Lola didn’t miss the glance exchanged by the two men, nor Denys’s exclusion of her from any further conversation. She, no doubt, would be the primary topic of discussion between them later, but there was little she could do about it, so she followed Denys out of the dining room, across the opulent foyer, and down the corridor to the elevators. One carriage was available, its doors open, a liveried attendant waiting. Denys cupped a hand beneath her elbow and stepped inside the elevator, pulling her with him.
“Now,” he said, propelling her to the back of the elevator and out of the way as the boy closed the wood-paneled doors and the wrought-iron gate, “tell me what you think you’re doing.”
“Having lunch?” she suggested with an air of bright good cheer.
“You mean you were cozying up to my director, though how you found out he would be dining here defies explanation.”
That made her smile. “I have my methods.”
“I daresay. And by waylaying Roth in this shameless fashion, what do you hope to gain? Information? Support?”
“Both, actually, but my main goal was to gain advice on how best to deal with my partner.”
“I can tell you how to do that. Go away.”
A little cough broke in before she could reply, and both of them glanced toward the attendant, who was gazing at them in polite inquiry, his hand poised atop the brass orb of the elevator mechanism.
When she didn’t supply the requisite information, Denys turned toward her with a sound of impatience. “Where’s your room?”
“Why, Lord Somerton, what an improper question,” she murmured, unable to resist needling him. “I’m not sure I should answer you. The Savoy isn’t really that sort of hotel, you know.”
“Your room?” he repeated in a hard voice.
“You’ve become so staid.” She glanced at the boy, who was staring at the floor, pink as a peony, and she took pity on him. “Sixth floor,” she said.
The young man gave her a grateful glance, then pulled out the handle, turned the crank, and sent the elevator into motion.
“You didn’t used to be this way, you know,” she went on, returning her attention to Denys as they were carried upward. “You’ve changed.”
“Yes, I have,” he agreed at once. “I’ve grown up.”
“Oh, is that what you call it?”
“I do. What would you call it?”
She studied him for a moment, thinking how to describe the changes in him. Her mind flashed back to their days in Paris and London half a dozen years ago, and the affable, carefree young man she’d fallen in love with. “Sad,” she said at last.
He made a sound of derision at that description, but though he seemed to want to argue the point, he didn’t do so. Instead, he turned away, staring straight ahead, and they traveled the remaining floors in silence.
When the elevator deposited them at the sixth floor, she removed her room key from her handbag as Denys handed the attendant a tip, but when she started down the corridor toward her room, he didn’t move to follow her, and she stopped. “Aren’t you coming?”
“No. We can say what we need to say right here. It’s private enough, I daresay.” He cast a pointed glance over his shoulder at the attendant, who gave a start and immediately pulled the doors closed, vanishing from view.
“Don’t worry,” she said in some amusement as Denys returned his attention to her. “I doubt an elevator boy has the power to ruin your reputation.”
“It was decided,” he said stolidly, “that we would settle the matter of this ridiculous partnership through solicitors.”
“That’s what you decided.” She dropped the key into her bag and closed it with a snap. “I decided something different.”
“What do you hope to accomplish by accosting Jacob while he is enjoying his lunch?”
“He didn’t seem to mind my company. An unfathomable concept to you, I know, but true nonetheless. As for the rest, solicitors are always so slow, and I didn’t feel it was wise to dither. Auditions for the season’s acting company are on Monday.”
“A fact that has nothing to do with you.”
She sighed, noting the hard set of his jaw. “Look, I realize this is all still quite a shock to you, but does railing against facts accomplish anything? If you intend to continue this intransigence, our partnership shall be fraught with strife.”
“All the more reason not to continue with it, then.” He spread his hands in a self-evident gesture. “How much?”
She blinked at the abrupt question. “How much what?”
“I want to make an offer for your share of the Imperial. I’ll be generous, I promise you. Name your terms.”
She was shaking her head in refusal before he’d even finished speaking. “I’m not selling.”
“I should advise you to reconsider. Given our history, we can’t possibly work together.”
“Ah, but we don’t have to work together,” she said sweetly. “All you have to do is let me know where to send your share of the profits.”
He didn’t seem amused by having his own words thrown back at him, for his expression became even grimmer than before. “This notion that you and I could ever work together is mad.”
“I thought so myself at first, but after thinking it over, I changed my mind. I believe it can work if we both give it a chance.”
“I don’t want to give it a chance. So, how much money will it take to end it?”
She closed her eyes, remembering how his father had once asked her a similar question.
How much money will make you go away?
She opened her eyes and gave the same answer. “I won’t take your money.”
“Taking all receipts and expenses into consideration,” he went on, and she wondered if, like his father, he was going to pull out his checkbook and start writing a check. “The theater has, at best, a profit margin of five thousand pounds per annum. So twenty thousand pounds is a fair offer, wouldn’t you agree?”
“More than fair,” she acknowledged, “but irrelevant.”
“It would be a sure thing, Lola. Theater, on the other hand, is always uncertain. The public’s tastes are fickle and arbitrary. Over half of all theatrical productions lose money.”
“Nonetheless—”
“The Imperial doesn’t use outside financial backers.”
“Thank God,” she muttered, thinking of Henry’s investors.
“As a partner,” he went on doggedly, “you would be expected to contribute capital anytime a show fails.”
“Which is why Henry left me cash along with my interest in the theater,” she reminded him. “And I have cash of my own.”
“A few flops, and your money will be gone.”
“Since the Imperial has made money every year you’ve been managing it, I’m not particularly worried.”
“You seem well informed about our financial condition.”
“I am,” she countered at once. “Would you expect any less of a partner?”
“Despite your faith in my abilities, I have backed plays that lose money. You,” he added with a pointed glance, “ought to know that better than anyone.”
This reminder of A Doll’s House, of how badly she’d failed in her first attempt at acting and how much money he’d lost as a result of her failure, made her cheeks flush with heat, but she refused to be intimidated by that. “Yes, Denys,” she agreed with as much dignity as she could muster. “I do know.”
“Theater is a capricious business. What I’m offering you is a sure thing. Combined with what Henry left you, it would put an enormous fortune at your disposal, enabling you to live in luxury, with no risk to your future. Or you could marry. You would certainly have a sizable dowry to offer.”