Crimson (50 page)

“Where did Scott take you to dinner?” Adam asked.

“That new Italian place in the King’s Road,” Miranda murmured.

“Why is it that pansies seem to run the best restaurants?”

“The queers are all coming out of the closet after last year’s legislation,” Adam said. Homosexual acts between adult men were now legal in Britain.

“What was the restaurant like?” “The usual Italian thing. Vaulted-ceilings, everything white, one perfect flower spotlit in the centre of each table, impeccable fettuccine primavera.”

“Did Scott have anything interesting to say?” “He was a bit too earnest to be amusing.” Miranda gently splashed scented water at Adam.

“As a matter of fact, Scott spent most of the first course warning me against you. He wants me to visit STG and find out more about the trust.”

“The trust no longer has anything to do with STG, Adam said, hiding his annoyance as he soaped Miranda’s soft right underarm.

“And you saw the trust accounts for last year, remember?”

Adam turned his attention to Miranda’s other tender places and casually added, “Perhaps you’d better give Annabel a call, to reassure her that you’re keeping a watchful eye on the accounts. Explain again that trustees are very careful with somebody else’s money … That reminds me, did I tell you that the trustees have turned down a request from Annabel?”

“No,” Miranda said.

“What forT “She wanted a large sum of money to fund some project at the Bronx Zoo. Unfortunately, this request didn’t come within the trust beneficiary limits. I expect that’s what’s behind Scott’s concern.”

“The trust was absolutely correct to say no,” Miranda agreed. Then she added, carefully casual: “What I’d really Jike to talk to Annabel about is us. I’m sure everyone in Ac office guesses.”

“Our relationship isn’t your secret, it’s our secret, and I want it kept secret,” Adam murmured, his voice smooth but determined.

“I’ve never understood why you want to keep it a secret - I wish I did,” Miranda said, returning to their perennial source of disagreement. A year ago and again at Christmas she had proposed, playfully. On both occasions, he had laughed the idea off as a charming joke.

Miranda was puzzled and humiliated by Adam’s rejection. He had now been her lover for nearly three years: the physical side of their relationship seemed to be perfect. Miranda, while not vain, did not suffer from false modesty. She knew that she was beautiful, although her looks were not as sensational as Annabel’s. She was a perfect size ten: at five nine, perhaps a little too tall, but Adam was well over six feet. Rich and famous, Miranda knew she was also an interesting companion.

Besides, Adam said that he loved her. At the back of her mind, Miranda heard the ghostly voice of Buzz say, “Any Latin lover can say “I love you”,” but she pushed the thought away, just as she had pushed away other silly possibilities. Perhaps Adam sought a bride with better status. If so, Miranda thought sarcastically, Princess Anne would soon be old enough for him.

The only other reason Miranda could think of for her failure to get Adam to the altar was her success; she knew that while many women were attracted to a man by his status, many men saw a successful businesswoman as a direct competitor. An insecure man, she knew, might not want to be married to someone more powerful than himself.

But Adam was extremely successful in his own right. So why wouldn’t he marry her?

Knowing that Adam always liked to keep his options open, Miranda was forced to the lonely conclusion that he didn’t love her enough to commit himself to her for life. As is always the case when a person wants something and can’t have it, her frustration merely increased her desire.

As he soaped Miranda’s back, Adam knew perfectly well that she was about to propose to him again. But if he tied himself to Miranda, he would have less influence over Annabel, who would then have legitimate reasons to doubt his objectivity. However, Miranda, who couldn’t stand indecision, wasn’t the sort of woman to be fobbed off for much longer. Until he controlled all the money, Adam couldn’t risk either sister querying his moves: he needed to placate and control both of them.

So Adam intended, when Miranda asked him, to reassure her by promising to marry her one day. In fact, if she got too insistent, he might agree to an engagement on … say, February seventh, Miranda’s twenty-eighth birthday. With any luck, the trust funds should be in his hands shortly after that date, at which point he would say goodbye to Britain for ever.

Adam’s wet arm lazily reached for another peach. He said, “I can tell you’re thinking about something.”

“You know what I’m thinking about,” Miranda replied sadly.

“Well, stop it, or I’ll tie you to the bedposts with silk ribbons and do wicked things to you, so you won’t be able to think of anything else.” He slid his hands beneath Miranda’s soapy body. As he caressed the two pale curves of flesh that rose above the water, he decided what to do about Scott.

TUESDAY, 22 AUGUST 1968

Adam drove his D B 4 Aston Martin rather too fast through the peaceful country lanes of Sussex. He was taking Annabel to see the latest production of Figaro at the Glyndebourne Festival, both of them wearing full evening dress. Some people might consider it surreal, even ludicrous, to set off for a country outing in mid-afternoon in full evening dress, but this eccentricity is part of the Glyndebourne Opera tradition, which began in 1934 when John Christie gave his opera singer wife a wedding present her own little opera house, set in the sylvan parks of a stately house in Sussex. Now few musical occasions are more beautiful, more typically British, more exquisitely performed, and more elitist than an evening at Glyndeboume.

As usual, the seats were all occupied: part of what made the little theatre so special was the fact that tickets were almost impossible to obtain. The London Philharmonic started the overture, and the audience settled back to enjoy itself as the opening bars predicted the light-hearted frivolity and charm of Mozart’s enchanted eighteenthcentury world.

Adam, who was not musical, found it difficult to accept the elaborate plot, with its disguises and unlikely mistaken identities, its concealments in closets and too-coincidental overheard assignations, as Figaro, the valet, fought his waster, the Count, for the favours of the chambermaid Susanna. But Adam had not come here for pleasure, he reminded himself as the lights went up for the intermisSion During this especially long interval, the audience either ate a three-course dinner in the manor house or took chainpape picnics on to the lawns, enhanced by the Sussex Downs in the background.

“Before the war, people used to bring their own butlers to serve their picnics in those woods.” Adam pointed to the spot.

“Let’s have our dinner there,” he suggested as he helped Annabel

manoeuvre across a grassy ditch in her silver-bead cd grey chiffon Jean Muir dress. Black-faced sheep viewed their efforts with mild surprise.

Adam carried the wickerwork picnic hamper over the grass to the trees; they walked beside a chain of woodland pools which followed the course of a stream and led to a small clearing carpeted by wild flowers.

“This might have been painted by Botticelli!” Annabel kicked off her shoes and sat down on Adam’s rug. Green leaves rustled slightly on the soft breeze, and she heard the faint hum of a bee.

Adam took off his jacket, spread a white linen cloth on the grass by a still, clear pool, then poured champagne into Annabel’s glass, and looked in the hamper.

“We have quail’s eggs, chicken in curry-flavoured mayonnaise, cucumber salad, and strawberries Romanoff.” In the twilight, they ate and talked, Annabel looking like a wood sprite in her will-o’-the-wisp grey chiffon. Through the trees, in the distance, they could see the manor against the sky, decked out in lights. Annabel said, “What a delightful way to end my British visit.”

“I’m sorry it’s been such a sad -trip for you.” Adam helped himself to some quail’s eggs.

Annabel had arrived in England two weeks earlier, intending to take Buzz back to Saracen to complete her recovery. But when Annabel collected her, Buzz had asked to stay the night at a posh hotel in Eastbourne. Puzzled, Annabel agreed.

Shortly afterwards, when Buzz was supposedly resting, she had appeared, wearing a bright mustard coat, at the Lord Willington Nursing Home, where she asked to see Elinor. As she insisted upon carrying a suitcase into Elinor’s bedroom, rather than leave it at the reception desk, the receptionist feared that Buzz was perhaps smuggling alcohol to an alcoholic patient; she immediately informed the matron.

Matron Braddock hurried to the bedroom, to find a vacant-looking Elinor being helped by Buzz into an identical mustard coat.

When the furious matron asked Buzz to leave, she refused. The matron called two male nurses, who firmly escorted Buzz to her waiting taxi. Matron Braddock later telephoned Adam, and he readily agreed that Buzz should be banned The following day, Buzz tried to enter the nursing home by the side gate but was spotted by a gardener. The matron had threatened to call the police if she tried again.

“What was sad,” Annabel said, “was seeing poor Buzz refuse to believe that Gran was … how she is. Poor darling, she really isn’t with us any more, but Buzz won’t accept that, as we all must. She seems to think we’re part of some conspiracy to imprison Elinor. She’s refused to stay with Miranda, and she’s very cross with me.”

“It must be hard for Buzz to accept the fact that she’s also … deteriorating,” Adam said sympathetically.

“She’s taken a room in a boarding-house in Earls Court, full of noisy Australian students. She says that once Gran used to live in the next square.”

“I don’t want you or Miranda to worry about Buzz,” Adam said firmly as he refilled Annabel’s glass.

“You’ve helped Buzz as much as she wants to be helped.” He smiled at Annabel’s worried face.

“I’ll make a few quiet investigations. The trust will pay her rent, as well as her pension, and also any special medical care she might need. I expect she’ll soon calm down and see reason.” He poured more champagne for himself.

“Oh, by the way there’s something I want to discuss before you leave. Scott says that you want the trustees to provide quarterly accounts, and they’re a bit mystified as to why because, as you know, Miranda keeps a close eye on the accounts. The trustees wondered if there was any particular item that you wanted to query in the 1967 accounts.”

Somewhat confused and not wishing to seem impolite, Annabel said, “Oh no … nothing particular.” She laughed apologetically.

“I know Miranda has the business brains off the family. It just seemed odd that when I asked for a relatively small sum…” Her voice trailed away as she carefully examined her forkfal of chicken.

“My dear Annabel, the job of the trustees is to protect the capital,” Adam said gravely.

“They can7t whittle away the capital without risking serious legal charges. They are legally obliged to act for the benefit of the beneficiaries, whether or not you all agree to their actions: that is the whole point of a trust.” He refilled her glass again and said reassuringly, “When enough income has accumulated, then, in addition to your present allowance, you’ll probably get the same large lump sum that you had last year especially if Saracen is sold.”

“Miranda told me the trust might sell Saracen. We both hate to think of it!”

“Now that de Gaulle’s had his landslide victory with the Communist seats halved it seems a prudent time to sell. Sadly, Elinor may never leave -the nursing home. Should she do so, she could no longer manage to run the chiteau, and neither, I suspect, can poor old Buzz.”

Annabel put down her glass and looked about to cry. Adam leaned over and patted her hand.

“You must let the trustees make these worrying decisions. That’s why ‘he your grandmother set up the trust in the first place. S wanted you to have no worries.” “She’s always been so caring.” “Of course.” Adam patted her hand again.

“If you’d like to go over all the legal paperwork with me again in detail - I’d be happy to do it. Can you spare, say, three hours at my office tomorrow?” Suspecting that she might be even more confused after three hours of perusing legal documents, Annabel hastily said, “It isn’t really necessary. Scott’s a little overprotective. I’m sure Miranda’s capable of checking these things.”

“Miranda’s special gift is for business.” Adam nodded.

4your gifts are quite different, Annabel, and … very rare.”

“I’d like to think I’ve got something going for me. I’d like to think I was good for something other than smiling to camera.”

“Of course you are, Annabel. I’ve just told you so.”

“Now,” Annabel said sadly, “when people say nice things about me, I can’t believe them. When you’re a model, the praise and flattery is endless and addictive. But as soon as your bookings start to slide, the flatterers just … melt away. That’s when you know you’re a has-been.”

“What a sad little speech,” Adam said gently. Annabel’s beautiful face was not only her strength but also her weakness. She was afraid of getting ugly, fat, old. Her dreaded thirtieth birthday came nearer every day.

“I think your looks have improved since you stopped rnodelfing,” he continued.

“Since your face filled out, it’s lost that worried, anxious look. You now have a delicious, serene quality.”

“Do I realV.”

“Yes, really, “Adam said, looking into Annabel’s astonishingly beautiful eyes.

“You’re really an oldfashioned girl, Annabel, with charming, traditional feminine qualities. You’re so much softer and more gentle than … your sisters.”

“Oh!Do you really think soT “Miranda’s obviously the new sort of woman who’s trying to take a man’s place in a man’s world, but when things get tough, she still dodges final responsibility and turns to a man me,” Adam explained.

“Clare’s another type of new woman: she also tries to take on a man’s responsibility, but she won’t do things in the traditional way. So she makes a mess of it, can’t manage on her own and can’t understand why and when she’s bewildered she becomes aggressive.”