Page 11 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

‘Not really. She’s attending a country-house sale, something she adores. So I believe she’s quite happy. And how about you, Mrs Glenforth-Williams?’

‘Veronica, please! When people use all my names I can’t get it out of my head that they’re scolding me. Makes me feel quite put-upon.’

He grinned. ‘I can’t believe you ever feel anything but superb.’

‘Oh, now, after that you simply have to let me take you to lunch,’ she said, laying a hand on his wrist. ‘I was just heading for the Ritz and hoping I’d find someone there to lunch with.’

Basil was flattered, and liked the idea of being seen going into the Ritz with the famous Mrs Glenforth-Williams on his arm, but there was a problem.

He made a rueful face and a vague gesture towards his pocket.

‘There’s nothing I’d like more,’ he said, ‘but I’m ashamed to say – have to admit …

’ he felt himself reddening, ‘… somewhat financially embarrassed just at present, you see. In fact – absolutely stony. Frightfully sorry.’

The pressure on his wrist increased, and she laughed trillingly. ‘Oh, my dear, it’s I who should apologise! Of course I meant you to be my guest. I thought that was understood.’

‘It’s very kind of you …’ he began to demur.

But she tucked her hand through his arm and turned him towards the hotel’s entrance. ‘I simply can’t take “no” for an answer. I loathe eating alone, don’t you? Such a bore!’

Basil was only just twenty. She was a glamorous woman, and London society was still thrilling to him. Also he was hungry and his pockets were to let. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I shall let my inclination follow my duty.’

‘How prettily you put it,’ said Veronica. ‘Now do say more things like that. I could listen to you all day.’

‘I’m at your service,’ said Basil.

He had been planning to be seen at his desk again later in the afternoon, but he had never yet got into trouble for not being there, so he was willing to take the chance. To let his inclination override his duty, in this case.

When Basil got home to his rooms in Ryder Street the next day, the porter was not in the hall, for which he was grateful, since he had long suspected him of spying on Gloria’s behalf – she owned the lease of his rooms, so the porter ultimately worked for her, and she was generous with tips.

Basil would have liked to be generous with tips, but his wages at the Bugle fell short of his ambitions; and while Gloria spent lavishly on him, she did not often give him actual cash.

He ran up the stairs two at a time, whistling.

Life was good. Gloria would be back that evening and he expected a passionate reunion.

He would have to think of some excuse for his absence from work that day, but Gloria had got him the job through a friend of hers who was managing director (he suspected that ‘friend’ in this case meant ‘former lover’), and with so much influence in high places he doubted he would be in trouble.

He opened the door to his set, and was surprised to see Gloria standing in the middle of the room. Before he could say anything she flew at him and slapped his face.

He reeled back, his hand to his stinging cheek – it had been a hard slap – and cried, ‘What—?’

‘Don’t you dare say, “What have I done?” Don’t you dare !’

Basil backed up against the door, staring. He had never seen anyone so angry – she looked almost mad. If she had been holding anything in her hand to attack him with he would actually have run. ‘But – darling – Gloria—’

‘Don’t call me “darling”, you – you swine !’

He shut his mouth on any further protest. He was beginning to fear he knew what was wrong.

‘How dare you betray me with Veronica? Oh, yes, I know about it. When I got home Morton said she’d rung several times but wouldn’t leave a message. Then the phone rang again. She called me to gloat .’

‘I thought you weren’t coming back until tonight,’ he said, and immediately could have groaned. As soon as he heard himself he realised it was not a good thing to say.

‘Oh, I’ve no doubt about that,’ Gloria said bitterly.

‘I wonder how else you’ve been amusing yourself while I was away.

No!’ She held up a hand, like a policeman stopping traffic.

‘Don’t tell me. I may be a fool about you, but I’m not an idiot.

I dare say you’ve been tom-catting your way around all my acquaintances, and they’re all laughing at me for thinking you actually care about me. ’

‘I do care about you,’ he said, with all the emphasis he could muster. ‘Gloria, darling, please—’

She was cold now, and that was worse than the heat of her fury. ‘Veronica called me to congratulate me. She said she understood now why I prized you so highly. Your skills in the bedroom were quite remarkable, she said. You’d given her the best thrill she’d had in ages.’

Oh, my God, Basil thought. What a cat. That horrible spiteful woman! (Though a tiny bit of his brain preened itself over the compliment. He was only twenty, after all.) He knew he was in real trouble now, and thrashed around mentally for a way out.

‘But it’s you I love! You have to understand—’

‘Understand why you did it? No, I don’t.’

‘It – it just sort of happened. I bumped into her by chance. We had lunch. And a lot to drink. Things got out of hand. It all happened in a flash—’

‘No, Basil, these things never happen in a flash. You have to take your clothes off, for one thing. That takes long enough for you to have second thoughts, if you were going to have them.’

‘But I didn’t mean— I would never—’

‘But you did. And you stayed all night.’ He was silent, unable to think of anything to mitigate that. ‘I’m done with you,’ she said, without emotion. ‘Pack your things and go. You don’t live here any more. And you don’t work at the Bugle , either.’

‘You’ve spoken to—?’

‘That was the first thing I did after I’d taken Veronica’s obliging call. You’d better see if she’s willing to finance your carefree life, because I won’t.’

‘Gloria, you don’t understand,’ he said desperately. ‘Veronica doesn’t mean anything to me.’

‘And while you were in her bed, neither did I,’ Gloria said. ‘Go and pack. And please don’t speak any more. There’s nothing you can say that will make this any better.’

He realised that this was literally true.

He went into the bedroom and began slowly packing his things – most of which Gloria had bought for him.

He was cursing himself for being such a fool.

And that cat Veronica Glenforth-Williams!

If only she hadn’t told, Gloria would never have known, and everything would have been all right.

She’d be happy, he’d be happy – and presumably Veronica would have been happy.

But – oh, God, why had he done it? It had seemed so exciting in the heat of the moment, but now …

He’d give anything to wind back the clock and make it not to be.

For the first time in his life he had come up against a consequence of his actions that actually mattered.

This was not like being expelled from school.

He cared for Gloria, he really did, and his life with her was – had been – just fine ! And now …

He was half hoping Gloria would come in and forgive him; that having given him his telling-off, she would soften. He would be contrite, then strong and manly. He would pet her and show her how much he loved her, and she would melt into his arms … He would do those things she so liked him for …

But she didn’t come, and by the time he’d got everything into the suitcase, his mood was of sick apprehension. Was there really no way back?

He stepped out into the sitting-room with the case, chastened and subdued, hoping against hope that she would smile at him. But she was stony-faced. She held out her hand, and said, ‘Your keys, please.’

He pulled them from his pocket and handed them over. This can’t be the end. It can’t! ‘Gloria, please,’ he began desperately

‘Don’t.’ She turned her face away. ‘No more words. There’s nothing to say. Leave now, please.’ And when he didn’t immediately move, ‘ Go! ’

He went.

He walked until he found a bench, and sat down to think.

His parents lived in Surrey, and he most definitely didn’t want to go to them.

His mother had been so proud that he had got a job on the Bugle , believing that in journalism he had found his niche.

In a disgraceful journey through school the only praiseworthy thing he had done was to edit the school newspaper.

She didn’t know, of course, that Gloria had got him the job.

She – they – didn’t know about Gloria at all.

His father has been a distinguished flier during the war, with a DSO and a DFC, the sort of hero that boys worshipped and men looked up to.

He could have been a fictional character in a boys’ comic paper: Jack Compton, Air Ace, strong-jawed and handsome in that ridiculously attractive flying helmet and fleece-lined leather jacket, fearlessly pursuing the Red Baron through the skies.

He had also been a pioneer test pilot and was an aircraft designer.

He was impossible to live up to, and Basil had long ago concluded there was no point in even trying.

If he was going to invite detrimental comparison, better he should go the whole hog and be a Bad Boy, so that it looked deliberate.

Better to be good at being bad than to be a failure at everything.

No, he was not going home to see his father’s look of weary disappointment that, once again, Basil had failed to shape up.

Barbara, his sister? He adored Barbara – or, more importantly, she adored him and could never see any fault in him.

But Babsy lived in Petersfield, and he had no wish to be so far from London.

And her very dull husband, Freddie, was, Basil suspected, a lot shrewder than he appeared and readily saw through Basil.

There was a look he gave him sometimes …