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Charlie nodded. ‘As long as you handle him with kid gloves.’
‘I will, word of honour. And don’t tell him why I want to see him, let’s not alarm the man, make him think I want to blame him about Tabitha. Because I really don’t, I assure you of that.’
‘I can ask him as we’re leaving if he can dine with us tomorrow –’
‘I can’t tomorrow, Charlie,’ Amos interrupted. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m having supper with the Forths, you know, the couple who brought Grace Rose up. But apart from that, I’ve no other commitments, I’m free.’
‘Shall I suggest Friday?’
‘That suits me fine.’
‘And where should we go? Come back here? Or do you have a particular preference?’
‘We can go wherever you want, Charlie, pick any place you like, just so long as you understand I’m doing the inviting and I’m doing the paying.’
Charlie grinned. ‘Let’s have dinner here. It’s nice and convenient for me, and also for Cedric. He lives in Queen Street. With his sister, Rowena.’
‘I’ll book the table when we leave tonight. And remember, let’s keep this nice and easy, Charlie. He mustn’t know why.’
‘Mum’s the word.’
TEN (#)
‘I always know when it’s going to rain,’ Will Hasling said to Alfredo Oliveri. ‘My shoulder gives me hell.’
‘It’s the same for me, my arm feels as if it’s in a vice. Never mind – better to have aching wounds than be kicking up daisies in a foreign cemetery,’ Alfredo pointed out.
Will grinned. ‘Very true.’
The two of them had both suffered minor wounds in the Somme in 1917, and had been shipped home on a hospital ship, then treated at a military hospital in London. As soon as they could, both men had returned to work at Deravenels, and were extremely relieved to be safely back in their old jobs. They had worked with Edward since he had taken over the company in 1904, and were his key executives.
Alfredo paused just before they reached Edward’s office, and put his hand on Will’s arm, stared at him intently. ‘He’s not going to like what you’re about to reveal to him.’
‘You don’t have to tell me, I know that, and I’m going to suggest he deals with everything after Christmas, when George is back in London. Giving his brother a rollicking on the telephone won’t be effective. He’s got to dress George down face to face, don’t you think?’
‘I do,’ Alfredo replied, and sighed. ‘He hasn’t discussed the MacDonald situation at great length with me, but I’m making the assumption he’s a trifle indifferent to the deal.’
‘You’re right, as usual. For him it’s a take it or leave it deal. He’d like to own the liquor company, but if he doesn’t get it he won’t cry.’
‘It struck me earlier that he might have set a trap for his difficult little brother. If George blows the liquor business out of the water he’s in trouble, and most certainly can then be demoted. What say you?’
Will began to laugh. The Italian part of you is certainly quite Machiavellian, Oliveri. I mustn’t forget that.’
Alfredo merely smiled, and walked on down the corridor. He stopped at Edward’s office, knocked, then walked in, followed by Will Hasling.
Edward was hanging up the phone. ‘Morning, you chaps!’ he exclaimed cheerfully when he saw them, an affectionate look crossing his face. He had worried about these two men so much during the war, filled with fear for their safety, and had vowed to cherish them for the rest of their lives when they came back.
‘I know you’ve got to go and see a man about a dog,’ Will began, ‘but I’ve something I need to talk with you about.’
Edward chuckled. ‘I am indeed going to see a man about a dog. Or I was. However, because of my work here today I’ve asked Mrs Shaw to go to Harrods to pick out a Westie for Young Edward, and she agreed to do it.’
Alfredo began to laugh, suddenly realizing the play on an old and very familiar saying. ‘Will you take the dog with you to Yorkshire tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘You can ship it, you know, that’s no problem.’
‘So Mrs Shaw told me, and that is how it will travel … in a van, by road, special delivery for Master Edward Deravenel from Harrods. He’ll love it because he’ll feel very important.’ Leaning forward, he now asked, ‘So, Will, why are you here?’ He glanced at Alfredo. ‘And you, Oliveri? You’re both standing there with such glum faces I’m assuming that you’re about to deliver bad news.’ Edward, looking very handsome in a dark blue Savile Row suit and cornflower-blue tie, sat back in his chair, his eyes focused on his executives. ‘And for God’s sake sit down, the two of you. You might as well be comfortable when you give me the dire news.’
‘You assume correctly,’ Will said. ‘It’s about George. He’s in trouble.’
‘How unusual,’ Edward said in a sardonic voice. ‘What’s he done now? I know he can’t have killed my deal with Ian MacDonald because that meeting is not until tomorrow.’
‘That’s so,’ Will agreed, and went on, ‘You’re about to get hit with his gambling debts, and Amos can fill you in better than I can about those. But the gossip is rampant, all over town, so Howard tells me.’
‘Gambling debts! Why am I going to get hit with them, for God’s sake? He can bloody well pay his own gambling debts,’ Edward exclaimed, his voice rising angrily.
‘Let me start at the beginning,’ Will said. ‘A few days ago my brother told me there was gossip out on the street about George’s gambling, whoring, and drug-taking –’
‘He’s taking drugs?’ Edward shouted, his face turning red as the fury erupted. Although he was blessed with an affable nature and was calm most of the time, Edward did have a famous temper that struck terror in everyone. ‘I’ll have his guts for garters!’ he shrilled, jumping up, his temper getting the better of him. ‘And why does he have debts in the first place? I’ll skin him alive, the little sod! Bringing dishonour to our name. Agentleman takes care of his obligations, and he’s well aware of that.’
‘You know what George is,’ Oliveri murmured softly. ‘And I have a suggestion to make …’ Oliveri paused, staring hard at Edward.
‘Go on, then, tell me,’ Edward snapped, and immediately shook his head. ‘I’m very sorry, Oliveri, I’m not angry with you. Do excuse me.’ He sat down.
‘Don’t have to explain, I understand. Getting back to the bad lad, I think we should send him off on a few trips, get him out of London, and away from all the temptations of the flesh, etcetera.’ Alfredo sat back, eyeing Edward, his expression serious.
‘Where can we send him?’ Will asked, glancing at Alfredo swiftly, frowning.
‘First of all, if the deal with Ian MacDonald proceeds, he can take charge of it, and he’ll be back and forth to Edinburgh for quite a while. Otherwise, he can go to Spain, which was neutral during the war: travel is still relatively easy. He could look into the Jimenez situation. They do want to sell their sherry business, remember.’ His gaze still fixed on Will, Alfredo finished, ‘They make the best sherry in the world, let’s not forget that.’
‘George certainly won’t,’ Edward interjected. ‘I should think he’ll jump at a job like that. But it’s a good idea, keeping him travelling, I mean. But what’s this about drugs, Will? And what is he taking?’
‘Howard didn’t know, but he’s promised to find out for me. I suspect it’s either cocaine, or possibly he visits those opium dens in Chinatown, down Limehouse way.’
‘Bloody fool!’ Edward shook his head, stood up again, paced for a moment, and then he addressed Will. ‘You said Amos has investigated all this, knows more.’
‘He does. I spoke to him earlier. I’d asked him to do a bit of digging for me yesterday, and he did find out a few things last night. I told him to come in around ten thirty –’ Will stopped at the sound of a loud knock on the door. ‘I’m sure this is him.’
‘No doubt,’ Edward agreed, and called out, ‘Come in!’
‘Good morning,’ Amos said to the room at large; they greeted him in return. Hurrying over to the desk, he waited until Edward was seated behind it before taking the empty chair at the other side.
‘What did you find out?’ Edward asked.
‘The promissory notes are held by three clubs. Starks, The Rosemont, and the Gentleman’s Club. Starks is owed the most money, and Julian Stark is personally holding the notes. I heard last night from one of my contacts that he is going to come and see you himself, to demand payment.’
‘Is he now? Well, we must forestall him. He’s a big gossip. Do you know how much my brother owes Stark?’
Amos nodded. ‘I do. Thirty thousand pounds.’
Edward was flabbergasted, and his face paled. ‘What an idiot he is!’ he cried, his rage surfacing.
‘Don’t lose your temper again,’ Will murmured in soothing tones. ‘He ain’t worth it, Ned, and it’s only money.’
Endeavouring to calm himself, Edward muttered, ‘It’s the principle.’ Then he addressed Alfredo. ‘I’m going to write a personal cheque for that amount, a cashier’s cheque, and I’d like you and Finnister to take it to Julian Stark after lunch. I know you won’t mind doing that, will you? And get those promissory notes.’
‘That’s not a problem, we can handle this bit of business in a few minutes.’ Oliveri glanced at Finnister. ‘Isn’t that so?’
Amos nodded, then looked over at Edward. ‘The other two gambling clubs are each holding notes for five thousand pounds.’
‘I see.’ Edward was livid, and his anger showed on his face which had now lost all of its colour completely, was paler than ever. ‘I’ll write those two cheques as well, and you can drop them off, can’t you, Amos? Oliveri?’
‘Yes, and I’ll get the promissory notes,’ Amos replied and Oliveri nodded.
There was a sudden silence in the office. Will thought a pin dropping would be like a bomb going off, and he held himself perfectly still, waiting for a further explosion from Ned. But he said nothing. Nor did anyone else speak.
Forty thousand pounds was a fortune, Will thought, turning over the amount in his mind. How had George Deravenel managed to lose so much? Drink?Drugs?Total stupidity? Well he was stupid. Will had always known that. A pretty boy, spoiled by his mother and sister Meg before she had married and gone to live in France. George. All that silky blond hair, those unusual turquoise blue eyes. But dumb yes … beautiful and dumb. Poor eyesight, couldn’t pass the test to join the army. He thought he was Ned, or, more correctly, thought he could be his big brother. That was not possible. Edward was brilliant; he couldn’t hold a candle to him. George was his own worst enemy, Will understood this. He was always heading for trouble of his own making.
Will looked at Amos, as Edward was saying, ‘So tell me, what did you find out about the drugs, Amos?’
‘I went to a lot of clubs late last night, and I think the drug-taking has been exaggerated,’ Amos explained. ‘He might have tried reefers at times, also cocaine, but I don’t believe it’s a problem. Liquor is. He drinks a lot. He’s on the road to becoming an alcoholic.’
‘Just as I thought.’ Edward nodded. ‘Thank you, Amos, for sniffing around. I’m going to have to decide what to do with Master George, when he returns to London.’ He gave the three men a warm smile. ‘But I’m not going to let him spoil Christmas. Lunch at Rules at one o’clock, and please, gentlemen, I don’t want any discussion about this matter in front of Richard.’
ELEVEN (#)
Grace Rose finished wrapping the last of her Christmas presents in gold paper, tying the gauzy gold ribbon into a lavish bow. After adding a small spray of gold-painted holly and a bunch of tiny gold bells, she put it to one side on the table. Then, very neatly, she wrote on the small gift card: To dearest Bess, with much love from GraceRose. Once she had tied the card onto the ribbon she sat back, regarding her handiwork.
There were nine presents all beautifully wrapped and ready to be sent off to Ravenscar. Six of them were for her half sisters and brothers, and three were for her adult relatives, Aunt Cecily, Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Ned.
Uncle Ned. Her father. She loved him the most except for her parents, Vicky and Stephen Forth. They had adopted her, brought her up since she was four years old … fourteen years of love and devotion they had given her, and they had given her a life, one that was truly wonderful, and which she wouldn’t have had without them.
In her mind Grace Rose associated Vicky and Stephen with love, for that is what she had received from them, and continued to receive unstintingly. They had never demanded anything in return but she had responded to them with utter devotion, love and obedience.
Within the first few weeks of her arrival in this house the three of them had become as close as any parents and a child could be. And right from the beginning she had fallen into their ways, had adapted easily to their lifestyle, been comfortable in their world of courtesy, good manners, cosseted comfort, and undeniable wealth and privilege.
There were moments, like right now, when she thought about the courage they had shown … they had been so very brave to take her in, make her their daughter.
She, the urchin child, existing on the streets of Whitechapel, living in an old cart, alone, scared witless and forever hungry. An urchin child dressed in ragged boys’ clothes, which were far too big, and covered in grime and dirt. A little girl who had been thrown away without a second thought, until Amos Finnister had found her and taken her to Lady Fenella and Vicky Forth at Haddon House. The three of them, and Stephen as well, had saved her life. She shuddered to think about what would have happened to her if Amos had not gone into that cul-de-sac on that particular night to eat his meat pies. And found her. She might not have lived to see the year out.
Rising, Grace Rose stood up and went over to the looking glass which hung above the fireplace in the parlour, staring at her reflection. What she saw quite pleased her, even though she didn’t think of herself as being beautiful; she now decided that she looked attractive. She especially liked her red gold hair, which she thought of as her best asset. It fell to her shoulders in curls and waves, and was constantly admired by everyone. Her eyes were unusual, very, very blue, and she knew – everyone knew – that she looked exactly like Edward Deravenel. Even her slender nose, rounded chin and broad forehead were inherited from him.
Grace Rose had first met him fourteen years ago, in this house, when he had rushed into the library looking for Amos and Neville Watkins. The minute she set eyes on him her heart had done a little leap inside her, and she felt a lovely surge of happiness. It was him. Her father, looking just the way her mother had described him to her. Tabitha had told her he was strong and tall like a tree in the forest, with eyes as blue as the sky above, and hair the colour of the autumn leaves. She had recognized him.
She had smiled at him and he had smiled back, and she knew deep down inside herself that she was his, and he was hers, and there would always be something special and unique between them. And it had been so.
Her thoughts swung to Tabitha … her first mother. A little sigh escaped her. She was still perplexed about her mother’s fate; Tabitha had gone away one day and never come back, and she had gone out into the streets, running as fast as her little legs would carry her. Her need to escape that hovel of a house had propelled her as far away as possible.
Now she knew as much as Vicky and the others knew about Tabitha James. Her first mother had been born Lady Tabitha Brockhaven, the daughter of an Earl; she had fallen in love with her music teacher, Toby James, and had eloped with him. But they had never had any children together. She had come along later, fathered by Uncle Ned when he was only a boy, then her mother had moved and had lost touch with Edward Deravenel.
Vicky, her adoptive mother, had told her about her background, given her all the facts that were available when she was fourteen, at which time Vicky had believed she was old enough to know everything. But even Vicky had admitted rather sadly that it was not very much.
‘It’s all right, Mother,’ Grace Rose had responded at the time. ‘I’m glad to know who Tabitha really was, but you and Stephen are my parents and that’s more than enough for me. And Uncle Ned has always acknowledged that he’s my biological father.’
Grace Rose turned her back to the fireplace and stood warming herself for a few minutes, thinking about Edward Deravenel. He had always been honest and straight forward with her. He had taught her so many things over the years, imbued in her a sense of honour and fair play, told her about justice, and taught her to have integrity in all things. ‘And here is something else,’ he had said quite recently. ‘Follow your own dreams. Don’t put them aside for anyone or anything. Because sometimes people and events will … betray you. Be your own person, Grace Rose, go your own way, and always be true to yourself.’ That day last summer she had promised him she would do as he said.
He was coming to the dinner party tonight, and she was excited that he would be one of the guests. He was bringing Mrs Shaw. She liked Jane Shaw, who was a beautiful, gracious, gentle person. And she fully understood why this woman was Uncle Ned’s mistress. He needed a woman to be nice to him. She had often noticed, when she was at Ravenscar for holidays in the summer, that Aunt Elizabeth could be mean to him, unkind really. And she shouted at him, which frightened the younger children. Another thing she had noticed was that Aunt Elizabeth paid more attention to the two boys than the little girls. Bess, her very dear friend, had confided that her mother was really only interested in the two boys because they were ‘the heir and the spare’. There were times when Grace thought that Bess was not particularly attached to her mother, and this saddened her. Having a loving mother was the most wonderful thing.
It seemed to her, all of a sudden, that Elizabeth Deravenel was not well liked in the family; certainly Aunt Cecily disliked her, she had picked up on that ages ago, when she was much younger. Grace Rose loved Cecily Deravenel her grandmother, if unacknowledged as such.
‘Well, there you are, Grace Rose,’ Vicky exclaimed, pushing open the door of the parlour. Glancing over at the table she then nodded approvingly. ‘I see you’ve wrapped a lot of presents, darling. Good girl.’
Grace Rose beamed at Vicky. ‘I have, Mother, all of those which you are sending off to Ravenscar. Is Fuller going to take them to the post office tomorrow?’
‘Actually, he isn’t, after all. Uncle Ned just telephoned me about something, and in passing I asked him if he would mind taking them, if we packed them up in a small case, of course, and he said he would be happy to do so. We can do that job after lunch. In the meantime, I have some very good news for you.’ Vicky waved the letter she was holding, and continued, ‘My friend Millicent Hanson has written back to say she will be delighted to have you to stay with her next spring and summer. Therefore you will be able to attend some of the courses at Oxford.’
‘Oh, how wonderful! Thank you, Mother, for writing to her. I’m so happy.’
Edward was in a foul mood, and he knew exactly why. He was blazing mad with George, and for some reason he was finding it hard to rid himself of the anger. Usually he managed to toss things off, especially things which had to do with George’s bad behaviour. This mess with the gambling debts was another matter entirely.
In the first place, there was the question of honour. George had been brought up properly, as a gentleman, and ought to know better than to leave debts of this nature unpaid. It was a disaster for his reputation, and also damaging to the family name.
Leaning back in the chair, closing his eyes, he asked himself why George hadn’t paid the clubs immediately. Was he short of money? Edward doubted that. He earned a good salary here at Deravenels, received quarterly director’s fees, and his wife Isabel had a huge allowance from her mother. Nan Watkins was a millionairess many times over, and had been extremely generous to Isabel and George. Actually, in his opinion, they had money to burn. On the other hand, thirty thousand pounds owed to one club and five thousand each owed to two other clubs were hefty sums. Forty thousand pounds.
Then there was the matter of the drinking. It had startled Edward to hear that George was considered an alcoholic. He hadn’t realized it had gone that far. As for the drugs, he wasn’t certain about that at all. But who knows, he now thought. Perhaps he is on something addictive, other than the drink.
Edward accepted that George would have to be dealt with very sternly when he returned from Scotland, and he also decided that George was going to pay back the forty thousand pounds he had just laid out. He had no intention of funding his brother’s bad gambling habits; quite suddenly he wondered if he could have George’s memberships to the clubs cancelled. Or perhaps he could have George banned. How he wasn’t sure, but it might be worth a try. And he would put the fear of God into George after Christmas. Yes, he was going to deal with a lot of things in the new year, he had made that decision days ago.
Now he must throw off this foul mood. Immediately. He had to push a smile onto his face and go across the street to Rules. He didn’t want to put a damper on the lunch he was giving for his special colleagues at Deravenels. It was almost Christmas, the first Christmas they would be able to celebrate properly, because finally they were at peace. There would be a few faces missing at the lunch: Rob Aspen and Christopher Green, who had died in France fighting for their country. They would be remembered fondly by everyone, himself most especially.
Rising, Edward went over to the cupboard where the safe was housed, and opened it. He stood there for a moment, and then he made a decision. He took out two large envelopes, locked the safe, went back to his desk and placed the envelopes in a drawer. This he locked. Pocketing the key, he went to get his overcoat and scarf. It was almost one o’clock. Time to go.
TWELVE (#)
Vicky Forth was an optimist. She had been all her life; even as a child her attitude had been positive. Her glass was always half full, never half empty; tomorrow would be a much better day than today; the future was full of promise and success. Her nature induced her to forge ahead with her projects, undaunted and full of bravery. If any adversity occurred she looked it straight in the eye, and moved right through it, as if it didn’t exist.
Her husband Stephen, who loved, adored and encouraged her in her work, said she was a woman warrior out to conquer the world by doing good deeds. And this was true. Vicky had touched many lives. She loved helping others, most especially damaged women down on their luck, in need of care, counselling and encouragement. She wanted to help them have better lives.
Her optimism had served her well over the years, and she suddenly thought of this now as she looked at some of the dresses in her wardrobe, wondering which one to wear tonight.
How right she had been to encourage Grace Rose to be optimistic, to set her sights on Oxford University. Women were not yet admitted to membership of the University, but they could attend lectures and take courses.
Grace Rose would be able to do all of the above, and would be safe, well looked after by her old friend Millicent Hanson, now widowed, who had a lovely old house in Oxford. It had been an inspired idea to write to her.
In the letter Vicky had received today, Millicent had said she would be delighted to have Grace Rose living with her whilst she pursued her studies; Vicky was relieved, happy for her daughter, who was a wonderful student. She hoped to be a historian one day.
Finally, Vicky selected a stylish, dark-rose coloured silk dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a narrow skirt which fell to the ankles. It had a V-shaped insertion of beige lace at the front, and this made for a unique neckline. She had only worn it once before, and she decided it would be perfect for the dinner party tonight. It had style, but it was not overly dressy for a dinner at home, especially since the men were not wearing black tie.
After putting on the dress and stepping into matching rose-coloured silk pumps, Vicky went back to her dressing table, selected a pair of pearl-and-diamond earrings, and a matching brooch in the design of a flower. After adding the jewellery, she moved across the floor with her usual willowy grace, stood staring at herself in the cheval looking-glass in one corner of the bedroom. Nodding to herself, she decided she liked her appearance. Yes, she would do.
Now in her mid-forties, Vicky Forth looked like a much younger woman; her dark chestnut hair was glossy and thick, with only a hint of silver threads here and there. The few wrinkles she had around her eyes and mouth were hardly visible, and because she was full of joie de vivre there was an amazing sense of youthfulness about her. Her energy and enthusiasm added to her attractiveness. Both men and women were drawn to her, found her to be a warm, kind and compassionate woman. Edward Deravenel had always said hers was the best shoulder to cry on because she had so much sympathy to give.
