the brim of his hat. He took another deep breath. ‘I have come to ask your permission to marry, Father.’
Guy went still. ‘Marry?’ He repeated the word as if it stank of dung. ‘What in the world possessed you of this notion?’
‘I am of age.’
‘That hardly signifies. Who is the girl who has caught your foolish fancy?’
‘Ruth Reedy.’
‘Who?’
‘Corporal Reedy’s daughter. From the garrison.’
‘That wench? She’s little more than a punch-house doxy!’ Guy’s expression changed. He tipped back his head and laughed. ‘For a moment, I thought you were serious. I had heard reports you were seen together, but I assumed you were merely tupping her behind the stables, like a dozen other youngsters of your age are doing to her. Perhaps I gave you too much credit.’
‘I love her.’
Guy studied his son through half-closed eyes. The boy had always been headstrong – like his father. Quick witted and strong willed, he had all the makings of a fine merchant. So much potential: Guy had taken great pains in his education. He had beaten him blue, trying to thrash out the contrary elements in the boy’s nature, to make him fit for the future he alone could give him. And still the boy had not learned.
Perhaps kindness could succeed where force had failed. He softened his tone.
‘I know how it is to be young. When I was your age, and foolish, I loved a girl so hard I almost gave my life for her honour. It was only later I found she was a common whore, a bitch who’d give herself to anyone who had a few rupees.’
Even after so many years, the memory made him hot with anger. He forced himself to be calm. He had made her pay many times over, once she became his wife.
‘Your mistakes are not my concern, Father.’
‘But yours are mine. You will not marry this girl. I forbid it, as your father and as Governor of the Bombay Presidency. You know that any marriage contracted in this colony must be approved by me in order to be valid.’
‘You would deny your own son?’
‘When he is out of his mind, yes.’ Guy pushed himself back in his chair. ‘You wish to marry? I will see to it. You are of age now, and it is right you should take a wife. I have been remiss: if I had acted sooner, perhaps we would have avoided this foolishness altogether. After the monsoon, we will sail to England together, and I will find you a suitable bride. Sir Nicholas Childs has a niece who is eligible, or perhaps the Earl of Godolphin’s grand-daughter. We will make a match that secures your prospects admirably.’
And mine, he thought, though it hardly needed to be said. What use was a son if not to advance his father’s interests? Already, in his mind, he was counting the extra shares he might acquire with a well-contracted marriage. Perhaps a seat on the Court of Directors, even a royal appointment as Ambassador Plenipotentiary.
Christopher just stared at him. He had always been a sullen boy, Guy thought, despite all his paternal efforts. An ingrate, who could not conceive how much Guy had sacrificed for him.
‘I hear from London that Sir Nicholas Childs is not a well man,’ Guy went on. ‘One day, perhaps you may find yourself sitting in the great office in Leadenhall Street.’
Even this optimistic prospect drew no reaction from the lad. It occurred to Guy that perhaps Christopher had not even been rogering the corporal’s daughter. Perhaps he had been saving himself, out of some misguided ideal of marriage. When Guy was his age, after all, he had believed in a pure, chaste love. Before his brother Tom had snatched his illusions from him.
‘I know you have needs. I am guilty of neglecting them.’ He pulled a golden pagoda from the locked drawer in his desk and tossed it to Christopher. ‘A down payment on your future bride’s dowry. Take yourself to the brothel by the customs house – the clean one, where the officers go – and find a girl who can service you.’ He chuckled. ‘Just don’t fall in love with her, for God’s sake.’
Christopher stared at the coin as if he had never seen one before. He held it up, so that the golden light played across his face.
‘You would do all this? For me?’
Guy felt a rare spark of paternal pride. ‘All I have ever wanted is a great future for you.’
The coin slipped through Christopher’s fingers and fell onto the desk. It landed on its edge, spinning round and round making a glittering orb.
‘You are a monster, Father. A cruel, calculating ogre with nothing but a strongbox where your heart should be. You would sacrifice your only son’s happiness to make me a pawn to your ambitions. I will not play that game.’
The coin fell flat as Guy stood, pushing the desk away from him in fury.
‘How dare you defy me?’
Christopher stood his ground. ‘I am not a little boy any longer, whom you can beat to your will. I will make my life how I choose, not how you design it. I will go where I please and marry whom I please.’
The veins in Guy’s neck throbbed. ‘Be careful, Christopher. There is nowhere on either side of this ocean that my power does not reach.’
‘I do not fear you.’
‘You should,’ said Guy dangerously. ‘I could destroy you.’
Christopher stared at him. ‘Can you hear yourself? What sort of a man would say such a thing to his son? Sometimes I think you cannot be my father.’
His words struck a nerve he had never touched before. With an incoherent howl of rage, Guy grabbed a silver paper knife from his letter basket and hurled it at Christopher. It flew past his ear and stuck, quivering, in the doorframe.
Christopher didn’t flinch. He stared down at his father, his body rigid with controlled fury. It occurred to Guy that he had never noticed how tall his son had become.
‘Farewell, Father. We shall not meet again.’
‘Wait,’ Guy called. But Christopher had gone.
The sunlight struck him like a bolt of lightning before his eyes. Dazed, reeling from the enormousness of what he had done, he stumbled across the square. Ruth met him by the shore, where rusting anchors and cast-off lengths of rope littered the strand. Though it was less than an hour since she had seen him last, she flung her arms around him and clung to him as if they had been parted for years.
She had arrived with her father nine months earlier. Christopher had watched the arrival of the Indiaman that brought her. From the castle walls, he had glimpsed her in the boat that rowed her ashore: just sixteen, with alabaster skin and rich red hair, colours he’d never seen on a girl before. As her boat passed the castle, she had looked up – doubtless wondering about her new home – and caught Christopher’s eye. At that moment, he had felt a stir in his loins such as he had never felt before; he could hardly breathe with desire.
Of course, an English girl arriving in Bombay was like a rose in the desert, and there was no shortage of men wanting to pluck her for themselves. But they all
