A Dangerous Fortune(43)

Although Micky was startlingly good-looking, Maisie disliked him. He reminded her of the circus ringmaster, who had thought all women should be thrilled to be propositioned by him, and was highly affronted when one turned him down. Micky had Edward Pilaster in tow, as always. Maisie was curious about their relationship. They were so different: Micky slim, immaculate, confident; Edward big, clumsy, hoggish. Why were they so inseparable? But most people were enchanted by Micky. Tonio regarded him with a kind of nervous veneration, like a puppy with a cruel master.

Behind them were an older man and a young woman. Micky introduced the man as his father. Maisie studied him with interest. He did not resemble Micky at all. He was a short man with bowed legs, very broad shoulders and a weatherbeaten face. Unlike his son he did not look comfortable in a stiff collar and a top hat. The woman was clinging to him like a lover but she had to be younger than him by thirty years. Micky introduced her as Miss Cox.

They all talked about their winnings. Both Edward and Tonio had made a lot on a horse called Prince Charlie. Solly had won money then lost it again, and seemed to enjoy both equally. Micky did not say how he had fared, and Maisie guessed he had not bet as much as the others: he seemed too careful a person, too calculating, to be a heavy gambler.

However, with his next breath he surprised her. He said to Solly: “We’re going to have a heavyweight game tonight, Greenbourne—a pound minimum. Will you join in?”

She was struck by the thought that Micky’s languid posture was covering up considerable tension. He was a deep one.

Solly would go along with anything. “I’ll join in,” he said.

Micky turned to Tonio. “Would you care to join us?” His take-it-or-leave-it tone sounded false to Maisie.

“Count on me,” Tonio said excitedly. “I’ll be there!”

April looked troubled and said: “Tonio, not tonight—you promised me.” Maisie suspected that Tonio could not afford to play when the minimum stake was a pound.

“What did I promise?” he said with a wink at his friends.

She whispered something in his ear, and the men all laughed.

Micky said: “It’s be the last big game of the season, Silva. You’ll be sorry if you miss it.”

That surprised Maisie. At the Argyll Rooms she had got the impression that Micky disliked Tonio. Why was he now trying to talk Tonio into joining the card game?

Tonio said: “I’m lucky today—look how much I’ve won on the horses! I shall play cards tonight.”

Micky glanced at Edward, and Maisie caught a look of relief in their eyes. Edward said: “Shall we all dine together at the club?”

Solly looked at Maisie, and she realized she had been provided with a ready-made excuse for not spending the evening with him. “Dine with the boys, Solly,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve had a lovely day. You spend the evening at your club.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Micky.

He and his father, Miss Cox and Edward took their leave.

Tonio and April went to place a bet on the next race. Solly offered Maisie his arm and said: “Shall we walk for a while?”

They strolled along the white-painted rail that bounded the track. The sun was warm and the country air smelled good. After a while Solly said: “Do you like me, Maisie?”

She stopped, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. “I like you a lot.”

He looked into her eyes, and she was mystified to see tears behind his spectacles. “Solly, dear, what is it?” she said.

“I like you, too,” he said. “More than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.” She was touched. It was unusual for Solly to show any emotion stronger than mild enthusiasm.

Then he said: “Will you marry me?”

She was flabbergasted. This was the last thing in the world she had expected. Men of Solly’s class did not propose to girls like her. They seduced them, gave them money, kept them as mistresses, and had children by them, but they did not marry them. She was too astounded to speak.

Solly went on: “I’d give you anything you want. Please say yes.”

Marriage to Solly! Maisie would be unbelievably rich for ever and ever. A soft bed every night, a blazing fire in every room of the house, and as much butter as she could eat. She would get up when she pleased, not when she had to. She would never be cold again, never hungry, never shabbily dressed, never weary.

The word “yes” trembled on the tip of her tongue.

She thought of April’s tiny room in Soho, with its nest of mice in the wall; she thought of how the privy stank on warm days; she thought of the nights they went without dinner; she thought of how her feet ached after a day of walking the streets.

She looked at Solly. How hard could it be, to marry this man?

He said: “I love you so much, I’m just desperate for you.”

He really did love her, she could tell.

And that was the trouble.

She did not love him.

He deserved better. He deserved a wife who really loved him, not a hard-hearted guttersnipe on the make. If she married him she would be cheating him. And he was too good for that.

She felt close to tears. She said: “You’re the kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever met—”