success.
The feelings Miss Shepard elicited in him were a puzzle to him, not least because he didn’t know how to classify them. She was too young for it to be love, he felt. But if it wasn’t love, it certainly was a sort of obsession, which he’d have to eradicate sooner or later. He could ill spare time for such dangerous complications.
In the meantime, however, at a safe distance in London, he preferred to postpone the moment and content himself with daydreaming about her as he rode the early morning ferry to work, as he walked the distance to the office, as he made the return journey in the evening.
And every evening, after work and a light supper, he stood across the net from his new instructor, imagining Miss Shepard in his place. He’d spent part of his last salary on a lightweight pair of twill trousers and a linen jacket, vowing to look as dapper as any young gentleman when they next met.
Back and forth went the ball, the instructor calling out advice as he sent it across the net to Nick. Nick grew to enjoy the thrill of competition. He found it as thrilling as predicting the direction of the price of a company’s stock.
He remembered Miss Shepard’s words. You’re a natural athlete. Did it mean she’d actually looked past his shabby frock coat and seen something more than just her father’s secretary? He’d never thought of himself as athletic, even though until coming to London, he’d spent any spare moment outside when he wasn’t working in the noisy, dusty environment of the mill. But that was playing in the street with boys his age, with no sports equipment. A ball was a rotten cabbage, a cricket bat a broken chair leg. But even those had been few and far between as any piece of wood was quickly consumed in the stove, and extra food was rarely to be found.
Nick had no idea when and if he’d be going back to the Shepards’ country house, but he’d be prepared just in case, even if it cost him a fortnight’s wages.
He wanted to match Miss Shepard’s skill and show her he was a worthy opponent.
Each morning he joined the hundreds of anonymous young men clad in black frock coats and top hats hurrying down Fleet Street to their offices. He pulled open the brass-handled door, glancing a moment at the understated plaque to the right: Shepard & Steward, Ltd., Investments.
Some day it would read Shepard, Steward, Tennent, & Partners.
He hurried down the corridor to his office, nodding his head to the various clerks he passed. “’Morning, Harold. ’Morning, Stanley.” Rushed syllables as everyone hurried to his place in the maze of corridors and cubicles.
He entered the quieter sanctuary upstairs in the rear, the executive offices of the full partners. His own desk, situated in a small corner of an office he shared with the senior secretary, was neat, the way he’d left it the evening before.
Nick sat down and opened the file he’d been studying the previous day, glad for the momentary solitude. Mr. Shepard would expect a report by noon on the assets of the small factory, which manufactured iron fastenings.
“Shepard wants you.”
He looked up to find Mr. Simpson, the other secretary, walking to his own desk, the larger of the two in the room. The old man guarded his boss from all he considered intruders, including Nick.
Nick stood now and grabbed up his pad and pencil. “Yes, sir.”
The man stood by the doorway, as if to make sure Nick obeyed the summons. His bristly gray eyebrows drew together in their customary frown as Nick passed him with a curt nod.
Dark walnut wainscoting covered the walls of Mr. Shepard’s private office. Oil landscapes in heavy wooden frames lined the space above. Some day he would have an office like this one.
Shepard stood at a window overlooking the busy street below, his hands clasped loosely behind them. He turned only slightly at the soft sound of the door closing.
“Ah, Tennent, have a seat. I need you to take a letter.”
“Yes, sir.” Nick crossed the deep blue Turkish carpet and sat in the leather armchair facing the wide desk.
Mr. Shepard twirled his reading glasses in his hands. “This is to the Denbigh Coke Company, Denbighshire, Wales.
“Gentlemen—After a careful review of your firm, it is with regret that we inform you that we must decline the opportunity to offer you the venture capital you requested to expand your colliery. Although your firm’s net profits for the preceding year showed…”
Nick’s pencil hurried across the paper, his mind unable to suppress the satisfaction at Shepard’s decision. It mirrored the one Nick would have made in his place.
Mr. Shepard’s peremptory tone interrupted his thoughts. “Read it back to me.”
“Yes, sir.” He began at the top.
“Very good. I’ll sign it as soon as you have it ready. Make sure it goes in today’s post.”
Nick stood.
“I will be heading back out to Richmond this weekend. I have various projects that need catching up on. I trust you will be free to accompany me?”
Unable to help a spurt of excitement at the announcement, Nick’s fingers tightened on his pencil. It was quickly doused as he realized his employer would keep him too busy to allow him any free time for recreation. “Yes, sir.”
“Very good.”
Nick reached the door.
“Bring enough to stay a week.”
Nick turned slowly. A week in Richmond? His heart started to thump. “Yes, sir.”
An entire week in the same house as Miss Shepard. This time he couldn’t contain his excitement. He even began to whistle as he made his way back down the dark corridor.
Alice returned from church at noon on Sunday.
She stopped short in the doorway, her hands flying to her cheeks as at the sight of the tall young man emerging from her father’s library. “Mr. Tennent!”
To her further surprise, he smiled, looking as glad to see her as she felt to see him.
“When did you arrive?”
“Early this morning,” he said. “Your father was going to come Friday evening but was delayed with other engagements.”
She moistened her lip, trying to appear collected. “I—I’ve just come from church.”
“I see.”
An awkward silence ensued. Then her eyes widened in sudden horror. “Have you been working?”
He colored. “I was just going to read up on some documents.”
“On the Sabbath?” She couldn’t help the shock in her voice.
He looked away as if ashamed. “Yes.”
She frowned. “Father doesn’t forbid you from attending services, does he?”
