Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [84]
Maybe he was using them both, Susannah and Nobby?
She was surprised how profoundly that thought hurt, like a gouging wound inside.
Susannah was watching her, her wide eyes full of uncertainty, and the beginnings of just as deep a pain. There was a spirit between them of perfect understanding. For an instant Nobby knew that Susannah also was facing a disillusion so bitter the fear of it filled her mind with darkness. Then as quickly it was gone again, and a new thought took its place. Surely Susannah could not also be in love with Peter Kreisler? Could she?
Also? What on earth was she saying to herself? She was attracted … that was all. She barely knew the man … memories in common, a dream that had found them both in youth, enough to take them separately upon the same great adventure into a dark continent in which they had found a light and a brilliance, a land to love, and had come home with its fever and magic forever within them. And now they both feared for it.
One afternoon on the river when understanding had been too complete to need words, only a few hours out of a lifetime—enough to call enchantment, not love. Love was less ephemeral, less full of magic.
“Miss Gunne?”
She jerked herself back to the garden and Susannah.
“Yes?”
“Do you think Mr. Rhodes is just using us? That he will build his own empire in Central Africa, turn Zambezia into Cecil Rhodes land, and then cock a snook at us all? He would have the wealth to do it. No one can imagine the gold and the diamonds there, quite apart from the land, the ivory, timber and whatever else there is. It is teeming with beasts, so they say, creatures of every kind imaginable.”
“I don’t know.” Nobby shivered involuntarily, as if the garden had suddenly become cold. “But it is certainly not impossible.” There was no other answer she could give. Susannah did not deserve a lie, nor would she be likely to believe one.
“You say that very carefully.” The ghost of a smile crossed Susannah’s face.
“It is a very large thought, and one too dangerous to treat with less than care. But if you look back even a little way through history, many of our greatest conquests, and most successful, have been largely at the hands of one man,” Nobby answered. “Clive in India is perhaps the best example.”
“Yes, of course you are right.” Susannah turned and looked up the long lawn towards the house. “And I have been here the better part of an hour. Thank you for being so … generous.” But she did not say that she felt better or clearer in her mind, and Nobby was sure that it was not so.
She walked back towards the French doors to the house with her, not because she was expecting further callers, thank goodness—she was in no mood for them—but out of a sense of friendship, even a futile desire to protect someone she believed desperately vulnerable.
To those making the very most of the London Season, a night at the theater or the opera was positively a rest after the hectic round of riding in the park before breakfast, shopping, writing letters, seeing one’s dressmaker or milliner in the morning, luncheon parties, making and receiving calls in the afternoon, or visiting dog shows, exhibitions or galleries, garden parties, afternoon teas, dinners, conversaziones, soirees or balls. To be able to sit in one place without having to make conversation, even to drift off into a gentle doze if so inclined, while at the same time be seen to be present, was a luxury not to be overlooked. Without it one might have collapsed from the sheer strain of it all.
However, since Vespasia had long since given up such a frantic pattern of behavior, she visited the theater purely for the pleasure of seeing whatever drama was presented. This particular May the offerings included Lillie Langtry in a new play titled Esther Sandraz. She had no desire to see Mrs. Langtry in anything. Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Gondoliers was naturally at the Savoy. She was not in the mood for it She would have seen Henry Irving in a work called The Bells, or Pinero’s farce The Cabinet Minister.