bookcases, and a pair of pedestal tables by Henry Holland, and chairs designed by Thomas Hope. The drawing-room was a mixture of Hepplewhite and Chippendale, with a Wilton carpet, and a pair of Waterford glass chandeliers. There was a huge dining-room that could seat forty guests, and a smoking-room. On the second floor were six bedrooms, each with an Adam fireplace, and on the third floor were the servants’ quarters.
Six weeks after she had moved into the house, Vivian said, ‘Let’s get out of this place. Alec.’
He looked at her, puzzled. ‘You mean you’d like to go up to London for a few days?’
‘I mean I want to move back to London.’
Alec looked out of the window at the emerald-green meadows, where he had played as a child, and at the giant sycamore and oak trees, and he said hesitantly, ‘Vivian, it’s so peaceful here. I –’
And she said, ‘I know, luv. That’s what I can’t stand – the fucking peace!’
They moved to London the following week.
Alec had an elegant four-storey town house in Wilton Crescent, off Knightsbridge, with a lovely drawing-room, a study, a large dining-room, and at the back of the house, a picture window that overlooked a grotto, with a waterfall and statues and white benches set amid a beautiful formal garden. Upstairs were a magnificent master suite and four smaller bedrooms.
Vivian and Alec shared the master suite for two weeks, until one morning Vivian said, ‘I love you, Alec, but you do snore, you know.’ Alec had not known. ‘I really must sleep alone, luv. You don’t mind, do you?’
Alec minded deeply. He loved the feel of her soft body in bed, warm against him. But deep inside, Alec knew that he did not excite Vivian sexually the way other men excited her. That was why she did not want him in her bed. So now he said, ‘Of course I understand, darling.’
At Alec’s insistence, Vivian kept the master suite, and he moved into one of the small guest bedrooms.
In the beginning, Vivian had gone to the House of Commons and had sat in the Visitors’ Gallery on days when Alec was to speak. He would look up at her and be filled with a deep, ineffable pride. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman there. And then came the day when Alec finished his speech and looking up for Vivian’s approval, saw only an empty seat.
Alec blamed himself for the fact that Vivian was restless. His friends were older than Vivian, too conservative for her. He encouraged her to invite her young companions to the house, and brought them together with his friends. The results were disastrous.
Alec kept telling himself that when Vivian had a child, she would settle down and change. But one day, somehow – and Alec could not bear to know how – she picked up a vaginal infection and had to have a hysterectomy. Alec had longed for a son. The news had shattered him, but Vivian was unperturbed.
‘Don’t worry, luv,’ she said, smiling. ‘They took out the nursery, but they left in the playpen.’
He looked at her for a long moment, then turned and walked away.
Vivian loved to go on buying sprees. She spent money indiscriminately, recklessly, on clothes and jewellery and cars, and Alec did not have the heart to stop her. He told himself that she had grown up in poverty, hungry for beautiful things. He wanted to buy them for her. Unfortunately, he could not afford it. His salary was consumed by taxes. His fortune lay in his shares of stock in Roffe and Sons but those shares were restricted. He tried to explain that to Vivian but she was not interested. Business discussions bored her. And so Alec let her carry on.
He had first learned of her gambling when Tod Michaels, the owner of Tod’s Club, a disreputable gambling place in Soho, had dropped in to see him.
‘I have your wife’s IOUs here for a thousand pounds, Sir Alec. She had a rotten run at roulette.’
Alec had been shocked. He had paid off the IOUs and had had a confrontation with Vivian that evening. ‘We simply can’t afford it,’ he had told her. ‘You’re spending more than I’m making.’
She had been very contrite. ‘I’m sorry, angel. Baby’s been bad.’
And she had walked over to him and put her arms around him and pressed her body against his, and he had forgotten his anger.
Alec had spent a memorable night in her bed. He was sure now that there would be no more problems.
Two weeks later Tod Michaels had come to visit Alec again. This time Vivian’s IOUs were five thousand pounds. Alec was furious. ‘Why did you let her have credit?’ he demanded.
‘She’s your wife, Sir Alec,’ Michaels had replied blandly. ‘How would it look if we refused her?’
‘I’ll – I’ll have to get the money,’ Alec had said. ‘I don’t have that much cash at the moment.’
‘Please! Consider it a loan. Pay it back when you can.’
Alec had been greatly relieved. ‘That’s very generous of you, Mr Michaels.’
It was not until a month later that Alec learned that Vivian had gambled away another twenty-five thousand pounds, and that he was being charged interest at the rate of ten per cent a week. He was horrified. There was no way he could raise that much cash. There was nothing that he could even sell. The houses, the beautiful antiques, the cars, all belonged to Roffe and Sons. His anger frightened Vivian enough so that she promised not to gamble any more. But it was too late. Alec found himself in the hands of loan sharks. No matter how much Alec gave them, he could not manage to pay off the debt. It kept mounting each month, instead of getting smaller, and it had been going on for almost a year.
When Tod Michael’s hoodlums first began to press him for the money, Alec had threatened to go to the police commissioner. ‘I have connections in the highest quarters,’ Alec had said.
The man had grinned. ‘I got connections in the lowest.’ Now Sir Alec found himself sitting here at White’s with this dreadful man, having to contain his pride, and beg for a little more time.
‘I’ve already paid them back more than the money I borrowed. They can’t –’
Swinton replied, ‘That was just on the interest, Sir Alec. You still haven’t paid the principal.’
‘It’s extortion,’ Alec said.
Swinton’s eyes darkened. ‘I’ll give the boss your message.’ He started to rise.
Alec said quickly, ‘No! Sit down. Please.’
Slowly Swinton sat down again. ‘Don’t use words like that,’ he warned. ‘The last chap who talked like that had both his knees nailed to the floor.’
Alec had read about it. The Kray brothers had invented the punishment for their victims. And the people Alec was dealing with were just as bad, just as ruthless. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ Alec said. ‘It’s just that I – I don’t have any more cash.’
Swinton flicked the ash from his cigar into Alec’s glass of wine, and said, ‘You have a big bundle of stock in Roffe and Sons, don’t you, Alec baby?’
‘Yes,’ Alec replied, ‘but it’s non-saleable and non-transferable. It’s no good to anyone unless Roffe and Sons goes public.’
Swinton took a puff on his cigar. ‘And is it going public?’
‘That’s up to Sam Roffe. I’ve – I’ve been trying to persuade him.’
‘Try harder.’
‘Tell Mr Michaels he’ll get his money,’ Alec said. ‘But please stop hounding me.’
Swinton stared. ‘Hounding you? Why, Sir Alec, you little cocksucker, you’ll know when we start hounding you. Your fucking stables will burn down, and you’ll be eating roast horsemeat. Then your house will burn. And maybe your wife.’ He smiled, and Alec