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‘It’s lovely to be here, Granny.’ Katie hugged Amber, firmly ignoring her stepcousin’s teasing.
Amber hugged her granddaughter back, their contact making her aware of the physical differences between youth and age. Whereas her own thinness represented a withering away, Katie’s slenderness was due to an abundance of youthful energy. Katie’s flesh felt firm against strong young bones, whereas Amber’s now hung slack and soft against bones that were thin and fragile. Katie even smelled of youth and freshness, Amber thought fondly.
‘It’s lovely to have you here,’ she responded. It didn’t do to have favourites amongst one’s grandchildren but Katie had an extra special place in her heart, perhaps because she shared Amber’s own passionate love for the history of the family silk business.
Katie was dressed in what Amber assumed was the current uniform of youth: black tights encasing her long slender legs, a short skirt, a skinny-looking jacket, which looked like something a seaman might wear, and thick, heavy-looking boots. Gold hoop earrings swung from her ears – Amber well remembered the fuss there had been when Katie had gone behind her mother’s back to have her ears pierced after being told she must not – her long thick nut-brown hair swinging on her shoulders.
Katie released her grandmother to turn and eye the bare branches of the Christmas tree.
‘It’s no use you looking at it like that,’ Emma reproved her sister, coming over to join them. ‘We can’t start decorating it until Robert comes back with Olivia. It wouldn’t be fair.’
It was typical of her sister to claim the moral high ground, Katie thought. ‘I wasn’t going to, Emma. I was just telling Harry that it’s my turn to put the fairy on the top.’
‘We can’t start but we can get organised for when Robert and Olivia get here,’ Harry pointed out. ‘We’ll need a couple of pairs of tall stepladders. Where did you put them after you’d put those curtains back up for Granny?’ he asked his younger brother.
‘Outside in the garage.’
‘Right, we’d better go and fetch them.’
‘Let’s go and sit down in the drawing room and you can both bring me up to date with all your news,’ Amber suggested to her granddaughters.
The kitchen at Denham was a big comfortable room with a table in the middle large enough to seat a dozen people, but with the six female members of the second generation of Jay and Amber’s family gathered round, all talking at once, it wasn’t just the soup simmering on the Aga that was giving off heat and filling the space.
‘Janey, you’ve done enough. Do let me help. I know you, you’ll have been working flat out for weeks getting ready for this,’ Rose pressed.
Although there was no blood relationship between them, Rose had grown up with Ella and Janey, gone to St Martins with them, lived and worked in London with them, and the two of them were the closest she had to siblings.
‘No, honestly, Rose, I’m fine. It’s only soup, after all. I would appreciate a hand, though, when we take the tea into the drawing room, and if you wouldn’t mind buttering the scones…?’ The two of them fell easily into the kind of efficient domestic routine that came from years of living together.‘…It makes it easier for Amber and Dad. They’re in those boxes, and the butter’s our own. John and Dad have been experimenting. John wants to open a farm shop at Fitton. I’ve brought a trolley from Fitton Hall so that we’ll have two. We won’t take it in, though, until Robert and Olivia get here.’ Rose made her way to the worktop and opened the first of the Tupperware boxes, whilst Janey looked at her a little enviously. Rose always looked so…so contained and calm. Even the way she dressed reflected that. In fact, everyone looked better than she did, Janey thought glumly: Emerald in her Chanel; Polly in what Janey suspected must be Armani; Ella, her own sister, in something that was chic and obviously Fifth Avenue, and even Cathy, who wasn’t in the least bit interested in fashion, was wearing a pretty dress. No one looking at them now would ever guess that she had been the one who had been passionate about clothes and design when she’d been young. Unlike the others, Janey recognised, she’d put on weight, but there was no point feeling sorry for herself or hard done by because her life meant that she simply never had either the time or the money to spend on herself. Maintaining Fitton Hall was like having an ever-open extra mouth to feed, which gobbled up money and always needed more. Fitton, it could be said, was the cuckoo in the nest of her marriage.
Janey knew that it hurt her husband, John’s, pride that her father paid him to manage their estate along with Fitton’s land, but without that money they could never have managed, despite all they tried to do to bring in extra income.
Her father and stepmother were both generous and tactful, discreetly paying both boys’ school fees, helping them through college and Sandhurst, and providing them each with a small allowance. They should be grateful to them, and she was, which was why she tried her hardest to repay their generosity by making sure that she was always on hand to help and keep an eye on them. John, though, sometimes chaffed resentfully against their need for what he called ‘charity’.
Things wouldn’t be so bad if John’s father hadn’t provided quite so generously in his will for his second wife. It irked John that, despite the fact that she was drawing such a generous annual income from Fitton, his stepmother still expected John to pay for the upkeep of the Dower House.
Janey tried not to feel too sharply aware of the difference between them as she looked from her own work-reddened hands and short unpolished nails to Rose’s discreet manicure. Rose was so fastidiously controlled in everything she did that she probably wouldn’t get so much as a smear of butter on the black dress she was wearing, whilst if she had been wearing it, no doubt it would already be covered in greasy smears…
Janey made a big effort to gather herself, to raise her game. She was just feeling down because Cassandra was being so very difficult at the moment, she told herself. It was hard to remember sometimes that Cassandra had been such close friends, not just with her own mother, but also with John’s mother, when Cassandra was constantly complaining and making life so unpleasant for poor John.
Goodness, but Janey was letting herself go, Emerald thought critically, glancing at her stepsister, before looking round the kitchen for her younger twin sisters and then heading determinedly in their direction.
‘Whilst you’re both here,’ she began without preamble, ‘there’s something I wanted to discuss with you about Walton Street.’
‘Emerald, it’s Christmas,’ Polly protested, ‘and I haven’t seen Cathy for over six months.’ ‘This is important. London’s booming, thanks to the banking industry. There’s been a big influx of Americans buying up property. Robert’s inundated with commissions from them, but Walton Street hasn’t seen a corresponding increase in sales—’
‘That’s because everyone wants polished cotton for their curtains, preferably from Tricia Guild,’ Cathy interrupted her.
‘I know that, Cathy. What I’ve been thinking is that we should try and get into the American interior design market, with Ella’s help, make a move away from the private homes market over here and think instead about targeting the corporate market. We should expand into commercial soft furnishing, specifically hotels. There’s a huge demand for top-quality hotel accommodation at the moment, and that’s going to increase. If we can get in on the ground floor of that kind of development it would give us a huge advantage. I was at a cocktail party the other week and one of the other guests was complaining that he simply can’t find anyone of the right calibre to oversee the soft furnishings side of a new hotel he’s building.’
‘Well, it’s certainly worth thinking about,’ Cathy agreed. ‘But we’d need larger premises, and more staff. And you’ll have to sweet-talk Rose into agreeing. She’s the one who co-ordinates the interior designs, after all.’
They all looked across the kitchen to where Rose was buttering scones.
‘What are you three up to?’ Ella’s amused voice broke into their conversation.
Of all of them, Ella was the one who had changed the most, Emerald reflected, turning from a plump, anxious and defensive young woman, who never bothered much with her appearance, into the elegant soignée New Yorker she was now. In fact, it was almost as though, with regard to their appearance, Ella and Janey had changed places so that now it was Ella who dressed fashionably and Janey who didn’t. But then, Emerald acknowledged, it would be next to impossible to live in New York and be married to a man like Oliver, who had once made his living photographing beautiful women and clothes, and not be affected.
She eyed Ella’s effortlessly elegant draped cream jersey top and skirt with a definite twinge of lust.
‘It’s Donna Karan,’ Ella answered her unspoken question, looking amused, her English accented with a faint American drawl that was as sensual as her clothes. ‘Perfect for travelling as it doesn’t crease. Olivia bought the darlingest pieces from her leisurewear collection when we went out shopping together.’
Although she was speaking to Emerald, Ella’s real attention was on her sister. Janey worked so hard, Fitton Hall was a demanding mistress, and she certainly wouldn’t have wanted to share her husband with it. They’d flown over first class and she’d taken advantage of the extra luggage allowance to fill a large case with clothes for her sister. In New York, heading up a charity meant attending a constant succession of society events and maintaining a high profile, and that meant a constantly renewed wardrobe. She’d have to wait until she could catch Janey on her own, so that she could do things discreetly. Janey had her pride, after all, and no one was more prickly about this than John. ‘We were just talking about the business,’ Emerald told her. ‘We really need to get a foothold in the American interior design market.’
Emerald had always had a good head for business, Ella acknowledged.
‘If we go ahead, with profits being so low at the moment it will mean us not taking anything out of the business this year, especially if we do expand,’ Polly pointed out.
‘Well, that’s all right, isn’t it?’ Emerald shrugged impatiently.
‘For us, yes,’ Cathy agreed, ‘but it might not suit Janey’
Amber had made the business over to all of them in equal shares shortly after Jay’s heart attack, and although neither Ella nor Janey worked in the business, their share was the same as everyone else’s – a mutual decision from everyone concerned.
‘I can sort something out about that,’ Ella said quietly. ‘And I’ll speak to Rose,’ Emerald told them.
‘Right that’s the scones done,’ Rose told Janey. ‘What’s next?’
‘There’s some cream for those who want it, and some homemade jam. I don’t want to overface everyone now, otherwise no one will want any supper, which I thought we’d make help yourself this evening.’
‘Good idea.’
‘Heavens, who on earth is going to eat all these scones?’ Emerald demanded.
‘The children,’ Janey and Rose said together, both laughing.
‘Speaking of children, I take it, Rose, that Nick and Sarah have gone up to Scotland?’ Rose’s heart sank a little. She didn’t really want to discuss the failure of Nick’s marriage but she didn’t have much option.
‘Sarah has, but Nick’s gone to the Bahamas. Things haven’t been very good between them for a while and they’ve decided to separate for a while to give one another some breathing space. Sarah’s father never approved of her marrying Nick and I suspect that she feels torn between the two of them.’
‘Oh, well, he wouldn’t. Sarah’s mother came out the same season as me, and I remember him from then. Aunt Beth was touting him as one of the debs’ delights but there was nothing remotely delightful about him. He was frightfully dour, as they say in Scotland, with red hair and dreadful skin. And he was a terrible snob, always going on about his title.’ Emerald pulled a face. ‘I was astonished that Sarah actually defied him to marry Nick in the first place…Rose, there’s something I want to discuss with you about the Walton Street business.’
Rose nodded. ‘And there’s something else we should all discuss whilst we’re here, perhaps.’
‘What’s that? Ella queried.
‘Well, it will be Amber’s eightieth birthday next November. I know that’s nearly a full year away, but since we’re all together it seems a pity not to take the opportunity to discuss how we might celebrate the event.’
‘Well, of course we shall have a family party,’ Emerald agreed. ‘Drogo and I could host it.’
‘A party, yes, but I was thinking of something else, a special gift,’ Rose said firmly.
‘That means that you’ve already thought of something,’ Emerald guessed shrewdly.
‘Yes,’ Rose agreed, ‘but what I’ve got in mind is rather a large project and it would need us all to agree and to contribute to it.’
‘So what is it?’ Polly demanded.
‘Well, this does in a way tie in with what Emerald has been saying about the need for us to look in new directions to promote the business. As you all know, through my own private practice I deal with clients who want new interior designs for their shops, hairdressing salons, et cetera, and I’m beginning to see a move away from the pretty-pretty to something more dramatic.’
‘And…?’ Emerald urged impatiently.
‘I’m wondering if we could introduce a new design to Denby Mill’s existing portfolio, based on the length of silk featured in The Silk Merchant’s Daughter. I know that Amber has that piece of silk, and I’ve always thought how wonderful the colours in it are, all those rich dark ambers, plums and charcoals, shot through with lighter colours.’
Emerald had heard enough. She could never and would never feel comfortable about the famous painting of her mother, the work of the French artist Jean-Philippe du Breveonet, and which she herself had once tried to destroy.
‘That piece of silk is priceless and antique. It could never be replicated.’
Rose nodded in agreement. She had expected resistance to her idea from Emerald, who for some reason was always antagonistic to anything to do with the French artist and the paintings he had done of Amber.
‘You’re right,’ she agreed, ‘but what I was thinking was more along the lines of us creating an entire new range of designs, using the colours from the silk and incorporating them into modern styles – stripes, block prints, architectural designs – the kind of patterns that would appeal to interior designers and really stand out from what’s on offer at the moment.’
‘That’s a terrific concept, and I love it already,’ Cathy announced, joining the conversation. ‘Rose is right about the colours in the silk. Every time Sim and I go to the National Gallery we look at the painting and marvel at it all over again.’
‘It sounds a good idea,’ Janey concurred.
‘I thought that if we could work on it in secret so that Amber doesn’t know, we could with luck have it ready for launching by her birthday. I thought we’d name it and launch it in her honour.’
‘Name it? What?’ Emerald challenged, unable to conceal her dislike of the idea. She couldn’t help it. Anything to do with the artist who had secretly been her mother’s lover and her own father made her feel angry and vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was attention being drawn to the series of paintings, which were currently on loan to the National Gallery and which the artist had given into her mother’s care during the war, just prior to his own death. For years those paintings had remained shut away, but Sim, Cathy’s husband, had persuaded Amber to let him show them in his own small gallery in Cornwall, where they had attracted such a lot of interest that the National Gallery had asked to borrow them.
‘We could call the range “Amber”, I suppose,’ Ella suggested.
Rose shook her head. ‘You don’t have to agree with me – this is only a suggestion – but what about calling the entire range simply 1912 as in “The 1912 Range”? That is the year Amber was born, and I think using that date will set the range apart from the current crop of floral patterns and names, if you’ll all forgive the pun.’
‘Rose, that’s a brilliant idea,’ Janey approved, clapping her hands together.
‘It is very stylish,’ Ella agreed. ‘I can see that appealing to the high-end American market.’
‘It does sound rather elegant,’ Emerald agreed reluctantly, ‘but you’re forgetting something important, Rose. To come anywhere near replicating the colours in the original silk, we’re going to need that piece of fabric, and Mummy keeps it under lock and key. She’ll be bound to ask what we want it for if we wish to borrow it.’
‘We can ask Jay to get it for us,’ Rose told her promptly. ‘If we tell him what we’re planning he’ll help us, I’m sure. And, Polly, how would you feel about taking it back to Italy with you and asking Rocco to look into matching it? Denby Mill has its own strengths but Angelli Silk has the best reputation in the world for its dyes.’
Angelli Silk was the centuries-old Venetian silk manufacturing house still owned by the family of Polly’s husband, Rocco. It was now in partnership with Denby Silk.
‘I can see it now,’ Janey enthused, ‘gorgeous stripes in all those rich colours: chocolate brown, dark amber, plum, and crimson.’
‘With just a thin line of off-white and black,’ Cathy put in, equally excited. ‘We could add some fun designs in, perhaps spots.’
‘Or etched cartoons,’ Ella added, her own imagination taking fire. ‘Perhaps the outline of an elegant 1912 female profile?’
‘Or a hat?’ said Polly. ‘Or maybe just the figures 1912? Oh, Rose, you really are a genius. This is just such an innovative and wonderful idea, and yet it follows the tradition of great-grandfather so well.’
The great-grandfather to whom Polly was referring was Amber’s own father, whose designs Amber herself had used to produce some of Denby Mill’s most popular ranges.
Listening to them, Rose exhaled in relief. She had been worried that there might be objections to her suggestion, and was delighted that it had been received so well.
Rose’s idea was a good one, Emerald acknowledged, and she could already see the huge potential the range could have, and she loved Rose’s suggestion for its name. She would just have to put to one side her feelings about the painter and the painting, and focus instead on the benefits.
Her plane had just landed at Manchester airport. It was silly to have excitement fluttering inside her just because she was going to see Robert. Silly, pointless but inevitable, Olivia acknowledged wryly.
As she was travelling light, with only hand luggage, Olivia was one of the first passengers to reach the arrivals hall. She looked for her father’s familiar face, and then came to an abrupt halt when she saw an equally familiar but unexpected face and heard Robert saying her name.
‘Robert, you’ve come to meet me.’ Of all the inane things to say, and did her voice have to sound so thready and, well, silly?
They were walking side by side, the rail separating those waiting from new arrivals between them.
Robert looked so English in his dark overcoat, worn over a dark suit, his shirt white with a soft red stripe, his tie a slightly darker shade of red. His shirt would have been made to measure for him in Jermyn Street, his suit would be from Savile Row and his shoes from Lobb. He looked exactly what he was: a well-brought-up upper-class Englishman, and he had come to the airport just to meet her. A wave of giddy delight and joy washed over her.
‘Is that all the luggage you’ve got?’
They had almost reached the end of the barrier.
‘Yes. Mom promised to bring everything else.’
‘Yes, she said to tell you not to worry, they’ve brought all your presents for everyone with them.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to get a commission so close to Christmas.’
They were standing face to face, Robert reaching for her case. And that was when Olivia realised that something extraordinary and previously unimaginable except in her daydreams was happening. Robert was looking at her mouth in that way – that way that said that he was thinking about kissing it…kissing her. Her heart was jumping and racing. She could hardly breathe. She felt…oh my, how she did just feel. This was crazy. She wasn’t a teenager any more and—
Another passenger bumped into her, jolting her forward. Robert’s free hand fastened protectively on her arm.
Olivia was attracting a good deal of surreptitious interest from other members of his sex, Robert noticed, and he could understand why. Watching her come towards him before she’d seen him, he had felt his heart lift – with triumph in his own judgement and the acknowledgement that he had made the right decision.
From the top of her shiny thick mane of tawny brown hair to the toes of her pale beige boots, she exuded the confident discreet allure of a beautiful well-groomed woman. The confidence was only a veneer, though, he suspected. He had seen the way she’d reacted when he’d looked at her mouth. And that had pleased him.
‘I suppose it’s raining?’ For goodness’ sake relax, Olivia begged herself as, still holding her arm, Robert guided her towards the exit. Her cashmere slacks were warm but thin, and she could feel the muscular hardness of Robert’s thigh against her own. This was ridiculous. She was nearly twenty-six, and adult.
‘Of course. This is Manchester. The car’s not very far away, though.’
They were outside in the cold damp early evening air.
‘It’s really good of you to come for me.’
‘I had my reasons.’
‘What reasons?’ she asked, whilst her heart bounced.
Robert mustn’t have heard her because he didn’t answer.
