A Dangerous Fortune (45 page)

A lascivious smile passed over his face. “Don’t tempt me. Come, I forgive you.”

Maisie breathed easier: she had got away with it. Now it was up to Nora to charm him.

“Where is this Nora?” he said.

She was hovering close by, as instructed. Maisie caught her eye and she approached instantly. Maisie said: “Your Royal Highness, may I present Mrs. Hugh Pilaster.”

Nora curtsied and batted her eyelashes.

The prince eyed her bare shoulders and plump, rosy bosom. “Charming,” he said enthusiastically. “Quite charming.”

Hugh watched in astonishment and delight as Nora chatted happily with the Prince of Wales.

Yesterday she had been a social outcast, living proof that you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. She had lost the bank a big contract and run Hugh’s career into a brick wall. Now she was the envy of every woman in the room: her clothes were perfect, her manners were
charming and she was flirting with the heir to the throne. And the transformation had been brought about by Maisie.

Hugh glanced at his aunt Augusta, standing near him, with Uncle Joseph by her side. She was staring at Nora and the prince. Augusta was trying to look unconcerned, but Hugh could see she was horrified. How it must gall her, Hugh thought, to know that Maisie, the working-class girl she derided six years ago, is now so much more influential than she is.

With perfect timing, Sidney Madler came over. Looking incredulous, he said to Joseph: “Is
that
the woman you say is hopelessly unsuitable to be a banker’s wife?”

Before Joseph could reply, Augusta spoke. In a deceptively mild voice she said: “She did lose the bank a major contract.”

Hugh said: “As a matter of fact, she didn’t. That loan is going through.”

Augusta turned on Joseph. “Count de Tokoly didn’t interfere?”

“He seems to have got over his fit of pique rather quickly,” Joseph said.

Augusta had to pretend to be pleased. “How fortunate,” she said, but her insincerity was transparent.

Madler said: “Financial need generally outweighs social prejudice in the end.”

“Yes,” said Joseph. “So it does. I think I may have been too hasty in denying Hugh a partnership.”

Augusta interrupted in a voice of deadly sweetness. “Joseph, what are you saying?”

“This is business, my dear—men’s talk,” he said firmly. “You need not concern yourself with it.” He turned to Hugh. “We certainly don’t want you working for Greenbournes.”

Hugh did not know what to say. He knew that Sidney Madler had made a fuss, and that Uncle Samuel had
backed him—but it was almost unknown for Uncle Joseph to admit a mistake. And yet, he thought with mounting excitement, why else was Joseph raising the subject? “You know why I’m going to Greenbournes, Uncle,” he said.

“They’ll never make you a partner, you know,” Joseph said. “You have to be Jewish for that.”

“I’m well aware of it.”

“Given that, wouldn’t you rather work for the family?”

Hugh felt let down: after all, Joseph was only trying to talk him into staying on as an employee. “No, I wouldn’t rather work for the family,” he said indignantly. He saw that his uncle was taken aback by his strength of feeling. He went on: “To be quite honest, I’d prefer to work for the Greenbournes, where I would be free from family intrigues”—he darted a defiant glance at Augusta—“and where my responsibilities and rewards would depend on nothing but my ability as a banker.”

Augusta said in a scandalized tone: “You prefer Jews to your own family?”

“Keep out of this,” Joseph told her brusquely. “You know why I’m saying all this, Hugh. Mr. Madler feels that we have let him down, and all the partners are worried about your taking our North American business with you when you go.”

Hugh tried to steady his nerves. It was time to drive a hard bargain. “I wouldn’t come back if you doubled my salary,” he said, burning his boats. “There’s only one thing you can offer me that would make me change my mind, and that’s a partnership.”

Joseph sighed. “You’re the very devil to negotiate with.”

Madler put in: “As every good banker should be.”

“Very well,” Joseph said at last. “I’m offering you a partnership.”

Hugh felt weak. They’ve backed down, he thought.
They’ve given in. I’ve won. He could hardly believe it had really happened.

He glanced at Augusta. Her face was a rigid mask of self-control, but she said nothing: she knew she had lost.

“In that case,” he said, and he hesitated, savoring the moment. He took a deep breath. “In that case, I accept.”

Augusta finally lost her composure. She turned red and her eyes seemed to bulge. “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your lives!” she spat. Then she stalked off.

She cut a swath through the crowd in the ballroom as she headed for the door. People stared at her and looked nervous. She realized her rage was showing on her face, and she wished she could hide her feelings, but she was too distraught. All the people she loathed and despised had triumphed. The guttersnipe Maisie, the underbred Hugh and the appalling Nora had thwarted her and got what they wanted. Her stomach was twisted in knots of frustration and she felt nauseated.

At last she reached the door and passed out onto the second-floor landing, where the crowd was thinner. She buttonholed a passing footman. “Call Mrs. Pilaster’s carriage instantly!” she commanded. He went off at a run. At least she could still intimidate footmen.

She left the party without speaking to anyone else. Her husband could go home in a hansom. She fumed all the way to Kensington.

When she got to the house her butler Hastead was waiting in the hall. “Mr. Hobbes is in the drawing room, ma’am,” he said sleepily. “I told him you might not be back until dawn, but he insisted on waiting.”

“What the dickens does he want?”

“He didn’t say.”

Augusta was in no mood to see the editor of
The Forum
. What was he doing here in the early hours of the
morning? She was tempted to ignore him and go straight to her room, but then she thought of the peerage and decided she had better talk to him.

She went into the drawing room. Hobbes was asleep by the dying fire. “Good morning!” Augusta said loudly.

He started and sprang to his feet, peering at her through his smeared spectacles. “Mrs. Pilaster! Good—ah, yes, morning.”

“What brings you here so late?”

“I thought you would like to be the first to see this,” he said, and he handed her a journal.

It was the new number of
The Forum
, still smelling of the printing press. She opened it to the title page and read the headline over the leading article:

CAN A JEW BE A LORD
?

Her spirits lifted. Tonight’s fiasco was only one defeat, she reminded herself. There were other battles to be fought.

She read the first few lines:

We trust there is no truth in the rumours, currently circulating at Westminster and in the London clubs, that the Prime Minister is contemplating the grant of a peerage to a prominent banker of the Jewish race and faith
.

We have never favoured persecution of heathen religions. However, tolerance can go too far. To give the highest accolade to one who openly rejects Christian salvation would be perilously close to blasphemy
.

Of course, the Prime Minister himself is a Jew by race. But he has been converted, and took his oath of allegiance to Her Majesty on the Christian Bible. No constitutional question was therefore raised by his ennoblement. But we have to ask whether the unbaptised banker of whom rumour speaks would be prepared so far to compromise his faith as to swear on the combined Old and New Testaments. If he were to insist on the Old Testament alone, how could the bishops in the House of Lords stand by without protest?

We have no doubt that the man himself is a loyal citizen and an honest man of business
….

There was much more of the same. Augusta was pleased. She looked up from the page. “Well done,” she said. “That should cause a stir.”

“I hope so.” With a quick, birdlike gesture, Hobbes reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I have taken the liberty of contracting to buy the printing press I mentioned to you. The bill of sale—”

“Go to the bank in the morning,” Augusta snapped, ignoring the proffered paper. Somehow she could never bring herself to be civil to Hobbes for long, even when he had served her well. Something about his manner irritated her. She made an effort to be more pleasant. In a softer voice she said: “My husband will give you a cheque.”

Hobbes bowed. “In that case I will take my leave.” He went out.

Augusta breathed a sigh of satisfaction. This would show them all. Maisie Greenbourne thought she was the leader of London society. Well, she could dance with the Prince of Wales all night long, but she couldn’t fight the power of the press. It would take the Greenbournes a long time to recover from this onslaught. And meanwhile Joseph would have his peerage.

Feeling better, she sat down to read the article again.

3

ON THE MORNING AFTER THE BALL
Hugh woke up feeling jubilant. His wife had been accepted into high society and he was going to be made a partner in Pilasters Bank. The partnership gave him the chance to make not just thousands of pounds but, over the years, hundreds of thousands. One day he would be rich.

Solly would be disappointed that Hugh would not be working for him after all. But Solly was nothing if not easygoing: he would understand.

He put on his robe. From his bedside drawer he took a gift-wrapped jeweler’s box and slipped it into his pocket. Then he went into his wife’s bedroom.

Nora’s room was large but it always felt cramped. The windows, the mirrors and the bed were all draped with patterned silk; the floor was covered with rugs two and three deep; the chairs were piled with embroidered cushions; and every shelf and tabletop was crowded with framed pictures, china dolls, miniature porcelain boxes and other knickknacks. The predominant colors were her favorite pink and blue, but just about every other color was represented somewhere, in the wallpapers, bedclothes, curtains or upholstery.

Nora was sitting up in bed, surrounded by lace pillows, sipping tea. Hugh perched on the edge of the bed and said: “You were wonderful last night.”

“I showed them all,” she said, looking pleased with herself. “I danced with the Prince of Wales.”

“He couldn’t stop looking at your bosom,” Hugh said. He reached over and caressed her breasts through the silk of her high-buttoned nightdress.

She pushed his hand aside irritably. “Hugh! Not now.”

He felt hurt. “Why not now?”

“It’s the second time this week.”

“When we were first married we used to do it constantly.”

“Exactly—when we were first married. A girl doesn’t expect to have to do it every day forever.”

Hugh frowned. He would have been perfectly happy to do it every day forever—wasn’t that what marriage was all about? But he did not know what was normal. Perhaps he was overactive. “How often do you think we should do it, then?” he said uncertainly.

She looked pleased to have been asked, as if she had been waiting for an opportunity to clear this up. “Not more than once a week,” she said firmly.

“Really?” His feeling of exultation went away and he suddenly felt very cast down. A week seemed an awfully long time. He stroked her thigh through the sheets. “Perhaps a little more than that.”

“No!” she said, moving her leg.

Hugh was upset. Once upon a time she had seemed enthusiastic about lovemaking. It had been something they enjoyed together. How had it become a chore she performed for his benefit? Had she never really liked it, but just pretended? There was something dreadfully depressing about that idea.

He no longer felt like giving her his gift, but he had bought it and he did not want to take it back to the shop. “Well, anyway, I got you this, to commemorate your triumph at Maisie Greenbourne’s ball,” he said rather dolefully, and he gave her the box.

Her manner changed instantly. “Oh, Hugh, you know how I love presents!” she said. She tore off the ribbon and opened the box. It contained a pendant in the shape of a spray of flowers, made of rubies and sapphires on gold stems. The pendant hung from a fine gold chain. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Put it on, then.”

She put it over her head.

The pendant did not show to best advantage against
the front of her nightdress. “It will look better with a low-cut evening gown,” Hugh said.

Nora gave him a coquettish look and began to unbutton her nightdress. Hugh watched hungrily as she exposed more and more of her chest. The pendant hung in the swelling of her cleavage like a drop of rain on a rosebud. She smiled at Hugh and carried on undoing buttons, then she pulled the nightdress open, showing him her bare breasts. “Do you want to kiss them?” she said.

Now he did not know what to think. Was she toying with him or did she want to make love? He leaned over and kissed her breasts with the jewelry nestling between them. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked it gently.

“Come to bed,” she said.

“I thought you said—”

“Well … a girl has to show she’s grateful, doesn’t she?” She drew back the covers.

Hugh felt sick. It was the jewelry that had changed her mind. All the same he could not resist the invitation. He shrugged out of his dressing gown, hating himself for being so weak, and climbed in beside her.

When he came, he felt like crying.

With his morning mail there was a letter from Tonio Silva.

Tonio had vanished shortly after Hugh met him in the coffeehouse. No article had appeared in
The Times
. Hugh had looked rather foolish, having made such a fuss about the danger to the bank. Edward had taken every opportunity to remind the partners of Hugh’s false alarm. However, the incident had been eclipsed by the drama of Hugh’s threatened move to Greenbournes.