she had discovered after the birth
of their third child in 1982 that Alec had been unfaithful to
her for years; since he spent at least half his time in New
York, and she had anyway grown to dislike him considerably,
this did not greatly distress her. She had agreed to a
divorce, on the basis of a hugely generous settlement and an
agreement that she should have full custody of the children.
Having obtained both, she surprised everyone by granting
him full access to them, and conducting their separate lives
with good temper and generosity, insisting that they spent
Christmas, Thanksgiving and at least one family holiday
together. Alec, settled now permanently in New York, had
never married again, merely had a long series of ever
younger mistresses, and the Muirhead children had grown
up with a view of marriage that was unconventional but
well balanced. Marianne and the two younger children,
both girls, lived in London; the oldest, Marc, was at the
University of Harvard reading Classics with a view to
following his father into law.
Marianne had met Felix Miller at a fundraising dinner at
the Royal Opera House, of which they were both patrons.
Five years into her divorce, she was ready, if not for love,
for a new relationship, and Felix was the only man she had
met who seemed to her to have the same power and
magnetism as her ex-husband, and, it had to be said, the
same potential for unpleasantness.
Seven years on, she was very happy with him; in spite of
his considerable complexities (most notably his appallingly
dangerous and difficult relationship with his daughter) she
continued to love him and to greatly enjoy his company
and his bed.
Marianne was one of those seemingly unemotional
women who are actually extremely passionate, and she
would look sometimes at Felix Miller across a room or a table, with his thick silvering hair, his unreadably dark eyes, his large frame with its almost visible pent-up energy, and
feel a rush of pure sexual desire for him. It was not
unknown for the pair of them to leave parties or restaurants
rather swiftly, and even for them to enjoy rather rampant
sex on some isolated beach or remote piece of countryside.
Their children, had they known, would have been appalled.
They spent two or three nights a week together in
London, always at his house, never at hers, and holidayed
together at his cottage in Barbados, hers in Portugal. She
had no career, but found herself extremely fully occupied
(apart from her golf) with a serious involvement in funding
and profile raising for both the arts and various charities,
and in caring for her two daughters, who were still young
enough - Zoe at eighteen, Romilly at fifteen - to need a
great deal of her attention.
They lived, the three of them, in a large triplex
apartment on the north side of Eaton Square; exquisitely
furnished and decorated in a style as determinedly light as
Marianne’s personal one was dark, it was very much a
home. The girls had the top floor to themselves, with a
bedroom each, a sitting room and a bathroom, which gave
them an illusion at least of independence and freedom.
Marianne’s children were not exactly fond of Felix
Miller, but they liked him, and accepted his position in
their mother’s life with tolerable grace; he was very fond of
Romilly but found Zoe, with her spirit and a beauty and
sexuality eerily like her mother’s, difficult to cope with. He
also found Marianne’s attitude towards them — tolerant,
easy, almost detached — impossible to understand.
He watched her now as she came across the room to kiss
him, and said, ‘You sure you don’t want to stay?’
‘I’m quite sure. I’m tired and I’ve got a big match
tomorrow.’
‘Well, you certainly mustn’t let me keep you from
something as important as that.’
The amount of time and energy she spent on her golf
irritated him, particularly when he was displeased with her;
it baffled him that a
of their third child in 1982 that Alec had been unfaithful to
her for years; since he spent at least half his time in New
York, and she had anyway grown to dislike him considerably,
this did not greatly distress her. She had agreed to a
divorce, on the basis of a hugely generous settlement and an
agreement that she should have full custody of the children.
Having obtained both, she surprised everyone by granting
him full access to them, and conducting their separate lives
with good temper and generosity, insisting that they spent
Christmas, Thanksgiving and at least one family holiday
together. Alec, settled now permanently in New York, had
never married again, merely had a long series of ever
younger mistresses, and the Muirhead children had grown
up with a view of marriage that was unconventional but
well balanced. Marianne and the two younger children,
both girls, lived in London; the oldest, Marc, was at the
University of Harvard reading Classics with a view to
following his father into law.
Marianne had met Felix Miller at a fundraising dinner at
the Royal Opera House, of which they were both patrons.
Five years into her divorce, she was ready, if not for love,
for a new relationship, and Felix was the only man she had
met who seemed to her to have the same power and
magnetism as her ex-husband, and, it had to be said, the
same potential for unpleasantness.
Seven years on, she was very happy with him; in spite of
his considerable complexities (most notably his appallingly
dangerous and difficult relationship with his daughter) she
continued to love him and to greatly enjoy his company
and his bed.
Marianne was one of those seemingly unemotional
women who are actually extremely passionate, and she
would look sometimes at Felix Miller across a room or a table, with his thick silvering hair, his unreadably dark eyes, his large frame with its almost visible pent-up energy, and
feel a rush of pure sexual desire for him. It was not
unknown for the pair of them to leave parties or restaurants
rather swiftly, and even for them to enjoy rather rampant
sex on some isolated beach or remote piece of countryside.
Their children, had they known, would have been appalled.
They spent two or three nights a week together in
London, always at his house, never at hers, and holidayed
together at his cottage in Barbados, hers in Portugal. She
had no career, but found herself extremely fully occupied
(apart from her golf) with a serious involvement in funding
and profile raising for both the arts and various charities,
and in caring for her two daughters, who were still young
enough - Zoe at eighteen, Romilly at fifteen - to need a
great deal of her attention.
They lived, the three of them, in a large triplex
apartment on the north side of Eaton Square; exquisitely
furnished and decorated in a style as determinedly light as
Marianne’s personal one was dark, it was very much a
home. The girls had the top floor to themselves, with a
bedroom each, a sitting room and a bathroom, which gave
them an illusion at least of independence and freedom.
Marianne’s children were not exactly fond of Felix
Miller, but they liked him, and accepted his position in
their mother’s life with tolerable grace; he was very fond of
Romilly but found Zoe, with her spirit and a beauty and
sexuality eerily like her mother’s, difficult to cope with. He
also found Marianne’s attitude towards them — tolerant,
easy, almost detached — impossible to understand.
He watched her now as she came across the room to kiss
him, and said, ‘You sure you don’t want to stay?’
‘I’m quite sure. I’m tired and I’ve got a big match
tomorrow.’
‘Well, you certainly mustn’t let me keep you from
something as important as that.’
The amount of time and energy she spent on her golf
irritated him, particularly when he was displeased with her;
it baffled him that a
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