Reckless (50 page)

The other copy of the letter was carried by Leonid Ilyichev, Secretary in Charge of Ideology, to Moscow Radio. Ilyichev’s black Chaika made record time into the city, but once inside the building, his elevator got stuck between floors. Unable to get out, he passed the letter page by page through the bars of the cage’s grille.

At 5 p.m. Moscow time the letter was read out live, without rehearsal, by Moscow Radio’s best-known
diktor
, Yuri Levitan. His was the voice that had announced to the Soviet people the start of the war against Nazi Germany in 1941, and its victorious end in 1945; the death of Stalin in 1953; and the triumphant space flight of Yuri Gagarin in 1961.

‘This is Moscow speaking,’ he began. ‘I am now going to
read to you a letter written by Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev, First Secretary of the Presidium of the Communist Party and Chairman of the Council of Ministers, to John Fitzgerald Kennedy, president of the United States.’

In London, three hours behind Moscow, Pamela was sleeping late that Sunday morning. When at last she came down for breakfast it was well after eleven o’clock, and she found only Emily in the kitchen. Emily and Harriet had returned from Dorset the previous evening.

‘Do you know when Mary’s coming back?’ said Emily.

‘No,’ said Pamela. ‘I’ve got no idea.’

‘She said she’d be gone a few days. It’s already eight days. That’s not a few.’

Pamela made herself a cup of Nescafé. Emily wandered off. As she drank her coffee and smoked her first cigarette of the day, Pamela found herself thinking about Susie and Logan and his proposal. The champagne, the ring. ‘How about it, old girl?’ Then she thought about André, and how he had wanted his party to be ‘joyful’. Then she thought about Bobby, who said, ‘It’s fun or it’s nothing.’

What was wrong with men? What was wrong with the world?

She had forgotten that there was going to be a nuclear war. Instead she was wondering whether or not to call Stephen, who had invited her to lunch at Cliveden. She didn’t much want to go to Cliveden, but nor did she want to stay here, now that Harriet was back.

Then Harriet herself appeared.

‘Oh, Pamela, you’re up. I wonder whether you could come into Hugo’s study. We’d like a word.’

No one ever went into Hugo’s study, least of all Hugo. Pamela did as she was asked.

Hugo was in there, standing by the mantelpiece, an abstracted look on his face. Outside the tall window there was sunshine on the railings, and on the grass between the trees. Hugo glanced at her as she entered, and gave her a slight shrug.

Harriet closed the door behind them, and went over to stand by Hugo’s side. She had a strange bright smile on her face. She took hold of Hugo’s hand.

‘Hugo and I are very lucky,’ she said. ‘It’s not just that we have a strong, committed marriage. We’re also each other’s best friend. I think that’s rare, don’t you? I can always tell what Hugo’s thinking. And you see, because I know him and love him, I trust him.’

She nodded her small elegant head as if to say that all this was as it should be. Then she turned to Hugo with the look of a fond teacher addressing a naughty but favoured child.

‘Of course, he’s not perfect. He’s as human as the rest of us. But then, neither am I perfect. I can’t begin to imagine how tedious it must be to have to put up with all my little troubles. But dear Hugo forgives me, as I forgive him.’

She turned back to Pamela.

‘You’re still so young, Pamela. I hope that one day you’ll have a marriage of your own that’s as close and forgiving as ours. Then you’ll understand that nothing can break it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Pamela. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, I think you do,’ said Harriet. ‘I know it’s just a game to you. You have no idea what damage you could do with your light-hearted games. But fortunately Hugo and I have no secrets from each other.’

‘What am I supposed to have done?’

‘Let’s just say that you are a very pretty girl, and Hugo’s a normal red-blooded man, and he’s very sorry if he forgot himself for a moment or two. Men have their games, too. You’ll understand better when you’re older.’

She smiled up at Hugo. Hugo stared down at the fender. Pamela found herself drawn helplessly into Harriet’s world, where they were the combatants, and Hugo the neutral ground.

‘Why doesn’t he speak for himself?’

‘Well, I think he’s just a tiny bit ashamed, don’t you?’

‘But he’s done nothing to be ashamed of.’

Harriet wrinkled her brow.

‘I think I’m being rather unusually understanding here, Pamela. I’ve talked it over with Hugo, and I’m willing to forget all about it. As far as you’re concerned, I should have thought some sort of apology was in order.’

‘Then you’d better tell me what Hugo says I’ve done.’

‘Hugo has said nothing. A gentleman never lays the blame on a lady. But of course, I knew at once.’

Hugo cleared his throat and spoke at last. He spoke without lifting his gaze from the fender.

‘She smelled you on the sheets.’

‘Smelled me!’

Pamela broke into a short laugh.

‘I have a very sensitive sense of smell,’ said Harriet. ‘I’m glad it amuses you.’

‘But nothing happened,’ said Pamela. ‘Didn’t he tell you that?’

‘You may call it nothing if you wish,’ said Harriet.

‘I was frightened, because of the missiles in Cuba. You do know what’s happening? There’s probably going to be a nuclear war. You do know that?’

Suddenly it seemed to Pamela that the coming war was more
important than anything. That in its light Harriet’s accusations were rendered petty and ridiculous.

‘I do follow the news.’

‘We could all be dead tomorrow.’

‘Well, that’s as may be,’ said Harriet.

‘Don’t you believe me? It’s true. Tell her, Hugo.’

‘The international situation is very serious,’ said Hugo, still not looking up.

‘Oh, Hugo, don’t be so silly,’ said Harriet. And to Pamela, ‘I think it might be more comfortable for all of us if you found somewhere else to stay while you’re in London, don’t you? I expect one of your new friends could help you out.’

Still the sweet reasonable tone. Pamela struggled with mounting anger.

‘Is there anything else you want to say to me, Pamela?’

‘May I use the phone?’

For a moment she caught a look of cold hatred in Harriet’s pale-blue eyes. Then the smile returned.

‘Yes, of course.’

Pamela went out of the study, leaving the door ajar. She picked up the phone in the hall and rang Stephen.

‘It’s Pamela,’ she said. ‘Come and get me as soon as you can. Please.’

Then she stayed in the hall, one hand on the telephone table, breathing rapidly. She could hear Harriet in the study.

‘So insolent. So selfish. You saw how she looked at me? There’s something wrong with that girl. Do you think it’s because of her father?’

Then Hugo’s voice, murmuring low.

‘She’s just young, that’s all.’

Pamela went slowly up the stairs to her room. There she changed into smart day clothes and made up her face and
brushed her hair. Then she sat and gazed into the dressing-table mirror until she no longer recognised herself.

I am nothing. I don’t exist.

Nothing happened. Nobody needs to know.

In time she heard a car pull up outside. She ran down the stairs and opened the front door before the bell rang.

‘Just take me away,’ she said. ‘Please.’

Stephen asked no questions until they were on the road west.

‘Bad day?’

She nodded.

‘Could be a bad day for the world,’ he said.

‘Good,’ said Pamela.

‘Like that, is it?’

‘Oh, Stephen.’ Her anger dissolved into self-pity. ‘I’m making such a mess of everything.’

‘Don’t we all,’ he said. ‘Being human.’

‘Is there a cure?’

‘There’s a sort of a cure. It’s called not minding too much. You’d be surprised how much fun there is to be had once you stop minding about things.’

‘I’ve tried fun. It wasn’t much fun.’

‘Is this André?’

‘Among others.’

‘Taking on André qualifies as jumping in at the deep end. Better to start out where you’re still in your depth. I told you. You can have any man you want.’

‘What if I want a man I can’t have?’

‘No such creature.’

‘He might be married.’

‘Darling! You think married men aren’t to be had? They’re the easiest of all.’

‘Honestly, Stephen. Don’t you have any morals at all?’

‘I’m the most moral man I know. I believe in truth, and kindness
and peace between nations. I abhor violence, and lies, and the hypocrisy that makes a misery of most people’s lives. What exactly is the point of fidelity in marriage if there’s no love? God knows, life is short enough. And, as you may or may not know, there’s a strong chance it’ll all be over by Wednesday.’

‘By Wednesday?’

‘Tomorrow the Americans invade Cuba. Tuesday the Russians invade Berlin. Wednesday the missiles fly. Goodbye and good luck.’

‘Will that really be the end of the world?’

‘It’ll be the end of Europe and Russia and the United States. But I suppose life will go on in Africa and India and Australia.’

They turned into the drive to Cliveden, and took the right fork that led to the big house. Stephen parked the car by the water tower.

Pamela followed Stephen from the car. In the immense hallway stood two large bronze statues of goddesses, or perhaps muses. They were naked but for a wisp of covering around the loins. Their breasts were a brighter honey-gold than the rest of their bodies, as if passing guests had fondled them for generations.

The company was gathered in the long drawing room, which looked over a broad terrace and a great open view of countryside beyond. They were mostly middle-aged or older. They spoke in the assured tones of men who are accustomed to being heard.

‘Harold has shown no leadership whatsoever.’

‘When the balloon goes up I shall hunker down in my place in Scotland. I’m a fair shot. I’ll not starve.’

‘Ah, Stephen,’ said Lord Astor. ‘Now we can all cheer up.’

Stephen introduced Pamela. The mood perceptibly changed. The old men stood straighter, and smiled upon her with varying degrees of fatherly interest.

‘Any news?’ said Stephen.

‘The word is the Russians are going to make some sort of a
statement at two o’clock.’ This was a balding white-haired man who was something to do with the
Daily Telegraph
. ‘Just the usual propaganda rant, I expect. My chaps are saying Kennedy has to go in.’

‘We’ve got a television in the library,’ said Astor. ‘We can turn it on when it’s time.’

A small ugly man addressed himself to Pamela.

‘Do you have an estate in Scotland to run away to?’ he said.

‘No,’ said Pamela.

‘Nor do I. I take the old-fashioned view that the captain should go down with his ship.’

‘Are you a captain?’ Pamela said

‘Of a kind. Did I see you at Jack Heinz’s do the other day? I’m sure I did.’

‘No,’ said Pamela. ‘I don’t think so.’

Eugene Ivanov now appeared from the hall, just arrived, still shedding his outer coat. He was visibly agitated.

‘The situation is very serious,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t your government listen to me? Now we will all pay the price.’

‘I don’t see how you can blame us, Eugene,’ said a tall old man. ‘It’s your chap who started it all.’

‘My chap!’

‘Khrushchev. With his missiles.’

Ivanov threw his coat angrily over a chair, from where a servant retrieved it.

‘We have missiles all round us! Chairman Khrushchev had the courage to stand up to the Americans! How can you say he started it?’

‘Even so, you’ve got to admit it was a rash move.’

‘I admit nothing! Chairman Khrushchev has shown foresight and self-confidence! I applaud him!’

‘Give the man a drink,’ said Stephen. ‘That’s enough, Eugene. We all know whose side you’re on.’

‘Ah, Stephen. If only they’d listened to us.’ His gaze now took in Pamela. ‘If only they’d listened to your friend.’

‘So what’s going to happen, Ivanov?’ said the
Telegraph
man. ‘If Kennedy sends in the troops, what will Khrushchev do?’

‘He will fight back, of course,’ said Ivanov. ‘We will witness the clash of the Titans.’

Over lunch in the ornate gilt-mirrored dining room, conversation ranged more widely. Stephen Ward and one of the other male guests swapped anecdotes about the Eversleigh club in Chicago in the early thirties.

‘My God! That was quite a place! Solid gold spittoons!’

‘And the two elderly ladies who ran it! I don’t recall their names, but I remember I was told they were the daughters of a parson.’

‘The costumes the girls wore! I’ll never forget sitting at one of the dining tables and seeing these princesses, these goddesses, just strolling by as if they didn’t have a care in the world.’

It dawned on Pamela that they were talking about a brothel.

‘I like Chicago much better than New York,’ Stephen said. ‘It’s more American.’

On Pamela’s other side sat the ugly man who had said he was a kind of a captain.

‘You should have been here for the Fairbanks party,’ he said. ‘That was the most spectacular affair. Practically the whole royal family, from the Queen down. Jock Whitney. Lee Canfield, Jack Kennedy’s sister-in-law. A whole mess of Rothschilds. The Maharaja of Jaipur. Flaming torches all up the drive. Fireworks at midnight. It was Daphne Fairbanks’s coming out party. They had her name in fireworks, as high as the house. I guess she was just seventeen years old then. About your own age.’

‘I’m almost nineteen,’ said Pamela.

‘Oh, well then. Quite a woman of the world.’

He looked across at Stephen Ward.

‘Friend of Ward’s, are you?’

‘Yes,’ said Pamela.

‘He’s an amazing fellow. I had lumbago, crippled by it. Three goes with Ward and that was that. All gone. But I don’t suppose you even know what lumbago is.’

‘No,’ said Pamela.

‘You don’t want to know, believe me. So where do you live? Are you available to be taken out to dinner? The Connaught’s my watering hole. They’ve got a new man there who actually understands how not to overcook beef. I promise you, you won’t eat better anywhere.’