He didn’t reply, but Susan was not deterred. “We shall ferret out this secret,” she called after him. “We always do.”
Both men ignored that rather aggravating fact of life and crossed the corridor to the earl’s study without a word. Once inside, the door safely closed behind them, Denys was able to reopen the topic. “Now, tell me what’s happened.”
Lord Conyers moved to sit behind his desk and pulled the envelope from his jacket pocket. He started to hand it across the desk, but then, for no discernible reason, he drew back.
“Father, what the devil is it?” Denys asked. “I’m beginning to find your reticence alarming.”
“It’s about Henry Latham.”
At once, unbidden and unwelcome images of Lola Valentine came into his mind—Lola on stage, in her dressing room, in his bed. Lola in a sheer white peignoir with Henry by her side. He took a breath and forced himself to speak. “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
The announcement struck Denys with the impact of a rock thrown at a mirror, and the images of Lola shattered into glittering shards of anger, slicing open a wound he thought had healed long ago. Six years since she’d left him, but suddenly, he felt as raw as if it had all happened yesterday.
“Shocking news, what?”
The matter-of-fact voice of his father brought Denys back to the present, and when he noticed the earl’s concerned gaze on him, he tamped down anger and pain. “Very shocking,” he agreed. “When did this happen?”
“A month ago.”
“A month? Why weren’t we informed at once?”
The earl shrugged. “The letter is dated three weeks ago. It was delayed in the post, I imagine.”
“May I?” He held out his hand, and after a moment of further hesitation, his father leaned across the desk to place the letter in his outstretched palm.
“Does it say how he died?” Denys asked, slipping the missive out of its envelope.
“Heart attack, so Forbes says. Henry had a dicky heart, apparently.”
“Heart?” Denys paused in the act of unfolding the letter, taken aback. Henry had always been such a vital, dynamic personality. The idea of his having a weak heart seemed incongruous somehow.
He looked down at the letter, but he stared at the typewritten lines without reading them. Had she stayed with him all this time? he wondered. All the way to the end?
The wound opened a little more, and Denys reminded himself that Henry and Lola were part of his past, a distasteful business long ago over and done. He refolded the letter, unread, put it back in its envelope, and set it on the desk.
“The question is,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, glad to note his voice was quite natural, “what happens now?”
“To the Imperial, you mean?” Looking relieved, his father at once adopted a brisk, practical demeanor that mirrored his own. “What do you think should happen to it?”
Denys paused to consider for a moment before he spoke, just to be sure his opinion was a thoroughly objective one. “We should offer to buy Henry’s share,” he said at last.
“I agree. But would she accept such an offer?”
Denys couldn’t see any reason why Henry’s widow wouldn’t jump at it if the offer was fair. “Her life is in New York. She wouldn’t want to assist with managing it, surely.”
“Perhaps not, but thanks to you, the Imperial has become profitable. She might want to keep her half as an investment.”
Denys doubted that Gladys Latham would have any more enthusiasm for Henry’s theatrical ventures now than she’d had when he was alive. “Or she might jump at the chance to get rid of it.”
“True. But if she’s not amenable to selling her share, we might consider allowing her to purchase ours.”
Denys stared at his father, appalled by the very idea. “Sell our half of the Imperial? Why on earth should we do so?”
Conyers stirred in his chair. “Might be for the best.”
“I don’t agree.”
