A Dangerous Fortune (1994)

by Ken Follett

  She hesitated. He saw regret in her face for a moment. Then her expression hardened and she said firmly: "Yes."

  He stared at her. She held his look. He saw that she meant what she said, and he was oddly disappointed.

  Augusta said: "It must be settled soon. Emily Maple and her parents won't be kept in suspense indefinitely."

  In other words I'd better get married quickly, Micky thought.

  I will, then. So be it.

  Joseph and Edward returned to the box and the conversation turned to other matters.

  Throughout the next act Micky thought about Edward. They had been friends now for fifteen years. Edward was weak and insecure, eager to please but without initiative or drive. His life's project was to get people to encourage and support him, and Micky had been supplying that need ever since he started doing Edward's Latin prep at school. Now Edward needed to be pushed into the marriage that was necessary for his career--and for Micky's.

  During the second interval Micky said to Augusta: "Edward needs someone to help him at the bank--a clever clerk who will be loyal to him and look after his interests."

  Augusta thought for a moment. "That's a very good notion indeed," she said. "Someone you and I know and trust."

  "Exactly."

  Augusta said: "Do you have someone in mind?"

  "I have a cousin working for me at the ministry. His name is Simon Oliver. It was Olivera but he anglicized it. He's a smart boy and completely trustworthy."

  "Bring him to tea," Augusta said. "If I like the looks of him I'll speak to Joseph."

  "Very well."

  The last act began. He and Augusta often thought alike, Micky mused. It was Augusta he should be married to: together they could conquer the world. He pushed that fantastic notion out of his head. Who was he going to marry? She should not be an heiress, for he had nothing to offer such a girl. There were several heiresses he could easily captivate, but winning their hearts was only the start: there would be a prolonged battle with the parents and no guarantee of the right result. No, he needed a girl of modest background, one who liked him already and would accept him with alacrity. His eye roamed idly around the stalls of the theatre--and lit on Rachel Bodwin.

  She fit the bill perfectly. She was already half in love with him. She was getting desperate for a husband. Her father did not like Micky much but her mother did, and the mother and daughter together would soon overcome the father's opposition.

  But most importantly, she aroused him.

  She would be a virgin, innocent and apprehensive. He would do things to her that would bewilder and disgust her. She might resist, which would make it even better. In the end a wife had to give in to her husband's sexual demands, regardless of how bizarre or distasteful they might be, for she had no one to complain to. Once again he pictured her tied to the bed, only this time she was writhing, either in pain or desire or both....

  The show came to an end. As they left the theatre Micky looked out for the Bodwins. They met on the pavement, as the Pilasters were waiting for their carriage and Albert Bodwin was hailing a hansom. Micky gave Mrs. Bodwin a winning smile and said: "May I do myself the honor of calling on you tomorrow afternoon?"

  She was obviously startled. "The honor would be all mine, Senor Miranda."

  "You're too kind." He shook hands with Rachel, looked her in the eye, and said: "Until tomorrow, then."

  "I look forward to it," she said.

  Augusta's carriage arrived and Micky opened the door. "What do you think of her?" he murmured.

  "Her eyes are too close together," Augusta said as she climbed in. She settled in her seat then spoke to him through the open door. "Other than that, she looks like me." She slammed the door and the carriage drove off.

  An hour later Micky and Edward were eating supper in a private room at Nellie's. Apart from the table, the room contained a sofa, a wardrobe, a washstand and a big bed. April Tilsley had redecorated the whole place, and this room had fashionable William Morris fabrics and a set of framed drawings of people performing sexual acts with a variety of fruits and vegetables. But it was in the nature of the business that people got drunk and misbehaved, and already the wallpaper was torn, the curtains stained and the carpet ripped. However, low candlelight hid the tawdriness of the room as well as taking years off the ages of the women.

  The men were being waited on by two of their favorite girls, Muriel and Lily, who were wearing red silk shoes and huge, elaborate hats but were otherwise naked. From outside the room came the sounds of raucous singing and some kind of heated quarrel, but in here it was peaceful, with the crackling of the coal fire and the murmured words of the two girls as they served supper. The atmosphere relaxed Micky, and he began to feel less anxious about the railroad loan. He had a plan, at least. He could only try it out. He looked across the table at Edward. Theirs had been a fruitful friendship, he mused. There were times when he felt almost fond of Edward. Edward's dependency was tiresome, but it was what gave Micky power over him. He had helped Edward, Edward had helped him, and together they had enjoyed all the vices of the most sophisticated city in the world.

  When they finished eating Micky poured another glass of wine and said: "I'm going to marry Rachel Bodwin."

  Muriel and Lily giggled.

  Edward stared at him for a long moment then said: "I don't believe it."

  Micky shrugged. "Believe what you wish. It's true, all the same."

  "Do you really mean it?"

  "Yes."

  "You swine!"

  Micky stared at his friend in surprise. "What? Why shouldn't I marry?"

  Edward stood up and leaned over the table aggressively. "You're a damned swine, Miranda, and that's all there is to say."

  Micky had not anticipated such a reaction. "What the devil has got into you?" he said. "Aren't you going to marry Emily Maple?"

  "Who told you that?"

  "Your mother."

  "Well, I'm not marrying anyone."

  "Why not? You're twenty-nine years old. So am I. It's time for a man to equip himself with the semblance of a respectable household."

  "To the devil with a respectable household!" Edward roared, and he overturned the table. Micky sprang back as crockery smashed and wine spilled. The two naked women cringed away fearfully.

  "Calm down!" Micky cried.

  "After all these years!" Edward raged. "After all I've done for you!"

  Micky was baffled by Edward's fury. He had to calm the man down. A scene like this could prejudice him against marriage, and that was the opposite of what Micky wanted. "It's not a disaster," he said in a reasonable tone. "It's not going to make any difference to us."

  "It's bound to!"

  "No, it's not. We'll still come here."

  Edward looked suspicious. In a quieter voice he said: "Will we?"

  "Yes. And we'll still go to the club. That's what clubs are for. Men go to clubs to get away from their wives."

  "I suppose they do."

  The door opened and April swept in. "What's the noise about?" she said. "Edward, have you been breaking my china?"

  "I'm sorry, April. I'll pay for it."

  Micky said to April: "I was just explaining to Edward that he can still come here after he's married."

  "Good God, I should hope so," April said. "If no married men came here I'd have to close the place." She turned toward the doorway and called out: "Sid! Fetch a broom."

  Edward was calming down rapidly, to Micky's relief. Micky said: "When we're first married, we should probably spend a few evenings at home, and give the occasional dinner party. But after a while we'll go right back to normal."

  Edward frowned. "Don't wives mind that?"

  Micky shrugged. "Who cares whether they mind? What can a wife do?"

  "If she's discontented I suppose she can bother her husband."

  Micky realized that Edward was taking his mother as a typical wife. Fortunately few women were as strong-willed or as clever as Augusta. "The trick is not to be
too good to them," Micky said, speaking from observation of married cronies at the Cowes Club. "If you're good to a wife she'll want you to stay with her. Treat her roughly and she'll be only too glad to see you go off to your club in the evening and leave her in peace."

  Muriel put her arms around Edward's neck. "It'll be just the same when you're married, Edward, I promise," she said. "I'll suck your cock while you watch Micky fuck Lily, just the way you like."

  "Will you?" he said with a foolish grin.

  "Course I will."

  "So nothing will change, really," he said, looking at Micky.

  "Oh, yes," said Micky. "One thing will change. You'll be a partner in the bank."

  Chapter TWO

  APRIL

  Section 1

  THE MUSIC HALL was as hot as a Turkish bath. The air smelled of beer, shellfish and unwashed people. Onstage a young woman dressed in elaborate rags stood in front of a painted backdrop of a pub. She was holding a doll, to represent a newborn baby, and singing about how she had been seduced and abandoned. The audience, sitting on benches at long trestle-tables, linked arms and joined in the chorus:

  And all it took was a little drop of gin!

  Hugh sang at the top of his voice. He was feeling good. He had eaten a pint of winkles and drunk several glasses of warm, malty beer, and he was pressed up against Nora Dempster, a pleasant person to be squashed by. She had a soft, plump body and a beguiling smile, and she had probably saved his life.

  After his visit to Kingsbridge Manor he had fallen into the pit of a black depression. Seeing Maisie had raised old ghosts, and since she rejected him again the ghosts had haunted him without respite.

  He had been able to live through the daytime, for at work there were challenges and problems to take his mind off his grief: he was busy organizing the joint enterprise with Madler and Bell, which the Pilasters partners had finally approved. And he was soon to become a partner himself, something he had dreamed of. But in the evenings he had no enthusiasm for anything. He was invited to a great many parties, balls and dinners, for he was a member of the Marlborough Set by virtue of his friendship with Solly, and he often went, but if Maisie was not there he was bored and if she was he was miserable. So most evenings he sat in his rooms thinking about her, or walked the streets hoping against all likelihood to bump into her.

  It was on the street that he had met Nora. He had gone to Peter Robinson's in Oxford Street--a shop that had once been a linen draper's but was now called a "department store"--to get a present for his sister Dotty: he planned to take the train to Folkestone immediately afterwards. But he was so miserable that he did not know how he was going to face his family, and a kind of paralysis of choice made him incapable of selecting a gift. He came out empty-handed as it was getting dark, and Nora literally bumped into him. She stumbled and he caught her in his arms.

  He would never forget how it had felt to hold her. Even though she was wrapped up, her body was soft and yielding, and she smelled warm and scented. For a moment the cold, dark London street vanished and he was in a closed world of sudden delight. Then she dropped her purchase, a pottery vase, and it smashed on the pavement. She gave a cry of dismay and looked as if she might burst into tears. Hugh naturally insisted on buying a replacement.

  She was a year or two younger than he, twenty-four or twenty-five. She had a pretty round face with sandy-blond curls poking out from a bonnet, and her clothes were cheap but pleasing: a pink wool dress embroidered with flowers and worn over a bustle, and a tight-fitting French-navy velvet jacket trimmed with rabbit fur. She spoke with a broad cockney drawl.

  While they were buying the replacement vase he told her, by way of conversation, that he could not decide what to give his sister. Nora suggested a colorful umbrella, and then she insisted on helping him choose it.

  Finally he took her home in a hansom. She told him she lived with her father, a traveling salesman of patent medicines. Her mother was dead. The neighborhood where she lived was rather less respectable than he had guessed, poor working class rather than middle class.

  He assumed he would never see her again, and all day Sunday at Folkestone he brooded about Maisie as always. On Monday at the bank he got a note from Nora, thanking him for his kindness: her handwriting was small, neat and girlish, he noticed before screwing the note up into a ball and dropping it into the wastepaper basket.

  Next day he stepped out of the bank at midday, on his way to a coffeehouse for a plate of lamb cutlets, and saw her walking along the street toward him. At first he did not recognize her, but simply thought what a nice face she had; then she smiled at him and he remembered. He doffed his hat and she stopped to talk. She worked as an assistant to a corset maker, she told him with a blush, and she was on her way back to the shop after visiting a client. A sudden impulse made him ask her to go dancing with him that night.

  She said she would like to go but she did not have a respectable hat, so he took her to a milliner's shop and bought her one, and that settled the matter.

  Much of their romance was conducted while shopping. She had never owned much and she took unashamed delight in Hugh's affluence. For his part he enjoyed buying her gloves, shoes, a coat, bracelets, and anything else she wanted. His sister, with all the wisdom of her twelve years, had announced that Nora only liked him for his money. He had laughed and said: "But who would love me for my looks?"

  Maisie did not disappear from his mind--indeed, he still thought of her every day--but the memories no longer plunged him into despair. He had something to look forward to now, his next rendezvous with Nora. In a few weeks she gave him back his joie de vivre.

  On one of their shopping expeditions they met Maisie in a furrier's store in Bond Street. Feeling rather bashful, Hugh introduced the two women. Nora was bowled over to meet Mrs. Solomon Greenbourne. Maisie invited them to tea at the Piccadilly house. That evening Hugh saw Maisie again at a ball, and to his surprise Maisie was quite ungracious about Nora. "I'm sony, but I don't like her," Maisie had said. "She strikes me as a hard-hearted grasping woman and I don't believe she loves you one bit. For God's sake don't marry her."

  Hugh had been hurt and offended. Maisie was just jealous, he decided. Anyway, he was not thinking of marriage.

  When the music-hall show came to an end they went outside into a fog, thick and swirling and tasting of soot. They wrapped scarves around their necks and over their mouths and set off for Nora's home in Camden Town.

  It was like being underwater. All sound was muffled, and people and things loomed out of the fog suddenly, without warning: a whore soliciting beneath a gaslight, a drunk staggering out of a pub, a policeman on patrol, a crossing sweeper, a lamp-lit carriage creeping along the road, a damp dog in the gutter and a glint-eyed cat down an alley. Hugh and Nora held hands and stopped every now and again in the thickest darkness to pull down their scarves and kiss. Nora's lips were soft and responsive, and she let him slip his hand inside her coat and caress her breasts. The fog made everything hushed and secret and romantic.

  He usually left her at the corner of her street but tonight, because of the fog, he walked her to the door. He wanted to kiss her again there, but he was afraid her father might open the door and see them. However, Nora surprised him by saying: "Would you like to come in?"

  He had never been inside her house. "What will your papa think?" he said.

  "He's gone to Huddersfield," she said, and she opened the door.

  Hugh's heart beat faster as he stepped inside. He did not know what was going to happen next but it was sure to be exciting. He helped Nora out of her cloak, and his eyes rested longingly on the curves beneath her sky-blue gown.

  The house was tiny, smaller even than his mother's house in Folkestone. The staircase took up most of the narrow hall. There were two doors off the hall, leading presumably to a front parlor and a back kitchen. Upstairs there must be two bedrooms. There would be a tin bath in the kitchen and a privy in the backyard.

  Hugh hung his hat and coat
on a stand. A dog was barking in the kitchen, and Nora opened the door to release a small black Scottish terrier with a blue ribbon around its neck. It greeted her enthusiastically then circled Hugh warily. "Blackie protects me when Pa's away," Nora said, and Hugh registered the double meaning.

  He followed Nora into the parlor. The furniture was old and worn, but Nora had brightened the room with things they had bought together: gay cushions, a colorful rug and a painting of Balmoral Castle. She lit a candle and drew the curtains.

  Hugh stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with himself, until she put him out of his misery by saying: "See if you can get the fire going." There were a few embers in the hearth, and Hugh put on kindling and blew the fire back to life with a small bellows.

  When he was done he turned around to see her sitting on the sofa with her hat off and her hair let down. She patted the cushion beside her and he sat down obediently. Blackie glared jealously at him, and he wondered how soon he could get the dog out of the room.

  They held hands and looked into the fire. Hugh felt at peace. He could not imagine wanting to do anything else for the rest of his life. After a while he kissed her again. Tentatively he touched her breast. It was firm, and filled his hand. He squeezed it gently, and she sighed heavily. Hugh had not felt this good for years, but he wanted more. He kissed her harder, still touching her breasts.

  By degrees she leaned back until Hugh was half lying on her. They both began to breathe hard. He was sure she must be able to feel his prick pressing against her plump thigh. In the back of his mind the voice of conscience told him he was taking advantage of a young girl in her father's absence, but it was a faint voice and could not prevail against the desire that welled up inside him like a volcano.