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tower of light

February 2017

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The very best kind of wives!

- Darling, what's the matter?

- I'm afraid you made a bad bargain, Frances. Please remain where you are. If you approach me, l may not be able to continue.
   Oh, God. The whole thing is completely, unutterably bloody.

- Is it a girl? Oh, God, don't tell me it's Edna, the new maid—fingers like sausages, I couldn't bear it.

- No.

- Is it a boy?

- It is nothing of that kind.
   It is...a professional matter.

- Money. Is the firm going smash?
   Are we to be bankrupt?
   You know, don't you, that I've never cared about money in the slightest? It bores me to tears.
   Would it be helpful if I asked you questions? You could nod.
   Whose money is lost? Is it ours?
   Is it the clients' money?
   Is it very much that is gone?

- Pensions.

- You've spent the clients' pensions?
   Jeremy...my father was a baronet. He was also the most almighty feckless, sponging crook. My brother Charles is just the same.
   In memory, my childhood divides pretty evenly between dining at the Ritz and flitting from rented houses in the night to escape the bailiffs.
   Can we mortgage the house?
   Of course, you must have done that already.
   Right. There's only one thing for it. It'll have to be a touch. Big one.
   Let's see if I really am my father's daughter.
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