A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [128]
“That and a fairy godmother.”
“I’m serious, Greenbourne. I’m your man.”
“You!”
“I want to work for you.”
Solly was staggered. He peered over his glasses as if checking that it really was Hugh who had said that. After a moment he said: “It’s because of that incident at the duchess of Tenbigh’s ball, I suppose.”
“They’ve said they won’t make me a partner because of my wife.” Solly would sympathize, Hugh thought, because he too had married a lower-class girl.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Solly said.
Hugh said: “But I’m not asking for kindness. I know what I’m worth and you’ll have to pay my price if you want me. I’m earning a thousand a year now and I expect it to go up every year as long as I continue to make more and more money for the bank.”
“That’s no problem.” Solly thought for a moment. “This could be a great coup for me, you know. I’m grateful for the offer. You’re a good friend and a formidable businessman.” Hugh, thinking of Maisie again, felt a guilty pang at the words “good friend.” Solly continued: “There’s nothing I’d like better than to have you working alongside me.”
“I detect an unspoken ‘but,’” Hugh said with trepidation in his heart.
Solly shook his owlish head. “No buts, as far as I’m concerned. Of course I can’t hire you the way I’d hire a ledger clerk. I’ll have to clear it with my father. But you know how it is in the world of banking: profit is an argument that outweighs all others. I don’t see Father turning down the prospect of a chunk of the North American market.”
Hugh did not want to seem too eager, but he could not help saying: “When will you speak to him?”
“Why not now?” Solly said. He stood up. “I shan’t be a minute. Have another glass of sherry.” He went out.
Hugh sipped his sherry but he found it hard to swallow, he was so tense. He had never applied for a job before. It was unnerving that his future depended on the whim of old Ben Greenbourne. For the first time he understood the feelings of the scrubbed young men in starched collars whom he had occasionally interviewed for jobs as clerks. Restlessly he got up and went to the window. On the far side of the river a barge was unloading bales of tobacco into a warehouse: if it was Virginia tobacco, he had probably financed the transaction.
He had a doomy feeling, a bit like the sensation he had had when he boarded ship for Boston six years ago: a sense that nothing would ever be the same again.
Solly came back in with his father. Ben Greenbourne had the upright carriage and bullet-shaped head of a Prussian general. Hugh stood up to shake hands and looked anxiously at his face. It was solemn. Did that mean no?
Ben said: “Solly tells me your family has decided not to offer you a partnership.” His speech was coldly precise, the accent clipped. He was so different from his son, Hugh thought.
“To be exact, they offered it then withdrew the offer,” Hugh said.
Ben nodded. He was a man who appreciated exactness. “It’s not for me to criticize their judgment. However, if your North American expertise is for sale, as it were, then I’m certainly a buyer.”
Hugh’s heart leaped. That sounded like a job offer. “Thank you!” he said.
“But I shouldn’t wish to take you on under false pretenses, so there’s something I must make clear. It is not at all likely that you will ever become a partner here.”
Hugh had not actually thought that far ahead, but all the same it was a blow. “I see,” he said.
“I say this now so that you will never think it a reflection on your work. Many Christians are valued colleagues and dear friends, but the partners have always been Jews, and it will ever be so.”
“I appreciate your frankness,” Hugh said. He was thinking: By God, you’re a coldhearted old man.
“Do you still want the job?”
“Yes, I do.”
Ben Greenbourne shook his hand again. “Then I look forward to working with you,” he said, and he left the room.
Solly smiled broadly. “Welcome to the firm!”
Hugh sat down. “Thank you,” he said. His relief and pleasure were somewhat blighted by the thought that he would never be a partner,