A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [42]
Hugh heard his aunt’s voice. He got up from the breakfast table and went into the hall. As usual, Aunt Augusta was beautifully dressed. Today she wore a purple day gown with a tight jacket bodice and yards of ruffles below. The hat was a mistake, though: it was a miniature straw boater, no more than three inches across, perched on top of her coiffure at the front. It was the latest fashion, and on pretty girls it was sweet; but Augusta was anything but sweet, and on her it was ludicrous. She did not often make such errors, but when she did it was usually because she was following fashion too faithfully.
She was talking to Uncle Joseph. He had the harassed air he often wore when Augusta was talking to him. He stood in front of her, half turning away, stroking his bushy side-whiskers impatiently. Hugh wondered whether there was any affection between them. There must have been at one time, he supposed, for they had conceived Edward and Clementine. They rarely showed fondness, but every now and again, Hugh reflected, Augusta would do something thoughtful for Joseph. Yes, he thought they probably still loved each other.
Augusta carried on speaking as if Hugh were not there, which was her usual way. “The whole family is worried,” she was saying insistently, as if Uncle Joseph had suggested the opposite. “There could be a scandal.”
“But the situation—whatever it may be—has been going on for years, and no one has ever thought it scandalous.”
“Because Samuel is not the Senior Partner. An ordinary person can do many things without attracting notice. But the Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank is a public figure.”
“Well, the matter may not be urgent. Uncle Seth is still alive and shows every sign of hanging on indefinitely.”
“I know,” Augusta said, and there was a telling note of frustration in her voice. “I sometimes wish….” She stopped before revealing herself too much. “Sooner or later he will hand over the reins. It could happen tomorrow. Cousin Samuel cannot pretend there is nothing to worry about.”
“Perhaps,” said Joseph. “But if he does so pretend, I’m not sure what can be done.”
“Seth may have to be told about the problem.”
Hugh wondered how much old Seth knew about his son’s life. In his heart he probably knew the truth, but perhaps he never admitted it, even to himself.
Joseph looked uneasy. “Heaven forbid.”
“It would certainly be unfortunate,” Augusta said with brisk hypocrisy. “But you must make Samuel understand that unless he gives way his father will have to be brought in, and if that happens Seth must have all the facts.”
Hugh could not help admiring her cunning and ruthlessness. She was sending Samuel a message: Give up your secretary or we’ll force your father to confront the reality that his son is more or less married to a man.
In truth she did not care a straw about Samuel and his secretary. She just wanted to make it impossible for him to become Senior Partner—so that the mantle would fall on her husband. It was pretty low, and Hugh wondered whether Joseph fully understood what Augusta was doing.
Now Joseph said uneasily: “I should like to resolve matters without such drastic action.”
Augusta lowered her voice to an intimate murmur. When she did this, Hugh always thought, she was transparently insincere, like a dragon trying to purr. “I’m quite sure you’ll find a way to do just that,” she said. She smiled beseechingly. “Will you drive with me today? I should so like your company.”
He shook his head. “I must go to the bank.”
“What a shame, to be shut up in a dusty office on a beautiful day like this.”
“There has been a panic in Bologna.”
Hugh was intrigued. Since the Vienna “Krach” there had been several bank failures and company liquidations in different parts of Europe, but this was the first “panic.” London had escaped damage, so far. In June the bank rate, the thermometer of the financial world, had risen to seven percent—not quite fever level—and it had already dropped back to six percent. However, there