The morning had found her less principled. Tom’s behaviour still hurt, his sending Donald Herbert – or so it had seemed – to intervene for him still stung, and his public claims to be a family man enraged her. She had been influenced by Wendelien’s attitude, her concerns for Jamie, and to a lesser extent her own reputation; but revenge would be sweet and within her grasp, and it was a vision hard to relinquish.
Just the same, she had decided against seizing it, in the moments as she crossed the restaurant. People always recognised her in such situations, smiled at her, pointed her out to their friends; admired her for her looks, her style, her fame. If she did give Leo Bennett Tom’s story, she would be recognised still more; but for less charming reasons. Wendelien was quite right; she would be the adulteress, the woman willing to break up a family and a young wife’s heart; and, indeed the destroyer of her lover’s brilliantly promising career. And she would, in many ways, be seen as the greater sinner; people always took the man’s side, found excuses for him, cast stones at the adulteress.
She didn’t want that, she wanted to continue to be admired, smiled upon, regarded as Ned regarded her; all these things and more, she realised, in those moments on her way to the table. And then her knees went weak: and everything in the world was changed.
‘So,’ said Leo Bennett, ‘what shall we talk about? As you have no story for me.’
‘I – can’t imagine,’ she said, smiling first down into her drink, and then rather boldly directly at him.
‘How about you? As in you and your life?’
‘Not terribly interesting.’
‘I’m sure it is.’
‘Not really. How about yours?’
‘Fairly interesting, although I say it myself. But I can’t spend the next hour and a half talking about myself; how about we swap fact for fact?’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘But I insist you go first.’
‘No, ladies first. I’ll start you off. Are you married?’
‘Not any more. I’m divorced.’
‘Because . . .’
‘Oh, the usual sort of thing,’ she said, unwilling to reveal the huge and genuine hurt she had sustained over Johnathan’s divorcing her.
‘Ah. But I am sure your husband was gentlemanly about it and did the right thing, lady in the Brighton hotel and so on . . .’
‘Of – of course,’ she said. ‘Now that’s enough of that; are you married?’
‘Like you, not any longer, but three times, I’m afraid. Children?’
‘Yes. One son. Aged eight. Love him to pieces. You?’
‘No, to my great regret. I have lots of godchildren, though. And I take my godfatherly duties very seriously, believe it or not. I like children.’
‘Why?’
‘I like their honesty, the way they either like you or they don’t; I like the way the plainest child is attractive, given your attention; I like their clear view of things, the original things they say.’
‘You really do like them, don’t you?’ she said, rather charmed by this. ‘Most people give such stupid, false reasons.’
‘I know. I agree. Your turn. Tell me, what do you like doing? When you’re not working?’
‘Oh – goodness. I don’t have any interesting intellectual hobbies, don’t even like the theatre that much. I like horses and I love riding –’
‘Do you have a horse? Do you hunt?’
‘Yes, to both. My horse, a sweet mare, is a hunter, bit long in the tooth now to take out, doesn’t like big gates and things –’
‘Do you?’
‘Not any more, to be truthful. ‘
‘Then she sounds ideal. I like horses too, though I don’t hunt.’
‘So what else do you like doing?’
‘I’m not sure it’s not your turn. But I like good food and wine, pretty ladies – oh, and I love my work.’
‘So do I,’ she said with a fervour which surprised him. ‘Absolutely love it. Don’t know what I’d do without it.’
‘Nor I mine . . .’
And so it went on. Until suddenly, Leo Bennett looked at his watch – gold, Patek Philippe, and said, ‘You know, I could sit here happily for the rest of the day, but if you are going to make your plane, I think you should leave in the next five minutes –’
‘Oh, God,’ she said, looking at her own watch, telling her inexorably that it was quarter to three. ‘You’re right, I must go –’ She stood up, held out her hand and then dropped it again, bent and kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Thank you so, so much for the most wonderful lunch and for being so nice about it all, and I do hope you find something else to put in your column tomorrow,’ and ran out of the restaurant.
Sitting in the taxi, she felt mildly remorseful; she had wasted hours of his time, pushed up his expenses by at least five, possibly six pounds – lunches at the Berkeley didn’t come cheap, especially when champagne and a bottle of white burgundy were on the bill – and his only words had been to thank her for her company and tell her to enjoy New York.
In between fretting at the traffic on the Cromwell Road, she thought about him. He was not just absurdly good-looking and beautifully dressed, but also sexy and funny and fun. She felt slightly silly, he had affected her so much. Of course, it was extremely unlikely she would ever hear from him again. Which was a pity . . .
‘Here we are, madam –’ the taxi had swung into the entrance to the air terminal – ‘told you we’d make it easy. Let’s just get that case of yours out and find a porter –’
‘Diana, where the fuck have you been?’ It was Freddie, looking wild eyed. ‘We’ve only got five minutes to check in and find our bus. Come on, for God’s sake – I’ll get the cab, you go in, I’ve done everything, we won’t be able to sit together probably now, I tried to get them to hold a seat, but they refused. It really is too bad of you –’
Diana made her way into the terminal; she always forgot how easily Freddie panicked and, as a result of it, lost his temper – it was his most disagreeable characteristic. Now if only Leo Bennett was going to New York, that really would be fun.
Leo Bennett walked into his office, whistling under his breath. His secretary, Janey, looked at him expectantly.
‘Good lunch?’
‘Very good.’
‘Good story?’
‘No story.’
‘Oh.’
Janey waited for further instructions; usually an unproductive lunch was followed by an irritable instruction to her to trawl through the cuttings library at the very least. It didn’t come.
Instead, a thoughtful pause, then, ‘Could you dig out all the stuff on the countess and the ballet dancer, darling? Quick as you can.’
‘Sure, but I thought you said it wasn’t worth a row of beans.’
‘Well, I’ll just have to find a magic one amongst them. Like Jack’s, you know?’
‘Er – yes.’ She stared at him; he was in a funny mood. Very funny.
Chapter 53