Page 75 of Pride and Privilege

“Ah, perfect,” said his father. “Bring it over here. And fetch some glasses from the sideboard.”

“I’ll get them,” said Roscoe, standing up as Poppy handed the package to his father. She did not look at him.

“Will that be all, sir?” she asked his father.

“Yes, thank you.” He didn’t even look up, was too busy opening the box. Roscoe walked with her to the door, opened it for her. She shook her head before he could attempt to whisper anything, and then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

Roscoe took a steadying breath and collected the glasses before sitting down again. He saw what his father was holding with surprise.

It was a bottle of whisky. But not just any bottle. It was from a very limited edition set of whisky that had been casked on the day Roscoe was born. His brother and his sister each had their own set, stored in the vault at Conyers. None had been openedyet. It was, he had always assumed, meant to be saved for very special occasions. His wedding, perhaps. The birth of his first child.

“This seems appropriate,” his father said, opening it with a satisfied smile.

“Does it?”

“Lissi called this afternoon. You did it, Roscoe. He’s ours.”

Roscoe said nothing. He watched in silence as his father poured a generous slug of amber liquid into each of their glasses.Thiswas what his father thought of as a special occasion? Here, in the office, celebrating bringing a tax adviser on board? His father hadn’t even opened a bottle when Roscoe got appointed by the board. And then Roscoe realised.

The board’s appointment hadn’t been proof of his worth—not to his father, who, if Andrew Carter-Hall was right, had largely manufactured that appointment anyway. Butthis—Roscoe’s success, not at the job he enjoyed, but at the role his father had chosen for him—his first true step into the BlacktonGold senior management team—this was what his father wanted to celebrate. This was proof that Roscoe was doing exactly what his father wanted.

The other man picked up his glass, took an appreciative sniff, then held it out to Roscoe for a toast, raising an eyebrow when Roscoe made no move to pick up his own glass.

“As I said,” Roscoe repeated. “Getting Lissi was largely Aubrey’s doing. Poppy Fields’s, too. A team effort.”

His father’s head tilt, the thinning of his lips, were all warning signs Roscoe knew well. Roscoe was beingdisappointing. He did not care.

“Aubrey should head up the tax strategy. And that would leave me more time to focus on my own project.”

“Which is?” His father’s voice was cool. Dangerous.

“Fully exploring our ethical investment offer. Rebuilding it from the ground up with a full commitment to transparency. You want to be market-leaders in tax services. But we could be market leaders in this. There is a huge amount of unexplored potential—a huge and ever-growing demand.”

His father scoffed. “It’s a fad, Roscoe. Don’t be stupid. You’re not this naïve.”

“I’ve done research that—”

His father’s glass slammed down on the table, priceless whisky slopping over its side. “No.”

“No?”

“You are not wasting your time on this when I have other things planned for you.”

Roscoe bit the inside of his mouth, reining in his anger. Because how could he shout at the man? His father had nearlydied. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “And what about what I want?”

“It sounds like what you want is to lose the company millions chasing bad returns. No ethical stock is ever competitive, and you know it. Stop spouting this nonsense and get rid of whatever worm is in your head. Jesus Christ, Roscoe, you sound like your sister.”

Roscoe flushed, but with anger not embarrassment. His sister Evie was one of the most righteously virtuous people he knew. He welcomed the comparison.

“At least give Aubrey the recognition he deserves.”

“Absolutely not. I am not going to promote anyone over my own son. You’re a Blackton of BlacktonGold, Roscoe. You need to remember that.”

THIRTY-FIVE

It was almost tenwhen Roscoe arrived back at the flat, and to Poppy, he had the windswept look of someone who had been walking for a while.

“Everything OK?” she asked. She was on the sofa, but she muted the TV as she sat up. Roscoe stood in the doorway.

---