“You could leave.”

He laughed.

“And do what?”

“Start your own firm.”

“With what capital?”

“You know enough people.”

“I know people who take meetings because of Whitmore Meridian.”

She said nothing.

He crossed the room.

“Do you understand what happens if I walk away now? Five years of work. Gone.”

Celia looked up.

“Then marry her.”

He stopped.

For a moment, neither spoke.

She continued.

“Marry Iris. Get what you want. Then decide what happens to us.”

Adrian stared at her.

The suggestion was so cynical that he should have rejected it immediately.

Instead, he felt an unexpected relief.

For the first time, someone had spoken aloud the arrangement he’d been constructing without admitting it.

He sat beside her.

“You make it sound simple.”

Celia looked away.

“It isn’t simple.”

He took her hand.

She allowed it.

Neither mentioned Iris again that evening.

Naomi Price had been Iris’s closest friend since university.

At thirty-four, she was a commercial disputes solicitor with a dry sense of humour and a deeply suspicious attitude toward anyone who described a contract as merely a formality.

She was also the first person to tell Iris something might be wrong.

They were having lunch near Covent Garden in May.

Iris was discussing wedding arrangements.

Naomi listened while examining the menu.

Then asked how Adrian’s shareholding proposal was progressing.

Iris looked surprised.

“What proposal?”

Naomi lowered the menu.

“The fortyper centt.”

Iris stared.

“How do you know about that?”

“Richard mentioned it when I saw him at the foundation meeting.”

Iris put down her glass.

“He asked for forty per cent?”

Naomi studied her expression.

“You didn’t know.”

“No.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Iris laughed.

It was a small, incredulous sound.

“That’s rather ambitious.”

Naomi looked at her.

“Quite.”

Iris picked up her fork.

“He’s been working on the expansion subsidiary for years. I assume he wants the incentives renegotiated.”

“For a per cent is more than an incentive.”

“I know.”

Naomi leaned back.

“Doesn’t it bother you that he discussed it with your father without mentioning it to you?”

Iris considered.

“A little.”

“Only a little?”

She smiled.

“Naomi.”

Her friend held up a hand.

“I’m not saying he’s plotting to steal the family fortune.”

“Good.”

“I’m saying he seems remarkably comfortable having conversations about your family’s assets while excluding you from them.”

Iris looked down at her plate.

The observation irritated her because it was reasonable.

That evening, she asked Adrian about the proposal.

He appeared surprised that she knew.

Then quickly recovered.

“I was going to tell you.”

“When?”

“Once there was something worth discussing.”

“Foper centcent seems worth discussing.”

He laughed.

“It was an opening position.”

She studied him.

“Why didn’t you mention it?”

“Because it was a business conversation with Richard.”

“I’m on the board.”

“Not of that subsidiary.”

“No. I’m a director of the parent company.”

Adrian looked away.

For the first time, Iris noticed how much he disliked being reminded that she held authority independent of her father’s affection.

He returned his gaze to her.

“I didn’t want you caught between us.”

She considered.