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The Family Game(7)

Author:Catherine Steadman

‘What was Mitzi like?’

Edward ponders my question. ‘She was beautiful. And talented. She was an artist. She trained as a ballerina. German, but she left between the wars. Then she met my great-grandfather. They had this great love affair, so the story goes – very intense. Famously, theirs was the first marriage for love in the Holbeck family.’

I choose not to open that can of worms. Though I have no experience of wealth, I can understand the instinct to protect it, to fortify what you have. Love is an unknown quantity after all. It’s a gamble at the end of the day. I’m more than happy to gamble with the few chips I have, but give me the GDP of a medium-sized country and I might at least consider a prenup. I’m sure the Holbecks have learnt the hard way to question that first flush of passion.

‘And your family’s okay with this? With me? They let you have Mitzi’s ring?’

I wonder what they’ll make of me now that I know for certain that they’re aware of my existence. What Edward has or hasn’t told them about me. Perhaps they’ve looked into me themselves? I shudder at the thought, then quickly reassure myself that while they might be able to research me, they can never know my thoughts, my memories. I am just a British novelist with no real credentials – except one bestseller to her name – with no real history, no Ivy League anything, no Oxbridge. I can’t imagine I’m what they had in mind for their firstborn son. I don’t even have a family, let alone a notable one.

Maybe they just want Edward to be happy. Edward has promised me time and time again that not meeting them has nothing to do with me. He’s had problems with them in the past; they like to exert control, and he tries to keep his life at a distance from the madness of theirs. Things tend to get dragged into their orbit. Which makes the sudden appearance of this family ring now on my finger all the more interesting.

‘Yes, they know about you,’ he chuckles. ‘A worrying amount actually. Mother was over the moon when I asked for the ring. Insisted I use it actually.’

‘Really?’ I ask, trying to mediate the surprise in my voice. It’s not that I have a self-esteem issue, but it’s slightly puzzling that a woman like Eleanor Holbeck would be insisting her firstborn child jump at the chance to marry an orphan from England.

‘Really,’ he echoes, and takes my cold hand in his across the table. ‘Listen, I know it’s weird you’ve never met them. But I wanted to be sure we were in a good place before…’ He pauses, trying to find the words. ‘… I let them loose on you. They are a lot to handle. But if you want to meet them, they really want to meet you. Especially now.’ He thumbs the ring on my finger gently. ‘We haven’t had anyone like you in our family before,’ he says lightly, and the words imprint themselves in my mind. What does that mean? Someone like me. ‘And God knows we could do with fresh blood.’

I feel my throat tighten at the thought of the type of person I actually am. But they can’t know that. They cannot know what happened to me on the edge of that road twenty years ago; I was alone.

I shudder and Edward lifts my hands to his lips to blow warmth back into them. ‘If you’re worried about what they think about us, don’t be. My great-grandfather had all the money in the world and he married a woman without a penny. Granted he was the only one to ever do it – but, point is, there’s precedent.’ He laughs at my reaction. ‘I know, I know, you’re hardly on the breadline! Plenty of pennies in bestselling author Harry Reed’s coffers. But you know what I mean,’ he adds seriously. And I do, because whatever I have is only ever going to be a drop in the Holbeck ocean.

‘Why did your great-grandfather choose a garnet? For Mitzi’s ring?’ I ask.

‘She loved pomegranates.’

I look down at the ring and smile. It looks just like the top of a ripe pomegranate seed.

‘He knew he could make her happy and that she would do anything for him. They just fit. Two peas in a pod. And together no one could stop them,’ Edward says, studying my expression.

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