In the quiet lanes of Yorkshire, where the mist clung to the hills like an old memory, two men sat in a dimly lit study, their voices low but sharp.
“Listen, Archibald Whitmore,” said one, a man with a face etched by years of shrewd dealings, “do you still mean to build that lavender-coloured estate of yours?”
“You know I do, Nigel Pembroke,” Archibald replied, his fingers tapping the armrest. “Its been my dream for years. My firm has the means, the experience. Ill make it the pride of the countytourists will come just to admire it. All I need is for that land to be granted to me. Fancy a flat there for your boy, Oliver?”
“Have me accused of taking bribes and tossed out of the council? I can buy Oliver a flator a whole cottagemyself. What I need is a wife for him.”
“Here we go again,” Archibald sighed. “My Emilys already got a beau. And I know what your Olivers likea rake and a wastrel. Dropped out of university, though you barely got him in. Forgive me, but I wouldnt hand my daughter to such a man for free. How dyou expect me to drag her to the altar?”
“Youll drag her if you must. That lands got more than one pair of eyes on it”
Archibald and Nigel had known each other for years, climbing the ranks side by side. The alliance between a bureaucrat and a builder was mutually beneficial, yielding prosperous venturesnew neighbourhoods, restored landmarks. Or rather, Archibalds firm did the work, while Nigel, as they said in council halls, “facilitated” it. He smoothed the way for contracts, suppliers, tenders. Now, he saw another chance for profit in Archibalds grand vision.
The idea was sounda gated community of flats with a private park, underground parking, shops on the ground floor. People would flock to it. And those shops? Leased only to trusted tenants, whod quietly kick back a percentage. A steady income, lifelong. Enough for their children, tooif the children could be bound together.
Their families mingled, wives near friends, but the children were another matter. Archibalds daughter, Emily, was set to graduate as a landscape designer, eager to start her own firm and aid her fathers projects. Nigels son, Oliver, was a constant vexationa libertine with no ambition beyond revelry. His father, buried in council work, spoiled him with money in place of attention. Marrying him to Emily might steady him.
But it seemed unlikely. After that conversation, Nigel found Oliver in high spirits at home.
“Father, the lads and I are off to London tomorrowsome music festival. The radios hosting it. Everyonell be there.”
“Everyone? Your lot of golden youth? Leeching off your parents, useless as a milkless goat. When will you work? Emilys starting a design firm”
“With her fathers money. Fund me, and Ill start something too.”
“A pub? Youd run it into the ground in a fortnight. Attach yourself to Emily. Shes clever, presentable. Marry her, or must I spoon-feed you forever?”
“Shes got a fellow. And shes dulldoesnt know how to enjoy life.”
“Steal him away. Ill help. Take her to cafés, your partiesshow her a bit of glamour. Might loosen her up. Must I spell it out?”
Around the same time, Archibald spoke with Emily.
“What are your plans, Emily?”
“What dyou mean? You promised to fund my design firm. Ill pay you back once its running.”
“Keep your money. But what of your personal life? Thoughts of marriage?”
“Kicking me out?” She smiled. “Ive told MumIve a beau, Thomas. But Im not thinking of weddings yet. Business first.”
“Listen,” Archibald said gravely, “youre entering a world of serious people. They prefer those settled, past their dramas. And such matches arent made with just anyone.”
“Not Oliver, surely. With him, youd never settle. Lets drop this before we quarrel.”
Emily knew why her father pressed the match. Nigel demanded it. Without him, the building permit would vanishand Archibald needed it desperately. Shed overheard her parents on the terrace one evening, voices hushed but tense.
“Why hound Emily about this marriage?” her mother had hissed. “Dyou want a fool for a son-in-law? Imagine her life with him!”
“I do. And would poverty suit her better?”
“Poverty? Weve a cottage in the Cotswolds now. We neednt return to town at all.”
“And what if theres nothing to return to? The firm could fold without this project. Nigel knowshes twisting my arm.”
Her mother fell silent. Then, softly:
“We didnt always have this, Archibald. Remember the one-room flat in Leeds? We laughed about two fridges in the kitchen”
A twig snapped under Emilys foot, cutting them short.
Thomas took the news grimly.
“So youll save your fathers business with your happiness? Marry whom you like, but not that peacock! Youd have nothing in common.”
“You dont understand! The firms his life. And the estatehe dreams of calling it Lavender, planting the gardens with it. Imagine the blooms in spring!”
“And youd trade your future for flowers? Would he want that? My parents live in a plain flat on the outskirts. Theyre happy enough, raising their children”
Oliver began courting Emilycafés, concerts. She indulged him, studying him. Perhaps shed misjudged him. He dressed well, knew his music, kept vinyl records. He was attentive, eager to please.
At last, he proposed. She said shed think, but returned home resolved. Summoning her parents, she announced with a faint smile:
“Oliver proposed today.”
A long pause. Then her father asked flatly:
“What did you say?”
“Nothing yet. But I think Ill accept.”
“Do you love him?”
“I dont know. But they say live with a man, learn to love him.”
Her father rose, walked to the window. Without turning, he said:
“Your Thomas came to my office yesterday. Told me why you might agree. He also said selling ones daughter is vileand hell never shake my hand again.”
Emily froze. Her mother covered her face, then whispered:
“What now?”
Her father turned at last. He sighed, as if relieved.
“Nothing. I told Nigel the deals off. There are other projects. And you, Emilyhold fast to your Thomas. Hes a man of honour.”
