Take No Farewell - Retail (33 page)

I felt weary and defiled. I walked round the billiards table, letting my fingers trail along the rim, reached the spectators’ couch at the far end and sat down there, grateful for the silence and solitude in which Malahide had left me. Whatever the New Year held, it was unlikely to be happiness, for me far less Consuela. I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke rise above me into a darkness that could have been an emblem for my future.

Then the door opened. Major Turnbull entered, adorned in white tie and tails, puffing at a cigar. He stopped and regarded me from the far end of the table, smiling amiably.

‘Not dressed yet, Staddon?’

‘As you see, Major.’

‘Who was your visitor?’

‘What visitor?’

‘The ugly little fellow I just met in the hall. Face like a prize-fighter. Manners to match.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’ As much to change the subject as anything else, I added: ‘Will you be spending any time at Clouds Frome while you’re in England?’

‘That rather depends how my negotiations with Sir Ashley proceed.’

‘Negotiations? About what?’

‘Hasn’t he told you? He’s considering buying a hotel on the Riviera. I’ve agreed to act as his consultant. My local knowledge is useful to him. I may even take a financial stake in the enterprise. Victor too, perhaps.’

‘I shouldn’t have thought hotels were Caswell’s line.’

‘But they always have been, Staddon. Surely you know that?’

‘I don’t understand you, Major.’

‘Come, come. You must be aware of Victor’s connection with Thornton Hotels.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘He’s a substantial shareholder in the company.’

‘What?’

Turnbull frowned. ‘You really didn’t know?’

I ground out my cigarette. ‘No. I didn’t.’

‘You surprise me. I should have thought Sir Ashley would have mentioned it. I suppose these matters could be regarded as confidential, but, after all, you are a member of the family, aren’t you?’

But Turnbull was to be denied an answer. Already, I was striding from the room.

Sir Ashley was clearly put out when I interrupted him in the drawing-room, sipping a cocktail with some of his more important guests, but the tone of my voice must have suggested he should humour me until we were alone. He accompanied me, thunder-faced and silent, to the privacy of his study.

‘Your behaviour is becoming increasingly objectionable, Geoffrey. What is the meaning of it?’

‘Major Turnbull tells me that Victor Caswell is a substantial shareholder in Thornton Hotels. Is it true?’

‘Yes. What of it?’

‘
What of it?
Didn’t you think I had a right to know?’

‘The finances of Thornton Hotels are none of your business. And Caswell’s always wanted his shareholding kept confidential. It’s handled through a nominee.’

‘Why?’

‘That, similarly, is none of your business.’

‘How many shares does he own?’

Sir Ashley’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘I have no intention of being cross-questioned by you, Geoffrey. I suggest we drop the subject – here and now.’

But it was too late for me to be deflected. In the few minutes that had elapsed since Turnbull’s disclosure, a dreadful suspicion had formed in my mind. ‘Does Caswell’s holding give him much sway in the company?’

‘I refuse to discuss this any further. I must return to my guests.’

‘It does, doesn’t it? A hell of a lot, I’ll be bound. Now, tell me, was he a shareholder at the time you asked me to design the Hotel Thornton?’

‘As far as I remember, yes, but—’

‘He persuaded you to ask me, didn’t he? I wasn’t your choice. I was
his
choice.’

‘This is preposterous.’ But Sir Ashley’s flushed expression suggested otherwise.

‘That’s what you meant when you said I should be grateful to him. Was it just a question of keeping a shareholder sweet, I wonder? Or did he put up some of the capital as well? He did, didn’t he? I can see it in your face. He bought you. And I was part of the deal.’

‘He recommended your work. That’s all. There was no … deal, as you call it.’

‘I don’t believe you. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I can believe anything you’ve ever told me.’

‘Take that back! Good God, I’ve a right to be addressed more respectfully by you. Have you any idea how much I’ve done to help you over the years?’

‘I’m just beginning to realize. I’ve been Angela’s poodle and your dupe. Well, not any more.’

‘This has gone far enough. I’ve a good mind to throw you out of this house for what you’ve just said.’

‘There’s no need. I’m leaving. And somehow I don’t think I’ll ever be coming back.’

The true significance of my discovery swept over me as I climbed the stairs. Victor had arranged the Hotel Thornton commission. And I knew why. Because he was sure I would accept it. And because, in accepting it, I was bound to desert Consuela. So, he had known of our plans all along. He had known we were lovers and that we were intending to run away together after the house-warming weekend at Clouds Frome. Hence, the timing of Thornton’s offer. And the worst of it, the very worst, swamping for the moment my desire to learn how he had come by the information, was the thought of how easily he had identified my weakness. The hotel was all it had taken. He had defeated me without lifting a finger.

Angela was standing by the cheval-glass in our room, admiring her own reflection. Her hair was swept back to show off the slenderness of her neck and the ball-gown blossomed about her in radiant hues of pink and mauve. I had not seen her looking so beautiful – nor so young – in years. And, as she turned towards me, my eye was taken by the monkey brooch glistening at her breast.

‘Why, Geoffrey, you’re just in time to lead me down.’ She broke off as the expression on my face told its story. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘The matter is that I’ve just learned – just understood for the first time – what you and your family really think of me.’

‘Has Daddy spoken to you?’

‘Yes. He’s spoken to me.’

‘Royston convinced me that he had a right to know how things stood between you and me.’

‘I’m sure he did.’

‘You only have yourself to blame, you know.’

‘Oh, yes. Only myself. You’re absolutely right.’

‘All I can hope is that you’ll see reason – even at this late stage.’

I stepped closer, within range of her perfume, within touching distance of her proud, upraised chin. She was breathing rapidly, the eyes of the monkey catching the light as her breasts rose and fell.

‘What’s wrong with you, Geoffrey? Are you quite well?’

‘The brooch was a gift from Turnbull, I suppose?’

‘Yes. As it happens.’

‘And the dress?’

‘I really don’t see why—’

‘Of course it was! I shouldn’t be surprised if he paid for every stitch you’re wearing – down to your Crêpe de Chine knickers.’

The flat of her hand caught me a stinging blow on the cheek. She glared at me, angrier than I could ever recall seeing her. ‘You disgust me!’ she rasped. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘No.’ I felt my cheek reddening, but refused to nurse it, refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing she had hurt me. ‘As a matter of fact, Angela, I’ve just recovered my senses – in time to see you and your family for what you really are.’

‘How dare you!’ Her face had coloured now. Her lower lip was trembling. A strand of hair had escaped from its clip and was trailing around her ear. ‘My family – unlike you – has nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘You mean it has no sense of shame.’

‘Get out! Get out of this house if that’s what you think.’

‘It is. And don’t worry: I’m leaving.’ I moved hurriedly past her and grabbed my suitcase, unopened since my arrival. When I turned back towards the door, she was staring at me, fury and amazement competing for control of her expression.

‘You’re mad,’ she said, more calmly than before. ‘Do you realize what this means?’

‘I think so.’

‘Why are you doing it?’

‘Because I must.’

‘For the sake of a woman you deceived and discarded more than ten years ago?’

‘I’m not going to discuss Consuela with you, Angela. There’s no point.’

‘If you really loved her, you should have stood by her then – not now.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ I made to leave, then, foolishly, paused to deliver one last broadside. ‘Victor Caswell bribed your father to offer me the Hotel Thornton commission. That’s what stopped me standing by Consuela. Did he ever tell you that?’

‘You’re talking nonsense. I know you, Geoffrey, all too well. You deserted her because you were bored with her. Why pretend otherwise?’

‘Because it doesn’t happen to be true.’

‘What was the problem? Wasn’t she as good in bed as you’d hoped? Wasn’t she quite as experienced as some of your other—’

I hit her then. Not because I wanted to hurt her. Not even because she had insulted Consuela. Rather, I think, I suddenly needed to make an end between us, to render all our differences irretrievable. Perhaps Angela wanted the same. Perhaps she hoped I would react as I did. There was a complicity in that act of violence, I feel sure, a mutual acceptance of what it meant, a celebration of the release it represented.

It was a hard blow, my half-clenched fist against her mouth. She screamed and clutched at a side-table as she fell. It toppled with her, sending a vase smashing to the floor. Then she was beneath me, hair across her face, one hand to her mouth, blood trickling down her chin. We stared at each other in a shocked, breathless silence.

There was a commotion outside, a hammering at the door. A second later it opened. Turnbull was in the room, with Clive and Sir Ashley behind him. The Major walked straight
past
me and crouched beside Angela, pressing a handkerchief to her bleeding lip.

‘What have you done?’ demanded Sir Ashley.

‘What I should have done years ago.’

‘Get out of here at once!’

‘I intend to.’ I blundered past them to the door. A moment later, I was hurrying down the stairs into a hall full of smiling, gaily dressed party-goers. Some of them must have known what had happened. They were staring at me and muttering. But I paid them no heed. The front door stood open and the cold blankness of the night beckoned. I rushed towards it gratefully, like an eager suicide towards the precipice.

Chapter Eleven

REG VIMPANY LOOKED
up with a start of surprise as I entered. ‘Mr Staddon! We weren’t expecting you today.’

‘Change of plan, Reg.’

‘Didn’t you speak of a New Year’s Eve party at your father-in-law’s?’

‘Indeed I did.’

‘I trust it went well.’

‘Probably.’ I moved hurriedly towards the sanctuary of my office. ‘Giles in yet?’

‘Rather early for Mr Newsom, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, when he
does
arrive, send him straight in.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Then, at last, my office door was safely closed behind me. I hung up my coat and hat and moved to my desk. As I sat down, I noticed that Reg had already, with typical efficiency, renewed my R.I.B.A. calendar. Nineteen-twenty-four had commenced and could no longer be ignored. I had tried to outrun it – driving like a madman through the night to Brighton, walking myself to a standstill along the beach as the waves crashed blindly about me, staring up malevolently at the revellers on the pier – but inevitability holds the power to defeat all resistance, to sweep before it every device and delay we care to construct. In thirteen days’ time, Consuela’s trial would begin and, with it, the only test that mattered of my efforts to save her.

There was a tap at the door and Giles Newsom entered. He
too
looked as if the New Year were no cause for celebration. ‘You’re back early, Mr Staddon.’

‘Does that mean you have nothing to report?’

‘No.’

‘Then close the door, sit down and tell me what’s happened.’

As he obeyed, I noticed his eyes lingering on my face. Perhaps, I thought, my despair and exhaustion were more apparent than I had supposed. If so, he did not remark upon it. ‘I saw Pombalho yesterday. He doesn’t like you, Mr Staddon. He made that abundantly clear.’

‘What did he say to my offer?’

‘He rejected it out of hand. Abusively and conclusively.’

‘You explained to him that it was the only way he could hope to learn anything about the plans of Clouds Frome?’

‘Of course. But he wasn’t to be persuaded. He insisted that he wouldn’t bargain with you. If you weren’t prepared to give him what he wanted, he would, and these were his exact words, “do it without help”.’

‘Do what?’

‘He wouldn’t tell me. But he has something in mind, that’s certain.’

I leaned back in my chair. What was Rodrigo intending to do? What could he do – that the plans of Clouds Frome would expedite? They were where I had told him – preserved intact in my memory – but, even as I recalled them, no significance disclosed itself in the areas of rooms, the heights of ceilings, the pitches of roofs.

‘Progress on another front, Mr Staddon.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve traced Malahide. Up until the twenty-first of last month, he was working on one of Croad’s sites out at Woolwich.’

But Malahide no longer mattered. This time, I would make no mistake where he was concerned. The following night, I would meet him and pay him off. Then Lizzie Thaxter’s letter
would
be in my possession and I would be free to do what I had longed to do since leaving Luckham Place: demand the truth from Victor Caswell.

‘Do you want me to ask them for his address?’

‘No, Giles. I want you to drop it.’

‘And Pombalho?’

‘That too. You’ve done enough.’ And then I added: ‘I’ll take over now.’

Though I could not imagine what form it might take, I had expected an early response from Angela to the circumstances of our parting. The longer that passed without one, the more likely it became that she had decided to invoke some drastic sanction against me. Not that I was greatly on my guard. My appointment with Malahide – and what I would say to Victor – consumed my every thought. If Angela hoped to torture me with uncertainty, she hoped in vain.