A Dangerous Fortune(81)

As the meal progressed she felt the presence of Hugh by her side more and more. She made an effort to keep the conversation light, and took care to talk at least as much to the man on her other side; but the past seemed to stand at her shoulder, waiting to be acknowledged, like a weary, patient supplicant.

She and Hugh had met three or four times since his return to London, and now they had spent forty-eight hours in the same house, but they had never spoken, of what had happened six years ago. All Hugh knew was that she had disappeared without a trace, only to surface as Mrs. Solomon Greenbourne. Sooner or later she was going to have to give him some explanation. She was afraid that talking about it would bring back all the old feelings, in him as well as her. But it had to be done, and perhaps this was a good time, when Solly was away.

A moment came when several people around them were talking noisily. Maisie decided she should speak now. She turned to Hugh, and suddenly she was overcome with emotion. She began speaking three or four times and could not go on. Finally she managed to get a few words out. “I would have ruined your career, you know.” Then she had to make such an effort not to cry that she could say no more.

He understood right away what she was talking about. “Who told you that you would have ruined my career?”

If he had been sympathetic she might have broken down, but luckily he was aggressive, and that enabled her to reply. “Your aunt Augusta.”

“I suspected she was involved somehow.”

“But she was right.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said, getting angry very quickly. “You didn’t ruin Solly’s career.”

“Calm down. Solly wasn’t already the black sheep of the family. Even so, it was difficult enough. His family hates me still.”

“Even though you’re Jewish?”

“Yes. Jews can be as snobbish as anyone else.” He would never know the real reason—that Bertie was not Solly’s child.

“Why didn’t you simply tell me what you were doing, and why?”

“I couldn’t.” Remembering those awful days, she felt choked up again and had to take a deep breath to calm herself. “I found it very hard to cut myself off like that; it broke my heart. I couldn’t have done it at all if I’d had to justify myself to you as well.”

Still he would not let her off the hook. “You could have sent me a note.”

Maisie’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I couldn’t bring myself to write it.”

At last he seemed to relent. He took a gulp of his wine and averted his eyes from her. “It was awful, not understanding, not knowing if you were even alive.” He was speaking harshly, but now she could see the remembered pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said feebly. “I’m so soriy I hurt you. I didn’t want to. I wanted to save you from unhappiness. I did it for love.” As soon as she heard herself say the word “love” she regretted it.

He picked up on it. “Do you love Solly now?” he said abruptly.

“Yes.”

“The two of you seem very settled.”

“The way we live … it isn’t difficult to be contented.”

He had not finished being angry with her. “You’ve got what you always wanted.”

That was a bit hard, but she felt that perhaps she deserved it, so she just nodded.

“What happened to April?”

Maisie hesitated. This was going a bit too far. “You class me with April, then, do you?” she said, feeling hurt.

Somehow that deflated his anger. He smiled ruefully and said: “No, you were never like April. I know that. All the same I’d like to know what became of her. Do you still see her?”

“Yes—discreetly.” April was a neutral topic: talking about her would get them off this dangerously emotional ground. Maisie decided to satisfy his curiosity. “Do you know a place called Nellie’s?”

He lowered his voice. “It’s a brothel.”

She could not restrain herself from asking: “Did you ever go there?”

He looked embarrassed. “Yes, once. It was a fiasco.”

That did not surprise her: she remembered how naive and inexperienced the twenty-year-old Hugh had been. “Well, April now owns the place.”

“Goodness! How did that happen?”

“First she became the mistress of a famous novelist and lived in the prettiest little cottage in Clapham. He tired of her at about the time Nell was thinking about retirement. So April sold the cottage and bought Nell out.”

“Fancy that,” said Hugh. “I’ll never forget Nell. She was the fattest woman I’ve ever seen.”

The table had suddenly gone quiet, and his last sentence was heard by several people nearby. There was general laughter, and someone said: “Who was this fat lady?” Hugh just grinned and made no reply.

After that they stayed off dangerous topics, but Maisie felt subdued and somewhat fragile, as if she had suffered a fall and bruised herself.

When dinner was over and the men had smoked their cigars Kingo announced that he wanted to dance. The drawing room carpet was rolled up and a footman who could play polkas on the piano was summoned and set to work.

Maisie danced with everyone except Hugh, then it was obvious she was avoiding him, so she danced with him; and it was as if six years had rolled back and they were in Cremorne Gardens again. He hardly led her: they seemed instinctively to do the same thing. Maisie could not suppress the disloyal thought that Solly was a clumsy dancer.