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A smile flitted across Lily’s face and her eyes sparkled. ‘Thank you for telling me this, it makes it easier, knowing that I’m not the only one he’s ignoring. Obviously his best friend is going through the same thing.’
Vicky began to laugh, stood up, walked across the small morning room at Stonehurst Farm where the two women were having morning coffee on this windy Saturday. ‘If I’m picking up the correct vibrations from my darling brother, I think he has better fish to fry,’ she remarked as she brought the coffee pot over to the table. ‘Would you care for another cup?’
Lily shook her head. ‘No, thanks anyway.’
After filling her own cup, Vicky placed the silver pot on the table and sat down, looking thoughtful. Stirring her coffee and taking a sip, she went on, ‘I do believe Will has a new lady in his life.’
Lily stared at her, obviously taken by surprise. ‘Really! How odd that Ned hasn’t mentioned it to me—after all, they are so close, those two. So he must know.’
‘I doubt that Ned would say anything to anyone…he’d consider it Will’s business. He’s not the kind of person to gossip.’
‘Edward’s an odd duck though, in some ways, don’t you think?’
Vicky frowned, not quite understanding what Lily meant by this comment. She gave her friend a questioning look.
As if reading her mind, Lily exclaimed, ‘What I mean is he seems much older than his actual age. Also, he certainly has a penchant for seeking out older women. I know for a fact that he had a flirtation with his mother’s secretary, a widow.’
‘He does have a weakness for older women, and most especially widows, but don’t complain, Lily. After all, you’re his favourite, so do be happy.’
‘I am happy, although a little worried at the moment.’
‘Oh, darling, don’t be concerned. You haven’t heard from him this week because he’s only just stepped into his father’s shoes and gone into the family business.’
‘It’s not his absence or his silence that’s really worrying me,’ Lily murmured, leaning closer across the table, ‘but something else altogether.’ Dropping her voice, she now confided, ‘I am afraid I might be pregnant, having his baby.’
This was the last thing Vicky had expected to hear and for a moment she was speechless, and then sitting up straighter in her chair, she asked in a quiet tone, ‘Are you sure?’
Shaking her elegant blonde head, Lily answered swiftly, ‘No, not yet. But I have…missed…a month. Last month. I have to wait and see what happens…I’m due in ten days.’ Taking a deep breath, Lily added, ‘Before you say it, I know he won’t marry me if I am expecting. And I wouldn’t want him to, I’m much too old for him. Anyway, I think it goes without saying that Ned is not really marriage material. He’s too much of a Lothario. At the moment. And Edward Deravenel of Deravenels is undoubtedly expected to make a brilliant marriage one day, when the time is right.’
Vicky nodded. ‘What you say is true, but what on earth are you going to do if you are carrying his child? There are doctors who…well, you know, terminate unwanted pregnancies. But I think that might be a dangerous course to take.’
‘Oh, I agree with you! And I would never go that route! Believe me, I wouldn’t.’
‘So what will you do?’ Vicky pressed, filled with sudden concern.
‘I would have the baby, there’s nothing else to do, if you think about it.’
Vicky was silent for a moment, biting her lip. ‘You would have the baby and bring it up yourself, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes.’ Lily nodded. ‘I would have it, and keep it.’
‘But Lily, darling, think of the scandal. What will you say? Tell people? And who will you name as the father?’
‘Well, I hadn’t actually thought of all that, not in great detail. No, I definitely haven’t puzzled all that out yet. But I don’t suppose I would name Edward. Why would I want to cause trouble for him? After all, I do love him, Vicky, very much. And I do understand that he can never marry me, for a variety of reasons not only because of our age differences. But I think…well, you know, I do think I would like to have his baby, and I know I’d enjoy bringing up his child.’
‘What lovely sentiments, Lily,’ Vicky murmured, smiling at her friend. ‘And I’m perfectly certain Ned would help you financially.’
‘Oh, but I don’t want money from him, Victoria! How could you think such a thing, for Heaven’s sake? My goodness, I have plenty of money from my late husbands…money to burn, in fact. So why would I burden Ned with something like that? Especially since he never has any money of his own. Well, hardly any. He did tell me once that his father had been as poor as a church mouse. The money in the family comes from his late grandfather, Philip Watkins.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’ Vicky sat quite still, ruminating for a few seconds, and then she nodded to herself and gave Lily a loving smile, her expression one of affection and warmth. ‘I must say, you’re a most unusual woman, Lily Overton, quite remarkable, in fact.’
‘Thank you.’ Lily rose, walked over to the window, stood looking out towards Romney Marsh, yet seeing only Ned in her mind’s eye. She did love him to distraction, but there was no future for them, not in the long run. She would remain his mistress for as long as he wanted her, she had always known that about herself. She was utterly devoted to him. He was, in a way, a great gift to her, one she had never expected in this life. She had never known such passion or ecstasy before Ned. He had brought her to the height of fulfilment, pleasured her and loved her, introduced passion and sexual excitement to her life. And she knew that in his own way he truly cared about her. And that in itself was enough. Her two marriages had been affectionate, and, of course, she had fulfilled her marital duties. However, lovemaking with her late husbands had been tepid, lacklustre. She was grateful to them in many ways, grateful for the comfort and protection they had provided. Ultimately, they had made her a very wealthy woman, and in so doing had given her total independence.
Swinging around, she said slowly, ‘I can well afford to raise a child, Vicky, and that’s what I am going to do. Bring up Ned’s child. In the country. That would be the easiest and the most comfortable place to be. Perhaps here in Kent. Somewhere near here, near you. What do you think?’
‘I agree with you, of course I do. Far better to be down here than up in town, where everyone tittle-tattles and pries. And you know I am here, my dear, I’ll do anything I can to help.’
Lily walked over to Vicky, gave her a quick embrace and sat down at the table. ‘Thank you, Vicky, I’m lucky to have you as a friend. But I might not be pregnant at all, you know.’
Vicky merely smiled, and thought: I’m certain you are. There’s a bloom on you and you look wonderful. And Edward Deravenel, almost nineteen, is undoubtedly as virile as any man could ever be.
Vicky awakened with a start. She had slept so deeply she was totally disoriented, at a loss, befuddled, wondering where she was, what time of day it was. As she glanced around, shaking off that deep, almost drugged sleep she realized she was in front of the fire in her bedroom, stretched out on the small sofa. The carriage clock on the mantelshelf told her that it was almost noon.
Pushing herself up, she swung her legs to the floor and waited for a moment until her head cleared. She had come up here just before eleven and fallen asleep as she had been reading The Times. There it was on the floor at her feet. She must have been extremely tired to have slept like that, and for almost an hour. But the truth was she had had a restless night.
Leaning back against the cut-velvet cushions, she thought of Lily. She, too, had retreated to her bedroom. Vicky wondered if she was feeling all right, and knew at once she need not worry about her friend, or feel guilty and responsible as she had earlier. Yes, she had been the one to introduce Lily to Edward Deravenel, but she hadn’t forced them into bed with each other. That had been their choice and theirs alone.
It was an old story…a story as old as time itself.
A woman meets a man. They are irresistibly drawn to each other, unable to turn away because the attraction is so strong, overpowering. The woman becomes the man’s mistress and inevitably it is she who ends up mired in problems. Never the man. He retains his wife, or if he is not married, has other mistresses, and in a sense he is free as a bird, and does as he wishes.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t really fair. And men were not always to blame. In fact, as her brother Will had once said, it takes two. Dear Will. He was so kind and loving. Was there a new woman in his life? She wasn’t sure but hoped that there was.
She sometimes wondered if his genuine devotion to Ned was too all-consuming, took up too much of his time. But then he was a grown man and he had to lead his own life. A couple of her friends had once hinted, rather meanly, at a more complex relationship between her brother and Ned, but there was nothing strange or queer about it. They were not homosexuals, though they did spend all their free time together. And they did indeed love each other—like brothers and best friends.
Now she asked herself how Ned would react when he found out that Lily was carrying his child. If, in fact, this was the case. He would care, of course he would, and he would be devoted to Lily. Until the child was born. And then he would walk away, if he hadn’t already done so before the birth. She had known Edward Deravenel for a very long time and she understood him. He did not wish to be encumbered; freedom was his choice.
Did men always have to have a mistress? She was absolutely certain her first husband Miles had been true to her. Certainly it had been a marriage of enormous passion, sexual attraction and commitment. When he had died of a heart attack so unexpectedly she had been devastated, believed her life had been shattered forever. Some years later Stephen had come along. They had fallen madly in love, something she had never anticipated. This, too, was a strong marriage, much like her first, especially when it came to the bedroom and the sexual side of their life together. She would be glad when he returned from New York. She missed him, missed his sense of humour, his loving attention, his brilliant mind.
Leaning down, Vicky picked up The Times, turning to the inside pages…to the Court Circular. There were mentions of royal engagements during the week. Queen Alexandra had gone there…the king had been here…all of their weekly public appearances carefully chronicled.
King Edward VII. Son of Queen Victoria, a middle-aged man before he reached the throne. A man who was now seemingly giving his name to the new era, a man who loved the high life, food and drink, and dancing the night away, a man who perhaps preferred his mistress Mrs Keppel to his wife, Queen Alexandra.
Well, kings were notorious when it came to their mistresses, weren’t they? Diane de Poitiers sprang into her mind…now there was a clever woman, a mistress who had reigned supreme. Her influence over Henry II of France had lasted to the end of his life. Diane had somehow managed to maintain friendly relations with the Queen, Catherine de’Medici, whilst totally eclipsing her. A clever manipulator when it came to politics and politicians, Diane had been a true survivor.
Her thoughts about royal mistresses fled, when she saw the photograph of Madame Marie Curie at her small laboratory in Paris. There she was with her husband, Pierre. They had isolated radium in 1902, and last year this brilliant couple had shared the Nobel Prize in Physics with Henri Becquerel. The caption said she was being considered for a university post. Marie Curie was a woman Vicky admired…she admired all those women who went out into the world and did impressive things. The women warriors she called them.
Glancing at the carriage clock again, Vicky jumped up. She must go downstairs to the kitchen and see how Cook was progressing with lunch. No time for daydreaming.
When Vicky went into the kitchen a few minutes later she saw that Cook had everything under control and rolling along in her usual efficient way. Florry, the young woman who came up from the village to help, was beating eggs in a bowl, and she glanced up, smiled cheerily at the sight of Vicky.
Vicky smiled back, nodding, and then said, ‘I see all is very much in order in here, as usual, Mrs Bloom, so I’ll just leave you to it.’
‘That’s right, Mum, I’m on schedule, right on time, that I am. The cheese soufflé will be ready at one-thirty, as you requested, and there’s no problem with the roast chicken. Fortunately, the bird won’t spoil.’
‘I’ll make sure we sit down at one twenty-five, Mrs Bloom, never fear. Your soufflé is quite safe, it won’t drop if I’ve anything to do with it.’
Mrs Bloom glanced over her shoulder at Vicky, and chuckled.
Vicky hurried out and walked across the hall and into the dining room. It was cosy and welcoming with the fire burning brightly in the grate, and there was the smell of beeswax and pine cones, intermingled with the hint of smoke and the faint scent of ripening apples in the air. It was a mixture of those unique and lovely country smells which never failed to remind Vicky of Compton Hall, the Hasling family seat where she and Will had grown up. That lovely old manor house had always been redolent with the perfume of burning wood, mellow fruit, baking bread, and the sweet scent of homemade honey. She thought of their late mother with a rush of affection, a woman who had turned that ancient pile of stones into a welcoming home where children were loved and cosseted.
Slowly Vicky began to set the table for lunch, selecting a linen cloth with embroidered edges, crystal water tumblers, knives and forks and linen napkins, and as she moved around she thought of her dear friend Lily Overton.
Lily had been very brave earlier that morning when she had discussed her plans, explained what she would do if she was pregnant after all. She did have only three choices, Vicky was acutely aware of this. Lily could try to get a termination, a risky business, in more ways than one; she could have the child and give it up for adoption immediately, a miserable, heartbreaking prospect; or she could keep it and bring it up herself.
Lily had elected to do the latter, and Vicky couldn’t blame her. She would manage very well, in Vicky’s opinion, because she was practical by nature, a good organizer, and fortunately she had her own money, was not dependent on anyone.
That was the key, the money. It protected her andthe child.
Having a child out of wedlock was like committing suicide for most women who found themselves in that terrible situation in this day and age. An enormous stigma was attached to illegitimacy, and unless a woman was protected by the man involved she was doomed. Even in this new Edwardian era, which was more relaxed than in Queen Victoria’s time, the stigma remained. Despite the fun-loving antics of the aristocracy and the licentiousness which was so prevalent today, beneath that carefree, glittering façade there remained prudery, snobbery, discrimination, class distinction and—
‘I shocked you earlier, didn’t I?’
Vicky almost jumped out of her skin. Swinging around, she exclaimed, ‘Goodness, Lily! You did give me a start. I didn’t hear you coming down the hall.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lily apologized. ‘But I did shock you, didn’t I?’
‘No, you didn’t, actually. Surprised me, yes.’
‘I’ve made up my mind not to think about it, for the moment at least…it could be a false alarm, you know.’
Vicky nodded. ‘That’s a wise decision.’ She fell silent as Lily came to stand next to the fireplace. Vicky couldn’t help thinking what a beautiful woman she was, with her perfect pink-and-white complexion, green eyes and blonde hair. Her features were sculpted, very even and smooth, and she looked much younger than her years. No wonder Edward Deravenel was so smitten with her…what man wouldn’t be?
Margot Grant came in from the garden, and took off her coat, hung it in the armoire, and went into the dining room. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the room in horror. What had happened here? Mon Dieu! The mahogany dining table had been pushed up against one of the end walls, the twelve antique dining chairs arranged in four rows of three, like the pews in a church, and the table itself had been transformed into some strange homemade altar. And above the table, hanging on the wall, was the crucifixion of Christ. How had Henry managed to nail it up there? she asked herself.
A terrible dismay swept over her, and she did not move for a moment, her mind churning. Henry was off on one of his mad jaunts again, filled with religious fervour, revelling in the belief that he was a monk, and that he had his own church where he preached to a congregation. That there wasn’t one present never seemed to bother him at all.
But he wasn’t here preaching to the empty chairs now. So where was he? Terrified that he might have wandered out of the garden of their Ascot home, gone onto the main road, she swung around and rushed out into the garden. Shading her eyes from the sunlight, she looked around frantically, calling his name, ‘Henry! Henry! Where are you?’
He did not respond to her calls, and she began to search for him. Within the space of a few minutes she saw him flitting through the trees in a small copse at the end of the lawn. Her heart sank. He was wearing the dark brown monk’s robe again, and carrying a wooden cross. As she drew closer, she heard him singing, off key as usual.
Margot felt nauseous. He was stark raving mad, there was no question about that. What if someone found out how truly crazy he was? And that he had been in asylums? She might have to put him there again. MonDieu! Mon Dieu!
‘Henry, Henry, chéri!’ she exclaimed as she moved into the copse of trees. ‘Come along, let us go inside. It is cool today.’
He turned around, gaping at her, his eyes vacant. ‘Daughter in Christ,’ he mumbled. ‘Daughter in Christ, good morrow to you.’
Swallowing her distaste, pushing her spiralling anger to one side, Margot took hold of his arm, and murmuring cajoling words she led him out of the copse, across the lawn and into the house.
Once she had manoeuvred him into his bedroom, she swung on her heels, left his room and locked the door behind her. What a pious, mentally disturbed old fool he was. One thing was absolutely essential. She now had to keep him hidden from the world until he became himself again.
Margot Grant shook her head as she went downstairs. It was better when he went into catatonic shock. At least then he sat in a chair all day not moving, not speaking.
SIXTEEN (#u02ba055c-10FF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)
London (#)
Edward Deravenel came striding into the library of Neville’s Chelsea house, bringing with him a rush of energy, vitality and the most obvious exuberance. Ned’s feeling better, Neville thought, putting the grief behind him. He’s ready and able to move forward. He was pleased for his young cousin, and relieved at the change in his demeanour.
There was a smile on Edward’s face, an apology on his lips. ‘Sorry to be late. I’m afraid I had trouble finding a hansom cab this morning.’
‘There’s no problem, Edward,’ Neville murmured, coming forward to greet his cousin. After they had quickly embraced, Neville stepped away, seated himself in a chair near the fireplace.
Edward chose to stand, propped himself against the mantelpiece, and asked, ‘What time are the others due to arrive?’
‘Alfredo Oliveri will be here in about ten minutes, Amos Finnister fifteen minutes after that.’
‘You haven’t really explained who Amos Finnister is,’ Edward remarked, looking across at Neville, an eager expression settling on his face. ‘All you said is that he has worked for you for some years, that you trust him implicitly, and that he will be invaluable to me.’
‘He will indeed, I’ve no doubt. But you’ll soon understand about Finnister. Before they arrive please tell me about the past week. Your notes were rather enigmatic, and you were not at all forthcoming when you telephoned.’
Edward nodded, explained, ‘There wasn’t a lot to tell you, and quite frankly it was a God-awful week. And I loathe Aubrey Masters. I’m putting Oliveri in his place, making him head of the mining division, if we win.’
‘When we win, but do continue.’
‘Masters is bumptious, argumentative and full of his own importance. And basically he’s as thick as a plank. I’m more certain than ever that he’s there purely because of Grant family connections. Anyway, he was going to give me the worst office in the entire building until I put up a huge fight. I insisted on my father’s office, which is the tradition, and he wouldn’t hear of it. I went at him hammer and tongs but he was absolutely bloody-minded about it. Obdurate. Finally he brought John Summers in to mediate, and much to Aubrey’s shocked surprise Summers agreed with me. Aubrey was furious, but John Summers is his superior at Deravenels. I won. I got my father’s old office.’
‘So John Summers was on your side, was he?’
‘I wouldn’t exactly say that!’ Edward shot back, throwing his cousin a pointed look. ‘However, he did insist that I was to be given Father’s old office, just brushed aside Masters’s objections. After that he disappeared. I never saw him again last week. He went to Wales, so I was told.’
‘Did Aubrey Masters give you anything to do?’
‘Not a damn thing. I was left to twiddle my thumbs. I went to the office every morning, and was greeted fairly cordially by almost everyone, except for Masters, of course, who was extremely grumpy, almost to the point of rudeness, in fact. However, I will say this, the other men treated me with the utmost civility, and that was that. Then they just ignored my presence.’
‘I see. Mmmm. Well, I’m not surprised. They’re accepting you because they have no alternative. You have every right to be there. That’s the company rule…the son steps into the father’s shoes, gets his office, becomes a junior director although not on the board, and then works his way up through the ranks. However, they’ve sort of rendered you ineffectual, simply by not passing on work for you to do. Clever in a sense; on the other hand, it’s rather ridiculous of them in the long run. It’s so transparent, as transparent as glass.’
‘I agree. However, dull and boring though it was I did learn a few things.’
Neville leaned forward, looked at Edward intently. ‘About what?’
Edward answered, ‘For one thing, about the current state of morale at Deravenels at this moment. It happens to be very low, and quite a few employees believe the company is not only in the doldrums but more than likely in the red. I also managed to ascertain that there are a couple of people who are in our camp, so to speak. And I have begun to understand a little bit about the workings of the company. Also, I now recognize its vastness, how truly enormous it actually is. I have always known, obviously, that it is one of the biggest trading companies in existence today. But Neville, until you’re actually faced with it on a day-to-day basis one doesn’t really understand completely what global means. In the case of Deravenels it is just that…the whole bloody world.’
‘First things first,’ Neville responded. ‘Who told you about the morale of the employees?’
‘I picked up on the low morale almost immediately, just through chatting to people. Oliveri had steered me in the right direction, pushed me towards those employees he thought might be friendly, who think Henry Grant should be removed. And they were the same ones who muttered about the company being in the red, and not what it once was,’ Edward told him. ‘As far as the vastness is concerned, Father had always drilled that into me, told me there was no other company like ours. But it was only when I stood in front of that huge map in his office and counted the little red flags he had placed there that I really understood. Deravenels covers the world …we seem to be in every country.’
‘Almost, yes.’ Neville leaned back in his chair, brought his long fingers together in an arc, thinking for a moment, and then he said quietly, ‘What you’ve told me is very good news. A company with low morale, because of bad management I presume, and one which is also in the red is very, very vulnerable, Ned. It can be picked off and taken over. By us. Of that I am absolutely sure. This is the most heartening information, and it certainly corroborates everything Alfredo has muttered about lately.’
Harrison, the butler, knocked, and opened the door. ‘Excuse me, sir, Mr Oliveri has arrived.’
Neville nodded, rose, and walked across the room to greet Alfredo Oliveri, who was being ushered in by the butler.
After shaking hands, the two men walked over to Edward, who hurried to greet Oliveri. They had become friends in Carrara, and in the past week in London that friendship had been carefully cemented.
Neville said, ‘Would either of you care for a drink?’
Both men shook their heads, and Edward murmured, ‘Perhaps a glass of wine at lunch, but nothing now, thank you.’
