Despite her decision, she was compelled to say one more thing before he had the chance to depart.
“We’re in this together, Denys,” she called to him. “This conversation is not over.”
“Of course it isn’t,” he countered at once. “Nothing with you ever seems to be over.”
With that parting shot, the outer door slammed, leaving her alone.
How? she wondered as she sank back down into her chair. How am I ever going to make this work?
It seemed even more impossible now than it had a month ago, when Henry died.
Lola sighed and leaned back, tiredness washing over her. She’d lost the man who’d been her mentor, her friend, and a better father to her than the man who’d sired her had ever dreamt of being. She’d had to do the last weeks of the winter season with his seat empty every single night, knowing he’d never sit in it again. She’d had to be the one to tell Alice he was gone. And at Mr. Forbes’s insistence, she’d had to sit down with Henry’s odious relations for the reading of the will.
An image of Mr. Forbes came into her mind, the waxed ends of his enormous mustache bobbing as his dry, legal voice had laid out the terms disposing of Henry’s estate—an income to his wife, trusts for each of his children, all the New York businesses and their assets to his son, a dowry to his daughter . . .
Her presence in the lawyer’s office had been met with hostile resignation on the part of his family, and it was clear they had already been informed she would be receiving some sort of legacy.
For her part, Lola was in the dark. She couldn’t imagine what he might have left her. Not jewelry, surely, or fur coats, or any of the other baubles men gave their mistresses. Alice would have been the one to receive anything like that. Nor could Lola imagine Henry’s leaving her some small token for sentiment’s sake. Henry had been shrewd, selfish, and razor-sharp, and not the least bit sentimental. He might have left her cash, she supposed, although that seemed odd, too, for she had a tidy nest egg of her own thanks to the success of her one-woman show, a show that had been running for five straight years in Madison Square, a show that had made Henry and his fellow investors a great deal of money.
“Lastly, there is a provision for Miss Valentine.”
Lola sat up a little straighter in her chair. She kept her attention on the attorney, meeting his pale blue eyes over the gold-rimmed pince-nez perched on his nose.
“To Miss Valentine, Mr. Latham has bequeathed his 50 percent share of the Imperial Theatre partnership. In addition, she will receive a capital sum of $50,000—”
Shocked gasps interrupted him, but the members of Henry’s family weren’t the only ones who were shocked. Lola felt as if she’d just been hit by a streetcar.
Half of the Imperial? A partnership between her and Denys’s father? That was just plain crazy.
Dazed, Lola stared at Mr. Forbes, trying to assimilate what this might mean, and it took her several moments to realize the members of Henry’s family had all turned around in their chairs to stare at her. Slowly, her gaze moved from face to face, and she appreciated that they were mad as hell.
First, there was Carlton, his complexion suffusing with purple at the news that Lola was to receive one of Henry’s most profitable investments and a generous amount of cold, hard cash. And Margaret, who had lowered her handkerchief to give her father’s supposed mistress a loathing-filled stare from dry, tearless eyes. And Gladys, trembling with rage, her thin lips pressed tight together.
Lola stared back at them, her chin high. These people were Henry’s family but hadn’t cared a penny about him, and their withering stares didn’t wilt her one bit. She watched as Gladys stood up and came toward where she sat apart from the others in a chair by the door, and she tilted her head back as Gladys halted in front of her, keeping her face expressionless as she met the other woman’s contemptuous gaze head-on. And when Gladys’s hand came up and slapped her hard across the face, Lola didn’t even flinch. She wouldn’t give Gladys that sort of satisfaction.
She waited until they were gone before she pressed a hand to her stinging cheek. Gladys hadn’t known she was slapping the wrong woman, of course, and Lola hadn’t had any inclination to enlighten her. Henry would have wanted Alice’s reputation protected even after his death. Besides, Lola had never had the luxury of caring what women like Gladys Latham thought of her.
“My apologies, Miss Valentine.”
Lola lowered her hand and looked up. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Forbes. Someone else’s uncivil behavior isn’t your fault. Besides,” she added, “I can’t really blame her. It must be difficult for her to see me here. And Henry, I would imagine, wasn’t much of a husband.”
The attorney leaned forward in his chair with a confidential air. “Gladys,” he said, “wasn’t much of a wife.”
Lola couldn’t help smiling a little at that. “You’re a wicked man, Mr. Forbes.”
He gestured to the chair closest to him, the one vacated by Henry’s widow. “If you can stay a few more minutes, Miss Valentine. I have something else to give you from Mr. Latham.”
“Something else?” she echoed as she came forward to take the offered chair. “I can’t imagine what. But then, I couldn’t imagine his leaving me half the Imperial, either. Earl Conyers and I, partners? Why, that man wouldn’t give me a glass of water if I were dying of thirst.”
“As to that . . .” The attorney paused to give a little cough. “His lordship does not manage the Imperial himself. My understanding is that Lord Conyers abdicated management of all his investments to his son, Lord Somerton, three years ago.”
“Denys runs the Imperial now?” She groaned and leaned forward in her chair. “That makes everything even worse. Oh, Henry,” she muttered, rubbing four fingers across her forehead, “what have you done?”
After a moment, she lifted her head. “My question remains. How could he ever imagine that such a partnership could work?”
“As to that, Mr. Latham did not confide in me. But this may elucidate matters for you.” Mr. Forbes lifted a sealed envelope from the desk and held it out to her. “He wanted you to have this after the will was read.”
She broke the wax seal, pulled a single sheet from the envelope and unfolded it.
Lola,
Sometimes I’m a little late, but I always keep my promises. Go back to London and knock ’em dead, honey. Prove they were wrong about you. You can do it.
With affection,
Henry
PS — If you turn down this chance because of Denys, I shall come back as a ghost and haunt you.
Tears stung her eyes even as she gave a laugh at the idea of Henry as a ghost. She’d begun to think he’d forgotten the promise he’d made to her that fateful night in Paris.
I’ll see that you learn your craft the proper way. And when I think you’re ready to give drama another try, I’ll find investors to back a serious play for you. I’ll even make it Shakespeare. And if you’re good, I’ll manage your acting career. Maybe we’ll even open our own theater in New York, and you can put on your own plays.