Folly's Child Page 31

  What was it about him, she asked herself repeatedly, that affected her this way? He was handsome, yes, but she had known handsome men before without ever experiencing the potent chemistry that worked within her every time she was in the same room as him. When he looked at her with that deep tantalising gaze of his her stomach would contract, when he touched her, greeting her with a kiss that lasted just a fraction too long for a casual greeting, or leading her onto the dance floor at some function, she could feel her flesh rising towards him as if he were a powerful magnet and she was the smallest of steel pins. ‘You fascinate me, Paula Varna’, he had whispered once into her hair, and a shudder ran through her, but later that same evening he was all but ignoring her, turning all his attention to the Texas beauty who was still his regular date, so that it was difficult to believe that his interest in her was anything but a product of her own fevered imagination.

  There were times too when she felt he was laughing at her, perhaps at both of them, mocking, teasing, leading her on to make a fool of herself and enjoying every moment of it. The switchback ride of emotion was stressful, veering between elation and frustration, desire and despair, so that she never knew from one day to the next exactly how she would find him – or herself – and it only made her want him more – more than she had wanted any man, more than she had wanted anything ever before.

  When the longing was upon her she withdrew into herself, not wanting to talk to anyone, even Hugo or Harriet, because conversation was an intrusion into her thoughts, and though she knew the world was still there, outside her head, she seemed strangely detached from it.

  At other times the world seemed all too uncomfortably close and the people around her oddly threatening. She had never been popular, she knew, but in the past she had never cared. If someone did not like her or what she did that had been – in her words – their problem. Now the disapproval of others seemed to creep up on her unawares and occasionally she fancied she could hear them whispering about her. The voices were disconcerting, she longed to tell them to be quiet, but instead she would, retreat into that strange private place and remain there for hours at a time. Sometimes it was a good place to be, a wonderland where everything could be as she chose it, sometimes it was chaotic, sometimes it was bleak and lonely. And sometimes it seemed the walls would begin to close in, trapping her. She would fight her way out then, and for days at a time she was almost herself – except that she could not forget Greg. He was always there, and everything she did was with him in mind – When would she see him again? – How would he be?

  Truly, Paula was a woman obsessed.

  Gary was coming to New York for a few days’ visit and for the first time in months Paula was able to think of someone other than Greg.

  It would be wonderful to see Gary again – she had so missed his undemanding friendship and his adulation – and she found herself longing to catch up on all the gossip from ‘back home’.

  ‘We must have a party for him!’ she said to Hugo – and realised there was yet another advantage to Gary’s visit – Greg would certainly have to be included in the guest list.

  ‘By all means – go ahead and arrange it,’ Hugo agreed, pleased to see Paula taking an interest in something. ‘Only let’s not make it too swell an affair – maybe twenty guests? I honestly don’t want to bother with more, it gets so tiring and you never actually get the chance to speak to any of them for more than five minutes.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see …’ Paula bubbled. ‘ I thought we would invite people from the design world – Oscar and Bill Blass and John Fairchild …’

  ‘And Greg of course.’

  ‘Of course! No party would be complete without Greg.’

  ‘And Laddie. Don’t forget Laddie.’

  Paula’s lips tightened. ‘Laddie. Do we have to?’

  ‘He is my assistant, Paula, and I think Gary would like to meet him.’

  Paula sniffed. She didn’t want him in her house but she didn’t see how she could avoid it. And in any case with the prospect of both Greg and Gary at the party it was impossible to stay in a bad mood for long.

  Paula throw herself into the arrangements and Hugo was delighted at the change in her. He hadn’t seen her so happy for months.

  On the day of the party Gary managed to arrange his schedule so as to have lunch with Paula and the two of them lingered as long as possible, swapping gossip and catching up on one another’s news. The House of Oliver was doing well, he told her, the clientele now included several famous society names, not to mention a minor Royal.

  ‘That’s wonderful. I feel very proud to think I can take at least some of the credit,’ Paula said archly and Gary nodded, generous and naive as ever.

  ‘Oh yes, you certainly helped me get off to a good start, Paula. I just wish you were still with me … But you are happy, aren’t you? You don’t have any regrets about marrying Hugo and coming to the States?’

  ‘Oh none!’ Paula said – and for the moment she meant it. ‘And now I suppose I had better get back and make sure everything is going well for the party and you had better get off to your appointment.’

  Paula took her new happy mood home with her. She hummed to herself as she supervised the flower arrangers and checked the seating plan – Gary on her right, where she could talk to him, Greg almost opposite so that she could catch his eye. It was going to be a wonderful party, she thought, even if the numbers had crept up well beyond Hugo’s limit of twenty. But her excitement was short-lived.

  ‘I’m afraid Greg won’t be coming,’ Hugo said when he arrived home from the showroom.

  Paula felt sick with disappointment. ‘Oh no – why not?’

  ‘Business, he says. But knowing Greg there’s a lady involved as likely as not. I don’t know how he manages it …’ He shook his head, chuckling.

  For an hour or so as she bathed and dressed Paula hovered on the brink of her dark secret place. Bad enough that Greg would not be at the party tonight – worse that he would be with another woman. The thought tormented her and she wished desperately she could cancel and simply be alone. But it was too late for that and besides she owed it to Gary to make an effort. By the time her guests began to arrive none of them could have guessed at the black depression beneath the familiar sparkle that was Paula at her best. Over a delicious meal she laughed and joked, bright and brittle as the frozen surface of a pond caught by the cold gleam of a January sun. Only Hugo, who knew her moods only too well, and Gary, who was almost frighteningly perceptive, realised everything was not as it seemed.

  ‘What has happened, Paula?’ he asked, drawing her to one side as she moved between her guests, to all appearances the perfect hostess. ‘When we had lunch you were really happy. Now …’

  ‘Now I’m still happy.’

  ‘No. You appear happy but it’s all a big act. You can’t fool me, Paula. I know you too well.’

  ‘Then you will also know there are times when it is better not to ask questions,’ Paula said tardy. ‘Please, Gary – some time I’ll tell you but not now. Right?’

  ‘Right. But tomorrow – if it’s something you want to talk about you know were to find me.’

  She squeezed his arm gratefully. What a good friend he was! And how she missed him! Perhaps if he was in New York more often things would not get on top of her so.

  It was some time later that Paula began to be aware that Gary was paying a great deal of attention to Laddie. At first she told herself she was imagining it, but as the evening wore on it became increasingly obvious that she was not. Something was developing between the two of them.

  As she circulated Paula watched them covertly, her agitation growing, and when she saw them disappear together through the French windows the fragile control she had been exercising all evening snapped. How dare Laddie come to her party and seduce her best friend! He was a nasty sneaky little man who was secretly involved with a boy half his age and not content with that he had set his cap at Gary. The sense of betrayal was enormous; it
seemed to Paula he had done it on purpose to spite her and suddenly she was trembling with anger.

  For a while she imagined herself marching up to Laddie the moment he reappeared and telling him, in front of all her guests, exactly what she thought of him and his behaviour but tempting though the prospect was her sense of self-preservation was too strong to allow her to do it. She would be finished socially if she did such a thing. Not even Hugo’s status would be able to save her. No, she would have to be more subtle than that if she was to get her revenge on Laddie for using her party to seduce her dearest friend. And she knew exactly how she was going to do it.

  Unnoticed by any of her guests Paula slipped away. In the privacy of her own suite she got out her little address book and thumbed through it. Yes, that was the number she wanted – Zachary Rhodes was an investigative reporter with a taste for a juicy story. The few times she had met him she had disliked him although he had gone out of his way to flatter her, yet for some reason she had put his number in her little book. It was, she thought, as if she had known it would come in useful one day.

  Paula settled herself in her cane and velvet boudoir chair, took another sip of her drink and lifted the receiver.

  ‘Zachary?’ she said when he answered. ‘I have a story you might find it worth your while to investigate. A homosexual affaire between a man well-known in the fashion world and a young boy whose father is in a very sensitive position.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Who is this?’ Zachary asked.

  ‘Oh no,’ Paula said silkily. ‘I don’t think you need to know that, do you? The only names of interest to you are the names of the two individuals concerned. And those are …’

  When she had finished talking she replaced the receiver and her eyes were very bright. Even without taking another drink she felt quite intoxicated.

  Maybe the secret was no longer hers, but what power – what power! Oh Laddie, you’ll wish you’d never crossed me or gone after my friends, she thought with a son of crazed glee.

  And it seemed to her in that moment that she had taken her revenge not only against Laddie but against everyone who had ever hurt her – and most especially against Greg.

  There was nothing in the newspaper the next day about Laddie and the senator’s son, nor the next, and although common sense told Paula that Zachary would have to check the story thoroughly before using it, she was still disappointed. It was an anticlimax to tear the paper open eagerly each day and find nothing or to wait for Hugo to come home from the office with news of the scandal only to be disappointed, and after a week of waiting Paula began to sink back into her depression, much to Hugo’s concern.

  ‘She’s not getting over those ‘‘baby blues’’ as you called them, at all, Buster,’ Hugo confided one day when the two men met.

  Buster looked surprised. ‘I thought how well she was looking at your party last week.’

  ‘I know. But it’s all a big act. Buster I’m worried.’

  ‘I still think she’ll snap out of it,’ Buster said. ‘ But if you like I could arrange for her to see a shrink.’

  ‘She won’t do that. She became quite upset when I suggested it.’

  ‘The English don’t trust them – I know. Well, you’ll just have to sit tight and let her work through it by herself,’ Buster said. ‘Quit worrying! You’re just not used to women, that’s all.’

  But Hugo could not help worrying. It was all very well for Buster to take Paula’s depression lightly – he didn’t see her when she was down.

  Hugo sat at his desk, rolling his pencil round and round between his fingers and thinking about Paula when he should have been planning his new season’s range. And at last, like the inspiration for a truly innovative design, the idea came to him.

  He would ask Sally to come over for a holiday. Paula had been delighted to see Gary, after all. Perhaps having her sister around was just the tonic she needed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The moment Sally confirmed that she would fly to the States for a month’s holiday Hugo rented a summer house on Long Island. July in New York would be hot and sultry – much better for the girls to be able to relax on the lovely sandy beaches and little islands of the southern shore where the tamer reaches of the Atlantic washed into the bays and lapped the sandbars and dunes. The house he found for them was on Shinnecock Bay, a shingled mansion with its own rose gardens and croquet lawn, well within reach of the tennis club and with plenty of room to comfortably accommodate them, the children and the staff who would go with them.

  It also had the advantage of being close enough for him to be able to drive out to join them at weekends and sometimes, work permitting, for evening dinner as well. This was an important consideration; he could not bear to think he might miss a whole month of Harriet’s development – at this age, just over a year, she seemed to be doing something new every single day. For this reason alone he had turned down Greg’s offer for the girls to spend the month on his newly acquired yacht which he had based at Palermo, Italy. Busy as he was there would have been no way Hugo could join them there. But he had not told Paula of Greg’s offer. He had a feeling she might have sunk into one of her moods to think she had missed the opportunity – and there would be others. Perhaps later when she was well the three of them could go together. The idea pleased Hugo, for his father’s seafaring blood ran in his veins.

  When Sally arrived she, Paula and the children motored down to Shinnecock Bay. Hugo had offered to take a day off to go with them and see them settled but when he suggested it to Sally after meeting her at Kennedy Airport she told him there was absolutely no need.

  ‘Your time is much too precious, Hugo. We shall be perfectly all right’, she assured him.

  ‘But Paula is not at all herself,’ he said. ‘I’m worried about her, Sally. That’s why I persuaded her not to come with me to meet you – I wanted a chance to speak to you alone. She gets these very peculiar moods when she refuses to communicate. You’ll see for yourself, of course, but I wanted to warn you. Buster Hertz, our doctor, seems to think it’s just some kind of delayed reaction to Harriet’s birth, but surely she should be getting over that by now?’

  Sally, who had fought her own way through moments of black depression after Mark had been born and she was struggling to establish some kind of life for them alone, looked thoughtful.

  ‘I’d have thought so – but who knows? I’m sure a month of total relaxation and sisterly chat will do her the world of good. Don’t worry, Hugo, I’ll look after her.’

  Hugo nodded, glad to be able to share his concern. Sally was, after all, Paula’s sister. He glanced at her, sitting beside him in the stretch limo and liked what he saw. Two years ago in London he had been too obsessed with Paula to notice her much but he remembered her as being very young and gauche, a little like an overgrown puppy. Now she was older and thinner, with a few little worry lines on her face and a new found self-sufficiency that was very attractive. In her simple pink linen dress she looked cool and unruffled in spite of the long flight and he felt sure she was quite capable of coping with Paula. It was a comforting thought.

  Paula was almost as delighted to see Sally as she had been to see Gary. Somehow Sally always made her feel good – perhaps because she had always been there to witness Paula’s moments of triumph – and Paula with an audience was a happy Paula. The two girls embraced, then Sally rescued Mark, who was hanging back shyly behind her legs.

  ‘This is your nephew – Mark, say hello to your Auntie Paula.’

  ‘Lo,’ Mark said obediently.

  He was a chunky little fellow with bright curls and a face almost too pretty for a boy. Later, perhaps, his hair would grow straighter and darker, and the baby roundness disappear from his cheeks, for the moment he looked for all the world like a Botticelli cherub standing there in his pale blue shorts and stripey jersey, white ankle socks and sensible buttoned sandals.

  ‘Oh Sally, he’s so big!’ Paula gasped. ‘It makes me reali
se just how long it’s been. Why haven’t you been to visit us before?’

  Sally smiled ruefully. So far she hadn’t seen much evidence of change in Paula. She was still exactly the same as she had always been – totally self-centred.

  ‘I haven’t had much money to spare for trans-Atlantic flights. I know this is probably difficult for you to believe, living in the lap of luxury, but actually I’ve had quite a struggle to make ends meet.’

  ‘Well why didn’t you say so?’ Paula looked amazed. ‘I’d have sent you the money.’

  ‘I’m not in the business of begging,’ Sally said tardy. ‘In any case – you could have come to London. Planes do fly in both directions, you know, and Mum and Dad would have been so pleased to see you as well.’

  Paula’s eyes shadowed and for a moment the darkness was there, just out of sight. Then she smiled again.

  ‘There just doesn’t seem to have been a moment – time has flown! What with work, and then Harriet, and … oh, you have no idea of the pace of life out here, Sally. Hectic!’

  ‘Where is Harriet?’ Sally asked.

  ‘In the nursery. Shall we go up and see her?’

  The nursery! This is a whole different world, Sally thought, amused, thinking of her own cramped flat in London, with Mark’s little bed squashed into a corner opposite her own and of the baby minder she had to take him to each day to enable her to go to work.

  ‘I suppose you have a nanny, too,’ she said wryly.

  ‘Well of course!’ Paula was leading the way up the broad staircase. Sally paused to scoop up Mark, whose chubby legs were buckling with the effort, tired as he was after the long journey.

  In the nursery Harriet was having her tea, sitting at her own little table. She looked up, wide-eyed, as they all trooped in. Jam had spread across her mouth and cheek. She looked cute and adorable.

  ‘Paula, she is beautiful!’ Sally said, setting Mark down.