Walking in Darkness by Charlotte Lamb

room. When she was a baby he had felt nothing much for her except relief that he had her, that the miracle had been pulled off, he and his wife had a child against all the odds, and if it was not a boy, as he had prayed, at least he had an heir to the Ramsey fortune.
    What he had not expected was that she would turn into so beautiful a girl or that he would be so proud of her. She did everything so well, she had never put a foot wrong all her life: wore her clothes with classy style, rode horses as if she had been born in the saddle, was intelligent, could talk to people at all levels of society, like a true politician, and when she chose a man chose brilliantly, a man of his own kind, wealthy, powerful, obviously ambitious and meaning to climb to the very top in his own country.
    He smiled, too. ‘Bowties have a life of their own! But I’ll do it, if it takes me all night,’ he assured her, the underlying obstinacy of his nature showing in his bony face for a second. He was a man who never gave up once he had set his mind on something.
    ‘Where’s Cope? Isn’t he with you?’
    ‘He had to have a tooth out yesterday so I sent him off to bed.’ His valet had been grey with pain. Cope was nearly sixty now. He had worked for Don Gowrie for ten years, doing all the little jobs a wife normally did, taking care that Don’s wardrobe was always in good shape, the suits and coats cleaned, the shirts immaculate, the shoes polished, ties pressed. He had made himself indispensable and Don had been shocked to see him look so old. If Cope retired it would disrupt his life, he would have to find someone to replace the man and he knew it would not be easy. Cope was one of a dying breed.
    ‘You old softie!’ Cathy’s voice was full of affection, and Don Gowrie smiled, his face smoothing out into boyish charm once more.
    ‘So, I’m to give your love to your grandfather? I will, but you could talk to him yourself, you know. He’s resting in his own suite.’
    ‘I don’t want to over-tire him. That trip out from Easton eats into his energy, and he has to sit through a long dinner tonight. Now, Dad, don’t let him drink too much or stay up too late. I know what you men are like when you get together and start talking politics. Has he got the Gorgon with him?’
    ‘Yes, Mrs Upcher flew here with him, and whisked him off to his suite as soon as they arrived.’
    ‘I don’t know how Grandee can stand her, she’s the ugliest woman I ever saw, but I have to say she does take care of him.’
    ‘She’s a good nurse,’ he chided. ‘And devoted to your grandfather. That he’s still alive is largely down to her.’
    ‘I know,’ Cathy said, and he knew she was serious now. ‘You know, I can’t imagine the world without him, Dad. Can you? He’s the totem pole we all live by, isn’t he?’
    ‘I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear you say that.’ The dryness escaped before he could stop it, but Cathy didn’t seem to pick up on the ambivalence of his voice.
    Laughing, she said, ‘He’s obsessed with native American culture, isn’t he? I remember when I was four and he drove me along the Mohawk Trail for hours, to see the colours of the woods in the fall. He recited
Hiawatha
to me, and bought me a pair of moccasins at a trail gift shop. I grew out of them before I had worn them out. I hung them on the wall in my room.’
    ‘They’re still there, darling,’ he assured her. ‘We haven’t done a thing to your room since you left, don’t worry.’
    ‘Really?’ She sounded touched and he smiled.
    ‘It will always be there for you when you want to come home. Sorry, darling, but I have to go and finish tying this goddamn tie or I’ll be late for dinner with Grandee and then he’ll have me roasted over a very slow fire. If there is one thing your grandfather cannot abide it is unpunctuality.’
    ‘Punctuality is the courtesy of kings,’ Cathy growled in a very good mimicry of Eddie Ramsey’s deep New England accents.