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“Susie was already a beauty by the age of sixteen, and she knew it. Boys just stopped and stared as she passed by, their mouths open. After Red Maids’, she took the first available train to London and got herself on the books of a leading model agency. Once she’d stepped on to the catwalk, Susie made no secret of the fact that she was on the lookout for a rich husband.”
“If that’s the case, Fisher isn’t much of a catch.”
“Perhaps he wouldn’t have been back then, but now that she’s thirty-something, and her modeling days are over, a director of the Barrington Shipping Line, with an Argentinian millionaire as his backer, may well prove to be her last chance.”
“Can she be that desperate?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Grace. “She’s been jilted twice, once at the altar, and I’m told she’s already spent the money that the court awarded her following a successful breach of promise suit. She even pawned the engagement ring. Mr. Micawber is not a name she’s familiar with.”
“Poor woman,” said Emma quietly.
“You needn’t lose any sleep over Susie,” Grace assured her. “That girl possesses a degree of native cunning that you won’t find on the curriculum of any university,” she added before finishing her coffee. “Mind you, I don’t know which one I feel more sorry for, because I can’t believe it will last that long.” Grace glanced at her watch. “Must dash. Can’t afford to miss the last train.” And without another word, she gave her sister a perfunctory kiss on both cheeks, left the restaurant and hailed a taxi.
Emma smiled as she watched her sister disappear into the back of a black cab. The social graces may not have been among her greatest strengths, but there wasn’t a woman Emma admired more. Several past and present generations of Cambridge students could only have benefited from being taught by the Senior Tutor at Newnham.
When Emma asked for the bill, she noticed that her sister had left a pound note on her side plate; not a woman who cared to be beholden to anyone.
* * *
The best man handed the bridegroom a simple gold band. Giles in turn placed the ring on the third finger of Miss Hughes’s left hand.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” declared the registrar. “You may kiss the bride.”
A ripple of applause greeted Sir Giles and Lady Barrington. The reception that followed was held at the Cadogan Arms in King’s Road. Giles seemed determined to make the complete contrast to his first wedding obvious to everyone.
When Emma entered the pub, she spotted Harry chatting to Giles’s agent, who had a broad grin on his face. “A married candidate gets far more votes than a divorced one,” Griff was explaining to Harry before he downed his third glass of champagne.
Grace was chatting to the bride, who had, not so long ago, been one of her PhD students. Gwyneth reminded her that she had first met Giles at a party Grace had thrown to celebrate her birthday.
“My birthday was only an excuse for that particular party,” said Grace without explanation.
Emma turned her attention back to Harry, who had just been joined by Deakins, no doubt swapping stories about their different experiences of being Giles’s best man. Emma couldn’t remember if Algernon was now a professor at Oxford. He certainly looked like one, but then, he had since the age of sixteen, and even if he hadn’t sported that unkempt beard at the time, it would have been the same suit.
Emma smiled when she spotted Jessica sitting cross-legged on the floor, drawing a picture on the back of the service sheet, of Sebastian—who had been allowed out of the hospital to attend the occasion, on the strict understanding that he would be back before 6 p.m.—talking to his uncle. Giles was bending down and listening attentively to what his nephew had to say. She didn’t have to guess what the subject must be.
“But if Emma were to lose the vote,” said Giles.
“Barrington’s is unlikely to declare a profit for the foreseeable future, so you can no longer assume that you’ll always be receiving a quarterly dividend.”
“Is there any good news?”
“Yes, if Ross Buchanan turns out to be right about the luxury liner business, and he’s a shrewd operator, then Barrington’s can look forward to a bright future. And you can take your place at the Cabinet table without having to worry about surviving on a minister’s salary.”
“I must say, I’m delighted that you’re taking such a keen interest in the family business, and can only hope you’ll continue to do so once you’ve gone up to Cambridge.”
“You can be sure of that,” said Sebastian, “because it’s the future of the company I’m most concerned about. I’m rather hoping there’ll still be a family business by the time I’m ready to take over as chairman.”
“Do you really think it’s possible that Barrington’s could go under?” asked Giles, sounding anxious for the first time.
“Seems unlikely, but it doesn’t help that Major Fisher has been reappointed to the board, because I’m convinced his interest in the company is diametrically opposed to ours. In fact, if Don Pedro Martinez does turn out to be his backer, I’m not actually sure that the survival of Barrington’s is part of their long-term plan.”
“I’m confident that Ross Buchanan and Emma will prove more than a match for Fisher, and even for Martinez.”
“Possibly. But remember that they don’t always sing in unison, and Fisher will be sure to take advantage of that. And even if they do foil Fisher in the short term, all he has to do is wait a couple of years for everything to fall into his lap.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Giles.
“It’s no secret that Ross Buchanan plans to retire in the not-too-distant future, and I’m told he’s recently bought an estate in Perthshire that’s conveniently situated near three golf courses and two rivers, which will allow him to indulge in his favorite pastimes. So it won’t be too long before the company will be looking for a new chairman.”
