Crimson (38 page)

“Scott, I want to hold you … It’s been months since we were in bed together. Don’t you remember how good it used to beT “Nobody gets the honeymoon treatment for ever, angel. That sort of twenty-four-hours-in-bed passion changes into a different sort of comfortable, caring love.”

Annabel wailed, “You mean I don’t attract you any more? You don’t love me?”

Exasperated, Scott said, “You’ve become spoiled, neurotic, overanxious,

and self-absorbed. What’s so lovable about that, Anna belT Scott’s office door burst open.

“You’re wanted i1i the cutting room.” “Thanks, I’ll be right along!” To Annabel, Scott said carefully, “You just have to tough it out, angel. These situations sometimes happen in life.”

“That’s not all.” Annabel gulped, then managed to say, “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“What!”

After he calmed down, Scott reasoned that if Annabel were having a heart attack, she wouldn’t be able to talk on the telephone. Cautiously he said, “Why do you think that, an gelT “My heart is thumping! I can’t breathe properly 11 In gasping for air!”

“It might be another anxiety attack.” Scott suggested gently.

Annabel said in an agitated voice, “I feel as if my mind is whirling madly, like a hurricane. I can’t control it. I feel taut and tense. I’m literally shaking!” “Are you sweating? Are you hands clammY? Is your stomach knott ed?” “Yes,” Annabel wept.

It was another panic attack. Scott said, “Is Adam Still around? Get him to the Phone, darling.”

Another head appeared around Scott’s door.

“They can’t cut until you’re on the spot, Scott., Scott nearly Said, “My wife is ill,” but he had cried wolf too often: other people’s wives didn’t telephone the station as relentlessly as Annabel.

Eventually Scott heard Adam’s faint but reassuringly calm voice.

“Anything I can do to help, Scott? Annabel seems upset. We thought she’d gone to bed. It’s nearly midnight here.”

“Annabel thinks she’s having a heart attack,” Scott told him.

“I don’t think so,” Adam said firmly.

“I’ll take her to nor’s night nurse immediately I expect she’ll give Annabel something to calm her down. The situation here has been very tense. It’s understandable that Annabel is a little … overwrought.” Scott thought, He’s telling me that she’s hysterical. He$aid, “Tell me straight, Adam. Just answer yes or no. Does, “Annabel look ill to you?” No “I’m between a rock and a hard place. Of course I’ll fly over straight away if Elinor..

“There is no necessity to do so.” Adam spoke firmly again.

“Elinor is progressing well, and I have everything under control here.”

“I’m sure you have,” Scott said with great relief.

WEDNESDAY, 28 JULY 1965

A week later, just before her luncheon was served, Adamtook the trust documentation to Elinor’s bedroom to be signed.

As he laid the twenty-four-page Declaration of Trust before her, Adam said, “There are no changes, but one alteration. As Paul is to be the protector, the STG partners think it best to have trustees outside the firm, so we’ll arrange that through the group of accountants we deal with in Bermuda.”

“Did you ask Clare once mo re?” Elinor, looking frail, was not interested in the fine points of the trust.

“Yes. I’m afraid she’s still adamant.” Elinor thought for a minute. With an effort, she lifted her head.

“Remember that I don’t want Clare to know she’s included in the trust until she apologizes! She is not to think she can get away with behaving hurt fully Now, where do I sign this thing? You’d better call Buzz and that sour-looking nurse to witness it.”

At seven4 twenty that same morning, Scott had been at the site of an unusual hit-and-run story: two older men had been killed and another injured by a police patrol car. At midday, Scott returned to the studio with twenty minutes of film footage, which would be edited to two minutes plus. It looked as if it would end up their lead story.

The news editor suggested, “Let’s team it with this other hit-and-run story that’s just come in: two black kids, in a car out of control, ran over four children, who were hurt but not badly. The black kids have been paraded in handcuffs to the press.” Scott was interested.

“The cops suspected of killing the two old guys have been suspended but not arrested, even though I’m told there’s a suspicion that murder is involved. But the DA’s office says they can’t pin it on them yet. So let’s run the story “Why the delay at the DA’s office?””

The door opened.

“Call from Europe for you, Scott.” Scott said nothing. What could he say? The entire station knew about his spoiled child bride. He hurried to his office. Once again he listened calmly to her tearful pleas, and once again Scott refused to walk out on the station and join Annabel.

That evening, Scott took his place at the news desk and ran an eye over his script. Just before airtime, a story had come in on a drug bust: space was hastily made for this.

At one minute to air, Scott grinned across to the other newscaster, looked up at the control room, and nodded.

The stress level in the newsroom was high. There was no noise whatsoever. Control said, “Roll feed one …” The floor manager pointed at camera two and counted down: “Four, three, two, one. Cue Scott.” A red light flicked on camera two as the floor manager silently pointed to it.

“Good evening. I’m Scott Svenson with tonight’s news.” Even while the show was going out, work continued in the newsroom. Reporters handed their just completed text edited the stories and telephoned news editor, who alterations in the programme to the newscaster: “Scott, story four from Moscow something better’s come in, “t going to run it” “Scott, hold item seven, so we aren medical malpractice, for later in the show. The guy’s just died, so we must update it.”

As the camera pulled back on the last shot and credits shown on the screen, the tension in the studio relaxed, la by an exultant mood. The interrupter-feedback button in Scott’s ear said, “Nice work, Scott. Now beat it to your office. Long-distance call from Europe.” Scott tore off his mike thinking, It must be five in the ““morning in France. He ran to his office and lifted the phone.

“Annabel? What’s happen ed?”

Annabel could hardly speak through her tears.

“Gran bad a relapse four hours ago. Adam is here to speak with you if you don’t believe me. They say there’s no point in moving her to a hospital. Now you’ve got to come, Scott.”

MONDAY, 11 OCTOBER 1965

Ten weeks later, the ambulance team that had driven Elinor from the Nice hospital carried her into the chiteau and up to her bedroom.

Elinor, her arms draped around the necks of two paramedics, said, “You can take that thing right away!” She meant the wheelchair waiting in her bedroom.

“Please,” Buzz pleaded.

“You gotta be careful for a bit, Elinor. You gave us such a fright. We thought you was a goner.”

“Well, I feel fine now,” Elinor said.

“Where’s that bottle of champagne you promised me?”

The specialists had said that if she was careful, she could five a long time. Her doctor had told her that she had completely recovered. He saw no reason to add that from now on, her body would break down: she would gradually become slower in her movements, she would tire more easily and lack stamina, and she would probably have another stroke in seven years” time at the latest.

TUESDAY, 12 OCTOBER 1905

In the grey morning light, Clare, still in her nightgown, stooped to pick up the little bottle of sleeping pills from the floor. She shook it. Empty. Better get another prescription. Careful not to wake Josh in the back room, Clare pulled on her dressing gown.

Josh was still bewildered by the sudden change in living standard from California sun and the constant care of I Kathy now working for another family in nearby ark ham Square to the stuffy flat in Pimlico where his babysitter, Mrs. Gooden, a retired cook, watched over Josh and her other six little charges, one of whom always seemed to be bare-bottom cd and on the potty.

Clare hurried to the kitchenette to make Josh’s breakfast. Their basement apartment cost more than she could afford, but at least she felt at home in Chelsea.

Once again she wished she understood what had happened to her in the last three months. She had such a strong sense of being in the right, of having behaved in a morally correct manner. Why then had she ended up in such a mess?

After Clare’s sudden departure from Saracen, Miranda had immediately located her through friends, then telephoned and urged her sister to be sensible and apologize to Elinor, “because we all know you really love Gran’.

“Of course I do, Miranda,” Clare had said.

“But that’s beside the point.” She was determined to allow nobody to treat her as a child in future not Sam, not Adam, not Elinor, not Buzz, and certainly not Miranda.

“This tiff is escalating to a ridiculous degree!” Miranda exploded.

“Adam says the trust is going to be irrevocable, so for heaven’s sake, think ahead, for when Joshua goes to Eton -”

“I don’t think I’m being ridiculous. I hope Josh never goes to Eton, or any other privileged school where he’s kept away from reality,” Clare said stiffly. Correctly feeling that Miranda thought she was being tiresome, she added, “What counts in this tiff as you call it is the principle of the thing.” Miranda said, “People only say that when they can’t think of any other reason for doing something damned stupid.”

Clare was impatient to hang up. Enraged, Miranda said, “Okay, I can take a hint.” She promised herself she wouldn’t approach Clare again.

At first Clare kept in touch with Annabel after her sister returned to New York, but as her own life became increasingly difficult, she found herself unable to write the sort of letter that would prop up Annabel’s crumbling self-esteem.

Via his lawyer, Sam refused to give Clare money because he didn’t want a divorce. He wanted his wife and child back, and he reckoned he could tough it out longer than she could.

Clare’s solicitor explained to her that men often forced their wives to return by refusing to grant a divorce and making it difficult for them to obtain money even when it was awarded by a court. He said that returning to Sam might be best for her and her child. Clare wondered whose side her lawyer was on. She was clearly and legally in the right; she wasn’t going to be manipulated and brought to heel by lack of funds.

“I’m damned if I’m going to let him bully me with money!” Clare cried.

“I’ll earn my own. money!”

She soon found out how difficult this was. Clare fell into the poverty trap experienced in the sixties by many single mothers. Because she had no man, she had no income beyond what she could earn. And because she had no training, she had no saleable skills. She could only get a poorly paid job as a sales assistant in a King’s Road shoe boutique.

Because she had no man, Clare also suddenly found she had no public identity and was not likely to get asked to dinner parties, for society seemed to move only in couples. A full-time job, a small child, and no home help left her little energy for dinner parties anyway. And she was too proud to accept hospitality when she couldn’t afford to return it. She, who had always helped lame dogs, now the many helping hands that were held out to her, use they only hauled her back, temporarily, into a life comfort from which she would later have to return to “Icality. She became abrupt and ill at case with her friends, Vho sensed this. Eventually they stopped trying.

Clare was surprised to find how much money it cost to cad what she considered a normal life. She earned eighteen unds a week after tax. Her rent was ten pounds a week, To d the babysitter cost a pound a day, which left three W pounds to live on -just enough to pay her grocery bill. She didn’t know how to budget or how to keep track of her expenditures, and she cried every time she opened her bank statement.

Apart from basic necessities, any other purchase was clearly now an extravagance for Clare. Her wages only just paid for her expenses: now a taxi was a memory.

Bewildered, Clare did not understand why she couldn’t manage. What was she doing wrong? The other assistants in the shoe shop seemed to manage on their wages, Of course, none. of them was supporting a child, and the male assistant got sixty per cent more than the women. And she was living in an area of London that was relatively expensive, while her new peers lived in Battersea and Wandsworth.

But Clare was not yet accustomed to a LIFE in which ice cream, sherry, and a telephone were luxuries. So she economized by drinking cheap cooking sherry. She felt humiliated by her. poverty especially when the telephone was cut off for non-payment and she had to confess this to Gilda, the senior assistant in the shoe shop.

“Poor? You ain’t poor, Clare,” scoffed Gilda during their tea break. She lit up a Woodbine and puffed on it serenely.

“Poor people don’t have bank accounts and refrigerators and money for the launderette.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Clare said humbly.

“But i still need more money than I’m earning, to look after Josh.”

Clare had not wanted-to leave Josh who would be three in December with a-babysitter, but she found that none of the local nursery schools, public or private, had an available slot.

When she tried to get Josh into a free day nursery, she discovered that the local authority did not regard her situation as difficult.

“Difficult” seemed to mean that your pimp had beaten you up and thrown you out, and you had no money for a fix and couldn’t stand up until you’d had one. In the Chelsea library, Clare read the 1944 Education Act, Section 82 6. It said that a local education authority ‘shall, in particular, have regard to the need for securing that provision is made for pupils who have not attained the age of five years by the provision of nursery school.” So where were the nursery schools? Clare felt protest rise within her. She was determined not to. be bludgeoned into submission by lack of money and a system that seemed not to care for mothers and children.

The following weekend, Clare sold all her jewellery except her engagement and wedding rings. She accepted the first price offered by the first jeweller, not realizing that she could probably have raised fifty per cent more money by bargaining or trying other shops.