Chapter 6 Section 5

George Lee, MP for Westlingham, was a rather portly gentleman of forty-one years of age.His eyes were light blue and slightly protruding, with a suspicious expression.He had a double chin and he spoke in a drawling, coquettish tone. He was saying in a serious manner: "I told you, Magdalen, I thought it my duty to go." His wife shrugged impatiently. She was slender, fair blonde with a smooth oval face and shaved eyebrows.That face can look blank and expressionless at times.This is what she looks like now. "Honey," she said, "I'm sure that's going to be a nuisance."

At this time, an attractive idea came to George Lee's face, and he began to say with joy, "Besides, this way we can save a considerable amount of money. Christmas is always expensive, so we You can just give the servants a meal fee." "Oh, that's all right," said Magdalen. "Anyway, it's disgusting to spend Christmas anywhere!" "I suppose," said George, only following his own train of thought, "that they're looking forward to a Christmas dinner? If not a turkey, perhaps a good steak." "Who? Servants? Say, George, don't make such a fuss. You're always worrying about money."

"It's the sort of things one ought to worry about," said George. "Yes, but it's ridiculous to calculate and count every detail on these trivial matters. Why don't you ask your father to give you more money?" "He's already paid me a handsome living allowance." "How annoying to always be completely dependent on your father, as you are now! He should set aside a sum of money to give you discretion." "That's not how he does things." Magdalen looked at him, suddenly sharp and shrewd in his brown eyes, and something in his expressionless oval face.

"He's very, very rich, isn't he, George? He must be a millionaire, isn't he?" "Twice as many millionaires, I believe." Magdalen sighed jealously. "How did he earn it? In South Africa?" "Yes, he made a fortune in the early years, mostly diamonds." "It's so exciting!" Magdalen said. "Later he came to England to develop, and his property actually doubled or tripled, I think." "What happens when he dies?" asked Magdalen. "Father never talks about it much, and of course you can't ask. I guess most of the money will go to Alfred and me, and Alfred will certainly have more."

"You have other brothers, don't you?" "Yeah, and my brother Davey. I don't think he's going to get much. He's off to get into art or something stupid. I think Father warned him he'd take him out of the will , but David says he doesn't care." "What a fool!" said Magdalen contemptuously. "And my sister Jennifer, she ran away with a foreigner - a Spanish artist - a friend of David's, but she died a year ago and left a daughter. Father may leave her a little Money, but not much. And of course Harry—” He stopped, a little embarrassed.

"Harry?" said Magdalen, surprised. "Who is Harry?" "Oh—er, my brother." "I never knew you had a brother." "My dear, he's not one of our - well - honorable things. We never speak of him. His behavior is disgraceful. We haven't heard from him for years now. He might Son is dead." Magdalen suddenly laughed. "What's the matter? What are you laughing at?" Magdalen said: "I just find it funny that you would have a brother who is notorious. You are so respected." "I hope so," said George coldly.

Her eyes narrowed. "Your father isn't very—respectable, George." "Really? Magdalen?" "Sometimes some of the things he said made me feel awkward." George said, "Really? Magdalen, you surprise me. Hmm - does Lydia feel the same way?" "He didn't speak that way to Lydia," Magdalen said.She added angrily: "No, he never said that to Lydia, and I don't know why." George gave her a quick look and then looked away. "Come on, all right," he said vaguely, "one must have living expenses, at father's age—and in such poor health—"

"Is he really—very ill?" "Oh, I didn't say that. He's still pretty solid. Anyway, he wants to have his family by his side for Christmas. I think we should, it's probably his last Christmas." She said sharply: "You say that, George, but I suppose he's probably going to have years to live?" Her husband started slightly, and stammered, "Yes—yes, of course he might." Magdalen turned away. "Well," she said, "I hope we were right to go." "I have no doubts about that." "But I hate going there! Alfred is so dreary, and Lydia despises me."

"Nonsense!" "She is! And I hate that doggy footman." "Old Tracylian?" "No, it's Holbury. Always creeping around like a cat and smiling falsely." "Is that so? Magdalen, I don't see how Holberry can affect you." "He just got on my nerves, that's all. Let's stop talking. I get it. We've got to go. Don't mess with the old man." "Yes—yes, you're on to the point. About the servants' Christmas dinner—" "Now don't—George, some time. I'm going to call Lydia and tell her we're ahead at five-twenty tomorrow."

Magdalen left the room hastily.After the phone call, she went upstairs to her room and sat at the desk.She put down the movable board by the table and flipped through the various grids.The bills cascaded down like a cascade.Magdalen tried to classify them as he sorted them out.Finally, with an impatient sigh, she rolled them up and threw them back where they had been.She ran her hands through her smooth blond hair. "What the hell am I going to do?" she murmured.