Old Sins (87 page)

A year after her wedding, her name had been linked with at least three highly (and visibly) eligible young men: Bruce Greene, race horse owner and polo player (whose attraction for her owed at least something to her emotional memories of another blond, blue-eyed hero of the polo field); Danny Carter,
a truculent, young working-class photographer, who had made love to her, if not literally, constantly and disturbingly with his voice and his camera lens, through several heady afternoons, behind his locked studio door; and Dominic Kennedy, twice divorced, self-made millionaire, who phoned her every morning as soon as she got into the office and invited her to dinner before finalizing his arrangements for the evening with anybody else.

With all of them she flirted, lunched, and occasionally (when Julian was away) dined. She let nothing more carnal come to pass between herself and them than an occasional mildly sensuous kiss, she had no real intention of having an affair with anybody; nevertheless she felt, she enjoyed, she was reassured by the attention of other men and her pleasure from it; she toyed with the ultimate conclusions, she meditated upon the possible pleasures, and she was careless of her husband’s reaction.

That summer Phaedria gave a fancy-dress ball on midsummer night at Marriotts; three hundred guests came for dinner, and another three hundred arrived at ten as the dancing began. Not only the drive to Marriotts, but all the lanes leading to it for five miles, were lit with torches, and the grounds were spangled with five thousand fairy lights. The dancing took place in two sea-blue marquees, the bands performing against great theatrical sets of fairyland designed by Damon Austen, brilliant new recruit to the Royal Shakespeare Company and rumoured to be yet another of Lady Morell’s admirers, and even the grounds had been adorned with great drifting garlands of green gauze hanging from the trees. The riverboats which had been such a feature at her wedding drifted on the lake, each one lit by hundreds of candles, bearing the champagne breakfast which was served as dawn broke; and as the sun rose, exactly on cue, the white peacocks, Phaedria’s Christmas present to Julian, appeared and strutted about the lawns, giving out their strange pagan cries. The costumes were dazzling; fairies danced with hobgoblins, mermaids with centaurs, princes with beggarmaids; the entire grounds appeared, in the dusky flickering light, to be filled with creatures of another world, some with ornate masks; Phaedria herself, dressed as Titania, in a green silk chiffon dress
designed by Xandra Rhodes, her face made up theatrically strange in blues and greens, her hair drawn back from her face with a rope of pearls, and her feet bare, looked quite extraordinary; even those who knew her well stared at her, newly impressed by her beauty. Only the host, wandering apparently benignly about his guests, smiling, talking, dancing with all the most beautiful women, with the notable exception of his own wife, refused to participate very fully in the fantasy and wore white tie and tails. The ball was featured in every popular newspaper, in
Tatler
and
Harpers & Queen
, claimed three entire pages in
Ritz
magazine, and even made the sign-off story on
News at Ten
; Lady Morell was clearly now established (or so said the media) as one of the great party givers of her generation.

Julian was initially amused and then patently irritated by the way she had become a minor celebrity and her reaction to it; Phaedria enjoyed his irritation. She saw her success as a way of redressing the balance a little in their marriage; she was no longer a nobody, a mere recipient of his favours. She had power of her own, albeit limited; she could give as well as take, hold her own in his life, and after eighteen months of being made to feel excessively fortunate she was enjoying the sensation.

Julian seemed more jealous of her fame, of the column inches she was consuming day by day, than of the young men; she wasn’t sure if he was really unmoved by her lunch companions, the insinuations in the gossip columns, but he certainly seemed to be. It annoyed her a little; she would have liked him to exhibit at least a touch of possessiveness, but he did not, he looked at her with his cool blank gaze, when they were out together and she was surrounded with her circle, when the stories reached him or he read them in the paper, and said he hoped she was enjoying herself, managing to imply that it was both unlikely and unattractive if she was.

Except in one case; one name on her lips, she knew, could cloud a morning, wreck a dinner, destroy a weekend; one man threatened her peace of mind and her marriage; the one man who paradoxically she had every reason to be innocently occupied with: David Sassoon.

Julian Morell was working on a new cosmetic range. It was the
first he had given his total attention to, put aside other work for, for years; he was totally engrossed in it, spending much time in New York with the chemists there. The concept was an absolute secret; nobody, not even Annick Valery, who was now
directrice de beauté
for Juliana worldwide, not even David Sassoon who was working on the packaging, not even Phaedria Morell who was supposedly privy to all the workings of her husband’s mind, knew absolutely what it was. It was a complete range, that everybody knew, it was to be highly priced, and very original, it was to be launched for Christmas, there was an all-time-high advertising budget, using posters, cinema and television, and a new model had been signed up exclusively to represent it, a brown-eyed ash blonde, called Regency, who was seventeen years old and who was reportedly consoling Mr Morell in his great unhappiness over the famously bad behaviour of his new young wife. Both the reports and the unhappiness were only a little exaggerated.

Phaedria tried to talk to Julian about the range, to show her interest, to offer her opinion, but he brushed her aside almost contemptuously. ‘You know nothing about cosmetics, and besides you’re far too busy with your own life these days.’

‘Julian, that’s not true, I can make the time easily, you know I can, and I’d like to talk to you about it, it’s obviously terribly important to you.’

‘Well,’ he said, looking at her oddly, ‘that’s very good of you, but frankly I don’t have the time to go through it all with you, when really I feel you could contribute very little. But thank you for your interest.’

Phaedria turned away, afraid he would see the tears behind her eyes; he still had the power to hurt her horribly.

‘Incidentally,’ he said, ‘I’ll be away for a few days. We’re shooting some commercials in Paris.’

‘Could I – Would you like me to come with you?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. A waste of your time. You must be extremely busy with Christmas planning for the store. I hope you can improve upon those designs for the window displays. They’re very poor, in my opinion.’

‘Yes well, if I was able to work with the right person – I mean people – they might not be so poor.’

‘If you mean Sassoon, I really cannot believe that you regard him as a suitable person to work on window displays. Phaedria, David Sassoon is head of corporate design in this company. He cannot be expected to concern himself with trivia. If I may say so, you are showing a severe lack of understanding of the areas of control and how to use them.’

‘You may say so,’ she said with a sigh, ‘and I expect you’re right. But the fact remains there’s nobody decent in the display department.’

‘That,’ said Julian, ‘is patent nonsense. There is considerable talent in the display department. It is entirely your responsibility to motivate it properly. Talk to Roz about it, I’m sure she’ll be able to help.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I will.’

He left for Paris in the morning, in his private jet, with Regency, David Sassoon and several people from the advertising agency. Phaedria, looking at the photograph the publicity people had organized and brought to her desk for approval, felt oddly bereft.

When he came back three days later he was curt and short-tempered. She had been looking forward to his return, and had organized dinner at home for the two of them, and had a bottle of champagne on ice.

‘I’m sorry, Phaedria, I have to go out for dinner.’

‘Who with?’

‘What’s that? Oh, Freddy Branksome. And then I’m looking in on Roz and C. J. later. I have to talk to C. J. about the new Morell in Acapulco. Don’t wait up for me. I shall probably be very late.’

‘Julian –’

‘Yes?’

‘Julian, I don’t mind waiting up for you.’

‘Darling,’ he said, and he managed to turn the endearment into something cold and distant, ‘I’d really rather you didn’t. I can’t concentrate on things if I’ve got half a mind on getting back.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘all right.’

‘Get those displays sorted out?’

‘What? Oh, yes, I think so.’

‘Roz any help?’

‘No. She’s – been away.’

‘Where, for God’s sake? The Beverly Hills Circe opening is only weeks away. She can’t afford to be away.’

‘Julian, I don’t know where she’s been. She’s probably been there.’

‘Oh, all right. I’ll find out from C. J. See you in the morning.’

‘Good night, Julian.’

She waited until his car had disappeared from the terrace and then picked up the phone and called Dominic Kennedy. She had no intention of spending the evening alone with the Circe window displays.

Roz had not been in Los Angeles. She had taken advantage of her father’s absence to go to New York for three days, ostensibly checking on Circe’s Christmas programme, but actually scarcely leaving Michael Browning’s penthouse and his bed. A couple of phone calls and his late-night conversation with C. J. made this abundantly clear to Julian; he was furiously angry.

He sent for her in the morning; she came in looking wary.

‘Good morning, Rosamund. How are you?’

‘Very well. How was Paris?’

‘Excellent. And New York?’

‘Very good.’

‘How are the cosmetic promotions going in Circe? Particularly the gift with purchase?’

‘Very well indeed.’

‘Good. How clever you are, Rosamund.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Oh, a conversation I had with Iris Bentinck. She said you hadn’t been anywhere near Circe, and yet you seem to have managed to garner a considerable amount of information.’

‘I see.’

‘If you’re going to lie, Roz,’ he said, ‘do it properly. Do some background work first.’

‘Yes well,’ she said, ‘you should know.’

He looked at her and half smiled. He was always impressed when she stood up to him.

‘Well anyway,’ he said, ‘fortunately the promotions are going
well. Now then, has Phaedria talked to you about the window displays here?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll get her in. She needs some help.’

‘Ah.’

Phaedria walked in; she looked tired. She had been dancing at Tramps half the night with Dominic Kennedy and a group of their friends; Julian had got home before her and gone to bed, merely asking her over breakfast if she had enjoyed herself. He looked at her now with something close to distaste.

‘Phaedria, if you talk to Roz after this meeting about the windows, she may be able to help before it’s too late. Is everything else under control for Christmas? It’s almost the end of August, you seem to be sailing very close to the wind to me.’

‘Yes,’ said Phaedria, meeting his eyes with equal distaste. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Good. Because I want you to go to Los Angeles for a few days next week.’

‘Why?’

‘I want you to look at the store. I want your opinion on what’s going on there.’

‘I see. Both of us? Roz and me?’

There was a long silence.

‘No,’ said Julian. ‘Only you.’

Roz walked out of the office.

That night she talked to Michael Browning for over an hour on the phone, almost incoherent with misery and rage. ‘I hate her, I hate her, it’s so unjust, why should I have to endure it?’

‘Roz, it’s not her fault. Surely you can see that. It’s your old man. He has the two of you out there on that chess board of his he calls his company, and I would say it’s probably check. If not checkmate.’

‘All right then, I hate him. I hate them both.’

‘Leave them both and come with me. I won’t play games with you.’

‘No, I know you won’t.’

‘Please, darling. Don’t be so dumb. Just walk out on the lot of them.’

She sighed. ‘Right now I feel I just might. I just feel so – used.’

‘Yeah, well you’re in the clutches of a real champion at that game.’

‘Maybe. I can’t help feeling it’s about time I got a break.’

A week later she did. She was trying to contact C. J. in Washington; he had been there working on the new corporate image for the hotels with David Sassoon.

‘Your husband has gone to New York this morning, Mrs Emerson. You should get him at the Morell there, at lunch time.’

C. J. was distant, cool. ‘I may stay here a few days. We’ve finished in Washington.’

‘How was it?’

‘OK.’

‘Is David staying there with you? Or is he on his way back?’

‘No. I thought you’d know.’

‘Know what?’

‘He’s gone across to LA. Phaedria phoned him. She’s there. She wants him to look at Circe. I thought you’d be going.’

‘No,’ said Roz. Time seemed to have frozen round her. It was extremely quiet. ‘No, I’m not going. Well, enjoy New York, C. J. Give my love to your mother.’

‘Sure. Bye, Roz.’

‘Goodbye.’

She and her father had their weekly progress meeting three days later. He was unsmiling, his eyes at their most blank.

‘Everything under control?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I thought we might look at Sydney for a site for Circe. Why don’t you go over for a week or two and see what you think.’

‘You’ve always said Sydney was wrong for Circe.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. I was wrong about Beverly Hills.’

‘Yes.’

‘Take C. J. with you and Miranda. Make a holiday of it.’

‘Don’t try and charm me back into submission, please. I’m finding all these games with Phaedria very hard to take. And I
certainly don’t want to go to Australia with C. J., I think I’m probably going to divorce him.’ She was only testing her father’s reaction; she had given a divorce almost no thought at all.