shoes on a rogue patch of thyme that had worked its way between the terrace stones. Only then did she register the baffled, frozen look on Kit’s face. Oh, God, she thought. Father’s done something.
‘What is it?’
He tossed her the telegram and she read: FINANCIAL CRISIS STOP COME HOME STOP NEEDS SORTING OUT STOP RUPERT STOP PS WARNING STOP CHUDLEIGHS DON’T HAVE A BLOODY PENNY STOP
‘Don’t pay any attention,’ said Flora urgently. ‘Don’t. Don’t!’
‘Have you been telling tales, Flora?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Sorry.’ Kit pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘So where did Father get the idea that I am the sacrificial lamb?’
‘Mrs Chudleigh would have told him about you and Daisy. Quick as say knife.’
‘Of course.’ Kit hovered by the stone balustrade and ran his fingers up and down the coping. ‘Now where does that leave Daisy and me in Father’s plans? That I mustn’t get involved because he wants me to marry money, I suppose.’
Flora couldn’t bear that. ‘If you love Daisy, marry her. It’s very simple.’
‘It’s not simple.’ Kit faced his sister. ‘I don’t know what Father has gone and done, but he’s right in one aspect. We have to maintain Hinton Dysart.’
Flora wiped cherry jam off her mouth. ‘Does it matter if the house falls down? Does it, Kit? A bit of brick and stone and some documents with “Dysart” written on them. Anyway, what does Father mean? Has he lost all our money, or just a bit? Hadn’t you better find out?’
In the heat, the butter had turned muddy gold and crusted rims had formed around their coffee bowls. So brilliant and exotic a few moments ago, the colours in the garden had become hard and indifferent.
Oh, Kit, said Flora, silently addressing her brother’s retreating back. I see trouble and if I could be the one to marry someone rich and stop all this silly nonsense, then I would.
‘Hallo.’
‘Hallo, Father, can you hear me?’
‘Can I what?’
‘ HEAR ME .’
‘No need to shout.’
‘What’s happened? Why do I have to come home?’
‘I’ve lost a great deal of money on the stock exchange, if you must know.’
Kit digested this. ‘How much, sir?’
‘A lot. Well, almost all our capital. Something’s going wrong with the market. It’s panicking and I didn’t trust Hepworth to deal with it.’
Kit began to understand. His father had been given a tip over sherry by a neighbour or some such person and as a result had told Hepworth, their money man, to go to hell after disregarding his advice. ‘How serious is this, sir? I need to know.’
‘Very,’ said Rupert heavily. ‘Very serious indeed, and I gather the market is not going to get any better.’
Static on the telephone line cracked across their conversation which both swelled and faded in volume. Kit pressed his father. ‘There is no chance of recouping?’
Kit could hear Rupert blowing out pipe smoke and thought how much he would like to wrench the pipe out of his mouth.
‘Yes. I am afraid that is so,’ said Rupert, at his most clipped. Kit drove his hand into his trouser pocket. ‘I want you to come home. I gather you’re thick as thieves with the Chudleigh girl and I want you to stop all that. This is no time to get yourself entangled.’
There was no hint of regret or apology in his tone, nor had Kit expected there to be.
Susan Chudleigh reacted acidly to the news that Kit was returning to England on business matters. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, drawling the words, a technique which imperfectly hid her rage. ‘I am sure your dear father would only request you back if something serious had happened.’ She understood the implications of Rupert’s directives, and ran over in her mind the chatty letter she had written to Rupert to see where she had gone wrong. ‘I will excuse you both, of course. I am sure Flora would not wish to stay on any longer without you.’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course she would mind.’
‘What is it?’
He tossed her the telegram and she read: FINANCIAL CRISIS STOP COME HOME STOP NEEDS SORTING OUT STOP RUPERT STOP PS WARNING STOP CHUDLEIGHS DON’T HAVE A BLOODY PENNY STOP
‘Don’t pay any attention,’ said Flora urgently. ‘Don’t. Don’t!’
‘Have you been telling tales, Flora?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Sorry.’ Kit pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘So where did Father get the idea that I am the sacrificial lamb?’
‘Mrs Chudleigh would have told him about you and Daisy. Quick as say knife.’
‘Of course.’ Kit hovered by the stone balustrade and ran his fingers up and down the coping. ‘Now where does that leave Daisy and me in Father’s plans? That I mustn’t get involved because he wants me to marry money, I suppose.’
Flora couldn’t bear that. ‘If you love Daisy, marry her. It’s very simple.’
‘It’s not simple.’ Kit faced his sister. ‘I don’t know what Father has gone and done, but he’s right in one aspect. We have to maintain Hinton Dysart.’
Flora wiped cherry jam off her mouth. ‘Does it matter if the house falls down? Does it, Kit? A bit of brick and stone and some documents with “Dysart” written on them. Anyway, what does Father mean? Has he lost all our money, or just a bit? Hadn’t you better find out?’
In the heat, the butter had turned muddy gold and crusted rims had formed around their coffee bowls. So brilliant and exotic a few moments ago, the colours in the garden had become hard and indifferent.
Oh, Kit, said Flora, silently addressing her brother’s retreating back. I see trouble and if I could be the one to marry someone rich and stop all this silly nonsense, then I would.
‘Hallo.’
‘Hallo, Father, can you hear me?’
‘Can I what?’
‘ HEAR ME .’
‘No need to shout.’
‘What’s happened? Why do I have to come home?’
‘I’ve lost a great deal of money on the stock exchange, if you must know.’
Kit digested this. ‘How much, sir?’
‘A lot. Well, almost all our capital. Something’s going wrong with the market. It’s panicking and I didn’t trust Hepworth to deal with it.’
Kit began to understand. His father had been given a tip over sherry by a neighbour or some such person and as a result had told Hepworth, their money man, to go to hell after disregarding his advice. ‘How serious is this, sir? I need to know.’
‘Very,’ said Rupert heavily. ‘Very serious indeed, and I gather the market is not going to get any better.’
Static on the telephone line cracked across their conversation which both swelled and faded in volume. Kit pressed his father. ‘There is no chance of recouping?’
Kit could hear Rupert blowing out pipe smoke and thought how much he would like to wrench the pipe out of his mouth.
‘Yes. I am afraid that is so,’ said Rupert, at his most clipped. Kit drove his hand into his trouser pocket. ‘I want you to come home. I gather you’re thick as thieves with the Chudleigh girl and I want you to stop all that. This is no time to get yourself entangled.’
There was no hint of regret or apology in his tone, nor had Kit expected there to be.
Susan Chudleigh reacted acidly to the news that Kit was returning to England on business matters. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, drawling the words, a technique which imperfectly hid her rage. ‘I am sure your dear father would only request you back if something serious had happened.’ She understood the implications of Rupert’s directives, and ran over in her mind the chatty letter she had written to Rupert to see where she had gone wrong. ‘I will excuse you both, of course. I am sure Flora would not wish to stay on any longer without you.’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course she would mind.’
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