Old Sins (92 page)

He was walking away, fast, pushing through the crowds; Roz looked at his disappearing back, sobs tearing at her throat, her heart wrenched into terrified fragments. She couldn’t bear it, not again, not that pain, that loneliness, that aching, wracking misery. Nothing, nothing was worth that, nothing at all.

She ran after him, stumbling, frantically calling his name; but he wouldn’t turn or look back. He went through the glass doors; his car was waiting; she stood, tears streaming down her face, watched him get in, lean back, close his eyes, and then the traffic and the darkness swallowed him up.

Roz went to see her father, pale and drawn, but dry-eyed on the Monday morning, with a look of ferocious determination on her face.

‘I’ve done what you want.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve finished with Michael. Again.’

‘Roz! I’m sorry. I know what this must have cost you.’

‘Yes, well, I’m planning that it should cost you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve kept my share of the bargain, Daddy. Let’s have yours.’

‘Roz, you’re talking in riddles.’

‘No, I’m not. You said if I divorced C. J. you’d give the stores to Phaedria.’

‘Yes. And I meant it.’

‘OK. Well, I’m staying with him. So you can give them to me.’

‘You have them. You know you do.’

‘No, I don’t. Not all of them. I want London too.’

‘Roz, you know that’s impossible.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘Circe London is Phaedria’s own. It was a wedding present. She’s created it.’

‘Yes, well, she’s done well. Now I want it.’

‘Rosamund, you can’t have it. Now can we forget this
nonsense? I’m delighted you’ve come to your senses, and I’m sure I can find a new section of the company for you to run if that’s what you want.’

‘I don’t want a new section. I’ve told you what I want, I want the stores. All of them.’

‘And I’ve told you you can’t have them. Now we have a board meeting to get to. We’re already late.’

Roz looked at him. ‘You’re a cheat, you know. A liar and a cheat. You cheat on us all. Even your beautiful new wife.’ Then she smiled. It was a dangerous smile.

‘How was Paris, Daddy?’ she said. ‘And how is Camilla these days?’

Nassau, 1984

MARCIA GALBRAITH TUCKED
her old friend up in bed for her nap, and drew the curtains tenderly. Dorothy had certainly gone downhill faster than she had expected; when she had come to Nassau three years before she had seemed the stronger of the two of them. Marcia had looked to Dorothy for help and support, thinking that she would take care of her in her frail old age. Well, life did funny things to you, and here she was, feeling stronger suddenly and in command of everything, and here was Dotty, confused, fragile, in need of care. She had looked for a mainstay and had found a burden.

She did not greatly mind, and indeed it was good to feel stronger, more in command of life, but there was no denying it was a worry. Dotty seemed to have no concept that she was a drain on the household, and it was made worse by the boy, sitting there, doing almost nothing and eating her out of house and home.

Miles was very devoted to Dotty, of course, very sweet and charming he seemed, you couldn’t exactly dislike him, and she felt almost sorry for him these days, now that Billy was gone. He was obviously lonely, but she really couldn’t figure out why
he didn’t get himself a proper job. It wasn’t good for him and it wasn’t natural. More importantly, it wasn’t fair on her. He’d had a fine education and he’d got a good degree, and here he was wasting his days on some tennis court, and seemed to think all he had to give her in the way of a contribution to the household was a smile, and occasionally help Little Ed with chopping wood. She wondered what in the end he was planning to do. Nothing, going on past performance. That kind of thing irritated, even angered Marcia. A young man should have a sense of purpose, not waste his life away; and besides she just didn’t like him being around so much during the day. It offended her sense of rightness. It hadn’t been so bad at first, when he had obviously had to settle down, find his feet, but now day by day it got more on her nerves. And besides, there was just something about him she didn’t quite trust. She wished Dotty had left him on the beach in California; she wished he would go back there.

She wondered what was going to happen to the house in Malibu. It was all very well, Dotty living here, and she was pleased to have her, but it seemed awfully silly just leaving that place empty, rotting, when it could be converted to money in the bank.

She wondered where the deeds were. Presumably in Dotty’s box under her bed, with all her other stuff, the pictures of Lee, and her will and everything. She felt for the box; it was there. Cautiously Marcia pulled it out and tiptoed out of the room.

‘Dotty,’ she said that night, casually, over supper. ‘Have you thought of selling your house in California lately?’

‘No, no,’ said Mrs Kelly firmly. ‘That’s mine. I wouldn’t sell it.’

‘It isn’t a lot of use to you, Dotty. Not sitting there. You should convert it into money.’

‘I don’t want Miles to have the money. It won’t do him any good.’

‘Nobody’s saying Miles should have the money, Dotty,’ said Marcia patiently. ‘You should have it. In the bank. Earning interest.’

‘Me? What for?’

‘Well, Dotty, dear, I’ve never said anything before, but I ain’t
getting any richer. Times are costly. It would be a real help if you could put a bit in now and again.’

Mrs Kelly was stricken. Emotion cleared her brain. ‘Marcia! You should have said before. Oh, my! I certainly have been thoughtless and selfish. You’re right. I’ll put the house on the market straight away.’

‘I’ll do it for you, Dotty. You don’t have to worry with any of the details. Just give me the deeds, and I’ll go down to my lawyer in the morning, and get it all put in hand.’

‘All right, Marcia. That’s very kind of you. I’m sorry, I’m real sorry. I never intended to take your charity. I’ve been paying into your account each week, or so I thought, and imagined it was enough.’

‘Well, Dotty, not quite, not any more. Give me the deeds, dear, and I’ll see to it.’

‘They’re in my box. Under my bed. I’ll get them after dinner.’

‘All right, dear.’

Marcia thought it best for Dorothy to discover for herself that they weren’t there.

‘Miles, do you have any idea where the deeds of the house might have got to?’ she said next day. ‘Your grandmother can’t find them, and she’s getting very upset.’

It was true; the old lady was wandering round the house, searching endlessly in the same places, getting increasingly distressed.

‘The deeds? No idea at all. Why?’

‘Well, I have been talking to Dotty and we have decided that the house should be sold.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘We need the money, Miles. This house ain’t cheap to keep up. That’s a few thousand dollars, about eighty thousand I’m told, sitting there in California, and I could do with them. Or some of them. It might not have entered your idle head that you’ve been living here rent free for three years. I consider I have a right to some input.’

He looked at her. Then he smiled, his most disarming smile. ‘Of course. You’re right. I couldn’t agree more. Don’t worry, Mrs Galbraith, I’ll find the deeds.’

The bank manager was very nice, but firm. He couldn’t let Miles have the deeds back until he paid off the loan. There was the original four thousand dollars and then there was that other thousand he’d borrowed last year. Of course it wasn’t much set against the value of the house, but nonetheless, the deeds must stay with the bank.

‘But we want to sell the house.’

‘Well, that’s all right. Put it in the hands of a realtor. Nothing to stop you doing that.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘It’s OK, Mrs Galbraith,’ said Miles that afternoon as his grandmother slept. ‘I’ll see to selling the house. I guess it’s mine in a way and my responsibility.’

‘It is not,’ said Marcia, indignant on her friend’s behalf. ‘That house is your grandmother’s. She’s always said so. No, I’ll see to it, Miles. Just give me the deeds when you find them.’

‘I have found them, Mrs Galbraith. They’re with the bank.’

‘The bank! How did they get there?’

‘I guess Granny must have taken them there and forgotten. You know what she’s like these days.’

‘Well, I don’t know, Miles. I’ll ask her.’

‘No, don’t.’

‘For heaven’s sake why not?’

‘You know it upsets her when she realizes how vague she’s become. Let’s just leave them there, and I’ll go ahead and organize the sale. OK?’

She looked at him doubtfully. ‘OK. Which bank?’

‘Oh, her bank, of course.’ He met her suspicious eyes with his wide, candid blue ones. ‘Does it matter?’

Mrs Galbraith’s lawyer and Miles’ bank manager were members of the same golf club. Over just one too many bacardis one afternoon, the bank manager, knowing the connection with Marcia, remarked what nice manners young Wilburn had, and what a rare pleasure it was to find such a phenomenon these days. The lawyer agreed, and cited several examples of young men who had no manners at all, whereupon the bank manager went on, with extreme indiscretion, over yet
another bacardi, that it had been a pleasure to be able to help young Mr Wilburn with a loan the year before, and asked his friend the lawyer what he thought, purely as a matter of interest, a house in Malibu, California, might be worth these days, as Miles was in the process of selling one. The lawyer said he had no idea and that he also had no idea that young Wilburn was a man of such substance; on Mrs Galbraith’s next visit to his office, he made the same observation. Marcia looked at him, her eyes deceptively innocent. ‘I always thought that house belonged to his grandmother. She’s a very frail, confused old lady. I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, but might it be possible to just check that the house really is in Miles’ name?’

The lawyer hesitated. He didn’t like using a friendship. But two old ladies in distress surely needed help. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘Try not to worry.’

He asked her to go down to his office three days later. ‘No, Mrs Galbraith, you’re wrong. Mrs Kelly has definitely signed a transfer deed, making the house over to Miles. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. Can I help in any other way?’

‘Not for now. But thank you very much. You’ve been really kind.’ Marcia’s blood was up; she was enjoying herself.

Later that day she asked her friend if she had ever thought of transferring the deeds of the house to Miles’ name.

‘Well of course not, Marcia,’ said Mrs Kelly, irritated out of her vagueness. ‘How many times have I told you I would never let Miles get his hands on that house? He’d just waste the money away. If he’s ever going to get a proper job, he certainly can’t be handed several thousand dollars on a plate.’

‘No, Dotty,’ said Marcia. ‘He certainly can’t.’

She went back to her lawyer. ‘Could you find out a little more?’ she said, ‘discreetly. I don’t want Miles suspecting anything.’

The lawyer did.

‘I have to tell you, Mrs Galbraith,’ he said, ‘that boy seems to have been borrowing on that house. Five thousand dollars. Are you sure your friend doesn’t know anything about it?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Well, the money’s been spent. Not much, of course, in view of what the house is worth, but it has, and if that signature was obtained unlawfully, then the boy could be in trouble.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Galbraith. ‘Well, thank you. I’ll let you know if there’s any more to be done.’

Miles was in love. He had met her at the hotel, and she was just seventeen years old, with long, silvery blonde hair, huge blue eyes, and freckles dusted prettily on her tip-tilted little nose. Her breasts were tip-tilted too, just a little, and her legs were as long as a colt’s; she had a disposition as sunny as her hair, and her name was Candy, Candy McCall. She should have been in high school, but her father had taken her out for a bit; he thought it would be good for her to see a bit of the world. So far the world had consisted of Acapulco and Nassau. Candy wasn’t too impressed, but it was better than school. Candy’s father, Mason, was in confectionery, and was married to Candy’s fourth stepmother, Dolly; Candy hated her.

They were staying in Nassau for a few weeks while Dolly played the roulette table, and got a tan, and Mason did some property deals.

Until Candy had met Miles she had been frantic with boredom. Despite her virginal appearance she had had several boyfriends, most of whom had been granted the pleasures of her small, neat body; Miles, who had a sure instinct for anything to do with sex, recognized her experience, and her capacity for pleasure, instantly and easily.

‘Don’t give me that,’ he said good-naturedly when Candy squirmed under his exploring hands, pushing them gently, modestly away, ‘you know you want it as much as I do.’

‘I know nothing of the sort,’ she said, smiling up at him, her small freckled nose wrinkling, ‘I just am not that sort of girl.’

‘Show me what sort you are, then,’ said Miles. They were lying on a rug on Candy’s balcony, on the penthouse floor of the Bahamian, out of view of anyone except the most determined cat burglar. He stood up and pulled off his shorts. Candy looked up at him, his tall, golden body, his glorious face, his magical smile; then she knelt in front of him.

‘This sort,’ she said, and took his penis in her mouth with a gentle hunger.

After that they were seldom apart.

‘Miles,’ said Marcia after breakfast one morning, ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Sure,’ said Miles, sitting back in his chair and smiling at her. ‘Here I am.’

‘Not now. When your grandmother is asleep this afternoon.’

He looked at her slightly warily. ‘I shall be working.’

‘Oh, I know how important your work is, Miles. Maybe just this once you could arrive a little late.’

‘Not very. I have a game booked at three.’

‘Fine. We’ll talk at two.’

An odd unease gripped Miles; a shadow came over the sun. Even Candy’s company seemed a little drab.