had a breakfast meeting at eight and he was debating whether or not to go to bed at all, when there was a call from the porter to say there was a lady to see him, and he said she should come up and listened to the whirring of the elevator as it approached him, rather as the condemned man might listen for the steps of the executioner approaching his cell, and as she stepped out of it, looking excited, nervous, almost tentative, holding a hooded cloak round her – ‘I think no one saw me, I left the hotel by the service exit’ – and then slipped the cloak off and held out her arms to him, he thought there could hardly be a man in the universe who could resist such an invitation.

  Chapter 58

  ‘Darling, I hear from your mother that you need some help.’

  ‘Well – well, yes, I do. But—’

  ‘Then you must let me give it to you. Let’s not be silly about it. I am able to help, I want to help, so will you please let me help?’

  Somehow Eliza had never thought of the one person who really did have plenty of money and whom it would be acceptable to take it from.

  ‘So, what do you say?’

  ‘Yes, Gommie, that’s what I say. Yes, yes, yes. And thank you. But—’

  ‘No buts. Come and have tea this afternoon, and tell me how much you need and all about it. It sounds ghastly, darling, and quite ridiculous, he’ll never win, but I feel so sorry for you.’

  Anna Marchant had lived in the same house in Knightsbridge all her married life: one of a terrace, furnished in a wonderfully opulent deco style, all mirrored sideboards, bronze figures and chinoiserie. She opened the door to Eliza and held out her arms.

  ‘Come in, darling,’ she said, enfolding her in a rich blend of Chanel No5 and Balkan Sobranie Russian cigarettes. ‘Oh, you look so tired. Let me take your coat. Tea, darling? Champagne? Cocktail? I’ve sent Piers out so we can talk properly. He is such a bore these days, nothing to do and just wants to muscle in on all my fun. Just as well I don’t have lovers any more. That’s my story anyway.’

  Eliza, feeling better already, said tea would be lovely
, and sat down on one of Anna’s rather uncomfortable chairs.

  ‘Right,’ Anna said, returning with the tea tray, ‘tell me all about it.’

  ‘Silly idiot,’ she said, when Eliza had finished, ‘I thought he loved that child. Not enough, that’s all I can say, and I hope your barrister’s making that point. If he really loved her he wouldn’t be putting her through this. I don’t know what’s the matter with you young people today, one affair and it all has to be over. All this ridiculous confessing and soul-baring, such a waste of time and money …’

  ‘I didn’t actually have to confess,’ said Eliza ruefully.

  ‘Well, no, maybe not. Bit unfortunate, but you could hardly be blamed for it, silly young man shouldn’t have picked up the phone …’

  ‘Gommie, really! Oh, it’s so nice to see you.’

  ‘Nice to see you, darling. What a nightmare for you. And having Matt still living in the house. Why on earth is he doing that?’

  ‘God knows. It’s so horrible, the atmosphere’s awful. He’s working very late mostly, which is the only thing that makes it bearable. But I can’t afford to move out. And anyway, he’s so protective of Emmie, and obviously I’d want to take her, I just can’t think he’d agree to it.’

  ‘He can’t not agree to it. He doesn’t have custody of her. You can do what you like. What about going to Summercourt?’

  ‘No, because she has to go to school. Anyway, it’s less disruptive for her if I stay. It’s probably best to hang on. It shouldn’t be more than a few months, the solicitor says.’

  ‘Your mother seems to be inclined to see his point of view,’ said Anna thoughtfully, ‘very odd, I thought.’

  ‘Well, she’s very fond of him. And of course I’ve behaved so badly, and she minds that.’

  ‘Badly! One night in six years or whatever it is. Good God, I call that grounds for sainthood myself. One thing I’ll say for Piers, very good at turning a blind eye, I remember being caught in flagrante one afternoon in the House of Lords, your friend Rex Ingham’s father as a matter of fact, old fool forgot to lock the door, some stupid bugger had to tell Piers of course, he never said a word.’

  ‘Oh, Gommie! You’re so naughty,’ said Eliza, laughing. ‘Anyway, back to Mummy, it’s not just that, she really disapproves of me working, she always did, and of course Matt’s been incredibly generous to her, over Summercourt and everything—’

  ‘Yes, but he can afford it, become extremely rich I gather. You’re still working, I hope?’

  ‘Oh God, yes. Just the two days a week, but it saves my sanity.’

  ‘I did rather like Matt myself,’ said Anna thoughtfully, ‘tough, clever, and very sexy of course—’

  ‘Yes. All the reasons I fell in love with him. Oh dear. But I shouldn’t have married him. We’re too different. Or – maybe we’re too alike. I don’t know. Our views of the world are certainly very different.’

  And then she suddenly burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry. I just feel so – so hopeless about everything. And so ashamed of myself. Oh, not so much sleeping with Rob, well not really—’

  ‘What are you ashamed of, then?’

  ‘Oh – I’ve just been horrible to Matt, made him hate me, and he really didn’t deserve it, and we used to love each other so much, and it’s all my fault, or mostly, I’ve just—’

  ‘Darling, some of it was your fault, of course, and some of it was his. It’s called marriage. You mustn’t berate yourself so much, it won’t do you any good. Now do let’s talk about jollier things. Like your work, that’s always interested me. It’s Jeremy’s agency, isn’t it, I hope that doesn’t have any unsuitable implications.’

  ‘God, no. We really are just friends. Best friends probably—’

  ‘Dangerous to be best friends with a man,’ said Anna briskly, ‘in my experience anyway. Unless he’s a fairy, of course.’

  It was true, Eliza, thought, returning home feeling a great deal happier. Work did keep her sane. Not just because it was fun, but because it was so absorbing. She walked in through the great revolving doors in the mornings and into the agency foyer, a different person, with the old familiar happiness at suddenly knowing what she was doing, completely committed.

  Of course everyone had heard about her and Rob, it was too good a story for him to keep to himself although Hugh, who had clearly been rather shocked, had told him he had to; anyway she’d had to run the gauntlet at the agency, been petrified the first time she’d gone in afterwards, but apart from a couple of the account people, no one had seemed especially interested; she’d been teased a bit but it was so much the sort of thing that went on all the time, especially on sessions, and everyone knew what a stud Rob Brigstocke was, laying everything that could lie down, as one of the innumerable models he had slept with had memorably put it, and indeed among the girls at the agency Eliza found she was an object of surprise and admiration, rather than opprobrium.

  ‘I suppose it’s because they see me as an old married has-been,’ she said to Maddy, as she sat among the multi-coloured mountain in Maddy’s stockroom that was her autumn collection.

  ‘Yes, well, you are,’ said Maddy with a grin. Eliza grinned back. It was so lovely to have Maddy back in her life; with the best will in the world they had drifted apart, nothing in common, nothing to say to one another. How odd it was, Eliza thought, that her best friend for years had not been another person in the fashion business, obsessed with colour and style and trends, but an impoverished mother living in a squalid flat whose knowledge of the fashion business began and ended with whether her coat would last another winter. Well, that was what motherhood did, forging its own unbreakable bonds; she missed Heather horribly still.

  ‘The agency have asked me to set up a series of lunches,’ she said now, ‘key people in the fashion business, so the creative people and even some of the clients can meet them. Will you come to the first one? It’s in the boardroom, in three weeks’ time. I’m a bit nervous and it would be lovely to have you there.’

  ‘Of course, I’d be honoured,’ said Maddy, ‘who else is coming?’

  ‘Oh, Jean Muir. Bill Gibb. Darling John Bates. Should be fun.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ said Maddy, ‘thank you.’

  ‘I hear they’re briefing Toby Gilmour,’ said Ivor Lewis.

  ‘Is he a barrister?’

  ‘Yes. And – not a lot to worry about there, I’d say. He’s a junior. I suppose they’re fighting shy of the big boys, too expensive. Oh, he’s clever all right, very old school, bit arrogant, but – nothing like we’ve got. Bruce Hayward – that’s our man – will hang him out to dry.’

  ‘Good,’ said Matt. Wondering why he felt just a stab of unease. And stifling it.

  ‘Now look. I’ve been thinking. We need to go quite hard on her lifestyle. These advertising agencies, from what I’ve heard, very sex and drugs and rock and roll. Do you think there was anything like that going on there?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Right. Well, we need to get someone as a witness, someone she works with. Can you suggest anyone?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Matt shortly. ‘I tried not to get involved.’

  He had a sudden sharp memory of Eliza sitting at supper, and trying to interest him in her new job, her face alive as it hadn’t been for a long time; it had made him so angry, hurt him so much.

  ‘Right,’ said Ivor Lewis, ‘I think we try to find a witness. All right with you?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Matt. ‘Yeah. Whatever it takes.’

  The sense of unease was still with him. Buzzing round his head like a fly. It wouldn’t go away.

  ‘Matt, I need to talk to you.’

  It was Scarlett; she had her determined voice on. He knew that voice and what it meant; had done since the second week at primary school when she’d told him he must stand up to the bullies, otherwise there was nothing she could do.

  ‘Scarlett, I was just going home.’

  ‘Well, stop off here on the way. It’s im
portant.’

  He knew better than to argue. ‘OK, but I can’t be long.’

  ‘It won’t take long.’

  She was waiting for him with a bottle of his favourite whiskey – Irish variety – on the coffee table; whatever it was, she clearly thought he needed softening up. Or something.

  ‘Just a small one,’ he said, ‘something tells me I need to keep a clear head.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘So – what is it, Scarlett? What do you want?’

  ‘Matt—’ She hesitated, then reached for a cigarette, offered him one; he saw her hand shake slightly as she flicked her lighter on. She was clearly nervous: interesting.

  ‘Matt, I – I want you to drop this divorce and this whole case. Or at least think about it, very hard.’

  ‘What!’ He wouldn’t have anticipated that, from her of all people; he pulled on his cigarette, inhaled hard.

  ‘Yes. Please, Matt. It’s not too late.’

  ‘It’s far too late.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Just think about it, at least.’

  ‘Scarlett, you really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I do. I really do. Look, I’ve seen divorce, don’t forget. Very first hand. With David. The ugliness, the way it distorts and destroys whatever is left.’

  ‘Nothing’s left, Scarlett.’ He sighed and leaned forward, poured himself another glass of whiskey.

  ‘Yes, it is. Oh, it probably is too late to save the marriage. I can see that. Although I suspect a part of you still must love Eliza. You adored her, all those years. I’ll never forget your wedding day, ever, how you looked at her when the registrar said you were man and wife.’

  ‘Scarlett—’

  ‘Just – please, Matt – just think, really hard. You’ll make everyone so unhappy. Including Emmie. And everything you’ve had with Eliza, every good thing, and there has been so much good, you know there has, along with the bad, it will all be wiped out and – and made ugly and horrible. And Emmie will have to live with that, if you go down this road.’

  ‘Scarlett,’ he said, his voice very quiet, ‘it is too late. We’ve both changed, so much. Said and done the most dreadful things to one another … we can’t go back now. Can’t salvage it.’