Victor had said rudely. ‘I can’t see his attraction myself. Fools say anything about a new face.’
‘He hasn’t got a new face,’ his friend had guffawed. ‘Only Ned Hatton’s old one.’
Now, meeting him at last, Victor thought glumly that it was bad enough to have an unknown cousin disinherit him, but even worse to discover him to be so formidable despite his lack of years. Victor, at over thirty, felt himself to be juvenile beside him. Were all Australians so indecently mature? On the other hand, perhaps Caroline could be persuaded to charm the swine and get the money back that way. Now, there was a thought worth having!
As the evening wore on, however, it became apparent to Victor that, La Bencolin or no La Bencolin, Alan’s attention was fixed on Eleanor, and that Eleanor sparkled when he spoke to her. This added to the dislike he already felt for his supplanter.
He also feared that Eleanor was not so attracted to himself as she had once been.
He was not wrong. Eleanor was beginning to feel an even stronger disgust for Victor’s unkind remarks. Alan was shrewd, but he tempered his knowledge of the world with a half self-deprecating, half-teasing humour.
Drinking their port after dinner, the gentlemen indulged in male gossip.
‘Hear you spar a little,’ said Victor, who was indulging himself with the Stantons’ good port.
‘A little,’ said Alan.
‘More than a little,’ drawled Ned, determined to keep up with Victor. ‘Shouldn’t fancy going a round with him myself.’
Victor refrained from making the cutting remark about Ned’s condition which trembled on his lips. Disappointment had made his speech reckless lately. If he wanted to retain some favour with Eleanor, however, then Ned had to be placated. He decided to turn on Alan.
‘Hear you are a little épris with La Bencolin.’
‘La Bencolin?’ said Alan blandly. ‘Now, which was she? The blonde at Lady Ailesbury’s, or the brunette at Lady Palmerston’s? I don’t remember a Miss Bencolin.’
Both Sir Richard and Ned gazed sharply at him, but his manner was as easy and cool as he could make it. Alan had no intention of allowing two strenuous afternoons with Lady Bencolin to queer his pitch with Eleanor, to whom he was becoming increasingly attracted.
La Bencolin was all very well, but her practised charms were boring, and Alan was beginning to recognise that he was one of those men who needed more than an easily available body to attract him—and then to rouse him. He also needed some genuine rapport. So far he had only come across it once, and, sadly, that had been with someone who was married and wished to remain chaste.
His imperturbability annoyed Victor. ‘You know perfectly well who I mean,’ he said savagely. ‘Marguerite, Lady Bencolin, or are you so involved with the ladies that you can’t tell one from another?’
‘Steady on, Victor,’ said Ned indignantly. ‘Alan here’s such a busy man, what with sparring with Gurney, ruining his eyesight in the City and dancing about with your lawyers, that he’s hardly had time to get into bed with anyone, let alone such an exhausting piece as La Bencolin is said to be. He don’t look dead wore out, do he?’
Both Sir Richard and Victor, despite themselves, gave Alan a good hard look. No, he didn’t took ‘dead wore out’. But that proves nothing, thought Sir Richard cynically. He wouldn’t, not he. It was quite plain that Victor was making such a dead set at young Dilhorne because it was beginning to look as though the Hatton girl was slipping out of his hand.
He promptly turned the conversation to other matters, and fortunately a sudden access of good manners prevented Victor from turning it back. In revenge he took Ned off to Rosie’s as soon as he could decently prise him away from the aftermath of the dinner party. Once there he cheated Ned, now more than half-drunk, out of more money, playing piquet, than Ned could ever repay.
If playing clean wasn’t going to win him Eleanor, playing dirty might!
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