A Dangerous Fortune (1994)

by Ken Follett

She was not really concerned about the others. It was herself she was worried about. She made him walk faster until they rejoined the rest of the party, then she let go of his arm and talked to the duchess.

  She was obscurely bothered by Hugh's saying that the Marlborough Set was famous for its tolerance. It was true, but she wished he hadn't used the phrase anything of that sort; she was not sure why.

  When they reentered the house the tall clock in the hall was striking midnight. Maisie suddenly felt drained by the tensions of the day. "I'm going to bed," she announced.

  She saw the duchess look reflexively at Hugh, then back at her, and suppress a little smile; and she realized that they all thought Hugh would sleep with her tonight.

  The ladies went upstairs together, leaving the men to play billiards and drink a nightcap. As the women kissed her good night Maisie saw the same look in the eyes of each one, a gleam of excitement tinged with envy.

  She went into her bedroom and closed the door. A coal fire burned merrily in the grate, and there were candles on the mantelpiece and the dressing table. On the bedside table, as usual, there was a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of sherry in case she got peckish in the night: she never touched them, but the well-trained staff of Kingsbridge Manor put a tray beside every bed without fail.

  She began to take off her clothes. They might all be wrong: perhaps Hugh would not come to her tonight. The thought stabbed her like a pain, and she longed for him to come through the door so that she could take him in her arms and kiss him, really kiss him, not guiltily as she had in the garden, but hungrily and shamelessly. The feeling brought back an overwhelming memory of the night of the Goodwood races six years ago, the narrow bed in his aunt's house, and the expression on his face when she took off her dress.

  She looked at her body in the long mirror. Hugh would notice how it had changed. Six years ago she had had tiny turned-in pink nipples like dimples, but now, after nursing Bertie, they were enlarged and strawberry-colored, and stuck out. As a girl she had not needed to wear a corset--she had been naturally wasp-shaped--but her waist had never quite returned to normal after pregnancy.

  She heard the men coming up the stairs, heavy-footed and laughing at some joke. Hugh had been right: not one of them would be shocked by a little adultery at a country-house party. Did they not feel disloyal to their friend Solly, she thought derisively? And then it hit her like a slap in the face that she was the one who ought to feel disloyal.

  She had put Solly out of her mind all evening, but now he came back to her in spirit: harmless, amiable Solly; kind, generous Solly; the man who loved her to distraction, the man who cared for Bertie, knowing he was another man's child. Within hours of his leaving the house Maisie was about to let another man come into her bed. What kind of woman am I? she thought.

  On impulse she went to the door and locked it.

  She understood now why she had disliked Hugh's saying Your set is famous for not minding anything of that sort. It made her feeling for Hugh seem commonplace, just another one of the many flirtations, romances and infidelities that gave society ladies something to gossip about. Solly deserved better than to be betrayed by a commonplace affair.

  But I want Hugh, she thought.

  The idea of forgoing this night with him made her want to weep. She thought of his boyish grin and his bony chest, his blue eyes and smooth white skin; and she remembered the expression on his face when he looked at her body, the expression of wonder and happiness, desire and delight; and it seemed so hard to give that up.

  There was a soft tap at the door.

  She stood naked in the middle of the room, paralyzed and dumb.

  The handle turned and the door was pushed, but of course it would not open.

  She heard her name spoken in a low voice.

  She went to the door and put her hand to the key.

  "Maisie!" he called softly. "It's me, Hugh."

  She longed for him so much that the sound of his voice made her moist inside. She put her finger in her mouth and bit herself hard, but the pain did not mask the desire.

  He tapped on the door again. "Maisie! Let me in?"

  She leaned her back against the wall, and the tears streamed down her face, dripping off her chin onto her breasts.

  "At least let us talk!"

  She knew that if she opened the door there would be no talking--she would take him in her arms and they would fall to the floor in a frenzy of desire.

  "Say something. Are you there? I know you're there."

  She stood still, crying silently.

  "Please?" he said. "Please?"

  After a while he went away.

  Maisie slept badly and woke early, but as the new day dawned her spirits lifted a little. Before the other guests were up she went along to the nursery wing as usual. Outside the door of the nursery dining room she stopped suddenly. She was not the first guest to rise, after all. She could hear a man's voice inside. She paused and listened. It was Hugh.

  He was saying: "And just at that moment, the giant woke up."

  There was a childish squeal of delighted terror that Maisie recognized as coming from Bertie.

  Hugh went on: "Jack went down the beanstalk as fast as his legs could carry him--but the giant came after him!"

  Kingo's daughter Anne said in the superior voice of a knowing seven-year-old: "Bertie's hiding behind his chair because he's scared. I'm not scared."

  Maisie wanted to hide like Bertie, and she turned and began to walk back to her room, but she stopped again. She had to face Hugh sometime today, and here in the nursery might be the easiest place. She composed herself and went in.

  Hugh had the three children enraptured. Bertie hardly saw his mother come in. Hugh looked up at Maisie with hurt in his eyes. "Don't stop," Maisie said, and she sat down by Bertie and hugged him.

  Hugh returned his attention to the children. "And what do you think Jack did next?"

  "I know," said Anne. "He got an ax."

  "That's right."

  Maisie sat there hugging Bertie, while Bertie stared big-eyed at the man who was his real father. If I can stand this, I can do anything, Maisie thought.

  Hugh said: "And while the giant was still halfway up the beanstalk, Jack chopped it down! And the giant fell all the way to the earth ... and died. And Jack and his mother lived happily ever after."

  Bertie said: "Tell it again."

  Section 4

  THE CORDOVAN MINISTRY was busy. Tomorrow was Cordovan Independence Day and there would be a big afternoon reception for members of Parliament, Foreign Office officials, diplomats and journalists. This morning, to add to his worries, Micky Miranda had received a stiff note from the British Foreign Secretary about two English tourists who had been murdered while exploring the Andes. But when Edward Pilaster called, Micky Miranda dropped everything, for what he had to say to Edward was much more important than either the reception or the note. He needed half a million pounds, and he was hoping to get the money from Edward.

  Micky had been the Cordovan Minister for a year. Getting the job had required all his cunning, but it had also cost his family a fortune in bribes back home. He had promised Papa that all that money would return to the family, and now he had to make good his promise. He would rather die than let his father down.

  He brought Edward into the minister's chamber, a grand room dominated by a full-size Cordovan flag. He went to the big table and spread out a map of Cordova, weighing down the corners with his cigar case, the sherry decanter, a glass, and Edward's gray top hat. He hesitated. It was the first time he had ever asked someone for half a million pounds.

  "Here is Santamaria Province, in the north of the country," he began.

  "I do know the geography of Cordova," Edward said peevishly.

  "Of course you do," said Micky in a soothing voice. It was true. Pilasters Bank did a healthy volume of business with Cordova, financing its exports of nitrate, salt beef and silver and its imports of mining equipment, guns and luxury goods.
Edward handled all that business, thanks to Micky, who as attache and then minister had made life difficult for anyone who did not want to use Pilasters Bank to finance their trade with his country. In consequence Edward was now seen as the leading London expert on Cordova. "Of course you do," Micky repeated. "And you know that all the nitrate mined by my father has to be transported by mule train from Santamaria to Palma. But what you may not know is that it is perfectly possible to build a railroad along that route."

  "How can you be sure? A railroad is a complicated thing."

  Micky took a bound volume from his desk. "Because my father commissioned a survey by a Scottish engineer, Gordon Halfpenny. All the details are in here--including the costs. Take a look."

  "How much?" Edward said.

  "Five hundred thousand pounds."

  Edward riffled through the pages of the report. "What about politics?"

  Micky glanced up at the big portrait of President Garcia in the uniform of commander-in-chief. Every time Micky looked at the picture he vowed that one day his own portrait would occupy that spot on the wall. "The president favors the idea. He believes it will strengthen his military grip on the countryside." Garcia trusted Papa. Ever since Papa had become governor of Santamaria Province--with the help of two thousand Westley-Richards short-barreled rifles made in Birmingham--the Miranda family had been the president's fervent supporters and close allies. Garcia did not suspect Papa's motive for wanting a railway to Palma: it would enable the Miranda family to attack the capital within two days instead of two weeks.

  "How will it be paid for?" said Edward.

  "We'll raise the money on the London market," Micky said airily. "In fact I thought Pilasters Bank might like to have the business." He tried to breathe slowly and normally. This was the climax of his long and painstaking cultivation of the Pilaster family: this was to be his reward for years of preparation.

  But Edward shook his head and said: "I don't think so."

  Micky was astonished and dismayed. At worst he had thought Edward would agree to think about it. "But you raise money for railroads all the time--I thought you'd be pleased to have the opportunity!"

  "Cordova isn't the same as Canada or Russia," Edward said. "Investors don't like your political setup, with every provincial caudillo having his own personal army. It's medieval."

  Micky had not thought of that. "You floated Papa's silver mine." That had happened three years ago, and had brought Papa a useful hundred thousand pounds.

  "Exactly! It turned out to be the only silver mine in South America that struggles to make a profit."

  In truth the mine was very rich, but Papa was skimming the profits off the top and leaving nothing for the shareholders. If only he had left a little margin for the sake of respectability! But Papa never listened to such counsel.

  Micky fought down a panicky feeling, but his emotions must have shown on his face, for Edward said worriedly: "I say, old boy, is it terribly important? You look upset."

  "To tell you the truth, it would mean quite a lot to my family," Micky admitted. He felt that Edward must be able to raise this money if he really wanted to; it could not be impossible. "Surely, if a bank with the prestige of Pilasters were to back the project, people would conclude that Cordova must be a good place to invest."

  "There's something in that," Edward said. "If one of the partners put the idea up, and really wanted to push it through, it could probably be done. But I'm not a partner."

  Micky had underestimated the difficulty of raising half a million pounds. But he was not beaten. He would find a way. "I'll have to think again," he said with forced cheerfulness.

  Edward drained his sherry glass and stood up. "Shall we go to lunch?"

  That night Micky and the Pilasters went to see H.M.S. Pinafore at the Opera Comique. Micky got there a few minutes early. While he was waiting in the foyer he ran into the Bodwin family, who were Pilaster hangers-on: Albert Bodwin was a lawyer who did a lot of work for the bank, and Augusta had once tried quite hard to get the daughter, Rachel Bodwin, to marry Hugh.

  Micky's mind was on the problem of raising the money for the railroad, but he flirted with Rachel Bodwin automatically, as he did with all girls and many married women. "And how is the movement for female emancipation, Miss Bodwin?"

  Her mother blushed and said: "I wish you wouldn't speak of it, Senor Miranda."

  "Then I shan't, Mrs. Bodwin, for your wishes are to me as Acts of Parliament, legally binding." He turned back to Rachel. She was not exactly pretty--her eyes were a little too close together--but she had a good figure: long legs, a narrow waist and a deep bust. In a sudden flash of fantasy he imagined her with her hands tied to the head of a bed and her naked legs spread, and he enjoyed the picture. Glancing up from her bosom he caught her eye. Most girls would have blushed and turned away, but she gave him a look of remarkable frankness and smiled, and it was he who felt embarrassed. Looking for something to talk about he said: "Did you know that our old friend Hugh Pilaster has returned from the colonies?"

  "Yes, I saw him at Whitehaven House. You were there."

  "Ah yes, I forgot."

  "I always liked Hugh."

  But you didn't want to marry him, Micky thought. Rachel had now been on offer in the marriage market for many years, and she was beginning to look like stale goods, he thought unkindly. Yet his instincts told him she was a deeply sexual person. Her problem was undoubtedly that she was too formidable. She frightened men off. But she must be getting desperate. Approaching thirty and still single, she would surely be wondering if she were doomed to the life of a spinster. Some women might contemplate that with equanimity, but not Rachel, Micky felt.

  She was attracted to him, but then so was almost everyone, old and young, male and female. Micky liked it when rich and influential people fell for him, for it gave him power; but Rachel was nobody and her interest in him was valueless.

  The Pilasters arrived and Micky turned his attention to Augusta. She was wearing a striking evening gown in deep raspberry-pink. "You look ... delicious, Mrs. Pilaster," he said in a low voice, and she smiled with pleasure. The two families chatted for a few minutes, then it was time to take their seats.

  The Bodwins were in the stalls but the Pilasters had a box. As they separated, Rachel gave Micky a warm smile and said quietly: "Perhaps we will see you later, Senor Miranda." Her father overheard and looked disapproving as he took her arm and hurried her away, but Mrs. Bodwin smiled at Micky as they left. Mr. Bodwin doesn't want his daughter to fall for a foreigner, Micky thought, but Mrs. Bodwin is not so choosy anymore.

  He worried over his railroad loan throughout the first act. It had not occurred to him that Cordova's primitive political setup, which had allowed the Miranda family to fight their way to wealth and power, might be seen by investors as risky. That probably meant he could not get the railroad project financed by any other bank. The only way to raise the money would be to use his inside influence with Pilasters. And the only people he might be able to influence were Edward and Augusta.

  During the first interval he found himself alone in the box with Augusta for a few moments, and he tackled her immediately, knowing that she appreciated the direct approach. "When will Edward be made a partner in the bank?"

  "That's a sore point," she said sourly. "Why do you ask?"

  He told her briefly about the railroad, leaving out Papa's long-term aim of attacking the capital. "I can't get the money from another bank--none of them knows anything about Cordova, because I've kept them all away for Edward's sake." It was not the real reason but Augusta would not know that: she did not understand the business. "But it would be a success if Edward could push it through."

  Augusta nodded. "My husband has promised to make Edward a partner as soon as he marries," she said.

  Micky was surprised. Edward marry! The idea was startling--and yet why should it be?

  Augusta went on: "We have even agreed on a bride: Emily Maple, the daughter of Deacon Maple."

&n
bsp; "What's she like?"

  "Pretty, young--she's only nineteen--and sensible. Her parents approve of the match."

  She sounded about right for Edward, Micky thought: he liked pretty girls but he needed one he could dominate. "So what obstacle is there?"

  Augusta frowned. "I simply don't know. But somehow Edward never quite gets around to asking her."

  This did not surprise Micky. He could not imagine Edward's marrying, no matter how suitable the girl. What did he have to gain from marriage? He had no desire for children. But now there was an incentive: the partnership. Even if Edward did not care about that, Micky did. "What can we do to encourage him?"

  Augusta gave Micky a sharp look and said: "I have a funny feeling that he might go ahead if you were married."

  Micky looked away. That was perceptive of her. She had no idea what went on in the private rooms of Nellie's brothel--but she had a mother's intuition. He, too, felt that if he married first, Edward might be more willing. "Me, marry?" he said with a little laugh. Naturally he would marry, sooner or later--everyone did--but he saw no reason to do so yet.

  However, if it was the price of financing the railroad ...

  It was not just the railroad, he reflected. One successful loan would lead to another. Countries such as Russia and Canada raised fresh loans every year on the London market--for raifroads, harbors, water supply companies and general government finance. There was no reason why Cordova should not do the same. Micky would take a commission, official or unofficial, on every penny raised; but more importantly, the money would be channeled to his family's interests back home, making them ever richer and more powerful.

  And the alternative was unthinkable. If he let his father down over this he would be never be forgiven. To avert his father's wrath he would marry three times over.

  He looked back at Augusta. They never spoke of what had happened in old Seth's bedroom back in the September of 1873, but she could not possibly have forgotten it. It had been sex without intercourse, infidelity without adultery, something and nothing. They had both been fully clothed, it had lasted only seconds, yet it had been more passionate and moving and searingly unforgettable than anything Micky had ever done with the whores at Nellie's brothel, and he felt sure it had been a momentous passage for Augusta too. How did she really feel about the prospect of Micky's getting married? Half the women in London would be jealous, but it was so hard to know what Augusta felt in her heart. He decided to ask her directly. He looked into her eyes and said: "Do you want me to marry?"