She opened her mouth to deny his contention, but then she closed it again. What would be the point of denial? Her role as Henry’s mistress was a fiction of long standing, begun that fateful night in her Paris dressing room six years ago. It was a role both she and Henry had found convenient and one neither of them had ever seen the need to dispel. There was no purpose in telling Denys the truth now, for he would never believe her. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. “Henry was a kind and generous man,” she said instead.
“I daresay. But I am curious. How does his family feel about this particular display of his kindness and generosity?”
“Henry left his wife and children well provided for. The Imperial was only a fraction of his estate.”
“Only a fraction?” He held out the letter. “Then I’m sure poor Gladys and the children didn’t feel the least bit cheated.”
Lola bristled as she snatched the letter from his hand. “His children—who are twenty-three and twenty-six, by the way—didn’t give a damn about Henry when he was alive, and neither did Gladys. None of them had the time of day for him unless they wanted more money, of course.”
Denys’s mouth took on a cynical curve, and his gaze slid downward. “You, I’m sure, were much more devoted.”
Hot color rushed into her face. Playing the part of Henry’s mistress had been easy in New York, but standing in front of Denys now, there was nothing easy about it. Still, one had to live with one’s choices, so Lola took a deep breath and brought the conversation back to the present. “Perhaps instead of talking about Henry, we should talk about what happens next?”
“Next?” He frowned. “I’m not sure I have the pleasure of understanding you.”
“I own one-half of the Imperial, and though your father owns the other half, you manage it. That means you and I will be working together—”
“We most certainly will not.”
She studied him for a moment, then gestured to the doorway behind her. “Since we see the situation so differently, perhaps we should sit down and discuss it? A mutual understanding might be hammered out.”
Not wanting to give him the chance to refuse, she didn’t wait for a reply. Turning away, she reentered his office, resumed her seat in the leather chair opposite his desk where she’d been awaiting his arrival, and crossed her fingers that he would follow. After a moment, he did, but his next words provided little encouragement for an amicable interview.
“I fail to see what there is for us to hammer out,” he said as he circled his desk to face her.
The opening of the outer door interrupted any reply she might have made, and a moment later, Mr. Dawson came bustling into Denys’s office, a laden tray in his hands.
“Here’s your tea, Miss Valentine. I hope you like Earl Grey. Oh, good morning, sir,” he added as he spied Denys standing behind the desk. Giving his employer a nod, the secretary halted beside Lola’s chair and placed the tea tray on the desk in front of her. “I also brought some biscuits for you in case you might be hungry.”
“Thank you.” In the wake of Denys’s hostility, the secretary’s friendliness was like a soothing balm, and she gave the young man a grateful smile. “How very thoughtful of you.”
“Not at all, not at all.” He reached for the teapot and began to pour her tea. “I must say again how exciting it is to meet you in the flesh, Miss Valentine. I saw your one-woman show in New York last year, when I was there with my previous employer, and it was spectacular. I still remember how you kicked off the hat of that man in the front row, tossing it into the air with your toe, though how you managed to land it on your own head, I can’t think.” He laughed. “I’ll wager that chap never forgets to remove his hat in the theater again.”
Lola didn’t tell him the man with the hat was always in the audience. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“I did very much. I hope your presence in London means you intend to do a show here?”
“I’d like to perform here, yes.” She looked over at Denys, and his icy countenance confirmed just how difficult a prospect that was going to be. “We’ll have to see.”
“I do hope you will. I should very much like to see you perform again. Would you care for sugar and milk?”
Lola had no opportunity to reply to that, for Denys interrupted.
“Dawson, stop fawning over Miss Valentine and find me the Calvin and Bosch contracts if you please.”
“Of course, my lord.” Giving Lola an apologetic smile, Mr. Dawson handed over her tea, then bowed and left the room.
Cup and saucer in hand, Lola settled back in her seat and waited, but Denys did not move to take his own chair. “Denys, do sit down,” she said. “Or I’ll soon have a crick in my neck.”
“This conversation isn’t going to last long enough for that.” He leaned forward, flattening his palms on the polished oak top of his desk. “There is no way I shall involve myself, or my father, for that matter, in a partnership with you.”
“You are already involved.”
“Not for long. Now if you will pardon me,” he added before she could ask what he meant, “I have an appointment for which I am already late.”
She tilted her head back, and as she studied him, she knew that for now, at least, this discussion was over. If a partnership between them was ever going to work—and she was determined to make it work come hell or high water—she had to begin on as amicable a footing as possible. That meant respecting his schedule.
“Of course.” She put the letter back in her handbag and stood up. “When would you like to resume this discussion? I can make an appointment with your secretary, or—”
“I thought I was clear, but evidently not.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed, seeming to darken their color from brown to black. “I will accept no appointment with you. I will not be discussing anything with you involving the Imperial or any other matter. Not now, and not in future.”
“But Denys, the season is about to begin. Rehearsals for Othello begin in two weeks. There are decisions we must make, arrangements for—”
“Of course,” he cut her off. “Dawson will give you the names of my solicitors. I’m sure they will be quite happy to keep you abreast of what decisions and arrangements I am making for the Imperial. You will, I trust, let them know where to send your share of the profits?”
Despite her resolve to be as businesslike as possible, Lola felt her temper flare up a notch. “Now wait just a minute. It’s clear you haven’t yet been apprised of the situation by Henry’s attorney, and I appreciate that this is all coming as quite a shock. But Denys, I have no intention of being shunted off to the side while you make all the decisions for the Imperial and run the show without me. Unlike Henry, I intend to participate fully in this partnership.”
A muscle worked along the square line of his jaw. “Not while I breathe air.”
“I know you resent me, you probably even hate me. But the fact remains that I am your father’s full and equal partner, and I have an equal say in what is done.”
“That is another matter you can take up with my solicitors.” Ignoring her sound of frustration, he turned away and exited his office, vanishing from view. “Walk down with me, Mr. Dawson,” she heard him say. “I have some things I need you to do while I’m out.”
Lola moved to follow, but then she thought the better of it and stopped. She could hardly go chasing him down the corridors and staircases of his own offices, especially when he had his secretary in tow, and he was in no frame of mind to listen to her anyway. It was best to give him some breathing room and allow the reality of their new relationship to sink in.