must do. He was far too intelligent not to recognise this, Bram decided. Was there any modern parent who did not grieve for all the ways in which they had failed their child? Helena might mask her feelings of guilt by distancing herself from Plum and claiming in public that she was too much her father’s child, but no doubt there were times when she, like him, wondered in despair how it was possible to love a child so much and yet still fail them so badly.
When Jay returned from New York he would have to talk to him again about his reasons for turning down his expansion plans.
It had never been Bram’s desire to become so successful. In the early days all he had wanted to do was to earn a decent living. Not even to his closest friends could he confide how much life had begun to pall, how heavy he sometimes found the burden of his success. It seemed so ungrateful not to take more pleasure in what he had achieved.
And what was he doing to Jay by condemning him to the role of heir in waiting? Jay’s business acumen was far sharper than his own. He was more than qualified to take control of the business, and under his guardianship its profits would undoubtedly grow. But what about its people—would they, too, thrive under Jay’s management?
Jay—had there been a week, a day, an hour even, in the years that he had taken full responsibility for his son that Jay had not dominated his thoughts and in many ways his actions as well?
But it was not Jay he was thinking of later in the evening as he joined the other guests at the Foreign Secretary’s reception.
It was Taylor.
And not just because Sir Anthony and his wife were among the guests.
It was the kind of occasion at which the British excelled, Bram reflected as he refused a champagne cocktail and studied the other guests. It might not have the stiff formality which hallmarked similar occasions at the embassies in Paris, nor the expensive trappings and attention to detail which glittered through even the lowliest Washington dinner party; but the slightly shabby elegance of the rooms, the relaxed mood of the guests, that indefinable and inimitable air of ease and permanence, of tradition, which is so very British, overlay the whole proceedings like the fine patina on a piece of richly polished antique furniture. The signs of age and familiarity of usage deceived only ignorant eyes.
‘Bram, how are you?’
Bram turned, smiling warmly as he heard the familiar voice of another guest.
‘Have you seen Helena recently?’ she asked him. ‘I really must get in touch with her.’
Olivia Carstairs and Helena had been at Roedean together. They had kept in touch over the years and it was through Helena that Bram knew Olivia.
‘We received an invitation to Plum’s eighteenth, but unfortunately Gerald is due to go to Russia the day before. It’s such a pity about Plum. I really feel for poor Helena. But then teenage girls can be so difficult.’
Her voice held the confidence of being the mother of four sons, Bram noticed wryly.
‘And of course, the problem is,’ Olivia continued, ‘by the time she does come to her senses, the poor girl will have gained such a dreadful reputation. I remember when I was at—’ She broke off, apologising. ‘Oh dear, I’d better go. Gerald looks as though he’s in trouble. The problem with these affairs is that one never has the time to talk to the people one really wishes to converse with. You will give Helena my love?’
‘I shall,’ Bram assured her.
Her comments about his goddaughter hadn’t been motivated by malice but, even so, they made him frown. In other circumstances he would have been tempted to talk to Plum himself, to try gently to help her understand that she could not and would not find the emotional security she was seeking by trying to purchase it with sex. However, he was acutely aware that Plum considered herself to be in love with him—how could he not be when she had earnestly and forthrightly told him so on more than one occasion?
Two years ago, when she was still not quite sixteen, he had let himself into his apartment one night to find her waiting in his bed for him. His fortieth-birthday present.
The combination of her too adult sexuality and her too youthful body and face had filled him with a mixture of despair and distaste. How could he explain to her that his love for her was that of an adult for a child, and that to him the thought of knowingly being sexually stirred by any fifteen-year-old girl was acutely repugnant. Her straight coltish limbs, her high small breasts, which she was displaying to him with such terrifying insouciance, were those of a child, not a woman.
In the end he had had to leave her in possession of his bed and spend the night in a hotel. Since then she might not have gone so far as invading his bed, but she certainly still insisted that she loved him.
On the other side of the room Anthony was talking to the aide of one of the charity’s royal patrons. Bram made his way over to join them.
‘Ah, Bram.’ Anthony welcomed him with a smile, introducing him to his companion. ‘I was just telling Charles here about you. I’m sorry I had to break our appointment this afternoon, by the way, but no doubt Taylor was able to help you.’
‘Very much so,’ Bram agreed, as the royal aide turned away to speak to someone else. ‘But…’
‘But?’ Anthony repeated, frowning as he picked up on the hesitation in Bram’s voice. ‘Was there a problem?’
‘Not with your archivist,’ Bram assured him. ‘Far from it. But I have to admit I just wasn’t prepared for the amount of material she gave me. I haven’t had time to look at it properly yet, but I doubt that I’m going to be able to extract the statistics I need without some very knowledgeable assistance.’
‘Well, that needn’t be a problem,’ his friend assured him. ‘In fact, the person in the best position to help you is Taylor herself. She’s been with the charity for a long time and the new information-collating system we put in last year was very much her baby.’
‘Well, if you’re sure she can spare the time,’ Bram responded reluctantly. ‘I must admit she would seem to be the ideal choice, especially if, as you say, she’s familiar with your own computer system.’
While Anthony was assuring him that some satisfactory arrangement could be reached, Bram was inwardly marvelling at his own hitherto unsuspected capacity for duplicity and manipulation. He had never before in his life imagined, or needed to imagine, employing the kind of deceitful sleight of hand he was using now. He had simply never had the need…or the desire.
He had a gut-deep feeling that working alongside Taylor was not going to be a good idea—either for his libido or his emotions. But the attractive proposition of another chance to get close to Taylor far outweighed any possible doubts.
‘I imagine she must have come to you straight from university,’ he heard himself saying to Anthony further compounding his deceit.
‘No. She did actually go to university, but she left without taking her degree. I’m not sure why.’ He started to frown. ‘She’s an extremely private person who doesn’t encourage personal questions, although I do know that she eventually obtained her degree via the Open University system. She’s got a first-rate brain. And a good sense of humour, too, when she allows it to surface. Sometimes, though, it’s almost as though she’s afraid of laughing, as though she’s afraid of…’
‘Living,’
