But then she had also, from that very first exchange between them when he was standing half-naked in a ditch, fancied him sexually; he was so extraordinarily good-looking, with his dark red-gold hair and green eyes and his countryman’s physique, tall and very strong. There was the element of sadness about him now too: the loss of the wife he had adored, the baby he would have adored, was the stuff almost of Greek tragedy. He was also extremely sexy and her hours in bed with him were an ongoing surprise and delight. Now it was to end, and rather like her early passion for Ned, her main emotion was humiliation.
She was clearly, she thought, drinking glass after glass of wine that night, smoking cigarette after cigarette, doomed to unhappiness in her love life. Where for her was the calm, happy marriage her best friend Wendelien enjoyed with her Ian; or the sparky, sexy partnership of her brother Michael and his Betsey; even the peaceful affection of her own parents, about to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary? What was the matter with her, that she chose so disastrously wrongly for herself: first Ned, then Johnathan, sundry lovers who took their pleasure from her and then departed again – most notably Freddie Bateman? And now, Tom Knelston, so firmly married, although she was fairly sure Alice was no real replacement in his heart for Laura. Why couldn’t she find someone who was suitable, for God’s sake, sexy, sophisticated, available – a nice divorcé would do – and loving? It was the loving she seemed to fail with every time.
She had worked out a little cat-and-mouse game she was going to play with Tom. If he turned up within the two weeks she had specified she would give him a kiss, pat him on the head – notionally – and send him on his way. If he didn’t, she would make a phone call or two to his office, perhaps send a note: and see what happened next.
In April, she had a wonderful trip planned, shooting two features with Freddie Bateman in the States; one, seriously glamorous, in New York, and then the second one, which she was much more excited about, on the wild windswept beaches of Massachusetts, places which had become so famous it made her spine tingle just to think about them – Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket and Cape Cod, home to the famous Kennedy clan.
She and Freddie were now growing famous for their ingenuity; the fur shots at Smithfield had been really groundbreaking, and Blanche Ellis Brown, in particular, who had first put them to work together (and never failed to claim credit for doing so), had come to rely on them to find a story where she could not. So it was with the New York shoot; she had invited them to lunch in her office that very day, shown them a few of the clothes, and said of course she did have one idea, but how about them? It was Freddie who came up with the ‘Day in the Life of New York’. Twenty-four pictures shot on the hour, round the clock. It was a well-known fact that New York never slept. ‘We’d have everything from one of those crazy downtown diners, with Diana chatting up some truck drivers, to dancing at some fantastic nightclub. That way we’d get in every iconic New York landmark, and a huge range of clothes. What do you think?’
Diana clapped, leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. She rather enjoyed encouraging the fiction that they were still lovers.
‘Brilliant!’ said Blanche. ‘Absolutely brilliant.’
‘So – what was your idea?’ Freddie asked her.
‘Oh – not even worth discussing,’ she said quickly.
‘I knew she didn’t have one,’ said Freddie to Diana later. They were drinking cocktails in the American Bar at the Connaught, where he was inevitably staying.
‘You are naughty.’
‘I know. I enjoy it. Now, we must make sure they book us into the Carlyle in New York. Terribly smart, darling, the place right now. Wonderful jazz in the café; we could maybe use it for one of the shots, it’s all marvellously deco . . .’
‘I can’t wait,’ said Diana. It sounded exactly what she needed just now. And suddenly, Freddie looked rather attractive again.
She was just sipping thoughtfully at her third Martini (and finding him more attractive still) when Donald Herbert’s flamboyant figure loomed over her.
‘Miss Southcott. How lovely to see you. How are you?’
‘Now you know you should call me Diana,’ she said, reaching up and offering him her hand. ‘I’m very well, thank you. This is Freddie Bateman, a friend from the States. He’s a very famous and wonderful photographer. Freddie, Donald Herbert, well-known politician.’
‘Hardly a politician,’ said Herbert. ‘I just paddle about in the shallows.’
‘That makes it sound so cosy,’ said Diana. ‘I’d ask you to join us but we’re about to leave.’
‘I wouldn’t think of intruding on you,’ said Herbert, ‘and in any case, I’m meeting someone myself.’
‘Not our mutual friend?’
‘No, no. But speaking of our mutual friend, Diana, I believe you and he had some unfinished business the other evening.’
‘It might not be,’ said Diana coolly. ‘Unfinished, I mean.’
‘I do hope it can be,’ said Donald Herbert. ‘It would be most unfortunate if his career was to come into difficulties now. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that either.’
‘I’m afraid I have no interest whatsoever in his career,’ said Diana. ‘Whether it was in difficulties or not.’
‘I see. Well – just thought I’d mention it. This could be his big moment.’
‘How exciting for him. Well, Freddie and I have work to do. Please excuse us, Mr Herbert.’
‘What was all that about?’ said Freddie curiously. ‘Not your usual type at all, darling.’
‘What a ghastly thought. If he was my usual type, I mean. And you really don’t want to know what it was about: a pathetic little tale. Come on, Freddie, drink up, and I’ll take you out to dinner. How about the Berkeley?’
She suddenly felt very annoyed with Tom. Running to his boss, or whatever Herbert was, blubbing about her threats, and obviously begging him to help: it was pretty pathetic, really. Clearly, she came a very poor second to his career; and that was not something she was used to. If Herbert thought a word from him could obtain her silence and her sympathy, he had another think coming. There might yet be some fun to be had from the situation.
Chapter 48
‘They said in your office that you were just popping out for half an hour. And they promised to give you the message.’
‘What message?’
‘Oh, nothing important,’ said Jillie, her voice curdled with sarcasm. She was standing on Tom’s doorstep. ‘Just that Alice had gone into labour.’
‘Oh, my God,’ said Tom. ‘Where?’
‘She’s in hospital. And she’s had the baby. It was terribly quick, touch and go she might have had it here. It’s a boy,’ she added. ‘If you’re interested.’
‘Of course I’m interested, for God’s sake,’ said Tom, hardly taking in the good news, so heavy were her reproaches, so great his guilt. ‘Oh, God, this is awful. Jillie, I’m so sorry.’
‘Apologise to her, not me. Luckily I had the day off and came whizzing over. She was really frightened, Tom.’
‘Why didn’t she call an ambulance?’
‘Small matter of the other children. She could hardly take them with her.’