Old Sins (37 page)

Camilla sank gratefully on to the massage couch, accepted the sycophantic exclamations over her slenderness from the beauty therapist, and then feeling just pleasantly traumatized from the massage and the attentions of the G 5 machine to her buttocks, walked into the sauna, removed her towel and lay flat on her back with her eyes closed.

She was feeling just slightly sleepy when the door opened; Letitia’s voice greeting her made her sit up startled, looking frantically round for her towel, and in its absence, wrap her arms round her breasts. Quite why she didn’t want Letitia to see her naked she wasn’t sure; but it seemed in some way an intrusion into her relationship with Julian; she felt Letitia was not looking merely at her body, but at what it might offer her son, and that she would find the sight immensely interesting; and she didn’t like the feeling at all. Letitia was dressed in a towelling robe, with a turban wrapped round her head; she did not remove either, merely sat down on the wooden seat
opposite Camilla and smiled at her graciously, her eyes skimming amusedly and slightly contemptuously over her body. Camilla, with a great effort of will, removed her arms and met Letitia’s eyes.

‘Good morning, Letitia,’ she said. ‘How nice to see you. I am so looking forward to our lunch.’

‘I too,’ said Letitia. ‘And now we shall have even longer together. How well you look, Camilla.’ And her gaze rested again, lingering, interestedly on Camilla’s breasts and travelled down towards her stomach and her pubic hair.

Camilla swallowed hard, closed her eyes, did a relaxation exercise briefly, and said, ‘Maybe I should go and get dressed, Letitia, I’ve been here ages already.’

‘Really?’ said Letitia. ‘They must have been mistaken, they told me you had only just arrived. Don’t mind me, dear, I have plenty to think about, just relax.’

‘Well,’ said Camilla, ‘perhaps I will stay a little longer. Have you been shopping, Letitia?’ she added in a desperate attempt to get the conversation on to a comfortingly mundane level.

‘No, dear. I don’t often shop these days. The shops come to me. No, I’ve been to see Julian. To discuss next year’s budgets and so on. So nice the company is doing so extremely well, don’t you think?’

‘Marvellous,’ said Camilla.

‘Such a clever man, my son, isn’t he?’

‘Very clever.’

‘And you, Camilla, you have done a great deal for the company. I hope he gives you sufficient credit for it.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Camilla, startled by this sudden rush of friendliness and the unexpected tribute, ‘yes, he does.’

‘Good. You are unusually fortunate in that case. And in other cases as well, of course.’

‘Er – yes.’

‘You seem to enjoy a very special relationship with Julian.’ Her gaze again travelled down to Camilla’s breasts. Camilla made a superhuman effort not to cover them up again.

‘Well, yes. Well, that is to say – I thought . . .’

‘Yes, my dear?’ Letitia’s voice was treacly sweet.

‘Well, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Really? What exactly do you mean?’ A wasp was buzzing languidly now near the treacly tones.

‘Well, you know, Mrs Morell, I have always hoped we could be friends. But I imagined you thought that I might be in some way becoming very involved with Julian personally, and that you might find that difficult to handle.’

‘What a strange expression,’ said Letitia sweetly. ‘No, I don’t think so, Camilla dear, I very rarely find things difficult to handle, as you put it. It is one of the advantages of growing older, I suppose. Now what exactly do you mean? That I would be jealous of you?’ And her gaze flicked down again.

‘Oh, no, of course not,’ said Camilla earnestly, ‘and that is exactly what I want you to understand. There is nothing to be jealous of, in that my relationship with Julian is really very much more professional than personal. I see him primarily as a colleague, an employer, rather than a man.’

Letitia leant forward, an expression of acute puzzlement on her face. ‘Camilla, are you trying to tell me that you do not find my son sexually attractive?’

Camilla was so shocked that she did something she had not done for years, and blushed; furious with herself, desperate to escape from the claustrophobia of the sauna and Letitia’s amused, insolent eyes, she stood up and reached for the towel which had fallen on the floor, bracing herself for the full frontal confrontation.

‘How thin you are, dear. Perhaps you should eat a little more. Now I can assure you,’ the silvery, flute-like voice went on, ‘you are very much alone, if that
is
the case. Most women can’t wait to get into bed with him.’

Camilla rallied. ‘I do find him attractive,’ she said, wrapping herself thankfully in her towel, ‘but I happen to think that some relationships can transcend the physical.’

‘Balls,’ said Letitia. She smiled at Camilla sweetly.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said “balls”, dear. An old Anglo-Saxon expression. It means rubbish. Balderdash. Poppycock. Oh dear, you won’t know what those words mean either. Your country’s vernacular is, if I may say so, extremely limited.’

‘I do understand you, Mrs Morell. But I really can’t agree with you.’

‘Really? Then what do you do when you are over here, staying at my son’s house? Talk to him all night long? Hold animated discussions about sales psychology and corporate identity, and the design ethic, and all those other things you take so seriously over there? I find that very hard to believe.’

Camilla struggled not to lose her temper.

‘No. Of course we have a – a physical relationship.’

‘I see. But you don’t enjoy it. Is that what you are trying to say?’

Camilla flushed again; she pulled her towel more closely round her.

‘No. It’s not what I am trying to say.’

‘Then try harder, my dear. I am only a very simple old woman. I can’t quite follow your articulate Americanisms.’

‘What I am trying to say,’ said Camilla, ‘is that although I do, since you force me to express it, enjoy my personal – physical – relationship with Julian, what is really important to me is our professional one. I can’t imagine my life without that. However much I might admire and enjoy him as a person.’

‘I see,’ said Letitia, ‘how very interesting.’

‘Why is it so particularly interesting?’ asked Camilla boldly.

‘Well, dear, forgive me, but it seems to smack of using him to me. Of using your considerable feminine charms to inveigle him into employing you in his company.’

‘Not at all. I worked for Julian for quite a long time before we – I – he –’

‘Had sexual intercourse with you? How charming,’ said Letitia.

Camilla had had enough. ‘Mrs Morell, forgive me, but I am finding this a little embarrassing. Perhaps you would excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.’

‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry!’ cried Letitia, an expression of great distress on her face. ‘How thoughtless of me. Of course I have no right to talk to you like this. It is absolutely no business of mine. It’s just that Eliza and I were so very close, still are, and I find it hard to be formal when I talk about my son. Now, why don’t we both get dressed and move out to the juice bar and you can tell me exactly which aspect of the company you are currently engaged in, to keep you so busy, and over here so much.’

‘Well,’ said Camilla carefully, determined not to lose her temper. ‘As you may not know, Julian has put me in overall charge of the advertising, both here and in New York. Not the creative concept, of course, although he likes me to be heavily involved in that, but I have a major responsibility, reporting only to him, on campaign planning, budgets, media schedules, and of course, overseeing the advertising, in all its aspects here. The campaigns don’t alter very much, but they need to be carefully anglicized, and we are always ready to consider creative concepts this end. So I have a lot to do this week. I – we – have also to get to know the people at the new agency, and see how we are going to work with them.’

‘I see,’ said Letitia thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, is Julian no longer able to afford to employ an advertising manager in New York?’

Camilla looked at her, her eyes wary.

‘Of course there is an advertising manager. But he reports to me. He is not on the main board. I’m surprised you didn’t realize that, Mrs Morell. But I suppose Julian finds it difficult to keep you informed on every detail of the company these days. It must be so different from the old days when he ran it virtually single handed, and you helped him.’

Letitia stood up and smiled at Camilla graciously. ‘He did not run it single handed, my dear, and I did not help him. We did it together. It could not have survived any other way.’ She looked at Camilla and then suddenly raised a limp hand to her head. ‘I am so sorry, but I very much fear I may have to cancel our luncheon after all. I have a very severe migraine coming on. The only thing is simply to get home and lie down in a darkened room. Do forgive me.’

‘Of course,’ said Camilla, relief and rage struggling with each other, ‘can I get my driver to take you home?’

‘Oh, no, dear, mine is waiting. He’s been with me for years, you know. Ever since the company began. So loyal, all my staff. Goodbye, Camilla, I think I’ll just get dressed again and hurry off. I do hope you will find someone else to join you. I don’t suppose you have managed to find many friends in London, as you are so dreadfully overworked.’

Talking to Eliza that evening over dinner, regaling her most wickedly with every lurid detail of the encounter, Letitia said, ‘I
do hope for all our sakes, Eliza, he never does marry that dreadful creature. Our lives will become a great deal less agreeable if he does.’

Los Angeles, 1968

LEE LOOKED AT
Dean across the breakfast table and wondered for the hundredth, possibly the thousandth time, what she could possibly do to make him eat less. He was, at forty-two, seriously overweight: the last time she had managed to get a look at the scales when he had been on them they had lurched up to two hundred and forty pounds; that was an awful lot for a man who only stood five foot ten in his socks. It wasn’t just that he looked – well, certainly not the most attractive man she had ever seen, his shirts straining desperately round his huge belly, his trousers slung awkwardly and uncomfortably beneath it (‘You’ll need them specially made soon’ she had said tartly, the last time they had been shopping for some together, ‘Or some maternity ones, like I used to wear with an elastic panel in the front’). She felt his weight was a serious threat to his health, and had only last week tried to tell him so, and suggest he cut down on the hamburgers and the fries and the beer, but he had laughed easily, and slapped his gut with his soft, dimpled hand and said he and his belly were old friends, and he was damned if any diet was going to come between them.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you get to grow any bigger, you won’t have any other friends. You look terrible, Dean.’

‘Miles,’ he said to the little boy, who was sitting in the living room reading comics and munching his way through a bumper bag of potato chips, ‘do you think I look terrible?’

‘No, Dad,’ said Miles without even looking up.

‘There you are,’ said Dean, ‘two friends. Miles doesn’t mind me being a little overweight, do you, son?’

‘No, Dad.’

‘Honey, you shouldn’t worry so much about these things. It’s
that Amy Meredith with all her cranky nonsense about wholefood and not eating red meat, I never heard of such nonsense, man was meant to eat meat, he used to live on nothing else, a bison for breakfast on a good day, now you go tell Amy Meredith that.’

‘Well, I will if you like,’ said Lee, ‘she won’t want to hear it, but I will. And you’re wrong anyway, man was a hunter-gatherer, he ate nuts and grains as well, and vegetables. And besides if we’re going to get into all that stuff, when man was eating bison for breakfast, he was also going out and killing the bison, and getting quite a lot of exercise that way. The only thing you do to hunt your food is walk over to the refrigerator and open the door. Please, Dean, do at least think about a diet.’

‘OK,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘I’ll think about it. For five minutes every day. Before dinner. Now why don’t you start worrying about something more sensible, like your own figure. You’re skin and bone, honey. If anyone looks awful, you do.’

‘Well thanks,’ said Lee, giving up on the discussion, shooing Miles outside and turning her attention to sorting the laundry. ‘But at least I won’t be dying of a heart attack.’

‘No, malnutrition. With all those goddamned dance and yoga classes you go to, you could eat twice as much as you do. I’d like it if you were a bit rounder, honey. Bit more to get hold of. And roll around in the hay with.’

Lee thought of his massive weight descending upon her in bed, and the way, these days, she had to lie on top of him if he wanted to make love to her, and looked thoughtfully at him. Maybe this was her chance.

‘Dean, if you get to weigh any more at all you won’t be able to roll around in the hay at all. And I certainly won’t be rolling underneath you. So think about that.’

‘Oh, hell, honey, we manage.’

‘We don’t, actually,’ she said shortly, ‘or rather you don’t. Not very often. I mind about that, Dean.’

‘Hey!’ he said, beaming at her affectionately, ‘what about that? Eighteen years we’ve been married, and my wife still wants to get me into the sack. You always were a bit of a hot pants, weren’t you, honey?’ He got out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘Jesus, it’s hot. Aren’t you hot, Lee?’

‘Not terribly,’ she said. ‘You’re feeling hot because you’re so overweight. If I was lugging around two hundred pounds all day, I’d get hot. Now Dean, will you please, please think about a diet? Go see Doctor Forsythe if you don’t believe me.’

‘I might.’

But he didn’t.

That particular morning Lee didn’t in any case want to get involved in a discussion with Dean about his weight. She had a lot to do. It was nearly the end of the school year and there was Miles to get ready for summer camp; she and Amy had their ballet class, and then after that they had planned to go to the beach. Sometimes Lee wondered if there mightn’t be more to life than going to ballet classes and going to the beach, she felt somehow she was missing out on the real world, but she couldn’t see what she could do about it now, nobody was going to take on a forty-year-old housewife and give her a job, and besides there was Miles to take care of, he was still only ten, and she didn’t believe in giving kids latch keys to let themselves into the house with after school, that was where the trouble started and they got in with a bad crowd.