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Her gaze turned speculative. ‘And...?’
‘And he’s hit a wall of red tape.’
‘Ah. And you happen to have some connections that might smooth the way?’
He nodded, impressed. Emily was intelligent—he knew that—but she was also perceptive. Shrewd. ‘My former Harvard roommate and friend to this day is a Saudi prince.’
Her eyes widened fractionally. ‘Well...’ After a moment, she lifted her champagne. ‘Congratulations. Lord Hanover is very influential. Gaining his support is a smart move.’
He heard a trace of something in her voice. Not resentment—it was more wistful than bitter. Envy perhaps? ‘Does it bother you that your shareholder status can’t be revealed?’
She swallowed a mouthful of champagne and shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s just the way things are. There’d be an uproar if it was.’
‘How can you be certain?’
She put her glass down. ‘Because two years ago, three of our members proposed that women be permitted to join the club. It went to a ballot but things got very heated beforehand and some members threatened to leave if the proposal passed. It didn’t...obviously.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘That was their response to the idea of women joining their club. Can you imagine the reaction if they knew a woman owned their club?’
‘And the proposers?’
‘Ostracised. All three left within six months.’
It was outrageous but not surprising. Lord Hanover and his peers were prominent in the club and chauvinism was still rampant in their ranks. Ramon could imagine which way their votes had gone. ‘So why did your grandfather leave half the business to you?’ he asked. ‘He must have known it could risk the club’s stability.’
She took a moment to answer. ‘Because my father has always been the way he is. Addicted to the high life, less so to responsibility. I guess my grandfather didn’t trust his own son.’
‘But he trusted you?’
Another shrug. ‘He knew I was sensible. Devoted enough to do whatever was best for The Royce.’
‘Including keeping your ownership secret.’
‘Yes.’
So her grandfather had taken a calculated risk. Ramon could appreciate that strategy. And yet the old man had placed a tremendous burden on his granddaughter’s shoulders. ‘Surely people...the members...would expect that you’d eventually inherit the club from your father anyway?’
‘Not necessarily. My father was only forty-six when his father died—fifty-three now. He could still remarry, have other children...other legitimate heirs.’
‘Was that what your grandfather expected?’
‘I think my grandfather stopped having expectations of my father a long time ago.’
‘And you?’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What expectations did he have of you?’
Her lips twisted. ‘My grandfather expected me to marry and start popping out babies—preferably boys—before the age of thirty. He only ever intended my ownership of The Royce to be a short-term guardianship.’ She blinked and her mouth suddenly compressed in a tight line, as if she’d said more than she’d intended to and regretted the lapse. She shifted in her chair. ‘I’m sure he turned in his grave many times this past week.’
‘You think you’ve let your grandfather down?’
Her expression was tight. ‘No offence, but the Vega Corporation owning fifty-one per cent of his precious club is not an outcome he would have endorsed.’
Ramon frowned. ‘Would he have considered the alternative less desirable?’
Her gaze met his then slid away. ‘Of course.’
‘So the only person at fault is your father,’ he said, but she looked unconvinced, and he wanted to reach across the table, grab her by the shoulders and give her a good shake. Either that, or drag her onto his lap and kiss the anguish from her face.
