Page 9 of Pride and Privilege

“Great and goodmight be overly generous…”

“—and me,” she cut in.

“And you,” he echoed while he tried to formulate a proper reply, but he was distracted, attention lost in appreciation of her face, the bright challenge in her eyes. She shifted, seeming suddenly self-conscious as she crossed her arms and nodded towards the pounding rain. “I ought to get going.”

“Wait. I’ll get an umbrella.”

He ducked back into the building and asked the late-night receptionist, who handed him one of the large golfing-sized ones they kept in stock behind the desk for visitors. He opened itup when he got back outside. It was black, the BG logo in gold around the rim.

He held the umbrella out, making room for Poppy to join him under it as he tilted his head to the street. “I’ll walk you to the tube stop.”

“No, that’s—”

“It’s fine. It’s on the way to my place anyway.” Which was only the tiniest of lies. Itwason the way. Just not by any direct route.

She joined him under the umbrella with a muttered thank you, ill at ease, hands in her pockets. They walked in silence, crossing the street, shoulders bumping as they stepped down from the kerb. Her head reached just past his shoulder, the top of it about level with his chin. He watched the rain splatter on the leather of his shoes, the scuffed black toe of hers. The passing traffic was louder on the wet road, the tyres a sticking Velcro sound, and the rain on the umbrella a drumming roar. But the silence still pressed heavily.

“Aubrey said you had a headache?” he ventured, for something to say. Perhaps it was ungallant to ask. But she did look pale, her face strained. Maybe it hadn’t been a lie.

“Oh. A little, yes. Actually… I…I had some bad news.”

“I’m sorry.” He glanced at her as they walked, but her eyes were on the rain-streaked pavement.

“Just a…erm…friend. About their job.”

The East End accent he’d heard in the bar last week was far less pronounced tonight, would have been almost undetectable if he hadn’t been listening out for it.

“They’ve been feeling a bit sort of stuck in their career and they’d hoped to move to something else that pays more, has more prospects. Not that they hate what they do exactly. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not…them, you know?”

Roscoe nodded. “Yes.”

“But it turns out this new career probably isn’t going to be possible at all. Not without going back to school. Studying for years. And they can’t afford to do that. So… Like I said. They’re feeling stuck. A bit…hopeless, really.”

“I’m sorry. That’s tough. What is it that they want to do?”

“Oh. Erm. Erm… It’s law. A lawyer.”

They crossed another street. Poppy side-stepped to avoid a deep puddle at the roadside and Roscoe put out his hand instinctively to take her arm, guide her onto the pavement, back under the umbrella. He had the urge to not let go, to leave his fingers wrapped around her slim forearm, slide them down her wrist… He shoved his hand in his pocket.

“You should have spoken to Aubrey about it. His whole family are lawyers. They might know someone who can help get your friend through the door.”

She gave a short laugh, as though he’d said something funny, then hid it with a cough. “Yes. Maybe. I think I’m starting to see that life is all about who you know, isn’t it?”

“It seems that way sometimes. Unfortunately.”

She paused, thinking, then said, “Do you think it’s possible to get anywhere in life just by working really, really hard?”

It was his turn to laugh. Dark and bitter. “Honestly? No.”

She glanced at him in surprise.

“I think that’s a myth,” he continued before he could stop himself. “Something they tell people so they have a reason to get out of bed every day. But the truth is, all anyone ever cares about iswhoyou know. Notwhatyou know. Sorry. That’s not what you want to hear. What your friend wants to hear. Don’t listen to me.”

“No,” she said in quiet agreement. “I think you’re right. I think I knew it already. It’s hardly ever about merit, is it? Even if you’re desperate to prove yourself, it’s so hard to get anyone to stop and see that.”

He gave her a long look, their steps slowing as they reached the tube station. “No,” he agreed. “Merit hardly ever gets rewarded.”

They paused at the entrance to the station, Roscoe still holding the umbrella over their heads. “Do you have far to go, once you get off the tube? Take the umbrella. I don’t think the rain is going to stop.”

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