A Dangerous Fortune

by Ken Follett

  Edward turned the girl over onto her back. She almost rolled off the bed, and he grabbed her ankles and pulled her back into the middle. As he did so her hood came partly off.

  Edward said: "Good God!"

  "What's the matter?" Micky said without much interest.

  Edward was kneeling between the girl's thighs with his prick in his hand, staring at her half-revealed face. Micky decided that the girl must be someone they knew. He watched, fascinated, as she tried to tug the hood down again. Edward prevented her, and pulled it right off.

  Then Micky saw the big blue eyes and childlike face of Edward's wife, Emily.

  "I never heard of such a thing!" he said, and he started to laugh.

  Edward gave a roar of rage. "You filthy cow!" he yelled. "You did this to shame me!"

  "No, Edward, no!" she cried. "To help you--to help us!"

  "Now they all know!" he shouted, and he punched her face.

  She screamed and struggled, and he hit her again.

  Micky laughed all the more. It was the funniest thing he had ever seen: a man going into a whorehouse and meeting his own wife!

  April came rushing in, in response to the screams. "Leave her alone!" she yelled, and she tried to pull Edward off.

  He pushed her aside. "I'll chastise my own wife if I please!" he roared.

  "You great big fool, she only wants to have a baby!"

  "She'll have my fist instead!"

  They struggled for a moment. Edward punched his wife again, then April punched him on the ear. He gave a cry of pain and surprise, making Micky collapse with hysterical laughter.

  At last April managed to haul Edward off his wife.

  Emily got off the bed. Astonishingly, she did not immediately rush out. Instead she spoke to her husband. "Please don't give up, Edward. I'll do anything you want, anything!"

  He lunged at her again. April clung to his legs and tripped him up. He fell to his knees. April said: "Get out, Emily, before he kills you!"

  Emily rushed out, weeping.

  Edward was still raging. "I'll never come to this poxy whorehouse again!" he yelled, wagging his finger at April.

  Micky fell on the sofa, holding his sides, laughing fit to bust.

  2

  MAISIE GREENBOURNE'S MIDSUMMER BALL was one of the fixtures of the London season. She always had the best band, the most delicious food, outrageously extravagant decorations, and endless champagne. But the main reason everyone wanted to go was that the Prince of Wales always came.

  This year Maisie decided to use the occasion to launch the new Nora Pilaster.

  It was a high-risk strategy, for if it went wrong both Nora and Maisie would be humiliated. But if it went well no one would ever dare to snub Nora again.

  Maisie gave a small dinner for twenty-four people earlier in the evening, before the ball. The prince could not come to the dinner. Hugh and Nora were there, and Nora looked quite bewitching in a gauzy sky-blue gown covered with little satin bows. The off-the-shoulder style made the most of her pink skin and voluptuous figure.

  The other guests were surprised to see her at the table, but assumed Maisie knew what she was doing. She hoped they were right. She understood how the prince's mind worked, and she was fairly sure she could predict his reactions; but now and again he defied expectations and turned on his friends, particularly if he felt he was being used. If that happened Maisie would end up like Nora, cold-shouldered by London society. When she thought about it she was amazed that she had allowed herself to take that risk merely for the sake of Nora. But it was not for Nora, it was for Hugh.

  Hugh was working out his notice at Pilasters Bank. It was now two months since he had resigned. Solly was impatient for Hugh to start at Greenbournes, but the Pilasters partners had insisted he stay the full three months. No doubt they wanted to postpone as long as possible the moment when Hugh went to work for their rivals.

  After dinner Maisie talked briefly to Nora as the ladies used the bathroom. "Stay as close to me as you can," she said. "When the moment comes for me to present you to the prince, I won't be able to go looking for you: you'll have to be right there."

  "I'll stick to you like a Scotchman to a five-pound note," Nora said in her cockney accent, then she changed to an upper-class drawl and said: "Never fear! I shan't run off!"

  The guests began to arrive at ten-thirty. Maisie did not normally invite Augusta Pilaster, but she had this year, wanting Augusta to see Nora's triumph, if triumph it should be. She had half expected Augusta to decline, but she was among the first to arrive. Maisie had also invited Hugh's New York mentor, Sidney Madler, a charming man of about sixty with a white beard. He turned up in a distinctly American version of evening dress, with a short jacket and a black tie.

  Maisie and Solly stood shaking hands for an hour, then the prince arrived. They escorted him into the ballroom and presented Solly's father. Ben Greenbourne bowed stiffly from the waist, as straight-backed as a Prussian guardsman. Then Maisie danced with the prince.

  "I've a splendid titbit of gossip for you, sir," she said as they waltzed. "Although I hope it won't make you cross."

  He held her closer and spoke in her ear. "How intriguing, Mrs. Greenbourne--do go on."

  "It's about the incident at the duchess of Tenbigh's ball."

  She felt him go stiff. "Ah, yes. Faintly embarrassing, I do confess." He lowered his voice. "When that girl called de Tokoly a filthy old reprobate I thought for a minute she was talking to me!"

  Maisie laughed gaily, as if the idea were absurd, although she knew that quite a lot of people had made the same assumption.

  "But do go on," said the prince. "Was there more to it than met the eye?"

  "It seems so. De Tokoly had been told, quite falsely, that the young woman was, how shall I put it, open to invitation."

  "Open to invitation!" He chuckled fruitily. "I must remember that one."

  "And she, for her part, had been warned to slap him instantly if he tried to take liberties."

  "So there was almost certain to be a scene. Cunning. Who was behind it all?"

  Maisie hesitated momentarily. She had never before used her friendship with the prince to do someone down. But Augusta was wicked enough to deserve it. "Do you know who I mean by Augusta Pilaster?"

  "Indeed. Matriarch of the other banking family."

  "It was she. The girl, Nora, is married to Augusta's nephew, Hugh. Augusta did it to spite Hugh, whom she hates."

  "What a snake she must be! But she ought not to cause such scenes when I am present. I rather feel like punishing her."

  This was the moment Maisie had been leading up to.

  "All you would have to do is notice Nora, to show that she is forgiven," she said; and she held her breath for his reply.

  "And ignore Augusta, perhaps. Yes, I think I might do that."

  The dance ended. Maisie said: "Shall I present Nora to you? She's here tonight."

  He looked at her shrewdly. "Did you plan all this, you little minx?"

  She had been afraid of this. He was not stupid and he could guess that she had been scheming. It would be better not to deny it. She looked bashful and did her best to blush. "You have found me out. How foolish of me to think I might pull the wool over your eagle eyes." She changed her expression and favored him with a direct, candid gaze. "What shall I do for a penance?"

  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 n
ight 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.