you?'
'Sent her back to her mother,' Micky said airily. It had not happened quite that way but he was not going to tell Edward the truth.
'People must notice that she doesn't appear at ministry functions anymore. Don't they comment?'
'I tell them she's in poor health.'
'But everyone knows she's trying to start a hospital for unmarried women to have babies. It's a public scandal.'
'It doesn't matter. People sympathize with me for having a difficult wife.'
'Will you divorce her?'
'No. That would be a real scandal. A diplomat can't be divorced. I'm stuck with her as long as I'm the Cordovan Minister, I'm afraid. Thank God she didn't get pregnant before she left.' It was a miracle she hadn't, he thought. Perhaps she was infertile. He waved at a waiter and ordered brandy. 'Speaking of wives,' he said tentatively, 'what about Emily?'
Edward looked embarrassed. 'I see as little of her as you see of Rachel,' he said. 'You know I bought a country house in Leicestershire a while ago--she spends all her time there.'
'So, we're both bachelors again.'
Edward grinned. 'We were never anything else, really, were we?'
Micky glanced across the empty room and saw the bulky form of Solly Greenbourne in the doorway. For some reason the sight of him made Micky feel nervous--which was odd, because Solly was the most harmless man in London. 'Here comes another friend to congratulate you,' Micky said to Edward as Solly approached.
When Solly was closer Micky realized he was not wearing his usual amiable smile. In fact he looked positively angry. That was rare. Micky felt intuitively that there was some problem with the Santamaria railroad deal. He told himself that he was worrying like an old woman. But Solly was never angry....
Anxiety made Micky fatuously amicable. 'Hello, Solly, old boy--how's the genius of the Square Mile?'
Solly was not interested in Micky, however. Without even acknowledging the greeting, he rudely turned his vast back on Micky and faced Edward. 'Pilaster, you're a damned cad,' he said.
Micky was astonished and horrified. Solly and Edward were on the point of signing the deal. This was very grave--Solly never quarreled with people. What on earth had brought it about?
Edward was equally mystified. 'What the devil are you talking about, Greenbourne?'
Solly reddened and he could hardly speak. 'I've discovered that you and that witch you call Mother are behind those filthy articles in The Forum.'
'Oh, no!' Micky said to himself in dismay. This was a catastrophe. He had suspected Augusta's involvement, although he had no evidence--but how on earth had Solly found out?
The same question occurred to Edward. 'Who's been filling your fat head with such rot?'
'One of your mother's cronies is a lady-in-waiting to the queen,' Solly replied. Micky guessed he was speaking of Harriet Morte: Augusta seemed to have some kind of hold over her. Solly went on: 'She let the cat out of the bag--she told the Prince of Wales. I've just been with him.'
Solly must be practically insane with anger to speak so indiscreetly about a private conversation with royalty, Micky thought. It was a case of a gentle soul being pushed too far. He could not see how a quarrel such as this could possibly be patched up--certainly not in time for the signing of the contract tomorrow.
He tried desperately to cool the temperature. 'Solly, old man, you can't be sure this story is true--'
Solly rounded on him. His eyes were bulging and he was perspiring. 'Can't I? When I read in today's newspaper that Joseph Pilaster has got the peerage that was expected to go to Ben Greenbourne?'
'All the same--'
'Can you imagine what this means to my father?'
Micky began to understand how the armor of Solly's amiability had been breached. It was not for himself that he was angry, but for his father. Ben Greenbourne's grandfather had arrived in London with a bale of Russian furs, a five-pound note and a hole in his boot. For Ben to take a seat in the House of Lords would be the ultimate badge of acceptance into English society. No doubt Joseph too would like to crown his career with a peerage--his family had also risen by their own efforts--but it would be much more of an achievement for a Jew. Greenbourne's peerage would have been a triumph not just for himself and his family but for the entire Jewish community in Britain.
Edward said: 'I can't help it if you're a Jew.'
Micky butted in quickly. 'You two shouldn't let your parents come between you. After all, you're partners in a major business enterprise--'
'Don't be a damn fool, Miranda,' Solly said with a savagery that made Micky flinch. 'You can forget about the Santamaria railroad, or any other joint venture with Greenbournes Bank. After our partners hear this story, they'll never do business with the Pilasters again.'
Micky tasted bile in his throat as he watched Solly leave the room. It was easy to forget how very powerful these bankers were--especially the unprepossessing Solly. Yet in a moment of fury he could wipe out all Micky's hopes with one simple sentence.
'Damned insolence,' Edward said feebly. 'Typical Jew.'
Micky almost told him to shut up. Edward would survive the collapse of this deal but Micky might not. Papa would be disappointed and angry and would look for someone to punish, and Micky would bear the brunt of his rage.
Was there really no hope? He tried to stop feeling destroyed and start thinking. Was there anything he could do to prevent Solly canceling the deal? If there were, it would have to he done quickly, for once Solly told the other Greenbournes what he had learned, they would all turn against the deal.
Could Solly be talked around?
Micky had to try.
He stood up abruptly.
'Where are you going?' Edward said.
Micky decided not to tell Edward what he had in mind. 'To the card room,' he replied. 'Don't you want to play?'
'Yes, of course.' Edward heaved himself out of his chair and they walked out of the room.
At the foot of the stairs Micky turned aside toward the toilets, saying: 'You go on up-- I'll catch you.'
Edward went upstairs. Micky stepped into the cloakroom, grabbed his hat and cane, and dashed out through the front door.
He looked up and down Pall Mall, terrified that Solly might already be out of sight. It was dusk, and the gaslights were being lit. Micky could not see Solly anywhere. Then, a hundred yards away, he spotted him, a big figure in evening dress and a top hat heading toward St. James's at a brisk
