moment.’
Esmond looked at him steadily.
‘I’m not a liar or a hypocrite, Clinton. I’ve already asked her. I’m waiting for her answer.’
‘Sounds a clever woman. If she grabbed you straight away, you’d think she was after your money and nothing else.’
‘You think I should kick her out so she comes crawling back?’
‘Might be an idea.’
‘Then let me tell you this: she’s turned down richer men than I am and she’s not a banker’s widow either, in case you’re thinking ofmaking any more funny remarks. She’s an actress. Does that amuse you?’
‘Not in the least. I’m quite partial to them myself from time to time. What sort of parts does she play?’
‘I’ve said all I mean to. I wouldn’t have told you anything unless I’d thought you’d find out anyway sooner or later.’ Esmond moved across to the fireplace and rang the bell. ‘Will you dine with me.’
‘Perhaps another evening. If I’m accepted by the girl I’ll have to come back to talk about the marriage settlement. Any contribution I make is going to have to come from the trust.’
Esmond smiled when they had shaken hands.
‘I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever see each other again when the trust’s wound up.’
‘You’ll have me in tears,’ said Clinton, picking up his cane and crossing to the door. About to open it, he looked back. ‘You had a long wait before seeing me bow to the majesty of financial facts. Was it as enjoyable as you expected?’
Esmond stood stiffly with folded arms; a slight tightening of his lips the only sign of his annoyance.
‘There’s an old saying, Clinton—in important matters, it’s very rare for a man to be cheated by anyone but himself.’
‘They believe that in the city?’ laughed Clinton, pushing open the door. He paused a moment on the landing, and then, rapping the buttocks of a marble Aphrodite with his cane, started lightly down the stairs. Not caring to wait while a servant fetched a hansom, he set out on foot.
The rain had stopped and evening sunlight was gleaming on wet pavements and on the stuccoed façades of the house, as he left the scene of his defeat. With every step, he felt his anger returning and keen regret for the many things he had left unsaid. His efforts to seem light-hearted and insouciant now struck him as worthless affectation. The only result of them had been to let Esmond off lightly. Esmond stood to get his trust money at once, if the marriage with Sophie went ahead. Otherwise he would have to wait a further three years. Clinton could not understand or forgive his own failure to make pointed use of the financial advantage Esmond had secured for himself by refusing any sort of help. Clinton’s conviction that Esmond had no real need of the money, made him regret his silence still more. But at the time, his principal concern had been to hide the full extent of his anger and depression.
For years, Clinton’s most vivid boyhood memories of Esmond had centred on his sardonic disparagement of the pursuits he liked best: hunting, steeplechasing, and the other interests he had sharedwith his father. Later, Esmond had become more subtle, praising the army whenever they met and belittling his own commercial activities, simply to give added force to apparently casual remarks about the China War being fought solely to protect the interests of British merchants. Esmond’s claim to have been envious of cavalry officers had been his standard way of ridiculing a society which despised trade and yet derived from it much of the wealth which made such snobberies possible. Until recent years, the difference in their ages had inevitably placed Clinton at a disadvantage in these exchanges; nor had the undoubted fact that Esmond had been wronged made matters easier.
In the past Esmond had seemed especially fond of representing Clinton as a charming and carefree idealist, while he bemoaned the loss of his own joys and illusions in the wicked city. It was this
Esmond looked at him steadily.
‘I’m not a liar or a hypocrite, Clinton. I’ve already asked her. I’m waiting for her answer.’
‘Sounds a clever woman. If she grabbed you straight away, you’d think she was after your money and nothing else.’
‘You think I should kick her out so she comes crawling back?’
‘Might be an idea.’
‘Then let me tell you this: she’s turned down richer men than I am and she’s not a banker’s widow either, in case you’re thinking ofmaking any more funny remarks. She’s an actress. Does that amuse you?’
‘Not in the least. I’m quite partial to them myself from time to time. What sort of parts does she play?’
‘I’ve said all I mean to. I wouldn’t have told you anything unless I’d thought you’d find out anyway sooner or later.’ Esmond moved across to the fireplace and rang the bell. ‘Will you dine with me.’
‘Perhaps another evening. If I’m accepted by the girl I’ll have to come back to talk about the marriage settlement. Any contribution I make is going to have to come from the trust.’
Esmond smiled when they had shaken hands.
‘I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever see each other again when the trust’s wound up.’
‘You’ll have me in tears,’ said Clinton, picking up his cane and crossing to the door. About to open it, he looked back. ‘You had a long wait before seeing me bow to the majesty of financial facts. Was it as enjoyable as you expected?’
Esmond stood stiffly with folded arms; a slight tightening of his lips the only sign of his annoyance.
‘There’s an old saying, Clinton—in important matters, it’s very rare for a man to be cheated by anyone but himself.’
‘They believe that in the city?’ laughed Clinton, pushing open the door. He paused a moment on the landing, and then, rapping the buttocks of a marble Aphrodite with his cane, started lightly down the stairs. Not caring to wait while a servant fetched a hansom, he set out on foot.
The rain had stopped and evening sunlight was gleaming on wet pavements and on the stuccoed façades of the house, as he left the scene of his defeat. With every step, he felt his anger returning and keen regret for the many things he had left unsaid. His efforts to seem light-hearted and insouciant now struck him as worthless affectation. The only result of them had been to let Esmond off lightly. Esmond stood to get his trust money at once, if the marriage with Sophie went ahead. Otherwise he would have to wait a further three years. Clinton could not understand or forgive his own failure to make pointed use of the financial advantage Esmond had secured for himself by refusing any sort of help. Clinton’s conviction that Esmond had no real need of the money, made him regret his silence still more. But at the time, his principal concern had been to hide the full extent of his anger and depression.
For years, Clinton’s most vivid boyhood memories of Esmond had centred on his sardonic disparagement of the pursuits he liked best: hunting, steeplechasing, and the other interests he had sharedwith his father. Later, Esmond had become more subtle, praising the army whenever they met and belittling his own commercial activities, simply to give added force to apparently casual remarks about the China War being fought solely to protect the interests of British merchants. Esmond’s claim to have been envious of cavalry officers had been his standard way of ridiculing a society which despised trade and yet derived from it much of the wealth which made such snobberies possible. Until recent years, the difference in their ages had inevitably placed Clinton at a disadvantage in these exchanges; nor had the undoubted fact that Esmond had been wronged made matters easier.
In the past Esmond had seemed especially fond of representing Clinton as a charming and carefree idealist, while he bemoaned the loss of his own joys and illusions in the wicked city. It was this
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