Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Greats, but ever since then he had scarcely used it. There was the odd distraction, he had a share in an art gallery in Cork Street, he was on a couple of boards of charities, and a yard in Gloucestershire where he kept some racehorses, a fact which went a long way towards endearing Lady Beckenham to him: but that was all.
    The twins adored him: he was so good-looking, with his permanently amused dark eyes and slicked, black hair, his extensive wardrobe, his stable of cars, his hyper-fashionable flat in the Albany, so charming, so amusing, so rich, and above all so unconcerned with anything more serious than the next party, the last race meeting, the latest fashion or piece of gossip. Giles, on the other hand, actually found him rather overpowering, however flattering his friendship; but he could see that the girls, Venetia particularly, liked him and moreover why they should. His dearest wish, in many ways, would be to quite closely resemble Boy Warwick.
     
    The twins were terribly over-excited and telling increasingly risqué jokes egged on by Jack and Kit, but nobody seemed to mind; Celia had moved from her initial bad mood into her most witty and charming form, as she often did on these occasions, and was flirting alternately with Boy and an extremely handsome young man none of them had ever seen before but whom Adele had introduced as her absolutely greatest friend Charley. Oliver was almost silent, benignly enjoying the party around him while as usual not being quite at one with it.
    If only Barty were there, Giles thought; it would be so much nicer. The family never felt complete without her: ironic, since she was not, strictly speaking, a part of it. She always made him feel happy, happy and at ease; just thinking of her now soothed his discomfort. He imagined her studying in her room at Oxford, quietly and methodically, setting her cool, calm intelligence to work. Not that she’d be exactly enjoying this evening if she was here; she didn’t really like any of the twins’ friends, and she’d hate the idea even more of going on to the Embassy nightclub, as Adele was now suggesting. Just the same, it would have been nice for him . . .
     
    Thank goodness, just thank goodness she wasn’t there, Barty thought, pushing her books back, reaching for her cup of cocoa. She hadn’t dared stop before, partly because she would lose concentration and start thinking about the twins’ birthday dinner and partly because she knew she would realise how tired she was. She still had a great deal of ground to cover that evening, she really wanted to make a start on the Chaucer; but she simply had to have a break. And of course she did start thinking about the birthday party. Most years, even after she had gone up to Oxford she had had to endure it; once in the early days she’d escaped, her mother had been ill, and once she had been ill herself, and there had been the School Certificate year, she’d got out of it then. But that still left quite a few birthdays – for the tradition had started early, when the twins were only nine – of sitting and smiling till her face ached, trying not to feel jealous, trying to enjoy herself, and trying to make the right sort of conversation. It had been especially hard when she was younger, wishing and wishing that Celia hadn’t insisted on it, had let her stay up in the nursery with Nanny, where she felt she more properly belonged. Only of course she didn’t belong there either, and although Nanny was always really nice to her, she knew she found her presence difficult and confusing as well.
    As Barty had got older, the feelings of anxiety and envy had been replaced by a sort of resignation, but it was still an especially difficult occasion, with the twins being so over-excited and more likely to patronise her than usual, and some poor boy or other put next to her, having to talk to her while not knowing quite what to make of her – was she a Lytton or wasn’t she – oh, it was always