A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [66]
Solly said mildly: “It can’t hurt to look, can it?”
Damn Solly, always so sickeningly reasonable, Micky thought desperately.
Then at last he found a four of spades.
He palmed it.
“Oh, very well,” he said with a feigned nonchalance that was the polar opposite of what he was feeling.
Everyone became very still and quiet.
Micky put down the pack he had been furtively sorting through, keeping the four of spades in his palm. He reached out and picked up the discard pile, dropping the four on top. He placed the pile in front of Solly and said: “There will be a four of spades in there, I guarantee.”
Solly turned over the top card, and they all saw that it was the four of spades.
A hum of conversation broke out around the room as they all relaxed.
Micky was still terrified that someone might turn over more cards and see that there were four fours of clubs underneath.
Viscount Montagne said: “I think that settles it, and speaking for myself, Miranda, I can only apologize if any doubt has been cast upon your word.”
“Good of you to say so,” Micky said.
They all looked at Tonio. He stood up, his face working. “Damn the lot of you, then,” he said, and he walked out.
Micky swept up all the cards on the table. Now no one would ever know the truth.
His palms were wet with perspiration. He wiped them surreptitiously on his trousers. “I’m sorry about my compatriot’s behavior,” he said. “If there’s one thing I hate it’s a fellow who can’t play cards like a gentleman.”
4
IN THE EARLY HOURS OF THE MORNING Maisie and Hugh walked north through the raw new suburbs of Fulham and South Kensington. The night became hotter and the stars disappeared. They held hands, even though their palms were sweaty in the heat. Maisie felt bewildered but happy.
Something odd had happened tonight. She did not understand it but she liked it. In the past, when men had kissed her and touched her breasts, she had felt it was part of a transaction, something she gave in return for whatever she needed from them. Tonight had been different. She had wanted him to touch her—and he had been too polite to do anything without being asked!
It had started while they were dancing. Until then she had not been aware that this was going to be radically different from any previous evening spent with an upper-class young man. Hugh was more charming than most, and he looked good in his white waistcoat and silk tie, but still he was just a nice boy. Then, on the dance floor, she had begun to think how pleasant it would be to kiss him. The feeling had got stronger as they walked around the gardens after the dancing and saw all the other courting couples. His hesitation had been engaging. Other men saw dinner and conversation as a tedious preliminary to the important business of the evening, and could hardly wait to get her in a dark place and start groping, but Hugh had been shy.
In other respects he was the opposite of shy. In the riot he had been completely fearless. After he was knocked to the ground his only concern had been to make sure the same thing did not happen to her. There was a lot more to Hugh than the average young man-about-town.
When finally she had made him understand that she wanted to be kissed, it had been delicious, quite unlike any kiss she had had before. Yet he was not skillful or experienced. Quite the reverse: he was naive and uncertain. So why had she enjoyed it so much? And why had she suddenly longed to feel his hands on her breasts?
She was not tormented by these questions, just intrigued. She was contented, walking through London in the darkness with Hugh. Now and again she felt a few drops of rain, but the threatened cloudburst did not materialize. She began to think it would be nice to be kissed again soon.
They reached Kensington Gore and turned right, along the south side of the park, heading for the city center where she lived. Hugh stopped opposite a huge house whose front was illuminated by two gaslights. He put his arm around her shoulders. “That’s my aunt Augusta