look.
The first person he shook hands with was his cousin Edward. He was twenty-nine but he looked older: he was already becoming stout and his face had the flushed look of a glutton. 'So, you're back,' he said. He tried a smile but it turned into a resentful sneer. Hugh could hardly blame him. The two cousins had always been compared to each other. Now Hugh's success drew attention to Edward's lack of achievement at the bank.
Micky Miranda stood next to Edward. Still handsome and immaculately dressed, Micky seemed even more sleek and self-assured. Hugh said: 'Hullo, Miranda, are you still working for the Cordovan Minister?'
'I am the Cordovan Minister,' Micky replied.
Somehow Hugh was not surprised.
He was pleased to see his old friend Rachel Bodwin. 'Hullo, Rachel, how are you?' he said. She had never been a pretty girl but she was turning into a handsome woman, he realized. The angular features and close-set eyes that he thought plain six years ago were now oddly intriguing. 'What are you doing with yourself these days?'
'Campaigning to reform the law on women's property,' she said. Then she grinned and added: 'Much to the embarrassment of my parents, who would prefer me to campaign for a husband.'
She had always been alarmingly candid, Hugh recalled. He found her interesting on that account, but he could imagine that many eligible bachelors would be intimidated by her. Men liked women to be a little shy and not too clever.
As he exchanged small talk with her, he wondered whether Augusta still wanted to make a match between the two of them. It hardly mattered: the only man Rachel had ever shown any real interest in was Micky Miranda. Even now she was taking care to include Micky in the conversation with Hugh. He had never understood why girls found Micky irresistible, and Rachel surprised him more than most, for she was intelligent enough to realize that Micky was a rotter; yet it was almost as if he fascinated them more on that account.
He moved on and shook hands with Young William and his wife. Beatrice greeted Hugh warmly, and he concluded that she was not as much under Augusta's influence as the other Pilaster women.
Hastead interrupted them to give Hugh an envelope. 'This just arrived by messenger,' he said.
It contained a note in what looked to Hugh like a secretary's handwriting:
123, Piccadilly
London, W.
Tuesday
Mrs Solomon Greenbourne requests the pleasure of your company at dinner tonight
Below, in a familiar scrawl, was written:
Welcome home!--Solly.
He was pleased. Solly was always amiable and easygoing. Why could the Pilasters not be as relaxed, he wondered? Were Methodists naturally more tense than Jews? But perhaps there were tensions he did not know about in the Greenbourne family.
Hastead said: 'The messenger is waiting for a reply, Mr. Hugh.'
Hugh said: 'My compliments to Mrs. Greenbourne, and I shall be delighted to join them for dinner.'
Hastead bowed and withdrew. Beatrice said: 'My goodness, are you dining with the Solomon Greenbournes? How marvelous!'
Hugh was surprised. 'I don't expect it to be marvelous,' he said. 'I was at school with Solly and I've always liked him, but an invitation to dine with him was never a coveted privilege.'
'It is now,' said Beatrice.
'Solly married a fireball,' William explained. 'Mrs. Greenbourne loves to entertain, and her parties are the best in London.'
'They're part of the Marlborough Set,' Beatrice said reverently. 'They're friends with the Prince of Wales.'
Clementine's fiance, Harry, overheard this and said in a resentful tone: 'I don't know what English society is coming to, when the heir to the throne prefers Jews to Christians.'
'Really?' said Hugh. 'I must say I've never understood why people dislike Jews.'
'Can't stand 'em, myself,' Harry said.
'Well, you're marrying into a banking family, so you're going to meet an awful lot more of them in the future.'
Harry looked mildly offended.
William said: 'Augusta disapproves of the entire Marlborough Set, Jews and others. Apparently their morals aren't what they should be.'
Hugh said: 'And I bet they don't invite Augusta to their parties.'
Beatrice giggled at the thought and William said: 'Certainly not!'
'Well,' said Hugh, 'I can't wait to meet Mrs. Greenbourne.'
Piccadilly was a street of palaces. At eight o'clock on a chilly January evening it was busy, the wide road hectic with carriages and cabs, the gas-lit pavements thronged by men dressed like Hugh in white tie and tails, women in velvet cloaks and fur collars, and painted prostitutes of both sexes.
Hugh walked along deep in thought. Augusta was as implacably hostile to him as ever. He had cherished a secret faint hope that she might have mellowed, but she had not. And she was still the matriarch, so to have her as enemy was to be at odds with the family.
The situation at the bank was better. The business obliged the men to be more objective. Inevitably Augusta would try to block his advancement there, but he had more chance to defend himself on that territory. She knew how to manipulate people but she was hopelessly ignorant about banking.
On balance the day had not gone badly and now he looked forward to a relaxing evening with friends.
When Hugh left for America, Solly Greenbourne had been living with his father, Ben, in a vast house overlooking Green Park. Now Solly had a house of his own, just down the street from his father's place and not much smaller. Hugh passed through an imposing doorway into a vast hall lined with green marble, and stopped to stare at the extravagant sweep of a black-and-orange marble staircase. Mrs. Greenbourne had something in common with Augusta Pilaster: neither woman believed in understatement.
A butler and two footmen were in the hall. The butler took Hugh's hat, only to hand it to a footman; then the second footman led him up the staircase. On the landing he glanced through an open door and saw the bare polished floor of a ballroom with a long sweep of curtained windows, then he was led into a drawing room.
Hugh was no expert on decoration but he immediately recognized the gorgeous,
