by Ken Follett
"That's what I had in mind."
"I suppose I could."
Maisie was sure Emily could make an unbearable nuisance of herself once she put her mind to it.
"I'll need a lawyer to write the letter for Edward to sign," Emily said.
"I'll ask Rachel's father, he's a lawyer."
"Would you?"
"Certainly." Maisie glanced at the clock. "I can't see him today, it's the first day of term at Windfield School and I have to take Bertie. But I'll see him in the morning."
Emily stood up. "Maisie, you're the best friend a woman ever had."
"I'll tell you what, this is going to stir up the Pilaster family. Augusta will have a fit."
"Augusta doesn't scare me," said Emily.
Maisie Greenbourne attracted a lot of attention at Windfield School. She always did. She was known to be the widow of the fabulously wealthy Solly Greenbourne, although she had very little money herself. She was also notorious as an "advanced" woman who believed in women's rights and, it was said, encouraged parlormaids to have illegitimate babies. And then, when she brought Bertie to school, she was always accompanied by Hugh Pilaster, the handsome banker who paid her son's fees: no doubt the more sophisticated among the other parents suspected that Hugh was Bertie's real father. But the main reason, she thought, was that at thirty-five she was still pretty enough to turn men's heads.
Today she was wearing a tomato-red outfit, a dress with a short jacket over it and a hat with a feather. She knew she looked pretty and carefree. In fact these visits to the school with Bertie and Hugh broke her heart.
It was seventeen years since she had spent a night with Hugh, and she loved him as much as ever. Most of the time she immersed herself in the troubles of the poor girls who came to her hospital, and forgot her own grief; but two or three times a year she had to see Hugh, and then the pain came back.
He had known for eleven years that he was Bertie's real father. Ben Greenbourne had given him a hint, and he had confronted her with his suspicions. She told him the truth. Since then he had done everything he could for Bertie, short of acknowledging him as his son. Bertie believed his father was the late, lovable Solomon Greenbourne, and to tell him the truth would just cause unnecessary pain.
His name was Hubert, and calling him Bertie had been a sly compliment to the Prince of Wales, who was also a Bertie. Maisie never saw the prince now. She was no longer a society hostess and the wife of a millionaire: she was just a widow living in a modest house in the south London suburbs, and such women did not feature in the prince's circle of friends.
She had chosen to call her son Hubert because the name sounded like Hugh, but she had quickly become embarrassed by the similarity, and that was another reason for calling the boy Bertie. She told her son that Hugh was his dead father's best friend. Luckily there was no obvious likeness between Bertie and Hugh. In fact Bertie was like Maisie's father, with soft dark hair and sad brown eyes. He was tall and strong, a good athlete and a hardworking student, and Maisie was so proud of him that she sometimes felt her heart would burst.
On these occasions Hugh was scrupulously polite to Maisie, playing the role of family friend, but she could tell that he felt the bittersweetness of the situation as painfully as she did.
Maisie knew, from Rachel's father, that Hugh was considered a prodigy in the City. When he talked about the bank his eyes sparkled and he was interesting and amusing. She could tell that his work was challenging and fulfilling. But if ever their conversation strayed into the domestic field he became sour and uncommunicatiye. He did not like to talk about his house, his social life, or--least of all--his wife. The only aspect of his family life he told her about was his three sons, whom he loved to distraction. But there was a streak of regret even when he spoke of them, and Maisie had gathered that Nora was not a loving mother. Over the years she had watched him resign himself to a cold, sexually frustrating marriage.
Today he had on a silver-gray tweed suit that matched his silver-streaked hair, and a bright blue tie the color of his eyes. He was heavier than he used to be but he still had a mischievous grin which appeared now and again. They made an attractive couple--but they were not a couple, and the fact that they looked and acted like one was what made her so sad. She took his arm as they walked into Windfield School, and she thought she would give her soul to be with him every day.
They helped Bertie unpack his trunk, then he made them tea in his study. Hugh had brought a cake which would probably feed the sixth form for a week. "My boy Toby will be coming here next half," Hugh said as they drank their tea. "I wonder if you'd keep an eye on him for me?"
"I'll be glad to," Bertie said. "I'll make sure he doesn't go swimming in Bishop's Wood." Maisie frowned at him, and he said: "Sorry. Bad joke."
"They still talk about that, do they?" Hugh said.
"Every year the head tells the story of how Peter Middleton drowned, to try and frighten chaps. But they still go swimming."
After tea they said good-bye to Bertie, Maisie feeling tearful as always about leaving her little boy behind, even though he was now taller than she. They walked back into the town and took the train to London. They had a first-class compartment to themselves.
As they watched the scenery flash by, Hugh said: "Edward is going to be Senior Partner at the bank."
Maisie was startled. "I didn't think he had the brains!"
"He hasn't. I shall resign at the end of the year."
"Oh, Hugh!" Maisie knew how much he cared for that bank. All his hopes were tied up in it. "What will you do?"
"I don't know. I'm staying on until the end of the financial year, so I've got time to think about it."
"Won't the bank go to ruin under Edward?"
"I'm afraid it may."
Maisie felt very sad for Hugh. He had had more bad luck than he deserved, while Edward had far too much good. "Edward is Lord Whitehaven, too. Do you realize that if the title had gone to Ben Greenbourne, as it should have, Bertie would be in line to inherit it now?"
"Yes."
"But Augusta put a stop to all that."
"Augusta?" said Hugh with a puzzled frown.
"Yes. She was behind all that rubbish in the newspapers about 'Can a Jew be a peer?' Do you remember?"
"I do, but how can you be so sure that Augusta was behind it?"
"The Prince of Wales told us."
"Well, well." Hugh shook his head. "Augusta never ceases to amaze me."
"Anyway, poor Emily is Lady Whitehaven now."
"At least she got something out of that wretched marriage."
"I'm going to tell you a secret," Maisie said. She lowered her voice even though there was no one within earshot. "Emily is about to ask Edward for an annulment."
"Good for her! On the grounds of nonconsummation, I presume?"
"Yes. You don't seem surprised."
"You can tell. They never touch. They're so awkward with each other, it's hard to believe they're man and wife."
"She's been leading a false life all these years and she's decided to put an end to it."
"She'll have trouble with my family," Hugh said.
"With Augusta, you mean." That had been Maisie's reaction too. "Emily knows that. But she's got a streak of obstinacy that should serve her well."
"Does she have a lover?"
"Yes. But she won't become his mistress. I can't think why she should be so scrupulous. Edward spends every night in a brothel."
Hugh smiled at her, a sad, loving smile. "You were scrupulous, once."
Maisie knew he was talking about the night at Kingsbridge Manor when she had locked her bedroom door against him. "I was married to a good man and you and I were about to betray him. Emily's situation is quite different."
Hugh nodded. "All the same I think I understand how she feels. It's the lying that makes adultery shameful."
Maisie disagreed. "People should grab happiness where they can. You only have one life."
"But when you grab happi
ness you may let go of something even more valuable--your integrity."
"Too abstract for me," Maisie said dismissively.
"No doubt it was for me, that night at Kingo's house, when I would have betrayed Solly's trust willingly, if you had let me. But it's become more concrete to me over the years. Now I think I value integrity more than anything else."
"But what is it?"
"It means telling the truth, keeping promises, and taking responsibility for your mistakes. It's the same in business as it is in everyday life. It's a matter of being what you claim to be, doing what you say you'll do. And a banker of all people can't be a liar. After all, if his wife can't trust him, who can?"
Maisie was getting angry with Hugh and she wondered why. She sat back in silence for a while, looking out of the window at the London suburbs in the dusk. Now that he was leaving the bank, what was there left in his life? He did not love his wife and his wife did not love their children. Why should he not find happiness in the arms of Maisie, the woman he had always loved?
At Paddington Station he escorted her to the cab stand and helped her into a hansom. As they said goodbye she held his hands and said: "Come home with me."
He looked sad and shook his head.
"We love each other--we always have," she pleaded. "Come with me, and to hell with the consequences."
"But life is consequences, isn't it?"
"Hugh! Please!"
He withdrew his hands and stepped back. "Goodbye, dear Maisie."
She stared at him helplessly. Years of suppressed yearning caught up with her. If she had been strong enough she would have seized him and dragged him into the cab by force. She felt maddened by frustration.
She would have stayed there forever, but he nodded to the cabbie and said: "Drive on."
The man touched the horse with his whip, and the wheels turned.
A moment later Hugh was gone from her sight.
Section 3
HUGH SLEPT BADLY that night. He kept waking up and running over his conversation with Maisie. He wished he had given in and gone home with her. He could be sleeping in her arms now, his head on her breasts, instead of tossing and turning alone.
But something else was bothering him, too. He had a feeling she had said something momentous, something surprising and sinister, the significance of which had escaped him at the time. It still eluded him.
They had talked about the bank, and Edward's becoming Senior Partner; Edward's title; Emily's plan to seek an annulment; the night at Kingsbridge Manor when they had almost made love; the conflicting values of integrity and happiness.... Where was the momentous revelation?
He tried running over the conversation backwards: Come home with me.... People should grab happiness where they can.... Emily is about to ask Edward for an annulment.... Emily is Lady Whitehaven now.... Do you realize that if the title had gone to Ben Greenbourne, as it should have, Bertie would be in line to inherit it now?
No, he had missed something. Edward had got the title that should have gone to Ben Greenbourne--but Augusta had put a stop to all that. She had been behind all the nasty propaganda about whether a Jew could be a lord. Hugh had not realized that, although looking back he thought he should have been able to guess. But the Prince of Wales had known, somehow, and he had told Maisie and Solly.
Hugh turned over restlessly. Why should that be such a momentous revelation? It was just another example of Augusta's ruthlessness. It had been kept quiet at the time. But Solly had known....
Suddenly Hugh sat up in bed, staring into the darkness.
Solly had known.
If Solly knew that the Pilasters were responsible for a press campaign of racial hatred against his father, he would never again do business with Pilasters Bank. In particular, he would have canceled the Santamaria railroad issue. He would have told Edward that he was canceling it. And Edward would have told Micky.
"Oh, my God," Hugh said aloud.
He had always wondered whether Micky had something to do with the death of Solly. He knew Micky had been in the neighborhood. But the motive had always puzzled him. As far as he knew, Solly had been about to consummate the deal and give Micky what he wanted; and if that was right Micky had every motive for keeping Solly alive. But if Solly had been about to cancel, Micky might have killed him to save the deal. Had Micky been the well-dressed man quarreling with Solly a few seconds before he was run over? The coachman had always claimed Solly was pushed into his path. Had Micky shoved Solly under the wheels of that carriage? The thought was horrifying and disgusting.
Hugh got out of bed and turned up the gaslight. He would not go back to sleep tonight. He put on a dressing gown and sat by the dying embers of the fire. Had Micky murdered two of his friends, Peter Middleton and Solly Greenbourne?
And if he had, what was Hugh going to do about it?
He was still agonizing over the question the next day when something happened that gave him the answer.
He spent the morning at his desk in the Partners' Room. He had once longed to sit here, in the quiet, luxurious center of power, making decisions about millions of pounds, under the eyes of his ancestors' portraits; but now he was used to it. And soon he would be giving it up.
He was tying up loose ends, completing projects he had already begun but not starting new ones. His mind kept returning to Micky Miranda and poor Solly. It maddened him to think that a man as good as Solly had been done away with by a reptile and parasite such as Micky. What he really wanted to do was strangle Micky with his bare hands. But he could not kill him; in fact there was not even any point in reporting his beliefs to the police, for he had no proof.
His clerk, Jonas Mulberry, had been looking agitated all morning. Mulberry had come into the Partners' Room four or five times on different pretexts but had not said what was on his mind. Eventually Hugh divined that the man had something to say that he did not want the other partners to hear.
A few minutes before midday Hugh went along the corridor to the telephone room. They had had the phone installed two years before, and they were already regretting the decision not to put it in the Partners' Room: each of them was called to the instrument several times a day.
On the way he met Mulberry in the corridor. He stopped him and said: "Is there something on your mind?"
"Yes, Mr. Hugh," said Mulberry with evident relief. He lowered his voice. "I happened to see some papers being drawn up by Simon Oliver, Mr. Edward's clerk."
"Come in here for a moment." Hugh stepped into the telephone room and closed the door behind them. "What was in the papers?"
"A proposal for a loan issue to Cordova--for two million pounds!"
"Oh, no!" said Hugh. "This bank needs less exposure to South American debt--not more."
"I knew you'd feel that way."
"What is it for, specifically?"
"To build a new harbor in Santamaria Province."
"Another scheme of Senor Miranda's."
"Yes. I'm afraid that he and his cousin Simon Oliver have a great deal of influence over Mr. Edward."
"All right, Mulberry. Thank you very much for letting me know. I'll try to deal with it."
Forgetting his phone call, Hugh returned to the Partners' Room. Would the other partners let Edward do this? They might. Hugh and Samuel no longer had much influence, as they were leaving. Young William did not share Hugh's fear of a South American collapse. Major Hartshorn and Sir Harry would do as they were told: And Edward was Senior Partner now.
What was Hugh going to do about it? He had not left yet, and he was still earning his share of the profits, so his responsibilities were not at an end.
The trouble was that Edward was not rational: as Mulberry had said, he was completely under the influence of Micky Miranda.
Was there any way Hugh could weaken that influence? He could tell Edward that Micky was a murderer. Edward would not believe him. But he began to feel that he had to try. He had nothing to lose. And he badly needed to do something about the dread
ful revelation he had had in the night.
Edward had already left for lunch. On impulse, Hugh decided to follow him.
Guessing Edward's destination, he took a hansom to the Cowes Club. He spent the journey from the City to Pall Mall trying to think of words that would be plausible and inoffensive, to help convince Edward. But all the phrases he thought of sounded artificial, and when he arrived he decided to tell the unvarnished truth and hope for the best.
It was still early, and he found Edward alone in the smoking room of the club, drinking a large glass of Madeira. Edward's skin rash was getting worse, he noticed: where his collar chafed his neck it was red and raw.
Hugh sat down at the same table and ordered tea. When they were boys, Hugh had hated Edward passionately, for being a beast and a bully. But in recent years he had come to see his cousin as a victim. Edward was the way he was because of the influence of two wicked people, Augusta and Micky. Augusta had suffocated him and Micky had corrupted him. However, Edward had not softened toward Hugh, and he now made no bones about showing that he had no wish for Hugh's company. "You didn't have to come this far for a cup of tea," he, said. "What do you want?"
It was a bad start, but nothing could be done about that. Feeling pessimistic, Hugh began. "I have something to say that will shock and horrify you."
"Really?"
"You'll have trouble believing it, but all the same it's true. I think Micky Miranda is a murderer."
"Oh, for God's sake," Edward said angrily. "Don't bother me with such nonsense."
"Listen to me before you dismiss the idea out of hand," Hugh said. "I'm leaving the bank, you're Senior Partner, I have nothing left to fight for. But I discovered something yesterday. Solly Greenbourne knew that your mother was behind that press campaign to stop Ben Greenbourne's getting a peerage."
Edward gave an involuntary start, as if what Hugh had said chimed with something he already knew.
Hugh felt more hopeful. "I'm on the right track, am I not?" he said. Guessing, he went on: "Solly threatened to cancel the Santamaria railroad deal, didn't he?"
Edward nodded.
Hugh sat forward, trying to contain his excitement.
