A Dangerous Fortune(122)

Edward said: “I can’t help it if you’re a Jew.”

Micky butted in quickly. “You two shouldn’t let your parents come between you. After all, you’re partners in a major business enterprise—”

“Don’t be a damn fool, Miranda,” Solly said with a savagery that made Micky flinch. “You can forget about the Santamaria railroad, or any other joint venture with Greenbournes Bank. After our partners hear this story, they’ll never do business with the Pilasters again.”

Micky tasted bile in his throat as he watched Solly leave the room. It was easy to forget how very powerful these bankers were—especially the unprepossessing Solly. Yet in a moment of fury he could wipe out all Micky’s hopes with one simple sentence.

“Damned insolence,” Edward said feebly. “Typical Jew.”

Micky almost told him to shut up. Edward would survive the collapse of this deal but Micky might not. Papa would be disappointed and angry and would look for someone to punish, and Micky would bear the brunt of his rage.

Was there really no hope? He tried to stop feeling destroyed and start thinking. Was there anything he could do to prevent Solly canceling the deal? If there were, it would have to he done quickly, for once Solly told the other Greenbournes what he had learned, they would all turn against the deal.

Could Solly be talked around?

Micky had to try.

He stood up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Edward said.

Micky decided not to tell Edward what he had in mind. “To the card room,” he replied. “Don’t you want to play?”

“Yes, of course.” Edward heaved himself out of his chair and they walked out of the room.

At the foot of the stairs Micky turned aside toward the toilets, saying: “You go on up—I’ll catch you.”

Edward went upstairs. Micky stepped into the cloakroom, grabbed his hat and cane, and dashed out through the front door.

He looked up and down Pall Mall, terrified that Solly might already be out of sight. It was dusk, and the gaslights were being lit. Micky could not see Solly anywhere. Then, a hundred yards away, he spotted him, a big figure in evening dress and a top hat heading toward St. James’s at a brisk waddle.

Micky went after him.

He would explain to Solly how important the railroad was to him and to Cordova. He would say that Solly was punishing millions of impoverished peasants on account of something Augusta had done. Solly was softhearted: if only he would calm down he might yet be talked around.

He had said he had just been with the Prince of Wales. That meant he might not yet have had time to tell anyone else the secret he had learned from the prince—that Augusta had arranged the anti-Jewish propaganda in the press. No one had overheard the row in the club: the smoking room had been empty but for the three of them. In all probability Ben Greenbourne did not yet know who had cheated him out of his peerage.

Of course the truth might come out eventually. The Prince might tell someone else. But the contract was to be signed tomorrow. If the secret could be kept until then, all would be well. After that, the Greenbournes and the Pilasters could quarrel until kingdom come: Papa would have his railroad.

Pall Mall was crowded with prostitutes strolling along the pavements, men going in and out of the clubs, lamplighters doing their work, and carriages and hansom cabs bowling along the road. Micky had trouble catching up. Panic bubbled up inside him. Then Solly turned up a side street, heading toward his house in Piccadilly.

Micky followed. The side street was less busy. Micky broke into a run. “Greenbourne!” he called. “Wait!”

Solly stopped and turned, breathing hard. He recognized Micky and turned away again.

Micky grabbed his arm. “I must talk to you!”

Solly was so breathless he could hardly speak. “Take your damned hands off me,” he panted. He broke away from Micky and walked on.

Micky went after him and grabbed him again. Solly tried to pull his arm away but this time Micky held on. “Listen to me!”

“I told you to leave me alone!” Solly said fiercely.

“Just a minute, damn it!” Micky was getting angry now.

But Solly would not listen. He struggled furiously, jerked himself violently out of Micky’s grasp, and turned away.

Two steps later he came to a cross-street and was forced to stop at the curb as a carriage went by fast. Micky took the opportunity to speak to him again. “Solly, calm down!” he said. “I only want to reason with you!”

“Go to the devil!” Solly shouted.

The road cleared. To stop his moving away again Micky grabbed Solly’s lapels. Solly struggled to free himself but Micky held on. “Listen to me!” he yelled.

“Let me go!” Solly got one hand free and punched Micky on the nose.

The blow stung and Micky tasted blood. He lost his temper. “Damn you!” he cried. He let go of Solly’s coat and punched him back, hitting him on the cheek.

Solly turned and stepped into the road. At that moment they both saw a carriage coming toward them, being driven very fast. Solly jumped back to avoid being hit.

Micky saw a chance.

If Solly were dead, Micky’s troubles would be over.

There was no time to reckon the odds, no room for hesitation and forethought.

Micky gave Solly a mighty shove, pushing him into the road in front of the horses.