‘No, of course not.’ He seemed to relax. ‘The French reforms give scope for men of talent to rise according to their abilities and not according to aristocratic privilege. As does your own system, of course.’ He proceeded to lecture me on American governance, trade and industry while I ruminated on mansplaining across the centuries and wondered whether we were going to emerge from this shrubbery without me dotting him one with my parasol out of sheer irritation at his hypocrisy. The man was willing to accept his uncle’s patronage and influence, it seemed, but not tolerate the same thing in anyone else.
‘Do you know many of your fellow countrymen in London?’ he asked casually, changing the subject.
‘The Ambassador, of course – but purely socially. Otherwise, no.’ Now why did I get the sense that he was disappointed? ‘Have you met many Americans?’
‘No, you are my first,’ Reece admitted, making it sound somehow lascivious.
I didn’t want to be his first anything so I put on my best deeply interested expression and started to talk about him. ‘And what occupies your time, Mr Reece? Are you a gentleman of leisure?’
‘I work at the Home Office.’
I took my cue from his tone. ‘That must be so important and challenging! I suppose you have a degree and all manner of qualifications.’
‘A degree from Oxford, naturally. But as for the rest, well, ability and the right attitude are what one needs.’ He began to edge a little closer, pushing at the parasol with his thigh until it touched mine.
Time to be going, I think. ‘You would have known that poor young man who hanged himself. Mr Coates. So tragic.’
He was tense again. He really did need to work on his body language if he was going to find himself in any tricky situations. ‘He should never have been employed, obviously an unstable person.’
‘You think so? But surely grief or great pressure can drive even the most solid person to despair?’
‘Coates was not the solid gentleman he pretended to be,’ Reece said with a sneer.
‘Really? Of course, you would know all about it.’
‘He was a man of unsavoury habits, not at all the sort of thing one could discuss with a lady.’
So, you knew. And how was that, given that his colleagues in the same office gave not the slightest hint?
‘Dreadful.’ I couldn’t blush to order but I looked away, attempting to look shocked. It was a mistake.
The next thing I knew Elliott Reece had his arms around me and was trying to kiss me.
‘Let me go this instant!’ I didn’t have to act to sound properly outraged. He had hands everywhere and was planting open-mouthed kisses on my neck and the side of my face as I pulled away from him. ‘Stop that!’
‘Stop acting coy with me. You don’t linger in the shrubbery with a man you do not know unless you want some of this.’ This appeared to involve his hand on my left breast.
I gave a fleeting thought to whether the knife had been folded properly, decided I didn’t care, grabbed the reticule by its strings and swung it. The thump as it landed over his ear was most satisfactory.
‘You little bitch!’ Reece scrambled backwards and fell off the end of the bench. The reticule didn’t look dangerous, but it contained a notebook, the knife and all the rest of my odds and ends and must have hurt.
I stood up, took a firm hold on the bag, picked up my parasol and jabbed him in the sternum with it as he tried to haul himself upright. He sat down with a yelp.
‘You, sir, are no gentleman and certainly have no right to condemn others for their behaviour. You are a disgrace, a lout, a – ’
I was still in full rant but the sound of applause made me break off. I half turned, keeping a wary eye on Reece, and saw a woman I recognised. She was, thankfully, alone.
‘Lady Turnham.’
‘I saw you vanish round here and thought to have a chat but it took me a while to get away from Lady Westerham. She can talk the hind leg off a donkey and happens to be my husband’s terribly wealthy godmother, so one cannot simply swan off, however much one might wish to. Anyway, I am so glad I got here in time to see that magnificent blow. Who is this nasty little worm?’
‘Mr Elliott Reece, an ornament to the Home Office,’ I said, prodding him again when he tried to get to his feet.
‘So it is. I didn’t recognise you grovelling on the grass, Mr Reece. I do hope you don’t think to spread any nasty gossip about this. My husband, Lord Turnham, has rather more influence in government than I think you do, if you take my point?’ She smiled sweetly at him and he dropped his gaze and made no more attempts to stand.
‘Do come and join me for a cup of tea, Miss Lawrence.’
‘Thank you, Lady Turnham,’ I said, when we had rounded the bush and were once more amongst the crowd of guests. ‘I certainly didn’t go in there with him – I thought I was taking a short cut.’