by Renée Dahlia
“Perhaps we should go and talk to them to better understand their concerns.”
Once more Priya wanted to growl unprofessionally. “I have spent the last six months doing just that.”
“Ahh. I see I have much information to dissemble before I have full understanding of this project.”
“Yes. I have a portfolio I can leave with you, and perhaps we should meet again once you have read it all. We will need to discuss the terms that Sanderson and Sons will have input into this charity; in particular the loans scheme and the administrative support, but I’ll leave that discussion until you have a better understanding of the scope of Rowley Mile.” Priya opened her briefcase, pulled out the carefully prepared portfolio, and placed it on the table.
“Thank you.” Miss Sanderson stood and held out her hand for Priya to shake. She took a moment to close her briefcase, because she needed the pause to prepare herself for the jolt she always felt when touching Miss Sanderson. Her body remembered that night and betrayed her every time. With a quick breath in, Priya stood, and shook Miss Sanderson’s hand. Her palm tingled and she almost shut her eyes.
“When you are ready to get involved, please write me a note and we can meet to discuss terms.” Priya bolted out of the room, to get away from Miss Sanderson’s steely gaze. Once the door closed behind her, Priya clenched her fist twice then shook her hand to get rid of Miss Sanderson’s lingering touch. She nodded to Mrs Patel and rushed away from all that temptation. Six years, and still she wanted Rosalie. Rosalie Sanderson. Her perfect woman; beautiful, clever, tough enough to run a damned business in this man’s world, and with an incredibly talented tongue. It wasn’t fair to be so attracted to someone who only wanted her for her connections. Her eagerness to join this charity only reinforced that notion too. Damn it.
Chapter 2
Rosalie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She should never have left that night because ever since, Priya had been on edge around her. The tension had never abated over the years and now that six years had gone past, the time for an apology had floated away like a leaf on a stream unable to be caught until it eventually became heavy with water and sunk. One night of passion shouldn’t have meant Rosalie would lose her head like that and just leave without a word, but damn, Priya had been so young six years ago, just twenty two to Rosalie’s thirty-six, and the sex so extraordinarily amazing that she hadn’t been able to think. The irony of it was that Rosalie had panicked because she wanted more than Priya could give and her choice had destroyed the option. Priya had obviously visited the Bloomsbury Group because it was a safe place to meet someone who shared her desires. Priya had been so assured afterwards, as if she’d gotten what she needed and the whole experience had barely affected her, while Rosalie’s whole world had changed. She’d met someone who was as passionate as her, someone with a fascinating brain, and incredible connection. All she wanted was to drag Priya home and keep her in bed for weeks, but she couldn’t. They were at different stages of life. Rosalie wanted to settle down with someone, not have a hot fling that burned out in a few months. She couldn’t take another heart break, couldn’t risk it, and so she’d run away like a damned coward.
And ever since, she’d paid the price, because in her role as the boss at Sanderson and Sons, she couldn’t just ignore their biggest client. Carlingford Enterprises had grown impressively during the war, taking advantage of their ship building capacity to gain lucrative contracts with the nation for the war effort.
Priya had matured over the course of the war, and now she was twenty-eight, she might want what Rosalie had craved for years. Every night, Rosalie stayed too late at the bank working, rather than going home to an empty house and fruitless dreams, a hopeless longing for what might have been if she’d been brave enough to ask. But she knew better. Sex wasn’t always about companionship; she’d been in the Bloomsbury Set and other similar circles to know that sometimes people were lucky to find their person or people, and other times it was just a lark with no hearts involved. Hope fluttered in her heart because of one little thing—if Priya hadn’t cared at all, she wouldn’t act as if she’d been slighted that night. Perhaps, maybe, hopefully, this charity would be the opportunity Rosalie needed to better understand what had happened that night. For years she’d sat with this uncertainty and it nagged at her. In her working life she was competent, accustomed to resolving problems, and computing the solutions. Money always added up, it made sense. Her love life, or lack of it, shouldn’t be this damned troublesome. Perhaps, if she lusted after someone less complex and fascinating, it wouldn’t be, but then, she’d be bored with anyone less. Rosalie picked up the portfolio and strode to the door.
“Mrs Patel?”
“Yes?”
“Please cancel the rest of my day. I need to concentrate on this.” She waved the portfolio. There was one dilemma she could solve, and it began with understanding the Rowley Mile Charity project.
“I take it your meeting went well. When it finished early, I was worried for you.”
Rosalie smiled. “You are always worried for me.”
“Someone has to be. You work too long.” Mrs Patel’s family were all grown up, but Rosalie enjoyed being mothered by her. Her own mother was a vacant type who’d been more interested in spending the bank’s profits on parties, but then, she’d been an excellent match for her equally impractical father. Rosalie had mostly been raised by governesses and her grandfather, eventually convincing him that she would be best placed to run that bank. Her sister, Gloria, was on the board of the bank. How such hapless parents had created the two of them would remain a mystery for all of Rosalie’s days.
“Perhaps I will go home early and read this there.”
Mrs Patel chuckled. “Work is still work, whether you do it at home or in the office. You need to have some fun.” They often had this argument, but this time, it didn’t pinch Rosalie’s heart like it usually did.
“This is fun for me. Miss Howick runs a charitable organisation that will help people, specifically women. I happen to enjoy working legal contracts and the nuances of financial arrangements.”
“As I enjoy being organised, but I also understand that this is work, not fun. There is a difference, you understand?”
“Mrs Patel, I don’t employ you to lecture me.”
Mrs Patel winked, the affection apparent in her grin. “Sometimes you require a lecture. All work and no play makes for a dull life, and you’ve already spent so much of it here.”
“I will take your opinion into consideration. Good afternoon.” Rosalie tucked the portfolio under her arm and marched down the hallway with her chin defiantly high. For once in her life, she would go home early and read Priya’s proposal, even if it wasn’t the proposal she truly wanted from her.
***
A few days later, Rosalie stood on a narrow street outside a row of aged double storey brick buildings all squashed together. Mrs Patel showed her typical high level of skills to create time in Rosalie’s diary for her to visit the site for the Rowley Mile construction project.
“Hello.” Priya stepped out of a shiny brown car wearing a long trench coat over her clothes. The car wasn’t new, but it shone with a polish as if someone had cared for it during the war years. She flung a pair of driving goggles onto the seat and waved one elegant hand. “I see you found it easily enough.”
“Yes. I took the train to Stepney Station and it was only a few blocks walk to get here. I like your car.”
“Thank you. It’s a 1912 Rover Twelve Clegg open tourer. I should upgrade, but I’m waiting until Aston-Martin put some of their brilliant racing cars into commercial production.”
Rosalie grinned. “I didn’t pick you for a motoring enthusiast.” She looked up and down the shoddy street. “This really is a brilliant location for Rowley Mile.”
Priya sighed, a tired sound that made Rosalie want to reassure her that she could find a solution to any of her problems. “We really need to change that name before we have an official open
ing.”
“It is not up to your usual standard.” If that was the problem, then Rosalie could certainly fix it by suggesting a new name for the project. Why it inspired such a deep felt sigh, she didn’t know, and it made her curious.
“Now I have a standard?” Priya’s mouth quirked up at the corners, almost a smile.
“Excuse me?”
“In our last meeting, you accused me of not understanding the plight of the people here because of my standard of living, and now...”
“I’ve reinforced that by assuming you have high standards.” Rosalie took a half-step backwards on the cobbled footpath. Priya laughed, and the sound buzzed in Rosalie’s chest.
“Nice save. We do need a new name. My brother and his friends named it after one of the Newmarket racecourses. They are a little horse obsessed. Initially they wanted to name it Ladies Mile after the shopping district in America, but I refused as it missed the point of the project. They couldn’t let the Mile reference go, as it relates to the size of the block. Anyway, I guess it’s not important how they ended up there.” Priya rolled her eyes. “I’d rather not have a joke as a name for this project and am open to all ideas.”
“I think we should name every building after an accomplished woman.” Rosalie wanted to grab the glamourous smile that flashed across Priya’s face and keep it for herself. If she’d been a camera enthusiast, she might attempt a photo although they never completely captured the essence of someone. For the first time in six years, Priya’s expression was welcoming and open, delightful and willing, and Rosalie wanted it more than all the gold sitting in the Sanderson and Sons vaults.
“Nice. I love that. And perhaps the streets as well.” Priya pulled off her driving gloves and threw them on the passenger seat of her vehicle. She turned back to face Rosalie with a fierce determined look in her eye. “We will not be including Queen Victoria in our list of accomplished women.”
“Oh. Why is that?” Their queen was the most obvious of accomplished women; England had only a few queens in their history, and Queen Victoria was the longest lived one.
“It’s a long story, but let’s just say that my family has a complicated view of her and her choices around India.” Priya’s expression closed down, and Rosalie made a note to learn more about Queen Victoria’s governance over India. She could do her own research, rather than ask Priya questions which might hurt her.
“In that case, I think it would be prudent to research each potential name to ensure they are suitable.” Women like Lady Jersey who had run the bank Child & Co one hundred years ago and was one of her idols would be an excellent start. “The names on these buildings will last for a long time and I take it you will want each person to represent a legacy.”
Priya steepled her fingers for a brief second, then dropped her hands to her sides. “Not a legacy, per say, it’s more that I only want the people we uplift to be worthy. I realise it sounds absurd of me to hold such a position, given that my family’s current good fortunes have been built on the spoils of war—”
“Stop that. Carlingford builds ships, not guns.”
Priya waved her hand as if to dismiss Rosalie. “It’s a well known fact that we thrived and profited from war and this project is only a small repayment for the harm we’ve been involved in. It is with this ideal in mind that I want to ensure this project doesn’t add more harm to that which we’ve already contributed.”
“It’s admirable that you care about this.” Rosalie had grown up with the knowledge that Sanderson and Sons had been the repository of funds gained through the conquering of lands, via the despicable slave and sugar trades, and other unethical means. Her grandfather had always maintained a distance from such matters because the bank wasn’t responsible for how money was made and where people created their profits. Their client’s morality, or lack of it, wasn’t the responsibility of the bank. Over the years, she’d come to realise he was wrong. For Sanderson and Sons to look after money made from morally wrong sources meant the bank agreed with their client’s ethics. Since figuring that out, Rosalie had been much more careful about new clients and the source of their wealth. Perhaps it wasn’t great for Sanderson and Sons’ overall profitability to reject potential clients, but she knew a little about how to felt not to belong in society, and she didn’t want to deliberately exclude or hurt other people if she could help it.
“No, it’s not admirable. I don’t want to be praised for doing the right thing. There’s nothing admirable about using my family’s wealth to help people who have so little. It’s the baseline of what we should do with the money.”
Rosalie nodded and looked up and down the street. The crumbling buildings of the East End leaned towards the street, and people peered out of small windows, partially hidden by thin curtains that looked like they’d been washed too many times.
“The plans in your portfolio report will be a massive improvement to people’s lives around here. It’s a unique opportunity create positive change.”
Priya pursed her lips. “It’s not unique. This project is just one of many in this region. There have been private companies rebuilding in the East End since the days of Jack the Ripper.”
“You didn’t mention that in your report.”
“I assumed it would be dull.”
Rosalie wanted to shake Priya for assuming her knowledge wasn’t worthwhile. “I like to know all the facts.”
“Then I would be remiss in not outlining the private investors who have done this type of philanthropy prior to the proposed Rowley Mile project. One could argue the overcrowded Grosvenor buildings—” Priya paused.
“Go on.”
Priya nodded. “Well, they were, mostly likely, the true beginning of organised and improved lodgings with a large scale building for multiple residents. And then with the East End Dwelling Company, the Peabody Trust, and even the Improved Industrial Dwelling Company although they mostly failed in their objectives by building houses that were too expensive for locals to rent. At the very least, I want to avoid making some of the mistakes others have made. The housing we create needs to be affordable and healthy.”
“None of that is dull. I wish you would stop underselling yourself.” Rosalie was impressed with Priya’s local knowledge and the amount of work she’d put into the proposal, both in the portfolio she’d read and with her history lesson just now. All the planning for this project had been done with a high degree of thought around the details, with the end aim of creating a space for people, especially women, to live and thrive.
“It’s a team effort. The real challenge we have for this project are around labour and building supplies.”
Rosalie wasn’t going to win the argument when Priya seemed so determined to undermine her own efforts, so she changed tact. “Yes, I read your report about the import issues on the docks.”
“That is one problem, but I wanted to run something past you. I’m not sure how to resolve the building materials issue, although I think I might have sourced bricks from the country and will be able to bring them in by train. The bigger issue is labour.”
“Understood. So many men died or were injured in the war, and the Spanish flu took many more.”
Priya gave her head a little shake and the corner of her lips curled slightly. “You are missing the wider point. This is a project for women.”
“And?” Rosalie peered at Priya. Was she trying to be obtuse, or was she making a point that Rosalie had missed?
“Women laboured in many factories during the war. I’m not worried about finding enough men—” Priya emphasised the word. “—to do the work because I intend to use women. Why shouldn’t they help construct their own homes if they are able? And learn skills as they go.”
Rosalie’s chest swelled at the concept. Of course. Priya was so damned clever, and yet, the idea was bloody obvious. It was just that no one else had bothered to think of it, even herself, and she prided herself on thinking outside the typical male dominated way of running a business. S
ome things were so ingrained, even after a war where woman had worked in factories, building machines and whatnot.
“But?” Rosalie twisted her hands together because Priya had a deep frown on her face as though there was an insurmountable problem with her idea.
“The issue I have with labour is in finding skilled men who are willing to teach women.”
Rosalie’s heart beat a little faster. “I see. You need men who are truly unique; ones who aren’t just skilled at leading and teaching on a building site, but who will also provide a safe environment for the women who work there.”
“I don’t think they are as rare as a blue moon, but yes, I do need to figure out some criteria around how to employ the right people for this task. At the crux of it, the women who work on this project need to be safe. I’d hate to think I’d put them in harm’s way while trying to help.” No wonder Priya was metaphorically wringing her hands over this. The very idea of putting men in positions of power over women opened those women up to all manner of problems from tiny insults to much greater harms, and there weren’t many men who were ready to embrace the changing nature of dealing with women in the workplace. The war had given Rosalie hope that life might change, now that women had proven themselves in factories, but with the war over, there was plenty of friction between them and the returned soldiers wanting their old jobs back. It had been exacerbated by the economic downturn too, there simply weren’t enough jobs for everyone.
“And you think I’m the person to help with that?” Rosalie knew nothing about employing labourers. The staff at the bank didn’t fit the mould of a working class labourer, although several were the children of such people. Her grandfather had believed in a meritocracy and had the good sense to realise that many working class tasks require a solid ability to understand mathematical concepts, even if those people were illiterate. He’d built an apprentice system that tested the children to find those with natural aptitude; and therefore the employees at the bank were a vast mixture of class and ethnicity.
