His bath was enormous; they sat in it together, she on his lap: with inevitable consequences. ‘Oh,’ she said, leaning back against him afterwards, ‘that was wonderful. I never could see the sense when people went on about it, but I do now.’
Later, back in bed, drinking first tea for her, coffee for him, then the most poetically beautiful white burgundy; then more sex (‘Where does it come from, all this – this wanting?’ she asked) and then just as she was drifting off, he said, his voice blurred with sleep, ‘Don’t you dare agree to go to New York without discussing it with me first.’
That did it. She would not go, she decided, not if he didn’t want her to, but then, in the morning, his phone started ringing, obviously with a lot of amusing gossip, and he sat up in bed, propped on his pillows, making notes and saying things like, ‘She sounds a bit of a peach,’ and ‘I had a huge fling with her once, nympho really, but if that’s what she’s up to now, I’d love to see her,’ until Diana began to feel irritated, and she got up and dressed and, blowing him a kiss from the doorway, which he returned without pausing in his conversation, went out into the street in search of a taxi home, feeling uncertain of herself: which was a most unusual emotion.
Leaving the agency, she felt more uncertain still – and confused. It had all been wonderful at first, of course, being at the heart of it, admired, wanted, the centre of attention, soothing after the hour sitting beside Leo, very much the reverse. But the news about Enchantée had been a shock. As always when she was in emotional turmoil she phoned Wendelien and said she needed to see her.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she wailed. ‘I love Leo, love love love him, and he loves me.’
‘Well, that’s wonderful,’ said Wendelien. ‘How perfect you must be together.’
‘Well – maybe. But I have to make a decision about New York, whether I go or not, and I had decided to say no today. But now I’m not quite sure.’
‘Why not, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Well – well, it’s quite complicated.’
‘Diana, it always is with you.’
‘I know. Can I tell you? And then will you give me your advice?’
‘Yes,’ said Wendelien resignedly. ‘As long as you don’t take it.’
‘Of course not.’
This was a running joke between them.
‘Anyway, you know I thought I’d got that amazing perfume contract? Well, they’ve dropped me in favour of someone else, about fifteen years younger than me, the girl they want now. Esmé made a great thing of the reason being she’s blonde, which she is, but that’s not it. I’m thirty-five years old, Jo Courtney is twenty-one. She’s making all sorts of waves and this is a huge campaign. All other things being equal, it’s going to run for five years – and in five years I’ll be in my forties. And however amazing the retouchers are at taking the years off and the lines away, far better that there aren’t any years or lines to begin with. This is only the first time, Wendelien; it’ll happen more and more, there’ll be more gorgeous young girls, with beautiful faces and nimble, bendy, loose-limbed bodies. So I don’t have very long left, however busy I am now, and I want to get out while I’m still at the top.’
Wendelien digested all this, then she said, ‘Yes, I think you’re being very brave and positive about it, and sensible. But I don’t see what it’s got to do with going to New York.’
‘Well, it’s a lot of money which I could quite do with at the moment. I’ve spent so much on my house. And it’ll be fun. And they really, really want me, which is important to me, I’ve learned today. I rather like being the centre of attention. Wendelien, why are you looking at me in that funny way? I also like being independent, more so than ever now I’m involved with Leo. He’s such a star, and I don’t want to trail round being nothing but his girlfriend. I’ve got an idea about what I want to do next, but it’ll take money to set it up.’
Wendelien listened politely, and when Diana had finally finished she said, ‘I’ve listened very carefully, Diana, and if you really love Leo – and I must say it’s rather early days to be sure – I still don’t think you ought to go to New York. He’s hardly a pipe and slippers man, waiting patiently for your return, and you could come back to find him gone. Metaphorically speaking. Sorry, not what you want to hear, I know . . .’
‘No, but you’re probably right,’ said Diana. ‘Anyway, thank you for your time and wisdom, as always. Can I have another sherry, please?’
She rang Leo’s office when she finally got home but he was out to lunch; hourly calls after that yielded the same answer, right up to five o’clock. When, this being her deadline, and midday in New York, she rang first Freddie and then Miss Dickens and told them she had decided to make the move, and was looking forward to joining them in two weeks’ time.
Leo Bennett, feeling that a five-hour lunch with a drunken (albeit wonderfully garrulous) peer of the realm, followed by a rather tough editors’ conference, was enough for one day, was on his way to Diana’s house as arranged, bearing a bottle of Perrier Jouet, with a suitably flashy diamond ring in his pocket, to tell her exactly why she shouldn’t go to New York.
They had a rather ugly row, and Leo left half an hour later, the bottle of Perrier Jouet unopened on the dining-room table, and the diamond ring still in his pocket.
Chapter 67
‘Jillie, hello. I wondered if you’d care to come out for supper one night this week?’
‘Oh, Ned. How lovely to hear from you. I’d like that very much.’
‘Good. So – when?’
‘Well, could it be Saturday? Week nights are hopeless – all my clinics run terribly late because half the women seem to have awful problems, quite apart from gynae ones, and I’m operating Tuesday and Thursday, terribly long lists.’
‘No need to sound so apologetic, Saturday would be absolutely fine. Shall we say eight? And I’ll think of somewhere nice where we can go. I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Oh – oh, goodness, yes. Ned, I’d love that. Thank you.’
She put the phone down, smiling.
She had ended the relationship with Patrick. It just didn’t seem fair. He was getting increasingly keen, and – well, she felt she was using him, a bulwark against perceived spinsterhood. She was obviously destined to end up like Miss Moran, married to her work.