by Ken Follett
"What a lot of Pilasters there are," she said brightly, looking around. "How do you cope with them all?"
Hugh looked around too, and saw Florence Stalworthy come in. She was extraordinarily pretty, with her fair curls falling over her delicate shoulders, a pink dress trimmed with lace and silk ribbons, and ostrich feathers in her hat. She met Hugh's eye and smiled at him across the room.
"I can see I've lost your attention," Rachel said with characteristic bluntness.
"I'm most awfully sorry," Hugh said.
Rachel touched his arm. "Hugh, dear, listen to me for a moment. I like you. You're one of the few people in London society who aren't unspeakably dull. But I don't love you and I will never marry you, no matter how often your aunt throws us together."
Hugh was startled. "I say--" he began.
But she had not finished. "And I know you feel much the same about me, so please don't pretend to be heartbroken."
After a stunned moment, Hugh grinned. This directness was what he liked about her. But he supposed she was right: liking was not loving. He was not sure what love was, but she seemed to know. "Does this mean we can go back to quarreling about women's suffrage?" he said cheerfully.
"Yes, but not today. I'm going to talk to your old school friend, Senor Miranda."
Hugh frowned. "Micky couldn't spell 'suffrage' let alone tell you what it means."
"All the same, half the debutantes in London are swooning over him."
"I can't imagine why."
"He's a male Florence Stalworthy," Rachel said, and with that she left him.
Hugh frowned, thinking about that. Micky knew Hugh was a poor relation and he treated him accordingly, so it was difficult for Hugh to be objective about him. He was very personable, and always beautifully dressed. He reminded Hugh of a cat, sleek and sensual with glossy fur. It was not quite the thing to be so carefully groomed, and men said he was not very manly, but women did not seem to care about that.
Hugh followed Rachel with his eyes as she crossed the room to where Micky stood with his father, talking to Edward's sister Clementine, Aunt Madeleine, and young Aunt Beatrice. Now Micky turned to Rachel, giving her his full attention as he shook her hand and said something that made her laugh. Micky was always talking to three or four women.
All the same Hugh disliked the suggestion that Florence was somehow like Micky. She was attractive and popular, as he was, but Micky was something of a cad, Hugh thought.
He made his way to Florence's side, feeling thrilled but nervous. "Lady Florence, how are you?"
She smiled dazzlingly. "What an extraordinary house!"
"Do you like it?"
"I'm not sure."
"That's what most people say."
She laughed as if he had made a witty remark, and he felt inordinately pleased.
He went on: "It's very modern, you know. There are five bathrooms! And a huge boiler in the basement warms the whole place with hot-water pipes."
"Perhaps the stone ship on top of the gable is a little too much."
Hugh lowered his voice. "I think so too. It reminds me of the cow's head outside a butcher's shop."
She giggled again. Hugh was pleased that he could make her laugh. He decided it would be nice to get her away from the crowd. "Come and see the garden," he said.
"How lovely."
It was not lovely, having only just been planted, but that did not matter in the least. He led her out of the drawing room onto the terrace but there he was waylaid by Augusta, who shot him a look of reproof and said: "Lady Florence, how kind of you to come. Edward will show you the garden." She grabbed Edward, who was standing nearby, and ushered the two of them away before Hugh could say a word. He clenched his teeth in frustration and vowed he would not let her get away with this. "Hugh, dear, I know you want to talk to Rachel," she said. She took Hugh's arm and moved him back inside, and there was nothing he could do to resist her, short of snatching his arm away and making a scene. Rachel was standing with Micky Miranda and his father. "Micky, I want your father to meet my husband's cousin, Mr. Samuel Pilaster." She detached Micky and his father and took them off, leaving Hugh with Rachel again.
Rachel was laughing. "You can't argue with her."
"It would be like arguing with a dashed railway train," Hugh fumed. Through the window he could see the bustle of Florence's dress as it swayed down the garden beside Edward.
Rachel followed his eyes and said: "Go after her."
He grinned. "Thanks."
He hurried down the garden. As he caught up, a wicked idea occurred to him. Why should he not play his aunt's game and detach Edward from Florence? Augusta would be spitting mad when she found out--but it would be worth it for the sake of a few minutes alone in the garden with Florence. To hell with it, he thought. "Oh, Edward," he said. "Your mother asked me to send you to her. She's in the hall."
Edward did not question this: he was used to sudden changes of mind by his mother. He said: "Please excuse me, Lady Florence." He left them and went into the house.
Florence said: "Did she really send for him?"
"No."
"You're so bad!" she said, but she was smiling.
He looked into her eyes, basking in the sunshine of her approval. There would be hell to pay later, but he would suffer much worse for the sake of a smile like that. "Come and see the orchard," he said.
Section 3
AUGUSTA WAS AMUSED by Papa Miranda. Such a squat peasant of a man! He was so different from his lithe, elegant son. Augusta was very fond of Micky Miranda. She always felt more of a woman when she was with him, even though he was so young. He had a way of looking at her as if she were the most desirable thing he had ever seen. There were times when she wished he would do more than just look. It was a foolish wish, of course, but all the same she felt it now and again.
She had been alarmed by their conversation about Seth. Micky assumed that when old Seth died or retired, his son Samuel would take over as Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank. Micky would not have made that assumption on his own: he must have picked it up from the family. Augusta did not want Samuel to take over. She wanted the job for her husband Joseph, who was Seth's nephew.
She glanced through the drawing room window and saw the four partners in Pilasters Bank together on the terrace. Three were Pilasters: Seth, Samuel and Joseph--the early-nineteenth-century Methodists had favored biblical names. Old Seth looked like the invalid he was, sitting with a blanket over his knees, outliving his usefulness. Beside him was his son. Samuel was not as distinguished-looking as his father. He had the same beaklike nose, but below it was a rather soft mouth with bad teeth. Tradition would favor him to succeed because he was the eldest of the partners after Seth. Joseph was speaking, making a point to his uncle and his cousin with short jabbing movements of his hand, a characteristically impatient gesture. He, too, had the Pilaster nose, but the rest of his features were rather irregular and he was losing his hair. The fourth partner was standing back, listening with his arms folded. He was Major George Hartshorn, husband of Joseph's sister Madeleine. A former army officer, he had a prominent scar on his forehead from a wound received twenty years ago in the Crimean War. He was no hero, however: his horse had been frightened by a steam-traction engine and he had fallen and banged his head on the wheel of a kitchen wagon. He had retired from the army and joined the bank when he married Madeleine. An amiable man who followed where others led, he was not clever enough to run the bank, and anyway they had never had a Senior Partner whose name was not Pilaster. The only serious candidates were Samuel and Joseph.
Technically, the decision was made by a vote of the partners. By tradition, the family generally reached a consensus. In reality, Augusta was determined to have her way. But it would not be easy.
The Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank was one of the most important people in the world. His decision to grant a loan could save a monarch; his refusal could start a revolution. Along with a handful of others--J. P. Morgan, the Rothsch
ilds, Ben Greenbourne--he held the prosperity of nations in his hands. He was flattered by heads of state, consulted by prime ministers, and courted by diplomats; and his wife was fawned upon by them all.
Joseph wanted the job, but he had no subtlety. Augusta was terrified that he would let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Left to himself he might say bluntly that he would like to be considered then simply allow the family to decide. It might not occur to him that there were other things he should do to make sure he won the contest. For instance, he would never do anything to discredit his rival.
Augusta would have to find ways to do that for him.
She had no trouble identifying Samuel's weakness. At the age of fifty-three he was a bachelor, and lived with a young man who was blithely referred to as his "secretary." Until now the family had paid no attention to Samuel's domestic arrangements, but Augusta was wondering if she could change all that.
Samuel had to be handled carefully. He was a fussy, finicky man, the kind who would change his entire outfit of clothes because a drop of wine had fallen on the knee of his trousers; but he was not weak, and could not be intimidated. A frontal assault was not the way to attack him.
She would have no regrets about injuring him. She had never liked him. He sometimes acted as if he found her amusing, and he had a way of refusing to take her at face value that she found deeply annoying.
As she moved among her guests, she put out of her mind the irritating reluctance of her nephew Hugh to pay court to a perfectly suitable young girl. That branch of the family had always been troublesome and she was not going to let it distract her from the more important problem that Micky had alerted her to, the threat of Samuel.
She spotted her sister-in-law, Madeleine Hartshorn, in the hall. Poor Madeleine, you could tell she was Joseph's sister, for she had the Pilaster nose. On some of the men it looked distinguished, but no woman could look anything but plain with a great beak like that.
Madeleine and Augusta had once been rivals. Years ago, when Augusta first married Joseph, Madeleine had resented the way the family began to center around Augusta--even though Madeleine never had the magnetism or the energy to do what Augusta did, arranging weddings and funerals, matchmaking, patching up quarrels, and organizing support for the sick, the pregnant and the bereaved. Madeleine's attitude had come close to causing a rift within the family. Then she had delivered a weapon into Augusta's hands. One afternoon Augusta had stepped into an exclusive Bond Street silverware shop just in time to see Madeleine slipping into the back of the store. Augusta had lingered for a while, pretending to hesitate over a toast rack, until she saw a handsome young man follow the same route. She had heard that the rooms above such stores were sometimes used for romantic rendezvous, and she was now almost certain that Madeleine was having a love affair. A five-pound note had persuaded the proprietress of the shop, a Mrs. Baxter, to divulge the name of the young man, Viscount Tremain.
Augusta had been genuinely shocked, but her first thought had been that if Madeleine could do it with Viscount Tremain, Augusta could do the same with Micky Miranda. But that was out of the question, of course. Besides, if Madeleine could be found out the same could happen to Augusta.
It could have ruined Madeleine socially. A man who had a love affair was considered wicked but romantic; a woman who did the same was a whore. If her secret got out she would be shunned by society and her family would be ashamed of her. Augusta considered using the secret to control Madeleine, holding over her head the threat of exposure. But that would make Madeleine forever hostile. It was foolish to multiply enemies unnecessarily. There had to be a way she could disarm Madeleine and at the same time make an ally of her. After much thought she had evolved a strategy. Instead of intimidating Madeleine with the information, she pretended to be on her side. "A word to the wise, dear Madeleine," she had whispered. "Mrs. Baxter cannot be trusted. Tell your viscount to find a more discreet rendezvous." Madeleine had begged her to keep the secret and had been pathetically grateful when Augusta willingly promised eternal silence. Since then there had been no rivalry between them.
Now Augusta took Madeleine's arm, saying: "Come and see my room--I think you'll like it."
On the second floor of the house were her bedroom and dressing room, Joseph's bedroom and dressing room, and a study. She led Madeleine into her bedroom, closed the door, and waited for her reaction.
She had furnished the room in the latest Japanese style, with fretwork chairs, peacock-feather wallpaper and a display of porcelain over the mantelpiece. There was an immense wardrobe painted with Japanese motifs, and the window seat in the bay was partly concealed by dragonfly curtains.
"Augusta, how daring!" said Madeleine.
"Thank you." Augusta was almost completely happy with the effect. "There was a better curtain material I wanted but Liberty's had sold out of it. Come and see Joseph's room."
She took Madeleine through the communicating door. Joseph's bedroom was furnished in a more moderate version of the same style with dark leather-paper on the walls and brocade curtains. Augusta was especially proud of a lacquered display cabinet that held his collection of jeweled snuffboxes.
"Joseph is so eccentric," said Madeleine, looking at the snuffboxes.
Augusta smiled. Her husband was not in the least eccentric, generally speaking, but it was odd for a hard-headed Methodist businessman to collect something so frivolous and exquisite, and the whole family found it amusing. "He says they're an investment," she said. A diamond necklace for her would have been an equally good investment, but he never bought her such things, for Methodists considered jewelry to be a needless extravagance.
"A man should have a hobby," Madeleine said. "It keeps him out of trouble."
Out of whorehouses was what she meant. The implied reference to men's peccadilloes reminded Augusta of her purpose. Softly, softly, she said to herself. "Madeleine, dear, what are we going to do about cousin Samuel and his 'secretary'?"
Madeleine looked puzzled. "Ought we to do something?"
"If Samuel is to become Senior Partner, we must."
"Why?"
"My dear, the Senior Partner of Pilasters has to meet ambassadors, heads of state, even royalty--he must be quite, quite irreproachable in his private life."
Comprehension dawned, and Madeleine flushed. "Surely you're not suggesting that Samuel is in some way ... depraved?"
That was exactly what Augusta was suggesting, but she did not want to say it outright, for fear of provoking Madeleine to defend her cousin. "I trust that I shall never know," she said evasively. "The important thing is what people think."
Madeleine was unconvinced. "Do you really suppose people think ... that?"
Augusta forced herself to have patience with Madeleine's delicacy. "My dear, we are both married women, and we know what men are like. They have animal appetites. The world assumes that a single man of fifty-three living with a pretty boy is vicious and, heaven knows, in most cases the world is probably right."
Madeleine frowned, looking worried. Before she could say anything else there was a knock at the door and Edward came in. "What is it, Mother?" he asked.
Augusta was annoyed by the interruption and she had no idea what the boy was talking about. "What do you mean?"
"You sent for me."
"I most certainly did not. I told you to show Lady Florence around the garden."
Edward looked hurt. "Hugh said you wanted to see me!"
Augusta understood. "Did he? And I suppose he is showing Lady Florence the garden now?"
Edward saw what she was getting at. "I do believe he is," he said, looking wounded. "Don't be cross with me, Mother, please."
Augusta melted instantly. "Don't worry, Teddy dear," she said. "Hugh is such a sly boy." But if he thought he could outwit his aunt Augusta he was also foolish.
This distraction had irritated her, but on reflection she thought she had said enough to Madeleine about cousin Samuel. At this stage all she wanted was to plan
t the seed of doubt: anything more might be too heavy-handed. She decided to leave well enough alone. She ushered her sister-in-law and her son out of the room, saying: "Now I must return to my guests."
They went downstairs. The party was going well, to judge by the cacophony of talk, laughter, and a hundred silver teaspoons clinking in bone china saucers. Augusta briefly checked the dining room, where the servants were dispensing lobster salad, fruitcake and iced drinks. She moved through the hall, speaking a word or two to each guest who caught her eye, but looking for a particular one--Florence's mother, Lady Stalworthy.
She was worried by the possibility that Hugh might marry Florence. Hugh was already doing far too well at the bank. He had the quick commercial brain of a barrow boy and the engaging manners of a cardsharp. Even Joseph spoke approvingly of him, oblivious of the threat to their own son. Marriage to the daughter of an earl would give Hugh social status to add to his native talents, and then he would be a dangerous rival to Edward. Dear Teddy did not have Hugh's superficial charm or his head for figures, so he needed all the help Augusta could give him.
She found Lady Stalworthy standing in the bay window of the drawing room. She was a pretty middle-aged woman in a pink dress and a little straw hat with silk flowers all over it. Augusta wondered anxiously how she would feel about Hugh and Florence. Hugh was no great catch, but from Lady Stalworthy's point of view he was not a disaster. Florence was the youngest of three daughters, and the other two had married well, so Lady Stalworthy might be indulgent. Augusta had to prevent that. But how?
She stood at Lady Stalworthy's side and saw that she was watching Hugh and Florence in the garden. Hugh was explaining something, and Florence's eyes sparkled with pleasure as she looked at him and listened. "The careless happiness of youth," said Augusta.
"Hugh seems a nice boy," Lady Stalworthy said.
Augusta looked hard at her for a moment. Lady Stalworthy had a dreamy smile on her face. She had once been as pretty as her daughter, Augusta guessed. Now she was remembering her own girlhood. She needed to be brought down to earth with a thump. "How quickly they pass, those carefree days."