by the tensions of the day. “I’m going to bed,” she announced.
She saw the duchess look reflexively at Hugh, then back at her, and suppress a little smile; and she realized that they all thought Hugh would sleep with her tonight.
The ladies went upstairs together, leaving the men to play billiards and drink a nightcap. As the women kissed her good night Maisie saw the same look in the eyes of each one, a gleam of excitement tinged with envy.
She went into her bedroom and closed the door. A coal fire burned merrily in the grate, and there were candles on the mantelpiece and the dressing table. On the bedside table, as usual, there was a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of sherry in case she got peckish in the night: she never touched them, but the well-trained staff of Kingsbridge Manor put a tray beside every bed without fail.
She began to take off her clothes. They might all be wrong: perhaps Hugh would not come to her tonight. The thought stabbed her like a pain, and she longed for him to come through the door so that she could take him in her arms and kiss him, really kiss him, not guiltily as she had in the garden, but hungrily and shamelessly. The feeling brought back an overwhelming memory of the night of the Goodwood races six years ago, the narrow bed in his aunt’s house, and the expression on his face when she took off her dress.
She looked at her body in the long mirror. Hugh would notice how it had changed. Six years ago she had had tiny turned-in pink nipples like dimples, but now, after nursing Bertie, they were enlarged and strawberry-colored, and stuck out. As a girl she had not needed to wear a corset — she had been naturally wasp-shaped — but her waist had never quite returned to normal after pregnancy.
She heard the men coming up the stairs, heavy-footed and laughing at some joke. Hugh had been right: not one of them would be shocked by a little adultery at a country-house party. Did they not feel disloyal to their friend Solly, she thought derisively? And then it hit her like a slap in the face that she was the one who ought to feel disloyal.
She had put Solly out of her mind all evening, but now he came back to her in spirit: harmless, amiable Solly; kind, generous Solly; the man who loved her to distraction, the man who cared for Bertie, knowing he was another man’s child. Within hours of his leaving the house Maisie was about to let another man come into her bed. What kind of woman am I? she thought.
On impulse she went to the door and locked it.
She understood now why she had disliked Hugh’s saying
But I want Hugh, she thought.
The idea of forgoing this night with him made her want to weep. She thought of his boyish grin and his bony chest, his blue eyes and smooth white skin; and she remembered the expression on his face when he looked at her body, the expression of wonder and happiness, desire and delight; and it seemed so hard to give that up.
There was a soft tap at the door.
She stood naked in the middle of the room, paralyzed and dumb.
The handle turned and the door was pushed, but of course it would not open.
She heard her name spoken in a low voice.
She went to the door and put her hand to the key.
“Maisie!” he called softly. “It’s me, Hugh.”
She longed for him so much that the sound of his voice made her moist inside. She put her finger in her mouth and bit herself hard, but the pain did not mask the desire.
He tapped on the door again. “Maisie! Let me in?”
She leaned her back against the wall, and the tears streamed down her face, dripping off her chin onto her breasts.
“At least let us talk!”
She knew that if she opened the door there would be no talking — she would take him in her arms and they would fall to the floor in a frenzy of desire.
“Say
She stood still, crying silently.
“Please?” he said. “Please?”
After a while he went away.
Maisie slept badly and woke early, but as the new day dawned her spirits lifted a little. Before the other guests were up she went along to the nursery wing as usual. Outside the door of the nursery dining room she stopped suddenly. She was not the first guest to rise, after all. She could hear a man’s voice inside. She paused and listened. It was Hugh.
He was saying: “And just at that moment, the giant woke up.”
There was a childish squeal of delighted terror that Maisie recognized as coming from Bertie.
Hugh went on: “Jack went down the beanstalk as fast as his legs could carry him — but the giant came after him!”
Kingo’s daughter Anne said in the superior voice of a knowing seven-year-old: “Bertie’s hiding behind his chair because he’s scared. I’m not scared.”
Maisie wanted to hide like Bertie, and she turned and began to walk back to her room, but she stopped again. She had to face Hugh sometime today, and here in the nursery might be the easiest place. She composed herself and went in.
Hugh had the three children enraptured. Bertie hardly saw his mother come in. Hugh looked up at Maisie with hurt in his eyes. “Don’t stop,” Maisie said, and she sat down by Bertie and hugged him.
Hugh returned his attention to the children. “And what do you think Jack did next?”
“I know,” said Anne. “He got an ax.”
“That’s right.”
Maisie sat there hugging Bertie, while Bertie stared big-eyed at the man who was his real father. If I can stand this, I can do anything, Maisie thought.
Hugh said: “And while the giant was still halfway up the beanstalk, Jack chopped it down! And the giant fell all the way to the earth … and died. And Jack and his mother lived happily ever after.”
Bertie said: “Tell it again.”
THE CORDOVAN MINISTRY was busy. Tomorrow was Cordovan Independence Day and there would be a big afternoon reception for members of Parliament, Foreign Office officials, diplomats and journalists. This morning, to add to his worries, Micky Miranda had received a stiff note from the British Foreign Secretary about two English tourists who had been murdered while exploring the Andes. But when Edward Pilaster called, Micky Miranda dropped everything, for what he had to say to Edward was much more important than either the reception or the note. He needed half a million pounds, and he was hoping to get the money from Edward.
Micky had been the Cordovan Minister for a year. Getting the job had required all his cunning, but it had also cost his family a fortune in bribes back home. He had promised Papa that all that money would return to the family, and now he had to make good his promise. He would rather die than let his father down.
He brought Edward into the minister’s chamber, a grand room dominated by a full-size Cordovan flag. He went to the big table and spread out a map of Cordova, weighing down the corners with his cigar case, the sherry decanter, a glass, and Edward’s gray top hat. He hesitated. It was the first time he had ever asked someone for half a million pounds.
“Here is Santamaria Province, in the north of the country,” he began.
“I do know the geography of Cordova,” Edward said peevishly.
“Of course you do,” said Micky in a soothing voice. It was true. Pilasters Bank did a healthy volume of business with Cordova, financing its exports of nitrate, salt beef and silver and its imports of mining equipment, guns and luxury goods. Edward handled all that business, thanks to Micky, who as attache and then minister had made life difficult for anyone who did not want to use Pilasters Bank to finance their trade with his country. In consequence Edward was now seen as the leading London expert on Cordova. “Of course you do,” Micky repeated.
