When she entered the bedroom, she almost fell over Peter's night case. Joseph had left it in silly place, she would have a word with him, she thought. As she fiddled with her hair, her eyes kept looking at the bag. Each time, she ignored the voice in her head, until she no longer could. She got up from the dressing table, picked the bag up and placed it on the ottoman at the end of the bed. She undid the buckles, and looked inside. She pulled out the shirt Peter had worn the previous day, and put it to her nose.
James would you fill my glass again please, Emily asked her brother, when they were sitting at the dinner table. He obliged and Emily downed her second drink, in one.
Steady on, you'll get drunk drinking at that rate, James said.
Well you're here, and I want to celebrate the fact. I do miss you, and I worry about you. I hope France will fall soon. That that will put an end to these ridiculous wars.
I'll drink to that, James said as he raised a glass.
When Peter raised his glass, he avoided Emily's eyes. Emily stared at him.
Peter, we have been invited to a ball, she said.
Where and why?
It's at the Sutherland's, their daughter will be twenty one.
Really? What a dreadful bore that will be.
Peter, you are no fun. It will be just what you need to cheer you up.
Cheer me up? There's nothing wrong with me.
You have had a face like a wet Sunday since you came home. Everybody will be there. All local society. I have already said we will go, so you must come.
Very well. If you insist.
Peter walked the same way as Emily had done the day before, only at the wooden bridge, he turned right and walked through the village. After he'd passed the last house, he turned right and took a short lane that led to Bead House. Peter was amazed to see so many workmen around the place. It must be costing a fortune, he thought. Peter had always found the thirteenth century mansion eerie. It was tucked back into a wood and it was damp and dark.
He walked up to the front door, which was wide open shouted, Sir John.
Sir John appeared from a room at the back of the hallway. Peter noticed how hungover he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and when he came closer he could smell alcohol.
Peter, splendid. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?
I want to talk to you about your investments.
Then you'd better come in. Peter followed him across the entrance hall, down a corridor and into a study. It was the most untidy office Peter had ever been in. The desk was piled high with old newspapers, and empty whiskey bottles. The fireplace hadn't been cleaned out for days, and a fat cat lay on the only chair in the room. Sir John shook the chair, and the cat reluctantly got up, stretched and jumped down.
Please sit down, Peter.
Peter looked at the hairs on the seat and declined. I need to talk to you about the investments we made on your behalf in the Beaufort Hotel Project.
What about it?
The stocks have lost seventy five percent of their value.
Sir John slumped down into the chair. How the hell could that have happened?
Quite simple really. As I remember I warned you at the time that this was an investment with high risk. When you invested, the hotel hadn't been built and, of course, there was no way of knowing how it would perform once it was finished. Now the hotel stands in the middle of London, and it seems few people want to visit it. The expected profits haven't materialized, and therefore the stocks have become far less valuable. This was an investment for someone with limitless means, someone who could risk some capital. Not for someone like you, Sir John.
Do you think there is any possibility the stocks may once again rise in value.
I think it unlikely. There are simply too many hotels in the capital.
Then I fear I am very close to financial ruin. I have instructed workmen to refurbish the whole house. Now I am not sure how I will pay for it.
I can only advise you to sell the stocks at their current value. At least you will be able to save some of your initial investment.
Emily looked at herself in the mirror. Mary stood behind her and grinned. You look lovely my lady, she said. Emily had asked Mary to do her hair differently. She had tired of the ringlets, and wanted something a little more adventurous. Mary had parted her hair in the middle and straightened it, so that it fell down the side of her face. You look like Cleopatra,' 'Mary added. Emily comforted herself with the thought that Mary had no idea what Cleopatra looked like.
Emily liked her new hair, but wasn't at all sure about her dress. When she'd had it fitted she'd loved it, but now it appeared a little too risque. She had bought it to excite Peter. But she and Peter weren't getting along, and it seemed strange for her to bear herself under those circumstances. On the other hand, she wasn't prepared to give up on her marriage and she wanted to do all she could, to attract the man she loved back into her arms. Perhaps her low décolleté would help in some way to attract his attention, she thought.