sense or self-knowledge to choose themselves an Elfine, but would impulsively throw their heart at a conventional beauty, some Dulcie or Clarabel, whose prettiness would pall almost as swiftly as her girlish lack of education would madden. He had discreetly taken to looking around for Elfines for his brother-in-law.
Frank’s train was late, and this seemed to fluster him out of all proportion. Harry assured him, lying, that he hadn’t been waiting long.
‘I must catch the eleven forty-five back to town, which means we now have barely thirty minutes,’ Frank said.
‘Follow me. There’s a perfectly good hotel nearby. You seem upset, Frank.’
‘I’ll explain once we’re sitting,’ Frank said shortly. He looked more than usually wan, the more so for being in such holiday surroundings.
Harry ran through all the possible bad news that couldn’t have been put into a letter, and could only think of sudden death – one of the girls drowned in a silly boating accident or Robert crushed by a tram – but he couldn’t see why Frank, least of all Frank, should think to spare Winnie’s feelings by secrecy in such a case. By the time they were seated in a corner of the hotel’s palm court – where, mercifully, the usually tireless little band had yet to start playing – Harry was every bit as jumpy as Frank.
It was awkwardly early for them to know quite what to order. A waitress brought them two glasses of lemonade and a little pink plate of biscuits. Frank ate two biscuits in rapid succession and drank most of his lemonade. He was sweating, and not from heat.
‘Frank, for pity’s sake, what is it?’
‘The sure thing,’ Frank said.
‘The Wakefields shares.’
‘Yes. They’ve plummeted. Haven’t you been keeping tabs on them?’ The brow furrowed on Frank’s feminine, rather nun-like face. If ever he had children, they would find his disappointment hard to bear.
‘Well I did at first, but then they did so wonderfully well.’
‘And you didn’t cash them in the way I said you should?’
‘I . . . You only said I could, Frank, not that I should.’
‘Damn and blast. You’re not a child!’
Frank never swore.
‘Down to virtually ha’pence a share since yesterday,’ Frank said. ‘I checked on my friend, the one who told us all to buy them, and it seems he’s fled the country, having neatly dumped all his holdings on the market while the price was at its peak. Harry . . . I’m so very sorry.’
‘Not your fault,’ Harry assured him. ‘Anyway, they’ll come up again. Shares always do.’
‘Not this time.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Just how much of your capital had you sunk in it?’
Harry told him, and he swore again.
‘I’m a bloody solicitor,’ he said. ‘Not a stockbroker. Why were you taking my stupid advice?’
‘It was good advice. Very good advice. My fault for not having got out last week. How about your mother?’
‘No better than you.’
‘Does she know?’
‘She trusts me. I’ll have to tell her.’
‘She’ll have Pattie married to money in a jiffy. Just you wait.’
‘How can you joke at a time like this?’
‘Sorry. It . . . it just doesn’t feel very real.’
‘It will when you next have bills to pay.’ Frank glanced at his watch and sighed. ‘I leave it to you how you tell Winnie. The most obvious solution will be for you to give up the lease here and move in to Ma Touraine. I can move in to Barry’s room and that leaves you Winnie’s old room and mine. Or there’s a sort of coachman’s cottage over the stable. Far nicer than it sounds; at least there you’d have an element of privacy. I know how Winnie will miss that. But the move would save you any domestic expenses until . . . until things improve.’
‘Yes. Of course. Well. Thank you. We’ll see, eh?’
‘I must go.’
Harry threw down some coins for their lemonade, thinking as he did so how unreal money had always seemed to him, like counters in a game. The
Lynette Sowell
Rachael Brownell
Christopher Reich
Sloane Meyers
Leeanna Morgan
Christa Faust
Emilie P. Bush
Akhil Reed Amar
Lynn Raye Harris
Donna Lea Simpson