A Rogue's Company, page 13
“On the contrary, I have taken an interest in business affairs lately,” she said. “Now that my father-in-law has returned, I expect to hear much more about them.”
“Has he spoken about his trip?” asked Burleigh.
“Not much,” said Gwen. “He’s been off to his club practically every evening.”
“Has he? Well, that’s Harold for you,” said Burleigh, chuckling. “And here we are. Looks like I’ll be sitting next to you. I hope I prove to be less of a bore than usual.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Gwen. “I am delighted to have your company, Mr. Burleigh.”
She stood at her place between Burleigh and, to her slight dismay, Mr. Prendergast, and waited for Lady Bainbridge to be seated. Then they took their seats.
Given the imbalance of the sexes, Gwen was placed in the middle of the side by the windows, opposite her mother-in-law. Lord Bainbridge presided at the head of the table.
Percival and the hired footman circled the table, pouring the first round of wine. Then Lord Bainbridge stood, his glass raised.
“Gentlemen, I lift a glass to our good fortune,” he said. “To the survival, nay, the flourishing of Bainbridge, Limited, after a long period of global distress. To peace, but not so much of it that we don’t continue our lucrative relationship with His Majesty’s armed forces.”
“To Bainbridge, Limited, and Lord Bainbridge!” echoed Lord Morrison.
“To Bainbridge, Limited!” the men joined in.
Gwen did not add her voice to that toast. Noticeably, neither did Lady Bainbridge.
If this were one of those mystery movies from the thirties, mused Gwen, the murder would happen now. A toast replete with hidden meanings, the downing of the wine, then the headlong collapse onto the table, surrounded by suspects. She took a cautious sip from her glass, casting a glance at her father-in-law as he drank his.
Lord Bainbridge survived the toast. So did everyone else.
Perhaps the soup will do him in, she thought as it was served, trying not to be too hopeful about it.
“You were married to the son,” said Prendergast.
Gwen, in mid-spoonful, managed not to choke before dabbing at her mouth with her napkin.
“Yes,” she said. “Ronald Bainbridge.”
“Who was an only child.”
“Yes.”
“So your boy will be the next Lord Bainbridge,” he concluded.
“God willing, and in the fullness of time,” she replied. “We’re none of us in any hurry for that to happen. Little Ronnie is six.”
“You, on the other hand, are a grown woman.”
“Your powers of observation do you credit, Mr. Prendergast,” she said, letting a hint of acid seep into her tone.
“So why are you never at the board meetings?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, startled.
“Your husband’s dead, presumably you inherited,” said Prendergast. “Your husband got hold of a share equal to his father’s when he inherited his uncle’s share. Unless he passed it directly on to your child, and I doubt he was thoughtless enough to do so, you now own that share. So why are you never at the meetings?”
“I believe there is a representative—”
“That Parson fellow. I know the man. A spineless worm. He reports to you, does he?”
“Well—”
“Didn’t think so. Don’t understand that one bit. You, unlike him, have a spine, from what little I have observed tonight. So I ask you again, why haven’t you—”
“Walter, stop pestering the poor girl,” said Burleigh from her right. “This is a dinner party, not a deposition.”
“The problem is I don’t know what I’m getting into,” said Prendergast, undeterred. “I know about you, Burleigh. I know about Bainbridge, and Morrison, and the rest of you, but I don’t know about her. They’ve kept her out of sight, which is why I came tonight. I wanted to see where she fits into all of this.”
“She is sitting next to you,” said Gwen quietly. “She will decide where she fits in due course, but she is not interested in discussing it in present company.”
“The present company is also the company,” said Prendergast. “You don’t know what you’re—”
“Walter, she said she isn’t discussing it,” said Burleigh sharply. “I know that you think your lack of social standing gives you the freedom to exhibit poor behaviour in decent society, but good manners are good manners, even for people of your upbringing.”
“Oh, I know all about behaviour, and manners, and society, Burleigh,” said Prendergast. “I might be purchasing a title one of these days, and the manners and the manor to go with it. Then you may come sup with me.”
“If I accept your invitation, and it is highly unlikely that I shall, then you may speak to a lady however you like in your mythical palace,” said Burleigh. “But you will not be rude to one in my presence. Now, finish your soup and try not to slurp while you do so.”
Prendergast, with an exaggerated gesture, brought a spoonful to his mouth and ate it silently.
“You’ll forgive me if I direct my conversation to Mr. Burleigh for the moment,” said Gwen sweetly.
“Do what you like,” said Prendergast.
“This is proving to be a strained evening,” she said to Burleigh. “I am very glad you are sitting with me.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said. “Although I would have preferred for Stephen’s sake that they had placed the two of you together.”
“Are you looking to pair us up, Mr. Burleigh?”
“I’m always looking to pair him up, as any good parent would,” said Burleigh. “But he’s been in the doldrums ever since—well, he had a rough go of it during the war, and a sympathetic ear from a lovely woman will always lighten the burden.”
“I’ll be sure to pay him some attention after dinner,” said Gwen.
“I would be grateful. And you needn’t concern yourself with my attempts at matchmaking. I understand you’ve become quite the expert on that.”
“Professionally speaking, I have,” said Gwen. “But I’d rather talk of your business than mine.”
They were interrupted as the chickens, having traveled from parts unknown by means clandestine, finally reached their ultimate destination.
Perhaps it will be now, Gwen thought idly, glancing at her father-in-law as he dug in. The vengeance of Prudence!
But the main course followed its predecessors at the table into the collective maw of Bainbridge, Limited, and guests with no discernible homicidal effect. Quite the contrary, given their reception.
“Truly marvelous chicken Provençal,” enthused Birch. “As good as what they serve at Au Petit Savoyard.”
“I agree,” said Phillips. “My compliments to your cook. How on earth did you manage to get so much chicken of this quality?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” laughed Lord Bainbridge. “I engaged in some, shall we say, unsanctioned transactions. When it comes to my friends, gentlemen, I will neither admit to any obstacle nor spare any expense.”
Swine, thought Gwen contemptuously. Taking credit where none was due. She was of a mind to reveal the true source of the main course, but held her tongue.
Electrocution! That would be the most suitable method for the head of Bainbridge, Limited. A clever arrangement of wires, and somewhere under the table, a hidden button would be pressed, a hideous buzzing sound would be heard, sparks flying everywhere—
“You’re off into the ether again, Mrs. Bainbridge,” commented Prendergast.
“I was musing on all of the interesting uses to which copper may be put,” said Gwen. “Appropriate for this gathering, don’t you think?”
“What was that bit about matchmaking?”
“A sideline of mine. Nothing that would interest you. Tell me, Mr. Prendergast—what is your connection to the present company? I’ve not heard your name before.”
“I’m a man with money who’s looking to make more,” he replied. “I’m looking into diversification. Munitions are a growth market. Things that explode will always be valued.”
“As my husband found out to his everlasting detriment,” said Gwen. “Or were you already aware of that?”
He had the good grace to look stricken.
“Forgive me,” he said, his tone subdued for the first time. “I didn’t know the details. All I knew was that he died in combat. I don’t mean to make light of it.”
“The circumstances of his death might even have been considered retribution of sorts,” she continued. “I’ve sometimes considered that, and wondered if his father ever made that connection.”
“Lord Bainbridge never discussed him?”
“Not with me,” said Gwen. “Well, this is not the best topic for a dinner party. Let’s see: Hobbies? Sports? Films? Music?”
“None, no, no and no,” he replied.
“So it’s all about finances with you,” she said. “How very single-minded.”
The plates were cleared.
“Harold, did you hear about the poor fellow at the Livingstone Club?” asked Birch.
“I did,” said Lord Bainbridge curtly. “And he wasn’t at the club, Sandy.”
“Well, behind it, then,” said Birch.
“What’s this?” asked McIntyre.
“They found a body in the alley, or somewhere,” said Birch. “Someone shot him. Thought he might have been one of the staff.”
“How horrid!” exclaimed Lady Bainbridge.
“He wasn’t one of the staff,” snapped Lord Bainbridge. “What does it matter where he was found?”
Why is he so upset? wondered Gwen. Just because a random event might cast aspersions on his beloved club?
Lord Bainbridge caught her looking at him and immediately brought his expression into something more bland.
“Maybe you should set your daughter-in-law on the case,” said Phillips, noticing the exchange of glances.
“Why her?” asked Prendergast, looking at her curiously.
“Well, she solved a murder, didn’t she?” replied Phillips with a high whinny of a laugh.
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
“A month or so ago, wasn’t it, Mrs. Bainbridge?”
“Yes,” said Gwen. “I prefer not to discuss it.”
“I’d like to hear more,” said Prendergast.
“It’s not an acceptable discussion for the dinner table,” said Gwen.
“I agree,” said Lord Bainbridge. “Nor is this murder. It had nothing to do with the club other than coincidental proximity. Let’s move on to happier topics.”
She was grateful for the change. She sat back and listened as Lord Morrison recounted the old story of his and Lord Bainbridge’s first time in Africa together.
“Thought it would be a lark when we went, didn’t we, Harold?” he said. “A boys’ adventure, right out of university. I was miserable from the start, but you took to it like the proverbial duck, didn’t you? Clumping about in the wilds for weeks at a time while I sat in the one bar that had a working generator and an ice machine they had humped over God knows how many miles of muddy road. Of course, I picked up something from the ice, young fool that I was. Your insides were made of sterner stuff.”
“I caught my share,” said Lord Bainbridge. “I just didn’t mewl about it the way you did.”
“Or you did, but no one could hear it over my piteous cries,” said Morrison, laughing. “So, there I lay in a cheap room with mosquito netting so tattered a vulture could have flown through to peck at my near-corpse, and in dashes one of the boys you had taken when you went off exploring. Didn’t speak a word of English, and I hadn’t the foggiest notion of what fool language he was rattling off, but I caught the word ‘Harold,’ so I motioned for him to calm down. He takes a deep breath and says something that almost sounded like English. He kept repeating it, and I finally sorted it out. ‘Green rocks,’ he was saying. And then he pulls a stone out of his pocket with glorious veins of malachite ore running through it. Turned out to be the biggest copper find since Davey stumbled onto Broken Hill.”
“Pure luck,” said Lord Bainbridge. “Had to make certain the locals weren’t seeding the area with the rocks to lure in English money. But they were oblivious to what lay under their feet. We were able to peg that area for a song.”
He always looked so wistful when that story was told, thought Gwen. Nothing else brought that expression to his face. It must have been the happiest time of his life. And it was forty years ago.
She often wondered if her happiest times were all behind her. Then she remembered her son, and smiled.
A sorbet was served for dessert, and then Lord Bainbridge rose.
“Gentlemen, I invite you to join me in the library. I have brought back cigars cured and rolled at the family plantation, with some brandy that I think you will appreciate. My dear, I beg your indulgence for abandoning you.”
“I am happy to escape the smoke,” said Lady Bainbridge. “I bid you good evening, gentlemen. Please keep the windows open, Harold.”
“I will,” he promised.
Gwen followed the gathering out, then stopped as someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was Stephen Burleigh.
“I am begging you as the only other young person here, please keep me out of that library,” he whispered.
“Follow me,” she whispered back.
She led him to the front parlour, where they sat on a sofa together. Percival being occupied in the library, it was left to the hired footman to look after him. After bringing them two glasses of cordial, he retreated a discreet distance away.
“You don’t look much like your father,” commented Gwen. “I’ve been trying to summon up your image from my memories of the wedding, but without success.”
“I used to look very like him,” said Stephen.
“But he’s so—stout.”
“Downright rotund,” he said, grinning. “As was I back then.”
“Were you? One would never suspect it.”
“Well,” he said, sipping his cordial, “four years in a Japanese prison camp and two with malaria will have that effect.”
“Oh, my God,” she said. “Forgive me. I had no idea.”
“Nothing to forgive, Mrs. Bainbridge,” he said. “I was one of the lucky ones. I made it out.”
“Are you enjoying yourself tonight?” she asked. “Is that even a thing one can ask?”
“There are moments,” he replied. “I’m getting myself used to all this again.”
“What’s the hardest part?”
“The chatter,” he said. “It all sounds so meaningless. I have no idea if any of them has any genuine feelings for each other, except for Morrison and your father-in-law. They go back.”
“How long have you been back in London?”
“A month,” he said. “Caught a transport back from Burma the moment I was well enough to stagger from the infirmary on my own two feet.”
She put her hand on his for a moment. He shivered at the touch, then smiled quickly to cover his embarrassment.
“So sorry,” he said. “I can’t always control my reactions nowadays.”
“Quite all right,” she assured him. “Was that where you spent your war? In Burma?”
“Yes. Got caught by the Japs in the retreat when they blew up the only bridge on our escape route, and that was the end of my war. Strange to be back in London, seeing all the people going about their normal business, walking by the gaping holes where the bombs hit without even looking.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Oh, Father is grooming me to take his place on the board at Bainbridge,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to. Can’t think of anything more tedious, unless it’s hearing him talk about it.”
“I think he’s rather nice,” said Gwen.
“He’s all right,” Stephen conceded. “Incessant droning on about money, copper, guns, and so forth, when he’s not reminiscing about big-game hunting. He wants me to take over so he can trot off to Kenya and bag another lion because the billiards room doesn’t have one yet.”
“I am sure you’ll be a worthy addition to the board,” said Gwen.
“Well, I’m much happier sitting here with you, Mrs. Bainbridge,” he said. “So much nicer than being in a meeting with that lot.”
“Meeting? What meeting?”
“It’s an informal board thing tonight,” said Stephen. “I cannot tell you how happy I was to see you here. At least there would be one person I could—”
“I’m sorry,” said Gwen, rising to her feet. “I think I need to see what’s going on.”
“What?” he exclaimed, following her. “I don’t understand. Can’t we just—”
She walked rapidly through the house to the library door, which was closed. There were muffled male voices on the other side, and the telltale aroma of cigar smoke was already seeping into the hallway.
Without bothering to knock, Gwen opened the door and entered the library. The men were standing down at one end by a sideboard with a crystal decanter of brandy, puffing away while gesticulating with their free hands.
“… and that note is coming due,” Prendergast was saying. “I want to know—”
He stopped as he noticed the others staring at Gwen. He turned to look at her, his expression a mixture of surprise and appreciativeness.
“Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice from shaking. “I understand that this is a board meeting. As a principal shareholder, I should like to be present.”
There was a pause, then Lord Bainbridge stepped forward.
“I would like to speak with you outside,” he said quietly.
“But—”
“Now.”
Something in his expression made her blench. He nodded towards the door, and she retreated into the hallway. He followed her, then saw Stephen standing there, looking aghast.
“Inside,” ordered Lord Bainbridge.
“But—” protested Stephen.
“Not a word more,” said Lord Bainbridge.
Stephen gave Gwen a sympathetic but helpless glance, then went into the library. Lord Bainbridge closed the door behind him, then turned back to Gwen, his face livid.
“How dare you embarrass me like that in front of the board,” he said hoarsely. “What did you think you were doing?”
“Has he spoken about his trip?” asked Burleigh.
“Not much,” said Gwen. “He’s been off to his club practically every evening.”
“Has he? Well, that’s Harold for you,” said Burleigh, chuckling. “And here we are. Looks like I’ll be sitting next to you. I hope I prove to be less of a bore than usual.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Gwen. “I am delighted to have your company, Mr. Burleigh.”
She stood at her place between Burleigh and, to her slight dismay, Mr. Prendergast, and waited for Lady Bainbridge to be seated. Then they took their seats.
Given the imbalance of the sexes, Gwen was placed in the middle of the side by the windows, opposite her mother-in-law. Lord Bainbridge presided at the head of the table.
Percival and the hired footman circled the table, pouring the first round of wine. Then Lord Bainbridge stood, his glass raised.
“Gentlemen, I lift a glass to our good fortune,” he said. “To the survival, nay, the flourishing of Bainbridge, Limited, after a long period of global distress. To peace, but not so much of it that we don’t continue our lucrative relationship with His Majesty’s armed forces.”
“To Bainbridge, Limited, and Lord Bainbridge!” echoed Lord Morrison.
“To Bainbridge, Limited!” the men joined in.
Gwen did not add her voice to that toast. Noticeably, neither did Lady Bainbridge.
If this were one of those mystery movies from the thirties, mused Gwen, the murder would happen now. A toast replete with hidden meanings, the downing of the wine, then the headlong collapse onto the table, surrounded by suspects. She took a cautious sip from her glass, casting a glance at her father-in-law as he drank his.
Lord Bainbridge survived the toast. So did everyone else.
Perhaps the soup will do him in, she thought as it was served, trying not to be too hopeful about it.
“You were married to the son,” said Prendergast.
Gwen, in mid-spoonful, managed not to choke before dabbing at her mouth with her napkin.
“Yes,” she said. “Ronald Bainbridge.”
“Who was an only child.”
“Yes.”
“So your boy will be the next Lord Bainbridge,” he concluded.
“God willing, and in the fullness of time,” she replied. “We’re none of us in any hurry for that to happen. Little Ronnie is six.”
“You, on the other hand, are a grown woman.”
“Your powers of observation do you credit, Mr. Prendergast,” she said, letting a hint of acid seep into her tone.
“So why are you never at the board meetings?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, startled.
“Your husband’s dead, presumably you inherited,” said Prendergast. “Your husband got hold of a share equal to his father’s when he inherited his uncle’s share. Unless he passed it directly on to your child, and I doubt he was thoughtless enough to do so, you now own that share. So why are you never at the meetings?”
“I believe there is a representative—”
“That Parson fellow. I know the man. A spineless worm. He reports to you, does he?”
“Well—”
“Didn’t think so. Don’t understand that one bit. You, unlike him, have a spine, from what little I have observed tonight. So I ask you again, why haven’t you—”
“Walter, stop pestering the poor girl,” said Burleigh from her right. “This is a dinner party, not a deposition.”
“The problem is I don’t know what I’m getting into,” said Prendergast, undeterred. “I know about you, Burleigh. I know about Bainbridge, and Morrison, and the rest of you, but I don’t know about her. They’ve kept her out of sight, which is why I came tonight. I wanted to see where she fits into all of this.”
“She is sitting next to you,” said Gwen quietly. “She will decide where she fits in due course, but she is not interested in discussing it in present company.”
“The present company is also the company,” said Prendergast. “You don’t know what you’re—”
“Walter, she said she isn’t discussing it,” said Burleigh sharply. “I know that you think your lack of social standing gives you the freedom to exhibit poor behaviour in decent society, but good manners are good manners, even for people of your upbringing.”
“Oh, I know all about behaviour, and manners, and society, Burleigh,” said Prendergast. “I might be purchasing a title one of these days, and the manners and the manor to go with it. Then you may come sup with me.”
“If I accept your invitation, and it is highly unlikely that I shall, then you may speak to a lady however you like in your mythical palace,” said Burleigh. “But you will not be rude to one in my presence. Now, finish your soup and try not to slurp while you do so.”
Prendergast, with an exaggerated gesture, brought a spoonful to his mouth and ate it silently.
“You’ll forgive me if I direct my conversation to Mr. Burleigh for the moment,” said Gwen sweetly.
“Do what you like,” said Prendergast.
“This is proving to be a strained evening,” she said to Burleigh. “I am very glad you are sitting with me.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said. “Although I would have preferred for Stephen’s sake that they had placed the two of you together.”
“Are you looking to pair us up, Mr. Burleigh?”
“I’m always looking to pair him up, as any good parent would,” said Burleigh. “But he’s been in the doldrums ever since—well, he had a rough go of it during the war, and a sympathetic ear from a lovely woman will always lighten the burden.”
“I’ll be sure to pay him some attention after dinner,” said Gwen.
“I would be grateful. And you needn’t concern yourself with my attempts at matchmaking. I understand you’ve become quite the expert on that.”
“Professionally speaking, I have,” said Gwen. “But I’d rather talk of your business than mine.”
They were interrupted as the chickens, having traveled from parts unknown by means clandestine, finally reached their ultimate destination.
Perhaps it will be now, Gwen thought idly, glancing at her father-in-law as he dug in. The vengeance of Prudence!
But the main course followed its predecessors at the table into the collective maw of Bainbridge, Limited, and guests with no discernible homicidal effect. Quite the contrary, given their reception.
“Truly marvelous chicken Provençal,” enthused Birch. “As good as what they serve at Au Petit Savoyard.”
“I agree,” said Phillips. “My compliments to your cook. How on earth did you manage to get so much chicken of this quality?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” laughed Lord Bainbridge. “I engaged in some, shall we say, unsanctioned transactions. When it comes to my friends, gentlemen, I will neither admit to any obstacle nor spare any expense.”
Swine, thought Gwen contemptuously. Taking credit where none was due. She was of a mind to reveal the true source of the main course, but held her tongue.
Electrocution! That would be the most suitable method for the head of Bainbridge, Limited. A clever arrangement of wires, and somewhere under the table, a hidden button would be pressed, a hideous buzzing sound would be heard, sparks flying everywhere—
“You’re off into the ether again, Mrs. Bainbridge,” commented Prendergast.
“I was musing on all of the interesting uses to which copper may be put,” said Gwen. “Appropriate for this gathering, don’t you think?”
“What was that bit about matchmaking?”
“A sideline of mine. Nothing that would interest you. Tell me, Mr. Prendergast—what is your connection to the present company? I’ve not heard your name before.”
“I’m a man with money who’s looking to make more,” he replied. “I’m looking into diversification. Munitions are a growth market. Things that explode will always be valued.”
“As my husband found out to his everlasting detriment,” said Gwen. “Or were you already aware of that?”
He had the good grace to look stricken.
“Forgive me,” he said, his tone subdued for the first time. “I didn’t know the details. All I knew was that he died in combat. I don’t mean to make light of it.”
“The circumstances of his death might even have been considered retribution of sorts,” she continued. “I’ve sometimes considered that, and wondered if his father ever made that connection.”
“Lord Bainbridge never discussed him?”
“Not with me,” said Gwen. “Well, this is not the best topic for a dinner party. Let’s see: Hobbies? Sports? Films? Music?”
“None, no, no and no,” he replied.
“So it’s all about finances with you,” she said. “How very single-minded.”
The plates were cleared.
“Harold, did you hear about the poor fellow at the Livingstone Club?” asked Birch.
“I did,” said Lord Bainbridge curtly. “And he wasn’t at the club, Sandy.”
“Well, behind it, then,” said Birch.
“What’s this?” asked McIntyre.
“They found a body in the alley, or somewhere,” said Birch. “Someone shot him. Thought he might have been one of the staff.”
“How horrid!” exclaimed Lady Bainbridge.
“He wasn’t one of the staff,” snapped Lord Bainbridge. “What does it matter where he was found?”
Why is he so upset? wondered Gwen. Just because a random event might cast aspersions on his beloved club?
Lord Bainbridge caught her looking at him and immediately brought his expression into something more bland.
“Maybe you should set your daughter-in-law on the case,” said Phillips, noticing the exchange of glances.
“Why her?” asked Prendergast, looking at her curiously.
“Well, she solved a murder, didn’t she?” replied Phillips with a high whinny of a laugh.
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
“A month or so ago, wasn’t it, Mrs. Bainbridge?”
“Yes,” said Gwen. “I prefer not to discuss it.”
“I’d like to hear more,” said Prendergast.
“It’s not an acceptable discussion for the dinner table,” said Gwen.
“I agree,” said Lord Bainbridge. “Nor is this murder. It had nothing to do with the club other than coincidental proximity. Let’s move on to happier topics.”
She was grateful for the change. She sat back and listened as Lord Morrison recounted the old story of his and Lord Bainbridge’s first time in Africa together.
“Thought it would be a lark when we went, didn’t we, Harold?” he said. “A boys’ adventure, right out of university. I was miserable from the start, but you took to it like the proverbial duck, didn’t you? Clumping about in the wilds for weeks at a time while I sat in the one bar that had a working generator and an ice machine they had humped over God knows how many miles of muddy road. Of course, I picked up something from the ice, young fool that I was. Your insides were made of sterner stuff.”
“I caught my share,” said Lord Bainbridge. “I just didn’t mewl about it the way you did.”
“Or you did, but no one could hear it over my piteous cries,” said Morrison, laughing. “So, there I lay in a cheap room with mosquito netting so tattered a vulture could have flown through to peck at my near-corpse, and in dashes one of the boys you had taken when you went off exploring. Didn’t speak a word of English, and I hadn’t the foggiest notion of what fool language he was rattling off, but I caught the word ‘Harold,’ so I motioned for him to calm down. He takes a deep breath and says something that almost sounded like English. He kept repeating it, and I finally sorted it out. ‘Green rocks,’ he was saying. And then he pulls a stone out of his pocket with glorious veins of malachite ore running through it. Turned out to be the biggest copper find since Davey stumbled onto Broken Hill.”
“Pure luck,” said Lord Bainbridge. “Had to make certain the locals weren’t seeding the area with the rocks to lure in English money. But they were oblivious to what lay under their feet. We were able to peg that area for a song.”
He always looked so wistful when that story was told, thought Gwen. Nothing else brought that expression to his face. It must have been the happiest time of his life. And it was forty years ago.
She often wondered if her happiest times were all behind her. Then she remembered her son, and smiled.
A sorbet was served for dessert, and then Lord Bainbridge rose.
“Gentlemen, I invite you to join me in the library. I have brought back cigars cured and rolled at the family plantation, with some brandy that I think you will appreciate. My dear, I beg your indulgence for abandoning you.”
“I am happy to escape the smoke,” said Lady Bainbridge. “I bid you good evening, gentlemen. Please keep the windows open, Harold.”
“I will,” he promised.
Gwen followed the gathering out, then stopped as someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was Stephen Burleigh.
“I am begging you as the only other young person here, please keep me out of that library,” he whispered.
“Follow me,” she whispered back.
She led him to the front parlour, where they sat on a sofa together. Percival being occupied in the library, it was left to the hired footman to look after him. After bringing them two glasses of cordial, he retreated a discreet distance away.
“You don’t look much like your father,” commented Gwen. “I’ve been trying to summon up your image from my memories of the wedding, but without success.”
“I used to look very like him,” said Stephen.
“But he’s so—stout.”
“Downright rotund,” he said, grinning. “As was I back then.”
“Were you? One would never suspect it.”
“Well,” he said, sipping his cordial, “four years in a Japanese prison camp and two with malaria will have that effect.”
“Oh, my God,” she said. “Forgive me. I had no idea.”
“Nothing to forgive, Mrs. Bainbridge,” he said. “I was one of the lucky ones. I made it out.”
“Are you enjoying yourself tonight?” she asked. “Is that even a thing one can ask?”
“There are moments,” he replied. “I’m getting myself used to all this again.”
“What’s the hardest part?”
“The chatter,” he said. “It all sounds so meaningless. I have no idea if any of them has any genuine feelings for each other, except for Morrison and your father-in-law. They go back.”
“How long have you been back in London?”
“A month,” he said. “Caught a transport back from Burma the moment I was well enough to stagger from the infirmary on my own two feet.”
She put her hand on his for a moment. He shivered at the touch, then smiled quickly to cover his embarrassment.
“So sorry,” he said. “I can’t always control my reactions nowadays.”
“Quite all right,” she assured him. “Was that where you spent your war? In Burma?”
“Yes. Got caught by the Japs in the retreat when they blew up the only bridge on our escape route, and that was the end of my war. Strange to be back in London, seeing all the people going about their normal business, walking by the gaping holes where the bombs hit without even looking.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Oh, Father is grooming me to take his place on the board at Bainbridge,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to. Can’t think of anything more tedious, unless it’s hearing him talk about it.”
“I think he’s rather nice,” said Gwen.
“He’s all right,” Stephen conceded. “Incessant droning on about money, copper, guns, and so forth, when he’s not reminiscing about big-game hunting. He wants me to take over so he can trot off to Kenya and bag another lion because the billiards room doesn’t have one yet.”
“I am sure you’ll be a worthy addition to the board,” said Gwen.
“Well, I’m much happier sitting here with you, Mrs. Bainbridge,” he said. “So much nicer than being in a meeting with that lot.”
“Meeting? What meeting?”
“It’s an informal board thing tonight,” said Stephen. “I cannot tell you how happy I was to see you here. At least there would be one person I could—”
“I’m sorry,” said Gwen, rising to her feet. “I think I need to see what’s going on.”
“What?” he exclaimed, following her. “I don’t understand. Can’t we just—”
She walked rapidly through the house to the library door, which was closed. There were muffled male voices on the other side, and the telltale aroma of cigar smoke was already seeping into the hallway.
Without bothering to knock, Gwen opened the door and entered the library. The men were standing down at one end by a sideboard with a crystal decanter of brandy, puffing away while gesticulating with their free hands.
“… and that note is coming due,” Prendergast was saying. “I want to know—”
He stopped as he noticed the others staring at Gwen. He turned to look at her, his expression a mixture of surprise and appreciativeness.
“Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice from shaking. “I understand that this is a board meeting. As a principal shareholder, I should like to be present.”
There was a pause, then Lord Bainbridge stepped forward.
“I would like to speak with you outside,” he said quietly.
“But—”
“Now.”
Something in his expression made her blench. He nodded towards the door, and she retreated into the hallway. He followed her, then saw Stephen standing there, looking aghast.
“Inside,” ordered Lord Bainbridge.
“But—” protested Stephen.
“Not a word more,” said Lord Bainbridge.
Stephen gave Gwen a sympathetic but helpless glance, then went into the library. Lord Bainbridge closed the door behind him, then turned back to Gwen, his face livid.
“How dare you embarrass me like that in front of the board,” he said hoarsely. “What did you think you were doing?”
