And Anthony. I’m not sure where Venetia’s got to. Mummy says she’s in New York, but I got a card last week from Singapore. You know what she’s like.’ She rolled her eyes ceilingwards, with a tolerant laugh. There were three girls, starting with Serena herself and a brother who was, of course, heir to the kingdom. Helena, the second Gresham sister, had married an amiable landowning banking baronet in a neighbouring county, a union that had satisfied her mother, if it did not send her into ecstasies. However the youngest sister, Venetia, had defied the family by accepting the proposal of a pop impresario, an episode I remember only too well. The Claremonts had absolutely refused to countenance it at first. But to everyone’s surprise, since she was not seen as particularly strong or rebellious, Venetia had stuck to her guns and in the end they caved in rather than endure the scandal of a wedding without their presence. As my own father used to say, ‘Never provide material for a story.’ Venetia was the winner in the end. Her husband made an immense fortune in the music industry and now she was richer than, or at least as rich as, any of them but the family exacted its revenge by continuing to patronise her, as if her life had been a trivial and wasteful mass of nothing, up to the present day.
Oddly, the male sibling, Anthony, was the one we all knew least. He came after Serena and before the others. He was still young, not much more than a boy, when Serena and I were running around together, but I can’t say that even when he was grown up we were ever much the wiser where he was concerned. He was polite, of course, and pleasant to talk to at dinner or while having a drink before lunch, but he was always curiously opaque. He revealed nothing. The kind of person who, years later, might turn out to be a terrorist or a serial killer, without causing any great surprise. I liked him though, and I will say that he never demonstrated that supremely tedious habit that some people acquire, of loudly advertising to all and sundry the amount of information they are concealing. He hid everything about himself, but without pretence, mystery or conceit.
‘So, how are you?’ she said. ‘Have you got another book out? I shouldn’t have to ask. I feel rather feeble, not knowing.’ There is a way of enquiring into an artistic career, which may sound or read as generous, but which in fact manages to reduce the value of it almost to nothing. The contempt is contained within its enthusiastic kindness, rather as a little girl’s painting will be praised by someone who is hopeless with children. No one can do this better than the genuinely posh.
‘There’s one coming out next March.’
‘You must let us know when it does.’ Such people often say this sort of thing to their acquaintance in the media: ‘Let me know when you’re next on television,’ ‘Let us know when it’s published,’ ‘Let us know when you’re back on Any Questions.’ As if one is likely to sit down and send off three thousand postcards when a personal appearance is scheduled. Obviously, they understand this will never happen. The message is really: ‘We are not sufficiently interested in what you do to be aware of it if you don’t make us aware. You understand that it does not impinge on our world, so you will please forgive us in future for missing whatever you are involved in.’ Serena did not mean it unkindly, which is the case with many of them, but I cannot deny it is disheartening at times.
Her friendliness continued unabated. ‘When did you know you’d be here tonight? You might have given us some warning. You could have come to dinner.’ I explained the situation. Serena raised her eyebrows. ‘Are they friends of yours? He’s acquired the title of Bore of the County, but perhaps we’re being unjust.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
She laughed. ‘Well, it’s nice to welcome you back. Has it changed?’
‘Not really. Not as much as most of the rest of my life.’
‘A trip down Memory Lane.’
‘I’m living in Memory Lane at the moment.’ Naturally, this demanded an explanation and I gave a partial one. I did not tell her the reason for why I was interviewing all these women from our joint past, only that Damian wanted to check up on what had happened to them and he’d asked me to do it, because he met them all through me in the first place.
‘But why did you agree? Isn’t it very time-wasting? And you certainly don’t owe him a favour.’ She raised her eyebrows to punctuate this.
‘I’m not completely sure why I’m doing it. I didn’t intend to when he made the request, but then I saw that he was dying-’ I broke off. She was visibly shocked and I rather regretted blurting it out as I had done.
‘Dying?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
She took stock, regaining command of herself. ‘How odd. You don’t think of someone like Damian Baxter as “dying.”’
‘Well, he is.’
‘Oh.’ By now she had quite recovered her equilibrium. ‘Well, I’m sad. Surprised and sad.’
‘I think he was always quite surprising.’
But Serena shook her head. ‘I don’t agree. He was exciting, but most of what he got up to was not surprising, it was inevitable. It wasn’t at all surprising that he gatecrashed the Season so effectively. And it wasn’t a bit surprising that he made more money than anyone else in recorded history. I knew all that would happen from the moment I met him. But dying thirty years before his time…’
‘How did you know?’
Serena thought for a moment. ‘I think because he was always so angry. And in my experience people who are angry when young, either explode and vanish or do tremendously well. When I heard he’d gone into the City I knew he’d end up with zillions.’
I could not contain my curiosity, even if it felt like biting down on a loose tooth. ‘Did you like him? When all was said and done?’
She looked at me. She knew the significance of the question, despite the years that we had travelled since it had the smallest relevance to either of our lives. On top of which she shared the usual reluctance of her tribe to give emotional information that might later be used in evidence against her. But at last she nodded. ‘At one point,’ she said. Then she seemed to gather up her carapace from the floor and wrap it firmly round herself once more. ‘We really ought to join the others. I think it’s about to start.’ In answer to her words there was a sudden fizzing roar and through the uncurtained tall windows we could see a rocket darting across the night sky. With a loud bang, it exploded into a wide shower of golden sparks, accompanied by an appreciative ‘ooh!’ from the watching crowd.
‘Is Andrew here?’ In common courtesy I could avoid the question no longer. Even so, it felt lumpy, as if it had stuck to my lips.
