He desperately hoped these were not empty words. As well as worrying about the election, he was on constant tenterhooks, afraid that Diana would suddenly make her threats reality. He never turned the corner of the road without a stab of terror that her car would be there, outside the house: and if it was not, never opened the front door without fearing a furious Alice recounting how Diana had visited her that day. If Diana’s revenge was to make him suffer, she was certainly succeeding.
He had told Josh what his decision was about Purbridge: Josh was impressed, while clearly sharing Donald’s view that, short term, it was not going to do him any good. He said that nearer the time he would put an item into the diary section of the paper which should help Tom, establishing him as a person of principle and loyalty. Not that anybody knew when the time would be: Eden hadn’t even called the election yet, although Churchill had officially resigned. It all added to his general tension.
Of the other half of their conversation he made no mention.
It was now three weeks since he had told Diana he couldn’t see her any longer – and despite her threats he missed her: not just the quiet, civilised evenings in the pretty house, or even the brilliant sparky sex, but Diana herself. He tried very hard to analyse his feelings for her. Clearly he wasn’t in love with her – he loved Alice, however much his behaviour might belie it and he certainly didn’t allow himself any foolish fantasies about being with Diana all the time. But she made him laugh and seemed genuinely interested in his political career, while disagreeing violently with the shade of his politics. She was truly that rare thing, a good friend: the sex had been a sort of side dish, dipped into to better savour the main ingredients – although clearly it would be difficult explaining that to Alice, let alone the press.
There was nothing he could do, plainly; except perhaps hope – and of course pray. But as he doubted the existence of the Almighty – he couldn’t help feeling that even if He did exist, He was unlikely to help him conceal several acts of adultery from his wife – he did nothing.
Chapter 49
Blanche’s voice down the phone was odd. A touch of bravado, a bit of faltering, an unmistakable choke as she finished bringing the shocking news.
She had been fired. Along with the editor. The editor! When did they get fired? And the art director, the whole creative team, in fact.
‘But – who’s fired you?’
‘Mr Big –’ her name for the American proprietor, a sweet, benevolent man, who had inherited the whole Style stable from his own father – ‘Mr Big has died.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘Yes, and the dreaded Master Big has taken over.’ Master Big was the son and heir, obnoxiously brash, entirely lacking in his father’s courtesy and charm. ‘With ideas about relaunching, new editors – including, guess what, his girlfriend – new titles. He’s decided he doesn’t like English Style, he wants a whole new look and relaunch.’ Her voice broke.
‘Oh, Blanche, I’m so shocked.’ Diana had a lump in her throat herself. Style had made her, and Blanche was truly talented, a visionary when it came to fashion. She had had countless offers from other magazines and even a couple of newspapers, but she always turned them down, loyal to Style which she said was her natural habitat.
‘Anyway,’ she said now, her voice and emotions clearly under control. ‘I’m afraid it’s from today –’
‘What? Can they do that?’
‘Well, yes, they’re paying me for my notice period. Some Yank broad is on the plane even as we speak, taking up residence from Monday morning, and I’ve been told to cancel any features from June onwards. Which, since we put your shoot back two weeks, more’s the terrible pity, means goodbye to your American dream.’
‘Shit,’ said Diana. ‘Have you told Freddie?’
‘I was rather hoping you would. I can’t take many more of these phone calls, and there are a few sessions booked even sooner than yours. So, if you wouldn’t mind terribly, I’d be so grateful . . .’
‘Of course,’ said Diana. ‘And Blanche, let’s meet next week for a drink.’
‘Lovely. Call me in a few days when I’m a bit less frantic. Lot to do, not least clearing my desk.’
Blanche’s desk was famous for its clutter, every inch of surface taken up with sheets of photographers’ contacts, pages ripped from other magazines, scribbled reminder notes to herself, invitations and letters waiting to be answered. Diana could never believe the order Blanche could pull from this chaos. ‘Well,’ she said feebly now, ‘if there’s anything I can do –’
‘Sweet of you, darling, but I don’t think so; see you next week.’
Freddie was outraged: ‘Poor darling Blanche. Look, I’ll be over next week, I’m shooting something for Flair, and I’ve been summoned to Vogue as well. I’ll see what I can do. You’ll be around, I presume?’
‘Yes, where else might I be?’ said Diana. She suddenly felt very depressed.
She had been looking forward to this trip so much; it was the only really exciting thing on her horizon at the moment. The only thing altogether, she realised. Her social diary was not as full as she would have liked, she had no other bookings for any other magazines; her birthday was coming up and she supposed she could give a party, but it was her thirty-fifth, and would rather remind people, especially in the fashion business, that she was no longer young. OK. So Barbara Goalen was apparently immortal, and so was Fiona Campell-Walter, but they were goddesses, and she belonged to a more mortal band. Once forty she’d be done for, apart from the odd booking if she was lucky for ‘Mrs Exeter’, the elegant, sophisticated Vogue creation, Exeter being a synonym for ‘older’.
She suddenly thought about Jamie; maybe she could see him for half-term week. He was increasingly good company, and they had had a very good time in London seeing shows and films and were working their way through the sights. He was getting very tall and at the age of eight could easily be taken for ten. He was still a charming child, but there was no denying he was very spoilt; he only had to mention that he wanted something to his father than it arrived: he had a bigger horse, one of the new transistor radios, an electric gramophone, and Johnathan had set up a complete train layout for him all round one of the attic rooms.
‘You want to be a little bit careful, darling,’ Caroline said to Diana when she told her mother she thought they might look out for a new pony for Jamie for the autumn hunting season. ‘He’s well aware that you and Johnathan will do anything for him, just to keep him on your side, and he’s beginning to use that. It won’t really do any harm to say no to him once in a while.’
‘Maybe not, but I’m not going to risk it,’ said Diana coolly. ‘I think I know my own child well enough to make judgements about how I bring him up.’
Caroline wasn’t quite brave enough to say that having Jamie a maximum of twelve weeks a year was hardly bringing him up.
Diana telephoned Johnathan.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Oh, hello.’ His voice was very cold.
‘How are you?’
‘Pretty well, thanks.’
‘And your parents?’
‘Mother’s fine. Father needs round-the-clock care now.’
‘I’m sorry.’