Her Lady's Fortune Page 3

“Thank you.” Priya hesitated. The first time they’d met since that night in Bloomsbury before the war had been awkward, but that awkwardness had slowly dissipated over time because they’d focused on business with both of them preferring to pretend that night hadn’t happened; well, that was what Priya preferred anyway. If only she could shake the niggling concern about why Miss Sanderson had been so keen to get her alone that night. The way she’d disappeared afterwards only reinforced Priya’s doubt over Miss Sanderson’s motives. Money brought out the worst in people and Priya had grown up knowing she could never trust that people were interested in her for her own sake. One throwaway comment combined with Miss Sanderson’s non-appearance afterwards had cemented her opinion that her memory of the night’s pleasure was overblown in the face of Miss Sanderson’s actions afterward. Maybe it was only the heightened emotions in the aftermath that created the memory around how explosive their touches had been.

  With a slow breath out, Priya pushed open the door, ready to do battle. This was a good project, and having Sanderson and Sons involved meant they could expand to help more people. The war’s unfortunate impact on society was vast and even with the bank’s help, this project was only a drop in the bucket towards reducing the harm done. On top of the war, the Spanish Flu outbreak had taken an already precarious situation and stomped on the people who were already hardest hit. Rowley’s Mile had to happen—she had to make it happen—so the city of London could begin to heal from all the wounds of war. The familiar chill of guilt pricked at the back of her neck. She had to do this, and if working with Miss Sanderson was what it took, then she’d push past her own issues to heal others. A little rejection, nah manipulation, from years ago was barely a crumb on the scale of things.

  She stepped into the room and strode over to Miss Sanderson—to call her Rosalie was too intimate—and stuck out her hand with purpose. If she moved first, Priya could control her response to touching Miss Sanderson. After all this time, and even knowing Miss Sanderson had only cared about furthering their business connections, she still felt that damned spark whenever they touched. It was terribly inconvenient.

  “Good afternoon. Coffee?” Miss Sanderson shook her hand.

  “Yes please.”

  Miss Sanderson rang a little bell. “Please sit down. Mrs Patel knows what you like.”

  “Yes.” Priya sat down, crossing her ankles under the chair, and brushed down her skirt. She loved this new fashion, with calf-length skirt and loose blouse under her trim dark grey jacket. Miss Sanderson wore something similar, in a deep navy blue, and the colour made her hazel eyes look bluer.

  “Now, I’ve only had vague notes from your brother about this concept. He told me you would be running the project and Sanderson and Sons needed to be involved. Apparently, the Rowley Mile is something I would be keen on.”

  Priya wanted to roll her eyes, she adored Ashwin, but he was so incredibly busy running Carlingford Enterprises that he was often incredibly vague on the details of anything that wasn’t key to the business’s success. Her grandfather had started the business, passing it to her mother and Uncle Will when he died. Ashwin had taken over when the war broke out as a way of preventing him going to fight. Ashwin had thrown himself into the role with vigour—overseeing massive growth—and when she’d talked to him about it, he’d admitted he felt guilty for not becoming a soldier, so this was his way of contributing to the war effort. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t ask to be heir to both the Carlingford empire as well as Uncle Sanjay’s title. It was just a trick of birth and one that meant he needed to stay home and fight the war by building ships.

  Priya had been working on this project for six months as a concept before she mentioned it to Ashwin and he’d come up with the idea of loans to give people a hand upwards. Carlingford could fund the building aspect of the housing estate and Sanderson and Sons could help the new tenants start new businesses, trades mostly, and give them a chance to create a better life for themselves. Now it was up to her to tackle Miss Sanderson—not an image she needed in her head right now—to get a good rate for everyone. The last thing these people needed was a loan shark to prey on them. Yes, she ought to think of Miss Sanderson as a shark, easily done given the way she’d treated Priya on that one night so long ago. Six years, she ought to be over it by now, but the sting lingered like a scratch from a thorn.

  “What exactly am I going to be keen on?”

  Priya held up her hand. “Give me a moment. I expected that Mr Howick...” She always used her brother’s title in formal discussions, especially when she was annoyed at him. “...had given you the background to this project, and therefore I could begin our discussion at a rather different point, but—”

  “He only mentioned it in passing at Lord Bamburgh’s soiree a few nights ago, and that you would outline the whole project for me in more depth.”

  “You literally know nothing bar the name?” Priya ground her teeth together. Ashwin was going to hear about this later. It wasn’t the first time he’d thrown her at a problem and expected her to step up and resolve it. Generally, she didn’t mind because it meant he respected her to do the job well, but this time, she’d expected him to have at least given some sort of sales pitch. On the other hand, he didn’t know about her history with Miss Sanderson, so this weight on her chest was completely hers to deal with. Accusing Ashwin was unfair, an instinct born from self-preservation.

  “That is correct.”

  “And yet, you’ve blocked out an hour of your time for it?” She’d seen the entry in Mrs Patel’s diary.

  Miss Sanderson blinked once. “Carlingford Enterprises is an important customer of Sanderson and Sons. We will always find time for one of our biggest clients because we place a high value on the relationship.” If only Miss Sanderson had placed the same value on taking their night together and maybe putting some time into developing a relationship. But no, she’d run off at the first hint that Priya might discover how one-sided their evening had been. It was Priya who’d naively assumed that Miss Sanderson’s willingness to get on her knees for Priya might mean something. Priya had been wrong and it would always irritate her that she hadn’t picked it, like a raised scar that she couldn’t help fiddle with. Well, she’d grown up now, and Miss Sanderson would never again get to play her like that. If only that idea didn’t disappoint her.

  “Of course.” Priya knew it was the utmost in privilege for her brother to assume she would gain an audience with the boss of one of London’s most exclusive banks. Just because he could waltz into any meeting didn’t mean the same applied for herself, but she knew in this case, Ashwin had set up this meeting because of all the banks in London, Sanderson and Sons was the most likely to be interested in this charity. As she was about to begin her sales pitch, the door swung open and Mrs Patel entered with a tray of coffee. The pause gave her the time she needed to figure out how to best sell this to Miss Sanderson. During the war, she’d had to meet every few months with Miss Sanderson to figure out the ongoing issues with payment on their contracts with the nation. Carlingford Enterprises main business before the war was shipbuilding, and they’d thrived during the war, churning out ships for the war effort. The financials of their contracts were complicated, and had been Priya’s main job during the war, which necessitated working with Miss Sanderson as they negotiated different debt structures with the nation. Every single meeting was a strain—she’d kept a stiff upper lip and pretended that evening had never happened—and she’d often dealt with the bank via written correspondence rather than put herself through the drama of seeing Miss Sanderson and being reminded of the one time she’d been a foolish youth. Once Mrs Patel had finished her task and the door closed again, Priya took a sip of coffee. She’d grown up in the last six years, and Miss Sanderson had aged too. She had a few extra lines around her mouth and eyes, and her cheekbones were sharper than they had been back then. Dark shadows under her hazel eyes were a sign of the stress of the job.

  Priya shook off the moment
ary swirl of empathy in her chest. This silence had gone on long enough. She squared her shoulders and breathed in deep. “The Rowley Mile project is a charity funded in part by Carlingford Enterprises, and in part by our partners.”

  “And you wish Sanderson and Sons to contribute?”

  “Yes, but not with funds.”

  Miss Sanderson’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh?”

  “I’ll get to that soon. First, given Mr Howick’s vague input, I should run you through the project and what we aim to achieve. Do you recall, in November last year, Lloyd George’s speech about homes for heroes?”

  “Yes. I’ll be interested to see how he plans to fund the idea, but it’s a good one if he can manage it. Everyone likes the sentiment that we can ensure our returned soldiers aren’t priced out of the housing market.”

  Priya nodded to acknowledge the point but wasn’t going to let herself get side tracked by Rosalie’s economics. “Simply put, we were discussing Lloyd George’s declaration at a business meeting—” Priya tried not to grin at the formal description of their family dynamics. She loved toying with the world’s expectations of her role. In reality, her family had been chatting about it over dinner one evening, and the lively discussion between her parents and Ashwin had been interrupted by her own observations. “—and I asked, what about the women?”

  “An excellent question.” Miss Sanderson smiled, and Priya hated the way it made her feel warm inside. She didn’t want the reminder of how Miss Sanderson’s lips had felt against her skin—like they belonged—this was so much easier when they kept their distance and discussed impersonal business. But there was nothing impersonal about this charity. Her best friends, Nell and Luciana, had gone to war serving as a veterinarian and a doctor respectively, and had come back drastically changed by the experience. Luciana had been widowed; not in the traditional sense because the law would never have allowed Luciana to marry her Maggie, but Priya considered Luciana a widow of the heart. She’d recently found love again, something that always made Priya sigh happily. Nell had also found love, in Wales of all places. Priya felt no jealousy. If anyone deserved happiness it was her friends who’d sacrificed so much for their country.

  She glanced at Miss Sanderson whose presence in her working life was a regular reminder that people were more interested in her for her family connections and money, not love. Even lust came with a personal price, one that meant Priya wouldn’t find happiness for herself. This tension in her shoulders was resignation to her fate, not jealousy for her friends. She was thrilled for them.

  “As you are likely aware...” Priya pushed away the knot building in her chest and focused on her task. Today she would get something from Miss Sanderson; a different type of satisfaction. “... people always forget the women. The women who worked while the men were at war; not just those who worked in factories supporting the war effort, but also those who worked in ordinary businesses keeping the economy going and now have been pushed out of work by returned soldiers. The women whose family members died. The widows raising children alone. All the other women. What about them? I simply pointed out that they needed homes too. The focus on the returned soldiers is good—obviously building homes for our returned heroes, soldiers, doctors, everyone, matters—but Lloyd George missed all the women who have also sacrificed their families for the war effort. The Rowley Mile project will build housing for war widows.”

  “Sanderson and Sons would be pleased to be involved.”

  “Excellent. I have a specific proposal for you.” Priya nearly corrected herself to say ‘for the bank’, but didn’t as it would draw more attention to the overtly friendly way she’d phrased that. Not that type of proposition; she wasn’t naïve enough to go down that road again...

  “You do?”

  “Yes. The project has access to a large swath of land east of Whitechapel and we are currently preparing to move people out so we can demolish the current slums on the land in preparation for building. In terms of the bank’s input, we want to give women the option of applying for small loans that they can use to create a business and therefore a new income stream for themselves.”

  “Loans?”

  “Yes. Sanderson and Sons is the only bank I’m aware of that currently allows a woman to take out a loan without a man’s signature. We want this partnership with you for that reason alone. Many of the women who will live in the proposed housing have acquired skills during the war and I think it would be a waste to let those skills become unused. All of those who continue to work will require childcare, and that opens up the potential for more small businesses run by women. Once the houses are built, the area will require shops and these loans will assist women to begin the operation of such things. As you know, many war widows are struggling on the tiny pensions granted by the government which are quite inadequate for a healthy life. I hope this system will give women a way to build a future for themselves.”

  “And these loans would be...”

  “Preferably with no profit margin for Sanderson and Sons. It is a charitable exercise after all, however, with them being over the long term, I assume you will want some type of assurance.”

  Miss Sanderson leaned back in her chair. “Let me think about this. Certainly I am keen on being involved, and this is a, frankly, brilliant idea to give women, especially war widows, some independence as well as the authority over their own lives.”

  “Yes. We will preference applications from women who currently in the slum we are demolishing and then to those who’ve worked in Carlingford factories over the war, however, the application process will be open to all. I was hoping the bank would also provide some administrative services for the charity.”

  “Administrative of loans, or broader?”

  “Broader, if possible. Carlingford is funding the build project and the first stage will build homes for almost one thousand families. The homes will consist of three level buildings with four homes on each level, so twelve in total.”

  “You are planning to build 83 buildings?” Miss Sanderson’s arithmetic was sound.

  “Yes. Women who served overseas and have injuries will have preference for the ground floor, and these are being designed in conjunction with a team of people who have war injuries to ensure they are completely accessible. The other two levels will be homes for widowed women and their families. Each building will be surrounded by some garden space for fruit trees and vegetables.”

  “It sounds like it will be a vast improvement on the slums.”

  “I hope so.” Priya paused for a moment. This was going better than she’d hoped. “There are some issues around relocation. That is, we need to ensure the people who will lose their homes during the demolition phase will have somewhere to go during the build process.”

  “Will those people move back in?” Miss Sanderson got right to the crux of the matter. Several years ago, Priya would have winced at such a question.

  “I already mentioned that those who have to relocate will get first preference in the application process. However, some may choose to make their move away permanent and the charity will cover those costs too.” She needed some advice on how to navigate this process, and whatever her other issues with Miss Sanderson, she had come to trust her good practical business sense, including how a decision will impact real people and how to mitigate those negative effects. “Honestly, this is the part of the project I’ve been struggling the most with. Some of the people we need to move out don’t qualify for moving back in as they didn’t contribute to the war effort, and yet they all need somewhere to live. The conditions they have been living in are appalling.”

  “Perhaps by your standards.”

  Priya glared at Miss Sanderson, for the first time today, truly looking at her, albeit through a haze of irritation. “I’ll have you know that my mother has run a clinic in Whitechapel since she first qualified as a doctor in the late 1880s. I’ve spent my childhood there, helping out, and I’m only torn now because I want to help everyone,
even those who don’t fit the criteria for this charity.”

  “My apologies. However, perhaps this should have been contemplated prior to buying the land.”

  Priya gritted her teeth before she spat out the obvious. Large amounts of land in London weren’t easy to acquire, nor was it cheap. And honestly, the idea of Miss Sanderson talking about Priya’s living standards when she knew barely anything at all about life beyond the bounds of her precious bank was a joke, and besides... No, Priya shook off the nasty gibe.

  :The land deal was negotiated as part payment on debts owed by the nation to Carlingford Enterprises and that process occurred before this charity commenced.” Not that it was Miss Sanderson’s business, and yet, Priya always felt the need to explain her motives to her. Carlingford Enterprises hadn’t sought to buy the land, and once they’d been given it as part of debt recovery, both her and Ashwin wanted to do something good with it. She needed Miss Sanderson to know that she was empathetic in her dealings and didn’t just kiss young ladies in someone’s library to gain financial advantage. The throwaway comment from that night haunted Priya because she’d felt such heat between them, and no matter how much she chased the same high since then, no other person had given her such a brilliant orgasm.

  “I understand your dilemma then. Perhaps I might offer Sanderson and Sons as a part solution.”

  “How so?”

  “You mentioned setting up loans to help the war widows begin small businesses to capitalise on their new skills and to give them opportunities.”

  “Yes?”

  “We could offer the same to those displaced by these changes as a way to assist them in their new location.”

  Priya nodded. “That would go some way to ease my concerns. For the time being, we are attempting to source properties for them to live in. The key problem is that many of these families have spent generations living in the same buildings, and any change to another location is very difficult for them.”