by Renée Dahlia
Priya’s stomach twisted. “I’m not talking about coverture, although many of our mutual acquaintances have managed to find other legal ways of achieving similar outcomes, such as through contractual arrangements to mimic marriage, or via their wills, or other arrangements such as shared business ownership. Both you and I know the threat is valid without the notion of legal marriage.”
“The threat being that I only wanted you for your money.”
Priya cringed, the torsion in her stomach tightening. At this rate, she wouldn’t be able to eat tonight. “I apologised for that assumption.”
Rosalie’s mouth pinched into a thin line. “Perhaps we should both agree that that night was six years ago. Since then we’ve survived the Great War—”
“—and the Spanish Flu and continual rejections of women’s suffrage.”
“And many other changes to society. Then perhaps we have both been changed by our respective experiences in that time.”
Priya’s uneven breathing caught in her throat. Priya waited, unsure how to continue, and took a few nervous sips of her wine. She glanced around the room but didn’t see anyone she knew. The restaurant was only half full tonight, and little snippets of different languages floated in the air. London was an international business hub and trade was a multi-lingual process, especially here at The Goring where everyone of consequence came if they wanted to be seen.
“Speaking of changes over time—” Rosalie eventually broke the silence and Priya felt her shoulders sag a little in gratitude. “—six years ago, I was one of many financial managers at Sanderson and Sons. During the war, my grandfather retired for health reasons...” Rosalie’s breath hitched, and a lump formed in Priya’s chest. Rosalie must have loved her grandfather very dearly, and for more than just his recognition that a woman might run a bank. For that choice alone, Rosalie’s grandfather must have been an extraordinary man.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Priya had attended Mr Sanderson’s funeral, two years ago. The Sanderson and Carlingford family businesses had been intertwined for a couple of generations, and they’d all attended to pay their respects.
“Thank you. When he retired, I stepped into the role as Executive Director...” The almost imperceptible pause showed that it probably wasn’t that simple, however, before Priya could ask, Rosalie continued on. “And I have grown in confidence in my ability to run the firm since then. I’ve dealt with the financial and emotional toll of the war and the impacts it has had on my clients, and well... I may not have served like your friend Dr Luciana Stanmore, but I know how much I’ve been changed by the experiences.”
Priya sipped her wine and picked up the menu to give herself some time to contemplate Rosalie’s words. The entire menu was in French because it was the height of fashion to employ a French chef. Every spring she went to Paris for the latest fashions and to talk to various business contacts, so her French was excellent. She translated each menu item easily, and it did nothing to slow down her thoughts. She didn’t want to rush her reaction to Rosalie and become defensive about her age; either then or now. Rosalie was fourteen years older than her; a difference that had been quite stark six years ago, but the gap had eased now that Priya was twenty-eight and had experienced more of life. There was a lot of weight and honesty in Rosalie’s words, and they deserved Priya’s openness in return. But how was she to respond without showing how little she’d trusted Rosalie that night?
Looking back, her reaction to a little piece of snide gossip was as naïve and young as Rosalie assumed, and Priya wasn’t keen to wallow in that. She’d given her apology and hoped they could move on now. To more kisses. Or was that too much to ask for? Priya rubbed her forearm as a chill settled on her skin. She wasn’t brave enough to risk a greater connection between them.
“You know Luciana? Of course you do. We met at Therese’s violin performance last week.” Priya had used the popular outing to keep her distance from Rosalie, but since Luciana’s Therese was a client at Rosalie’s bank, they’d all seen each other. Rosalie nodded.
“Did you know that when Luciana and her mother first volunteered to help with the war effort, the army turned them away?” Priya changed the subject to fill the space, and thankfully Rosalie had given her the perfect opening by mentioning on the Priya’s childhood friends. Over thirty years ago, Priya’s mother had been sent to Holland to study medicine. Grandfather Carlingford had declared it would give her the gravitas needed to run Carlingford Enterprises alongside her younger brother. Once there, she’d met two other women, and they’d stuck together and become best friends as they worked towards being some of the first women to graduate as doctors. Not the actual firsts; those honours went to others but close enough to being first that they’d needed to support each other in the face of a medical establishment that wasn’t keen for change. The friendship had stayed all these years, and Priya had grown up with her mother’s friend’s children as if they were family.
“Because they were women?”
“Yes. Thankfully several of their colleagues had foreseen that the Army might not want women doctors to help soldiers, and they rallied around to find a solution.”
Rosalie leaned forward. “How do you find a solution to such pointless rejection? Surely a doctor is a doctor and gender is irrelevant?”
“I believe so. However, the Army felt that war was too brutal for women and that was their basis for rejection. The women weren’t going to be stopped in their quest and they had planned a simple solution.” Priya adored this story and for the first time tonight, she relaxed properly. Not just the easing of tension that came after her apology, but a deeper, more enjoyable relaxation. One that went almost bone deep into the core of herself. “A group of them took a steamer to France and offered their assistance to set up a hospital. Luciana always said the whole thing was surprising because the French had also refused to use their women doctors, but one of the original organisers didn’t have great French, so Luciana’s theory is the French said yes to the charity hospital without understanding that it would staffed by women doctors.”
“How fortunate.”
“I think it was deliberate. The organisers had some experience in understanding how officialdom worked, and they used that to their advantage. Regardless of the ins and outs, Luciana and her mother travelled to France where they worked, first in the charity hospital in the Hotel Claridge in Paris, before the British Army realised they did need every doctor they could find regardless of gender, and they moved to the frontline hospital at Remys Siding.”
“What of your mother? Isn’t she a doctor too?”
Priya smiled. It was so much easier to talk about other people’s accomplishments. “Yes. She is. Since she graduated, she has run a charity clinic in Whitechapel. She stayed doing that work during the war because the need was still there. When the military hospital was opened in St Giles, she worked there as well.” Mother’s charity became busier during the second half of the war, once rationing started to hit hard. Those who were poor were already struggling for enough nutrition, and rationing made it worse. Seeing the dire conditions as she’d helped Mother had given Priya the drive to do more charitable works, and together with Ashwin, she’d set up the philanthropic arm of Carlingford Enterprises.
“What an incredible childhood you must have had, surrounded by so many wonderful women.” Rosalie’s voice had a hint of envy in it, and Priya tucked away that snippet of information for later.
“I’ve certainly never doubted whether I could achieve anything. I may not be able to vote yet but I’ll be thirty soon.” Priya lifted her chin. It was nearly eighteen months since the historic legislation that gave the vote to all women aged over thirty. At twenty-eight, it burned Priya that she still had to wait. “There are enough incredible women, and a few plucky men, continuing to work to get the age difference in the current act altered. It’s rather an oversight to allow men aged over 21 and women over 30. It only opens the door for more protests.”
“O
versight? It’s not a damned oversight when men deliberately set it up that way to protect themselves from being overrun by us.” Rosalie referred to the worry that the number of men killed in the war would mean women would gain a greater portion of the vote if the ages were equal. Being agreed with on that point helped Priya’s irregular pulse begin to settle.
“To be fair, the wealthy elite... And yes, I realise that is me... Anyway, the men in the wealthy elite set up voting so only they could vote. By adding in franchise for poor men, the suffragettes gave us a better chance to ensure everyone gets a say in the laws of the land. It’s not perfect yet, but it’s an excellent step towards true equality.”
Rosalie grinned. “You don’t need to convince me.”
Priya grimaced. “Actually, many women do need convincing on this matter.” At the way Rosalie’s eyes widened, Priya held up one palm. “I’m sure you aren’t one of them, but it’s not as straightforward as you state. Some women have been worried about how far these changes might extend, they seem to think it would be an actual problem to extend the vote to people who are poor, or not Christian, or who are races other than white Anglo-Saxon. So yes, I will try to convince you and anyone else who mentions this, because everyone means everyone.” Priya wanted everyone to have more choices including all the freedoms her male relatives enjoyed, and that could only come if everyone had a say in changing the system. From the way Rosalie’s smile stretched, Priya knew she agreed.
“I’ve always been allowed, no, encouraged, to pursue any education I want. You are right, I’m exceedingly lucky to have Mother and her friends as examples of what is possible. And their work has forged pathways for many other women to follow, as did the women before them who begged to be educated.”
Rosalie ran her fingers around the base of her wine glass, then glanced up and stared at Priya. “You are right. We all stand on the shoulders of those before us. Every person who pushed for a small change that has allowed us to be here today. If I didn’t have Lady Jersey as an example to prove to my grandfather that a woman had successfully run a bank in the past, then my task to convince him would have been much tougher.”
“Yes. That’s it. I may not have gone to war to help with my hands and body, but I’m so proud of my family and friends who did, like my friend Nell who joined as a veterinarian.” Priya only mentioned Nell because she wasn’t ready to talk about her own work during the war; none of which was admirable. She could mention her charitable works, but she wasn’t comfortable with the praise Rosalie seemed to want to heap on her, although precisely why that bothered her, she didn’t quite understand yet.
“She did, but how?” The knowing look in Rosalie’s eye disappeared and was replaced with a wide-eyed curiosity.
Priya tried to ignore the smugness at being able to shift the conversation and let her chest swell as she thought about Nell’s achievements. “She simply got a man to write her a letter of introduction, then turned up ready to work. She’s recently bought a house in Aberystwyth in Wales and has taken over a veterinary practice there.” Priya didn’t mention that Nell lived with her lover, Beatrice, because even though Rosalie wouldn’t judge them, it wasn’t really anyone’s business but Nell’s. Prickly Nell who’d needed to be forthright to demand she go to war and help all the horses, donkeys, and other animals, had fallen deeply in love. Love had made some of her sharp edges shinier, and others smoothed out by emotional connection. It was good for her to find someone who adored her as she was. Priya liked Beatrice too, although they’d only met a few times. She had her own battles to be seen, and now enjoyed life with the choices she made for herself. It told Priya a lot about Beatrice that Nell had dismissed life near her family and friends to create a life in Beatrice’s hometown, so Beatrice could stay near to her own family. Nell’s love must be deep if she was eager to move away to be with Beatrice.
Priya held too much of herself away from others to ever find someone for herself, but as much as she might yearn to have someone to share her troubles with, she couldn’t. She couldn’t undo years of family talk, of the awareness that people always had an ulterior motive when they talked to her. The problem with money was the other people craved it for themselves, and the problem with the law was that she had only a little agency over herself. She wasn’t going to give that up lightly, not even for someone like Rosalie who made her skin sing with need. If her circumstances were different, maybe she’d be able to let herself relax enough to let Rosalie in. But they were as they were, meaning that Priya had to guard herself carefully. This conversation picked away at the barriers Priya had erected.
“You have some incredible friends.”
“Thank you. I know I’ve said it already, but I am very proud of them. We all grew up with many advantages, and each of us has done something with those advantages to help others.”
A waiter interrupted, and Priya sent him a quick thank you for his timing before Rosalie asked what she’d done with her advantages. She imagined quirking her head to the side and seeing the reaction—positive or negative—when she mentioned how many charities she’d either begun or helped either with money or with her connections, how much she’d donated to the women’s hospitals during the war, and that the Rowley Mile charity was only the tip of it. Ashwin wanted the bank on board for Rowley Mile to stem her spending on other people. It was prudent of him from a business point of view, except her activities were generally sanctioned by him as they both needed to appease the guilt they felt over their fortune. Or rather, the source of their fortune.
Money by itself was neither here nor there; it was how it was acquired and distributed that created ethical dilemmas. Ashwin didn’t mind her philanthropy, not really, because they could never spend enough to fully show remorse for their actions. He only curtained the extent of her spending because Carlingford employed thousands of people and they relied on a healthy business for their daily bread.
Not many people knew that some of their factories had made weapons too. They’d put it off for as long as they could sticking to ships and other large machinery like ambulance trucks and trains, but when the government begged... When the war needed them desperately and even Lord St. George and Lord Dalhinge had asked, then they’d transformed two of their factories to manufacture tanks and large guns. It wasn’t only ships that made the Carlingford fortunes swell, and Priya would forever hold the weight of all those bullets in her heart.
It was with a shaky breath that she ordered the Poulet en Casserole Forestiere from the waiter. Rosalie decided on the Saumon froid Sauce Tartare with Salade de Laitue on the side. It was amusing how French made a simple lettuce salad sound so special.
After settling back in her chair, Rosalie narrowed her eyes. “You visited the bank, didn’t you?”
Priya bowed her head, her mouth dry. “I often visit your bank.”
“No, I mean you came into the bank at the beginning of the war to talk about the hospital. I wasn’t in my current role then, but I distinctly remember my grandfather carrying on about young ladies who ought not know anything about such matters, but how he’d proudly donated to the cause because our brave soldiers needed hospital supplies.”
Priya hummed under her breath. “It wasn’t all me. It never has been. My mother and uncle had a long term working relationship with your grandfather, and when the French said they’d allow women to set up their own hospital, of course they asked all our extensive connections for assistance, including your grandfather. My commiserations on his loss, he was an excellent chap.”
“Thank you. Yes, your mother, I mean, Dr Howick is a force to be reckoned with. Between the two of you, I can easily imagine my grandfather conceding to your wishes.”
“Oh, Mother is not that terrifying.” Priya had a different view of Mother compared the rest of the world. Many people scorned her for choosing to try and heal the poor when she could have used her connections to only heal the rich. When people said that, they completely misunderstood the point of being rich. Priya smiled; sh
e’d gained her need to help from a strong source.
“Although to be fair to your grandfather, he really had no option but to donate when Mother and her colleagues arrived in his office. I only went along because Mother said I should watch and learn.” Priya wanted to justify herself—to show that she wasn’t so young and naïve back then—but it was the truth. She had only just finished her degree at Cambridge University’s Girton College. The beginning of the war necessitated her taking on more at Carlingford than she had experience for at that early stage of her career. Uncle Wil and Mother mentored her in her steep learning curve. It had always been the plan for her to join the business, but the timescale was escalated due to the war. Six years later, she ran the entire charitable arm of Carlingford Enterprises, sitting on several Boards at different charitable organisations.
“You never thought about becoming a doctor yourself?”
Priya shook her head and gripped her fork tighter so she didn’t press her hands against the rise of nausea in her gut. “No, I can’t stand the sight of blood. Obviously, it wasn’t an option for me.”
“That would be something of an impediment.” Rosalie’s understated smirk helped ease the seriousness that hovered around them both. Priya wasn’t opposed to serious conversation, she spent most of her working hours discussing difficult topics and listening to people so she could best help them. If people had a say in the planning stages of any project, the outcomes were always better. It was true for business, and it was true for charity. Too many charities made the mistake of telling people what they ought to do to solve their apparent problem, and those organisations typically failed in their objectives because they bullied people, rather than listened to their actual needs.
“And you? Was running the bank always in your plans?” Priya asked. Curiosity would always be her downfall. Was it her need to understand, or was it simply an attempt to deflect the conversation away from herself? Either way, she wanted to know more about her beautiful dinner companion.
