accompany Priscilla on her exhausting shopping trip up and down Fifth Avenue?” asked Emma.
“No, I checked out the lower East Side, to see if there was any point in trying to break into the American market.”
“And your conclusion?” asked Harry.
“The Americans aren’t quite ready for Bingham’s fish paste.”
“So which countries are ready?” asked Harry.
“Only Russia and India, if the truth be known. And they come with their own problems.”
“Like what?” asked Emma, sounding genuinely interested.
“The Russians don’t like paying their bills, and the Indians often can’t.”
“Perhaps you have a one-product problem?” Emma suggested.
“I’ve thought about diversifying, but—”
“Can we possibly talk about something other than fish paste,” said Priscilla. “After all, we are meant to be on holiday.”
“Of course,” said Harry. “How is Clive?” he asked, regretting his words immediately.
“He’s just fine, thank you,” said Bob, jumping in quickly. “And you must both be so proud of Sebastian being invited to join the board.”
Emma smiled.
“Well, that’s hardly a surprise,” said Priscilla. “Let’s face it, if your mother is the chairman of the company, and your family owns a majority of the stock, frankly you could appoint a cocker spaniel to the board and the rest of the directors would wag their tails.”
Harry thought Emma was about to explode, but luckily her mouth was full, so a long silence followed.
“Is that rare?” Priscilla demanded as a steak was placed in front of her.
The waiter checked her order. “No, madam, it’s medium.”
“I ordered rare. I couldn’t have made it clearer. Take it away and try again.”
The waiter deftly removed the plate without comment, as Priscilla turned to Harry. “Can you make a living as a writer?”
“It’s tough,” admitted Harry, “not least because there are so many excellent authors out there. However—”
“Still, you married a rich woman, so it really doesn’t matter all that much, does it?”
This silenced Harry, but not Emma. “Well, at last we’ve discovered something we have in common, Priscilla.”
“I agree,” said Priscilla, not missing a beat, “but then I’m old-fashioned, and was brought up to believe it’s the natural order of things for a man to take care of a woman. It somehow doesn’t seem right the other way around.” She took a sip of wine, and Emma was about to respond when she added with a warm smile, “I think you’ll find the wine is corked.”
“I thought it was excellent,” said Bob.
“Dear Robert still doesn’t know the difference between a claret and a burgundy. Whenever we throw a dinner party, it’s always left to me to select the wine. Waiter!” she said, turning to the sommelier. “We’ll need another bottle of the Merlot.”
“Yes of course, madam.”
“I don’t suppose you get to the north of England much,” said Bob.
“Not that often,” said Emma. “But a branch of my family hails from the Highlands.”
“Mine too,” said Priscilla. “I was born a Campbell.”
“I think you’ll find that’s the Lowlands,” said Emma, as Harry kicked her under the table.
“I’m sure you’re right, as always,” said Priscilla. “So I know you won’t mind me asking you a personal question.” Bob put down his knife and fork and looked anxiously across at his wife. “What really happened on the first night of the voyage? Because I know the Home Fleet was nowhere to be seen.”
“How can you possibly know that, when you were fast asleep at the time?” said Bob.
“So what do you think happened, Priscilla?” asked Emma, reverting to a tactic her brother often used when he didn’t want to answer a question.
“Some passengers are saying that one of the turbines exploded.”
“The engine room is open for inspection by the passengers at any time,” said Emma. “In fact, I believe there was a well-attended guided tour this
“No, I checked out the lower East Side, to see if there was any point in trying to break into the American market.”
“And your conclusion?” asked Harry.
“The Americans aren’t quite ready for Bingham’s fish paste.”
“So which countries are ready?” asked Harry.
“Only Russia and India, if the truth be known. And they come with their own problems.”
“Like what?” asked Emma, sounding genuinely interested.
“The Russians don’t like paying their bills, and the Indians often can’t.”
“Perhaps you have a one-product problem?” Emma suggested.
“I’ve thought about diversifying, but—”
“Can we possibly talk about something other than fish paste,” said Priscilla. “After all, we are meant to be on holiday.”
“Of course,” said Harry. “How is Clive?” he asked, regretting his words immediately.
“He’s just fine, thank you,” said Bob, jumping in quickly. “And you must both be so proud of Sebastian being invited to join the board.”
Emma smiled.
“Well, that’s hardly a surprise,” said Priscilla. “Let’s face it, if your mother is the chairman of the company, and your family owns a majority of the stock, frankly you could appoint a cocker spaniel to the board and the rest of the directors would wag their tails.”
Harry thought Emma was about to explode, but luckily her mouth was full, so a long silence followed.
“Is that rare?” Priscilla demanded as a steak was placed in front of her.
The waiter checked her order. “No, madam, it’s medium.”
“I ordered rare. I couldn’t have made it clearer. Take it away and try again.”
The waiter deftly removed the plate without comment, as Priscilla turned to Harry. “Can you make a living as a writer?”
“It’s tough,” admitted Harry, “not least because there are so many excellent authors out there. However—”
“Still, you married a rich woman, so it really doesn’t matter all that much, does it?”
This silenced Harry, but not Emma. “Well, at last we’ve discovered something we have in common, Priscilla.”
“I agree,” said Priscilla, not missing a beat, “but then I’m old-fashioned, and was brought up to believe it’s the natural order of things for a man to take care of a woman. It somehow doesn’t seem right the other way around.” She took a sip of wine, and Emma was about to respond when she added with a warm smile, “I think you’ll find the wine is corked.”
“I thought it was excellent,” said Bob.
“Dear Robert still doesn’t know the difference between a claret and a burgundy. Whenever we throw a dinner party, it’s always left to me to select the wine. Waiter!” she said, turning to the sommelier. “We’ll need another bottle of the Merlot.”
“Yes of course, madam.”
“I don’t suppose you get to the north of England much,” said Bob.
“Not that often,” said Emma. “But a branch of my family hails from the Highlands.”
“Mine too,” said Priscilla. “I was born a Campbell.”
“I think you’ll find that’s the Lowlands,” said Emma, as Harry kicked her under the table.
“I’m sure you’re right, as always,” said Priscilla. “So I know you won’t mind me asking you a personal question.” Bob put down his knife and fork and looked anxiously across at his wife. “What really happened on the first night of the voyage? Because I know the Home Fleet was nowhere to be seen.”
“How can you possibly know that, when you were fast asleep at the time?” said Bob.
“So what do you think happened, Priscilla?” asked Emma, reverting to a tactic her brother often used when he didn’t want to answer a question.
“Some passengers are saying that one of the turbines exploded.”
“The engine room is open for inspection by the passengers at any time,” said Emma. “In fact, I believe there was a well-attended guided tour this
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