Page 82 of Pride and Privilege

“I’m herboss, I can’t—”

“Yes, yes, and it’s complicated and people might whisper behind your back. Butyouknow how you feel. Do you feel like you’re the creepy, predatory type? Or do you have every intention of treating the girl right? Because if Sarah and I had listened to the moral authorities of our time, we would have both thought we were sinners. But it never felt like it to us. It felt like love.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

They had lunch, exploredthe grounds and gardens some more. It was all very outdoorsy and wholesome and Poppy could understand why Roscoe saw this place as a break from his London life.

The sun and fresh air had reddened his cheeks, giving him a farm boy glow. He strolled along at her side in old jeans and leather boots and a soft t-shirt, looking all healthy and strong-limbed and vital, as though he could rescue stranded calves, carry them down mountains over his shoulders. He smiled, and there was warmth in his voice as he spoke about the place, the land, the house, his boyhood visits here. But none of it thawed the gap between them. It grew and solidified like ice, even as he spoke cheerily about fishing with Hugo with toy rods made of sticks and string, and Evie dropping her doll in the water, and Roscoe plunging to the rescue while Hugo just laughed… Every word seemed to take him further from her, add another barrier round the topic they really needed to discuss.

Them.

But she supposed she was a coward, too, because she didn’t bring it up either. And there were things she needed to discuss with him. Things that would only make it worse. Because she’d had an email the day before to confirm she’d been accepted on the course she’d applied to. From September, she could start her slow journey towards getting the qualifications she needed for a degree. Several years of study and then she might just about be qualified to apply for an internship at BlacktonGold.

But if she brought that up, it would remind Roscoe that her doing the course was contingent on staying at his flat, where she had no travel expenses and could afford to work part-time.I’m completely dependent on you.And she could mention that it would be Liz who would need to approve the change in her hours, because they ought to start recruiting his permanent EA and she’d go back to George’s team.You won’t be my boss anymore. But your father will.

How would those things weigh in whatever ethical equation went on behind Roscoe’s eyes when he looked at her? Would he be more or less likely to decide she was equal enough to screw?

Her step faltered as the bitterness of that thought took her by surprise. She wasangry,she realised, even as her toe caught on a tree root and Roscoe put out his hand to steady her. Not just a little miffed or bemused by his daft rule, but furious and hurt and jealous that he was holding himself back from her.

“I’m fine,” she told him, and removed her arm from his grip, walking on down the path.

“Poppy…”

Had she spent so long telling herself he was too good for her that she’d forgotten to ask whetherhewas good enough forher?How long was she going to let herself exist on crumbs from his table? On the little bit of himself she was permitted to have.

“Where does that path go?” She pointed to a stile in an overgrown hedge.

“Just more fields, and down to the village eventually. But my father sold some of that land off last year.” He paused, but her expression must have told him there was no point asking about her sudden change in mood. “Mabel was furious,” he continued instead, leaning on the stile and looking out across the field. “Not that she has a say. It’s all his—this entire estate. She says he only lets her stay here because it’s cheaper than paying someone to look after the place. I’m not sure that’sentirelytrue. But they’ve never got on.”

“Why’s that?”

“Personality clash, mostly. And some…differing political views. Plus she thinks he’s a bully. And controlling. And…erm…a terrible father. And husband. And person. Basically.”

He gave a hollow laugh, scratching his jaw. Poppy’s anger didn’t vanish, but she managed to bury it under a flood of sympathy—enough that she could ask gently, “Is he? A terrible father?”

Roscoe met her eyes briefly. “I mean… Suffice to say… It’s understandable why he might give that impression sometimes.”

“What did he want to talk to you about the other day?”

The day they were interrupted, when Roscoe had returned late, windswept and haunted, as though he had been walking and thinking for hours…

“Hendrich Lissi, mostly. He wanted to congratulate me.”

“Itissomething of a coup. Especially if he can bring us Domnall White as a client.”

“Mm,” said Roscoe, turning to walk down the path again. He snagged a leaf from a tree. Tore it absently between his fingers. Poppy watched the shredded green litter the path.

“If you hate the project so much,” she said, “why not suggest Aubrey take the lead? He’d be perfect for it. Then you’d have more time to look into the ethical stuff.”

“I did. I tried. He said no.”

“Oh.”

“He wouldn’t listen at all. He wants me on this tax thing. Seems to think it’s my divine fucking calling as heir to the BG throne.” Another shredded leaf fell to the floor. “And that providing an ethical option for top clients who personally fucking request it is a stupid fucking idea.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “It’s just getting to me a bit.”

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