Читаем A Dangerous Fortune (1994) полностью

"That Micky would kill him."

"And all these years he's let me think it was my fault, and he was covering up for me," Edward said. "The swine."

Hugh realized that, against the odds, he had succeeded in shaking Edward's faith in Micky. He was tempted to say Now that you know what he's like, forget about the Santamaria harbor. But he had to be careful not to overplay his hand. He decided he had said enough: Edward should be left to draw his own conclusions. Hugh stood up to go. "I'm sorry to have given you such a blow," he said.

Edward was deep in thought, rubbing his neck where the rash itched. "Yes," he said vaguely.

"I must go."

Edward said nothing. He seemed to have forgotten Hugh's existence. He was staring into his glass. Hugh looked hard at him and saw, with a jolt, that he was crying.

He went out quietly and closed the door.

Section 4

AUGUSTA LIKED being a widow. For one thing, black suited her. With her dark eyes, silver hair and black eyebrows she was quite striking in mourning clothes.

Joseph had been dead for four weeks and it was remarkable how little she missed him. She found it a little odd that he was not there to complain if the beef was underdone or the library was dusty. She dined alone once or twice a week but she had always been able to enjoy her own company. She no longer had the status of wife of the Senior Partner, but she was the mother of the new Senior Partner. And she was the dowager countess of Whitehaven. She had everything Joseph had ever given her, without the nuisance of having Joseph himself.

And she might marry again. She was fifty-eight, and no longer capable of bearing children; but she still had the desires that she thought of as girlish feelings. In fact they had got worse since Joseph's death. When Micky Miranda touched her arm, or looked into her eyes, or let his hand rest on her hip as he ushered her into a room, she felt more strongly than ever that sensation of pleasure combined with weakness that made her head spin.

Looking at herself in the drawing room mirror, she thought: We are so alike, Micky and I, even in our coloring. We would have had such pretty dark-eyed babies.

As she was thinking it, her blue-eyed, fair-haired baby came in. He was not looking well. He had gone from being stout to positively fat, and he had some kind of skin problem. He was often bad-tempered around tea-time, as the effects of the wine he had drunk at lunch wore off.