Page 45 of The Quiet Wife
“Is that what you call it?” Leyland scoffed.
“It is.” It damned well was. He could call his paintings what the hell he wanted. It moved them away from the traditional style. Movedhimaway from tradition.
“WhatshouldI call it? Portrait of my mother?”
A smile hovered about Leyland’s lips at that. “Probably not, although ‘Mr Whistler’s Mother’ has quite a ring to it.”
Jemie glowered at him but then chuckled and shared one of Leyland’s rare, genuine smiles, leaving the man looking very pleased with himself.
***
Dinner that evening was a thoroughly pleasant affair. Jemie had eaten well, drank Leyland’s excellent wine, and managed to keep his eyes off the man’s wife for the best part of the meal.
The ladies had retired to the drawing room, so he sat with the men and accepted a cigar and the port. He poured himself a generous amount.
“Am I to assume that things are not going well with Bibby?” William Bartlett enquired and Jemie listened intently. There were none of his business associates at the table, so he assumed Bartlett felt safe to raise the subject.
Leyland arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know.Areyou assuming that?”
“I’ve heard rumours your approach is… not popular?”
“For crying out loud, Bartlett. This is business. I’m not there to beliked.”
William chuckled. “It sounds like it’s a good thing you are not. Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Leyland huffed, leaning back in his chair and fixing William with a look he probably gave his opponents. The table went quiet and waited.
“That you’ve issued an ultimatum to old man Bibby?”
“Well, I’m not going to sit around forever, am I? I need a decision.”
William held both hands aloft in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not criticising, just curious if it’s true. The gossip mongers are in a flat spin. The rumour is that you’ve told Bibby to either sell to you or face you as a competitor.”
“And if I have?” Leyland shrugged.
William’s lips twitched. “Then you need to warn your wife that when you return to Speke, your name will be mud. It’s certainly doing the rounds here, but I’d wager in Liverpool they will be out on the streets, given how you’re conducting business.”
“Warn mywife?” Leyland looked genuinely puzzled.
“Well, it’s she who manages your social engagements, she who will have to endure the disapprobation if all of Liverpool think you a monster, and much of London, too.”
“You talk such nonsense, Bartlett.” He shook his head with bemused bafflement and changed the subject, but Jemie knew exactly what William was referring to. Leyland’s reputation was sinking. Whilst many admired ambition, most didn’t want to see the ruthlessness of the inner workings of success and social climbing. They certainly didn’t want to see how a man might beat his opponents into submission. No-one wanted to see behaviour that was less than gentlemanly even in matters of business. That kind of thing was kept out of the public eye, but Leyland had lifted his head above the parapet and trumpeted his plans to all and sundry. Apparently, Bibby & Sons had worldwide success for more than seventy years. Its most recent success appeared to be attributed to Leyland’s foresight in moving the business to steamers and away from liners. Perhaps he thought that gave him the right to elbow his way to the top in such a brutal fashion, but his latest scheme was going to have unfortunate consequences for his family if he didn’t have a care.
CHAPTER 16
London - Kensington
“Well, I think you should tell him,” Lizzie said over breakfast. Frances wasn’t so sure because she knew it would only anger her husband.
“For heaven’s sake, half of London is conversing about him.” Lizzie had been with her on a round of morning calls and had been forced to listen to the idle gossip about her husband’s business practices. Things had been simmering for a few days, with veiled comments about Frederick, but out of the blue, things had shifted into decidedly more pointed remarks. One in particular, a redoubtable matron, a Mrs Levenshulme, who was a bosom bow of the Bibby family, left her in no doubt whatsoever that her husband was seen not just as an interloper, but nothing but a jumped-up clerk, a bully, and a rogue.
“How would I broach it with him? You know what he’s like.” Frances sighed.
“I do know what he’s like, and he’s probably oblivious.”
It was true. Frederick didn’t really care what people said or thought about him and rarely gave trivial gossip a second thought.
Frances buttered more toast and poured more tea for them both.
