Page 101 of Pride and Privilege

Poppy stood across theroad from the BlacktonGold office, heart skipping at every figure that emerged from the building.

Had she done the right thing going in there, interfering? She hadn’t been able to stand the thought of Roscoe facing his father alone, trying to fight his way free of all those chains of duty and obligation and guilt, especially not when he was already struggling and uncertain, prey to his own demons. But it wasn’t a relationship she should meddle in. If she got into the middle of it, it would turn it into some choice between her and his father. And that could only end horribly. Roscoe had to choosehimself. That was what she had wanted to remind him of, going in there with that flimsy piece of paper, the only token of support she could think of. A handkerchief thrown to a soldier, for all the good it might do.

But—there! That was him! His tall figure striding out of the glass doors, so unmistakable she wondered how her heart couldhave ever skipped a beat at any other person. Ofcoursethat was Roscoe. It couldn’t be anyone else.

He caught sight of her across the street and lifted a hand, then gestured to the pedestrian crossing just down the road. They walked towards it in parallel, sneaking glances at each other as they fought through the crowded pavement. Why was everyone heading in the opposite direction, and so slowly! She couldn’t see his expression at this distance, he was too far away, she needed to see his face, his mouth, his eyes, feel the way he held her…

He crossed the road to her side. And, heedless of the crowd, annoying the many people who had to step around them, he pulled her to him and held her tight, the long breath he exhaled rough and shaking, telling its own story.

“I gave him the letter,” he said, pulling back, eyes wide, as though he didn’t quite believe it.

“You did?”

But there were too many people, too much traffic and noise. He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her down a small side street, heading towards the river.

“I quit,” he said, as though a new way of saying it might make it easier to believe. “I quit BlacktonGold.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. I think he was speechless. I didn’t really hang around.” He was talking quickly, adrenaline making his words trip over each other. She heard the tremble in his voice. Had felt the same way when she’d followed Liz back to her office, been told to sit down, her heart still racing, her thoughts still racing… “I went to Liz’s office to see if you were there,” he continued. “Then I remembered you said you’d be across the street. Liz was there, though, and I asked her to check on him. Make sure he’s OK. To call me if…if anything…”

“He’ll be fine.”

“But if he’s not…”

“He will.”

He let out a long breath, as if trying to believe it. They reached the river, the water almost violet under the late summer afternoon sky. They chose a direction at random and walked quietly hand-in-hand while Roscoe processed everything that had happened. Climbed down from his adrenaline high.

She felt him gradually begin to relax. The hand wrapped around hers lost some of its tension.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “For how he spoke to you.”

“Please tell me that’s not why you quit.” She said it dryly, cushioning her fear with humour.

“No. Although it would have been enough. But I think I’d already decided on my way back from that meeting with Domnall White and Hendrich Lissi. I couldn’t stomach it—leading the tax thing. Even my PM work, once I knew my father would always veto my ESG plans.”

“Did you know Domnall White—”

“Owns the store that fired Liam and the supermarket where your mother works? Yes. His company Actuaris owns half the high street.”

“Now please tell methat’snot why you quit?”

He smiled faintly, squeezing her hand. “I’d love to say I did it all for you, Poppy, but the truth is, I did it as much for myself.”

“Good.” She stopped him with a slight pull on his hand, turning to face him as they stopped on the Thames-side path. “It should be for yourself. A decision like this. You finally putting yourself first. I’m glad.”

Then she stupidly almost started crying, so she turned away, about to walk off again. But Roscoe stopped her with a gentle hand on her cheek. He didn’t need to say thank you. His eyes told her what it meant. And so did his kiss, the press of his lipslike a man stepping from the wrecked and burning plane behind him and falling to his knees.Thank you, God…

A tender, seeking kiss that still left them breathless, foreheads together as they re-found reality around them. Roscoe pulled her to his chest with an arm around her shoulders, holding her as tightly as he had in his father’s office, when he had soothed the burn of her humiliation with his steady presence, the way he held her, as though she was both precious and delicate and the very rock that tethered him.

“My real reason for quitting,” he said, a smile in his voice, “is that I’m looking forwards to a life of luxury as a kept man. Are you really starting at LibertyBrooks as a Junior Analyst?”

She laughed, taking his hand. They set off again, walking who-knew-where. “No. Only according to rumour. They offered me a preliminary telephone interview, that’s all.”

“But that’s amazing! I didn’t even know you had applied.”

“No,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t tell you. I sent out a load of speculative applications one evening and I didn’t think it would come to anything. And I guess… I wanted to know I had done it all by myself. Not that I’m ungrateful—I know you would have helped me willingly with my CV and portfolio, and maybe I was stupid to refuse that help, but I needed to know it was allme.”

---