‘Beautiful,’ Nancy sighs, as Fiona, beside me, takes my hand gently in hers, turning it and sucking in a breath.
‘They don’t make them like they used to, do they?’ she chuckles softly. I realize I’ve hardly said two words to her since we sat down, so engrossed in conversation has she been with Eleanor. I make a mental note to try harder with Fiona going forward; she seems nice.
‘No, they do not,’ RD Holbeck intones. It’s clear his meaning extends beyond jewellery. ‘I think it’s time for a port. What do we all think?’
And I can’t help but feel that this is code for dinner being over.
‘I’m game,’ Marty concedes.
‘Port for anyone who’s having it. We’re celebrating after all.’ The butler in grey steps forward as his employer rises from the head of the table. ‘I’ll take mine in the study.’
Before turning from the table, Robert lifts his wine glass and waits for the rest of the table to follow suit. ‘To the happy couple,’ he booms. ‘Welcome to our family, Harriet Reed.’ Eyes flit from family member to family member, giving the distinct impression that Robert doesn’t do things like this very often. Stutteringly, the assembled diners echo his sentiment before sipping liberally from their glasses.
Edward is first to lower his glass. ‘Thank you, Dad. We appreciate it, and dinner so thank you.’ He gives a diplomatic smile.
Robert studies him for a moment before replying, ‘Very good,’ he smiles. ‘Very good.’
Then Robert turns to me. ‘Harriet,’ he says lightly, ‘would you mind joining me for a port in the study? Ah, no, on second thoughts, for you a tea perhaps? James?’ he gestures to the butler in grey.
All eyes in the room flash to me and my heart flutters with panic in my chest. If a sink hole opened up beneath me right now and took me from this world forever, I’d be glad of the quick death.
‘The night is young and we have much to discuss, Harriet. Indulge an old man.’
I look to Edward for help. I was not warned about this; I had not planned for this. But Edward looks as pale as I feel. No help there.
‘Um, sure,’ I answer, rising from my seat and somehow managing to sound halfway human. ‘Yes. That would be lovely. Thank you.’ I throw Edward a bewildered smile.
‘Wonderful,’ Robert grins. ‘Shall we?’
I gulp back the last of my water, avoiding Edward’s no doubt very concerned and concerning expression, and follow one of the most powerful men in America out of the room.
8 The Game Begins
Thursday 24 November
‘I hope I didn’t put you on the spot back there,’ Robert says as we enter the vast green cavern of his study.
I give a shake of the head though fully aware it’s a rhetorical question. He barely acknowledges my presence as I follow him and hungrily absorb as much as I can from this new environment, and this unexpected access to his inner sanctum.
I know I should be nervous; this man, so much more powerful and self-possessed than me, has me on his own ground. And yet, I’m not nervous. Well, I am, but not to the extent I should be. Because here’s the thing: I have a secret – a warm, cosy secret that I hold close to me, like a comforter in situations just this. No matter what happens here, I know I can handle myself – better than most. I have been through too much to doubt that fact. I know I can do what I need to do when my back is to the wall.
My eyes fly up as the room opens out above us: a mezzanine library. Books line every wall, breaking up the dark obsidian pannelling, a cursory glance on the shelves revealing everything from thick reference tomes to cutting-edge releases and thin poetry periodicals. Ahead, a jewel-toned Persian rug proffers two low club chairs facing each other in front of a crackling fire. The lighting in the room gives a warm glow, and a wooden staircase, spiralling up to a mezzanine, slips into shadows, the covers of the books beyond it indiscernible.