As a noted journalist of some distinction and a regular at the Restaurant Quadrille, George Falconer was given one of the best tables when he arrived at one o’clock on Monday.
Longden, the headwaiter, welcomed him warmly. As he led him across the room, he said, “I’m happy and relieved the dinner was such a success last night. I hope everyone enjoyed it.”
“Indeed they did, Longden. It went without a hitch, couldn’t have been better. The food was delicious, the wine superb. Thank you very much … I know you oversaw everything.”
“Nothing less for Philip Falconer. Your father is a good friend of mine, and he’s been a good friend to this hotel over the years.”
Once George was settled on the banquette, facing the room, Longden said, “I know Monday’s your day off, Mr. Falconer, so can I offer you a glass of champagne? Or something else, perhaps?”
“I won’t have any alcohol, but thank you. Water will be fine. My nephew is joining me. I don’t want to encourage drinking at one in the afternoon.”
Longden chuckled and inclined his head. “The waiter will come with water and the menu.”
“Thank you.” George now glanced around the restaurant and his eyes settled on the wall opposite him. He found he couldn’t look away. Two lovely young women were facing him, and one of them was so stunning his heart skipped a beat. She looked right back at him, and quite boldly. Immediately he reached into his pocket, took out his notebook, and opened it. Just to avoid her steady, somewhat curious gaze, he looked down at a page.
A moment later the waiter arrived, poured him a glass of water, and then handed him the menu. After thanking him, taking a long swallow of the water, George put his notebook back in his pocket.
Surreptitiously, he glanced across the room, but the stunning woman was turned sideways, talking to her companion. Nonetheless, George picked up the menu and ran his eyes down the page to resist gaping at her.
He wasn’t really reading; his mind was focused on his nephew. Every adult member of the family thought James looked older. But that wasn’t what was different. His face was exactly the same, hadn’t aged a day. What had changed was his demeanor. There was something about the way he moved and spoke that made him seem more mature. Although he laughed a lot, was happy last night, George had detected a new reflectiveness, a seriousness present in him. It struck George that James now had a lot more knowledge about the real world, in general, and not all of it good.
A small sigh escaped as he thought of how cossetted James had been by his parents, his grandparents, and even Harry and himself. Just as they had been protected when they were growing up. His parents had made sure he and his brothers had everything they needed or wanted, had been well fed, well clothed, and well loved.
That was the way the Falconers were … everything was always for the family: giving them the best they could, ready to shield their backs, stand in front of them to take the bullet, if necessary.
George was certain that it was the assault on James last year that had wrought these changes in him. Out of the blue, real life had hit him hard. It had taught him that wickedness, evil, and cruelty abounded, and pain, suffering, and sorrow were quite the norm.
George remembered that he had once told his brother Harry that the world was not an easy ride for anyone, more like mounting a wild stallion in a Texas rodeo and endeavoring to stay in the saddle on a bucking horse. And to be aware that danger always lurked round every corner, he had added.
As a journalist with many connections, George had been involved in the inquiries Scotland Yard had made about the brutal attack on the two boys. Unfortunately, it had never been solved. Everyone had drawn a blank. Their bafflement remained. But there had to have been a reason. George knew that instinctively. One day he hoped he would succeed in finding out why it had happened and who the perpetrators were. Somebody would be made to pay.
James’s injuries had been considerable. That he had been lucky to heal so well was the understatement of the year. In George’s opinion, his actual survival was something of a miracle. His physical injuries aside, James had been upset and sorrowful about Denny’s death. He had tried hard to comfort Jack Holden and his daughter, Nancy. All in all it had been a traumatic time for him, and it had marked him.
When George’s mother had come up with the idea of getting James out of Camden Town and taking him to Hull, George had been most approving and encouraged it. Once in Hull, even though he was living and working with relatives, James had been forced to stand on his own two feet. So naturally James Lionel Falconer had changed. He had grown up. And very, very fast. That was the difference in him.
The arrival of his nephew intruded on George’s meandering thoughts. As James walked across to the table, accompanied by Longden, George noticed how people stared at the handsome young man. Especially the women in the restaurant. Women would fall at his feet, that was a given. But George was certain James would never be distracted from his goal. Ambition and success first. He had his feet on the ground, and his head ruled.
“Sorry I’m late, Uncle George,” James apologized as he sat down. “I rushed here from Fortnum and Mason and tried a shortcut, but the streets are overcrowded today.”
“It’s the nice weather, I think,” George replied. “But you’re not that late, James. Relax, I’ve plenty of time. It’s my day off.”
“It was nice of you to invite me to lunch, Uncle George. By the way, I love my pocket watch.”
“Harry gave me the same one a few years ago. Then I gave an identical one to him. It’s just the right size, a nice timepiece. So why were you at the posh shop?”
“Doing what you call a ‘recce’ … looking around, memorizing things. Then I walked across the road to Burlington Arcade to study the shops there.”
Staring at him, taken aback, George frowned, asked, “Are you interested in retailing?”
“Yes … that’s what I want … to own an arcade and a shop like Fortnum’s. I’m going to be a merchant.”
“Very ambitious—” George paused and said, “Don’t look across the room yet, just keep talking to me. There’s a beautiful woman over there. I think she’s trying to get your attention.”
“Are you sure, Uncle George?”
“Positive.”
“What is she like?”
“Gorgeous. With raven-black hair.”
“Oh, it must be Mrs. Ward.” As he said this, James swiveled his head, looked across the room. It was Georgiana Ward, seated with another woman whom James thought might be her sister.
Giving his uncle a quick glance, James explained, “She is a close friend of Great-Aunt Marina. I met her in Hull. She told me she was moving back to London.”
“Do all the women in Hull look like that? If so, I might just move there. To hell with Fleet Street,” George replied in an amused tone.
“I think I ought to go and speak to her. Just to be polite,” James said, and got up. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Walking sure-footedly, erect and confident, James crossed the restaurant and came to a stop in front of Mrs. Ward’s table. Smiling, stretching out his hand, he said, “How nice to see you, Mrs. Ward.”
“And you too, James.” Turning to the woman with her, she continued, “Deanna, I would like to introduce James Falconer, the great-nephew of Marina … he’s the young man who suggested Clarence could sort out my problem with those shares.”
Deanna stretched out her hand and said hello. James shook it, smiled back, and answered how nice it was to meet her.
Mrs. Ward asked, “Are you in London for your birthday?”
“Yes, that’s right. My grandparents gave a family dinner for me last night.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Until the weekend. I’m so glad we got a chance to say hello.” With another wide smile and a small bow to both women, James returned to his uncle’s table.
George said, “Welcome back. Let’s order lunch and then you can tell me all about Mrs. Ward.”
James picked up the menu. He decided to have potted shrimp and grilled sole. His uncle ordered the same. The waiter filled their glasses with water and departed.
“So, where is Mr. Ward?” George now asked, eyeing James, riddled with curiosity. He had noticed the adoring look on the woman’s lovely face.
“Mr. Preston Ward is dead and we’re just friends, so don’t look at me like that.”
“How am I looking?”
“Like the cat that swallowed the cream, Uncle George. Mrs. Ward had problems with some shares she wanted to sell to her brother-in-law. I suggested she talk to Uncle Clarence. He managed to get her the best solicitor and accountant in Hull. And that’s all there is to it. I hardly know her.”
“I believe you,” George answered, and he did. On the other hand, Mrs. Ward might have different ideas, from the way she had looked up at his nephew.
The two of them talked about other things as they demolished the potted shrimp. It was whilst the waiter was deboning the grilled sole that George said, “Did you know that your great-grandfather Falconer, my grandfather, had a shop in Kent … a grocer’s shop. You’re just following in his footsteps, James. Retailing must be in your genes.”
* * *
At exactly four o’clock that afternoon, James climbed the steps to Mrs. Ward’s house in South Audley Street, lifted the brass knocker, and dropped it once.
Almost immediately the door was opened by Sonya, who bobbed and opened the door wider. “I think Mrs. Ward is expecting me,” James said confidently.
“She is, sir. She is waiting for you in the parlor. I’ll take you upstairs.”
James couldn’t help smiling to himself. Mrs. Ward had known he would come and visit her after bumping into her at lunch in the Quadrille. How well she knew him.
Sonya showed him into the room and disappeared down the stairs. As he walked across the floor, Georgiana stood up and hurried forward. She came immediately into his arms, holding on to him tightly. “What took you so long?” she asked. “I thought you would be here an hour ago.”
“I had to go somewhere with my uncle first,” he explained. “I finished my business with him as soon as I could. Also, I wasn’t sure whether you were expecting me or not.”
“I couldn’t say anything in front of my sister. Nor did I know what you wanted.”
“The same as you, I think,” James answered. “To resume where we left off in Hull…” He bent his head, tilted her face, and kissed her passionately but swiftly. He took her arm and led her over to the sofa. “Let’s sit and talk for a few moments, and I’d love a cup of that tea.”
As she lifted the teapot, Georgiana said in a low voice, “How do you think Albert found out about us? Or was it a good guess, because you came every Thursday to do my bookkeeping?”
“Perhaps that alerted him to us. However, I believe he hired a private detective to follow me at all times. He’s certainly too lazy to have done it himself.”
“But why? I don’t understand,” she said, frowning, truly baffled.
“According to what I’ve been told by my aunt and William, Albert has always been wicked, a troublemaker, and envious and jealous of others. William was his victim when they were children. Anyway, his hatred for me stems from my uncle’s friendship and affection and the fact that Uncle Clarence offered me a big job with the shipping company.”
“So he wanted to destroy you, so to speak?” A black brow lifted.
“Exactly. However, he is so loathed, hated, and disregarded by everyone, except his wife I suppose, no one believed him.” James reached out and took hold of her hand. “They gave us the benefit of the doubt. And it had nothing to do with you, Georgiana. Just me.”
“I understand. How long can you stay with me today?”
“I’m afraid I do have to leave shortly. I am meeting my grandparents soon. There’s no way I can let them down. But I am free tomorrow afternoon, and all day on Thursday.”
She smiled at him. “So I will be able to be with you for a little bit this week. We can make up for lost time, my dearest James.”