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“You’re right, that does please me,” said Grace. “She was a fine teacher. And Virginia?”
“Only what I pick up in the gossip columns. You will have seen that her father died a couple of months ago. Funny old stick, but I confess I rather liked him.”
“Did you go to his funeral?”
“No, I didn’t feel that was appropriate, but I wrote to Archie Fenwick, who’s inherited the title, saying that I hoped he’d play an active role in the Upper House. I received a very courteous reply.”
“But you surely don’t approve of the hereditary system?” said Grace.
“No, I don’t. But as long as we keep losing votes to the Tories in the Commons, reform of the House of Lords will have to be shelved until after the next election.”
“And if Mrs. Thatcher wins that election, reform of the Lords won’t be shelved, it will be buried.” Grace drained her glass of champagne before adding, “Touching on a more sensitive subject, “I’m so sorry you and Karin haven’t had any children.”
“God knows we’ve tried everything, even sex.” Grace didn’t laugh. “We both visited a fertility clinic. It seems that Karin has a blood problem and, after two miscarriages, the doctor feels the risk would be too great.”
“How sad,” said Grace. “No one to follow you into the Lords.”
“Or, more important, open the batting for England.”
“Have you thought about adoption?”
“Yes, but we’ve put it on hold until after the election.”
“Don’t put it on hold for too long. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, Giles, but there are some things more important than politics.”
“I apologize for interrupting you, Aunt Grace, but may I give you this small gift?” Jessica said, handing over another portrait.
Grace studied the drawing for some time before she offered an opinion. “Although I am not an expert, you undoubtedly have promise, my dear. Be sure you don’t squander your talent.”
“I’ll try not to, Aunt Grace.”
“How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“Ah, the same age as Picasso when he held his first public exhibition—in which city, young lady?”
“Barcelona.”
Grace awarded her a slight bow. “I shall have my portrait framed, hang it in my study in Cambridge and tell my fellow dons and pupils alike that you are my great-niece.”
“Praise indeed,” said Giles. “Where’s mine?”
“I can’t fit you in today, Uncle Giles. Another time perhaps.”
“I’ll certainly hold you to that. How would you like to stay with me at Barrington Hall while your parents are away on honeymoon? In return, you could paint a portrait of Karin and myself. And while you’re with us you could visit your grandparents, who are just a couple of miles down the road at the Manor House.”
“They’ve already invited me to stay. And didn’t try to bribe me.”
“Never forget, my dear,” said Grace, “that your great-uncle is a politician.”
* * *
“Have you heard anything back from the Bank of England?” asked Hakim.
“Nothing official,” said Arnold Hardcastle. “But, strictly between ourselves, Sir Piers rang me on Friday afternoon to let me know that Gavin Buckland didn’t show up for his second interview, and the committee have decided not to pursue the matter any further.”
“I could have told them he was unlikely to turn up because his letter of resignation was on my desk even before I’d got back from our meeting with the Ethics Committee.”
