Okay, not exactly a morale boost, but hard to dispute.
“It was my fault, yes.” There was no point in mentioning Will’s involvement. It still came down to her, and she didn’t really want anything to do with him at the moment. She sighed. “How bad is it?”
“It’s unfortunate. If it had been a less controversial suicide,” Lynette said, with quite appalling callousness, “I could easily have worked it to Richard’s advantage. Father commits suicide due to mother acting like a tart. Sympathy abounds.”
“Enjoying sex doesn’t make you a tart,” Lainie said. “I merely mention.”
Lynette ignored the interruption. “However, nobody likes a dirty politician. People aren’t all that fond of the politicians who don’t fiddle with the public funds.”
Lainie accidentally squashed a wrapped caramel in her clenched fist. “Has that got out?”
Bloody Richard. Always right.
“Sketchy allusions to dirty dealing. No specifics. Someone’s been digging, but most of the records were sealed by a previous government. The press have got enough to run with, but nothing they can actually pin down.”
She bit hard on her lower lip. “Exactly how bad is this for Richard?”
“The effect on his career should be minimal. Most people expect there to be a few skeletons in the Troy closet. Right now, he’s the smouldering, brooding half of the West End’s golden couple. The average blog reader isn’t that interested in twenty-year-old gossip. They’d rather speculate on what goes on behind closed doors when you disappear into his mansion flat.”
Lainie didn’t take much comfort from the assurances. She could hear the giant looming but. She was almost afraid to ask. “What about the RSPA chair?”
“Too early to tell, but I’ve been poking my nose into a few nests, and little birds inform me that he’s still Jeremy Steinman’s favourite candidate. Steinman has a weighty influence. Nor would it help the committee if they openly punished the son for the father’s sins. It’s fairly widely known in administrative circles that Richard doesn’t share his father’s prejudices.” Lynette hesitated. “I should warn you, though, that when I left Richard five minutes ago, he was taking a call from a ministerial secretary about the conference next month. First impression—not looking good.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“I understand the sentiment.” Lynette unwrapped another chocolate. “So I’ll excuse your French.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Lainie snapped as she stomped toward the door, “but I didn’t say merde.”
What a shit of a day.
She tracked down Richard in a corridor outside the greenroom, which was still reverberating with noise from the builders’ drills. He had just ended a call and was sliding his phone into his back pocket.
“What did they say?” She anxiously scanned his face, trying to read something into the bland mockery, searching for a trace of the shiver-inducing feelings she had caught lurking there recently. “They haven’t dropped you from the conference, have they?”
“They have.” His voice was remote. “It’s understandable. The Ministry wants to keep media attention focused on their agenda. Not on the resounding irony of Franklin Troy’s son waving a banner for increased cultural funding, after the father manipulated the system to line his own pocket. And made such a tremendously poor job of it, too.”
Absently, she reached out and gripped a handful of his jumper. And hopefully a bit of accidental chest hair; otherwise, she wasn’t thrilled about the visible flinch. “What can I do?”
“You can’t do anything.” He shrugged. “We turn the page and move on.”
His indifference would have been harder to handle if it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes. For the first time in his adult life, Richard Troy’s acting ability was letting him down with a thump. Lainie caught her breath.
Before she could respond, a callboy stuck his head out of the greenroom door and politely delivered Bennett’s order to return to the stage.
“Er, as soon as possible,” the kid said, glancing uncomfortably between them. “Like, now, really.”
Richard started to move past her and she caught his arm, ignoring his impatient glance. “This isn’t over,” she said warningly.