‘Come on, Elizabeth, stop dithering and let’s go,’ Robert Dunley said, staring hard at her. ‘We don’t have to stay very long if you don’t want to, but I do think it’s a good idea to have a look around.’
‘Oh, all right,’ she answered after another moment of hesitation. Robert had invited her to have Sunday lunch at the Savoy, but when she had arrived a few minutes ago he had told her they first had to go over to Deravenels.
Nodding, looking pleased, he now took hold of her arm, propelled her through the hotel lobby and out into the forecourt. Within seconds they were crossing the Strand, heading for the humungous building that was Deravenels.
‘What is it that you want me to see, actually?’ she asked curiously.
‘It’s a surprise.’ His dark brown eyes filled with laughter. ‘And I can’t wait to see your face.’
‘But what is it?’ she probed, impatient to know what this was.
‘Can’t tell you,’ he answered firmly as they came to a stop in front of the huge double door of the building. Robert immediately punched a number into the keypad embedded in the stone wall to the left of the door, and stood back, waiting.
A split-second later, a disembodied voice came through the intercom system: ‘Good morning. Who is it, please?’
‘Good morning, Alfred, it’s Robert Dunley.’
‘Thank you, sir. Please enter.’
There was a loud buzzing noise; Robert pushed the heavy door and, as it sprang open, he escorted Elizabeth inside.
Standing waiting for them in the central lobby was the weekend commissionaire, Alfred Vine. His face lit up at the sight of Elizabeth and he exclaimed, ‘Miss Turner! What a pleasure to see you. Welcome back.’
‘It’s nice to see you, too, Alfred.’ Elizabeth gave him a warm smile; she had known him for years, as she had most of the service staff.
‘I was sorry to hear about Mrs Turner Alvarez,’ the commissionaire went on in a low tone. ‘My condolences, Miss Turner.’
‘Thank you, that’s kind of you.’
Robert said, ‘We’re going up to the executive offices, Alfred, we won’t be very long.’
‘Take your time, sir, no problem.’
Elizabeth glanced around as the two of them walked across the gargantuan marble foyer, their footsteps clattering loudly as they made for the great double staircase that flowed up to the first floor. How impressed she had been with this foyer when she was a young girl; it had intimidated her. She smiled to herself. Perhaps it still did in a certain way. It was impressive, no two ways about that.
‘It’s very quiet this morning, Robin,’ Elizabeth said, and instantly looked startled as her voice echoed back to her. ‘Oh, goodness, I’d forgotten about the echo in here.’
‘Had you now?’ Robert glanced at her, grinning. ‘Don’t you remember the time we first discovered it? We were about ten and started “making echoes”, as you called it, by screaming and shouting. There was hell to pay.’
‘God, yes, I do remember! Your father and mine were absolutely furious with us, because of the noise we made. But it was Sunday, and the place was deserted, just as it is this morning. I never quite understood the fuss.’
‘My father docked my spending money. What did yours do?’
Elizabeth chuckled. ‘I can’t recall, just shouted at me, I think.’
They went on up the staircase in silence, headed down the main corridor and stopped outside the managing director’s office. Robert said, ‘Close your eyes. I want this to really be a surprise.’
Elizabeth did as he asked; he took hold of her hand, led her into the office, switched on the overhead light and said, ‘Okay, you can open your eyes.’
She did so and instantly gasped. ‘Oh, my God! Robin! How on earth did you manage to do this?’ As she spoke, her eyes swept around the room, swiftly taking everything in, and then she turned around and hugged him. ‘It’s Father’s office once again, not hers! Oh, thank you!’
‘Do you like it?’ he asked eagerly, as always, wishing to please her.
‘I love it, can’t you tell?’ She walked slowly around the large room which had been occupied in the last hundred years by Richard Deravenel, his son Edward Deravenel, and Edward’s youngest brother Richard. Then it had been her grandfather’s, and after Henry Turner died, her father Harry had occupied it for years.
Because Edward Selmere had been the administrator, running the company on behalf of her younger brother, he had used another office on the executive floor. Once Mary had become managing director it was her domain, as was proper, but she had made a mess of it, in Elizabeth’s opinion.
Looking at Robert, Elizabeth asked, ‘What on earth did you do with all that ghastly modern furniture Mary bought?’
‘I chucked it out, with Cecil’s agreement, of course,’ Robert laughed, added, ‘I was happy to see the last of it. And look, Elizabeth, over there on the wall behind the desk … it’s the famous old map of the world, which Mary had sent down to storage. I rescued it and put it back where it belongs.’
Rushing over to the map, she said, ‘And you had it reframed, from the look of it.’
‘I did, and now you can see the map much better because I had new glass put in.’
‘Robin, how lovely of you to do all this. Thank you, thank you, you’ve made me so happy.’ She sat down at the beautiful Georgian desk that had been used by those of her ancestors who had run this company before her, smoothed her hands over the fine leather top, reverentially, momentarily lost in thought. A few seconds later, rousing herself, she took stock once more, noting the rich cream colour on the walls, the antique Chesterfield sofa with its highly polished, dark-green leather gleaming in the light from the various lamps. ‘It’s all here, isn’t it, Robin? All of the things my father appreciated so much.’
‘And his father before him, and the Deravenels,’ Robert replied. ‘It’s even the same Persian rug. However, I want you to know I did have that cleaned! It all started about three weeks ago when I asked Cecil if I could have the walls repainted before you came back. I’m sure you remember that awful dreary steel-grey paint Mary had chosen. Cecil told me to do whatever I wished, and it suddenly struck us both that the furniture Mary had bought wasn’t right, either for this office or for you. So … voilà! And I’m thrilled you’re happy with everything.’
‘I am.’
‘Then let me take you to lunch to celebrate your return to Deravenels and your new job as the boss lady.’
Many heads turned as they walked through the lobby of the Savoy Hotel on their way to the restaurant. They were both good looking, and Elizabeth was almost as tall as Robert. They made a handsome, elegant couple, and Elizabeth was particularly arresting with her startlingly white skin and auburn hair. She had chosen to wear a tailored, purple wool coat and dress that showed off her slender figure to perfection, while the purple-and-green silk scarf was a dashing addition to the outfit.
Robert Dunley was well aware of the swathe they cut as they walked through the restaurant. They usually did. They both loved fashionable clothes, and he was something of a peacock. As for Elizabeth, she had always had style and a certain flair, wore unique outfits by Joseph, Versace, and Cavalli in strong colours with great aplomb. In fact, they both had enormous self-confidence and were sure of themselves when it came to their taste in clothing.
After sitting down at a window table overlooking the Thames and ordering two glasses of champagne, Robert took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘Aren’t you glad we went to the office?’
Elizabeth agreed. ‘Yes, I am, you were absolutely right, but then you usually are. Nobody understands me like you do, Robin darling. I realize how much I was dreading going there tomorrow, and your little preview has made me feel more at ease. And thank you again for the work you did on Father’s office. I hated what Mary had created, that abysmal steel-and-glass trap, and couldn’t bear the thought of using it.’
‘I shudder when I think of it, and actually I enjoyed dumping her stuff, bringing back all those lovely old pieces from the storage unit downstairs. It was not only fun but a labour of love,’ Robert reassured her.
At this moment the waiter arrived with their flutes of champagne, and after toasting each other Elizabeth asked, ‘What do you think I ought to do with the Chelsea house?’
‘Do you want to live there?’ Robert asked.
‘I don’t know … I don’t think so. But now, looking out at the river flowing by, I can’t help thinking how beautiful the Thames is this morning, especially in the brilliant sunshine. Don’t forget, the house runs right down to the river’s edge.’
‘It’s an important old house architecturally, and you would get rather a lot for it, I’m certain, but don’t make any hasty decisions. You might well enjoy living there, but you don’t have to decide right now, do you?’
‘No, I don’t, and anyway, I’ll know what condition it’s in from Kat. She’s going to give it a thorough looking over. You see, she’s taking charge of my properties.’ Elizabeth grinned at him, and added, ‘Kat accepted my offer to be my steward. I know it’s a very old-fashioned job description, but that’s exactly what she’ll be doing – the work a steward used to do.’
‘And Kat will do a marvellous job! She’s one of the most efficient people I know.’ He sat back, frowned, and asked, ‘What were you telling me about Blanche Parrell earlier?’
‘Blanche is, at this very moment, throwing all of my clothes away, at least that’s what she was doing earlier, before I left this morning. On Kat’s advice, she’s taken control of my wardrobe, and so far the pile for Oxfam is enormous. It seems she’s about to select a lot of new clothes for me. She wants me to look the part for my new job.’
‘And why not?’ Robert murmured, then reaching into his pocket he took out a folded piece of paper, said quietly, ‘I have something for you, something you should see. It is a bit lethal, but I don’t want you to be upset –’
‘What is it?’ she cut in, her brows puckering together. His words of warning and his solemn expression had telegraphed that the paper was not only problematic but also of vital importance to her.
‘Read it for yourself,’ Robert said, ‘and we’ll discuss, then we’ll order lunch.’ He handed her the piece of paper.
Elizabeth saw immediately that it was a bank transfer, and it was signed by Mary Turner Alvarez. Her sister, three years earlier, had transferred fifty million euros to her new husband in Madrid, Philip Alvarez. Shocked, she stared at the paper, reading it again. A furious anger swept over her, and her hand shook as she clutched the paper. She exclaimed in a low but angry tone, ‘I can’t believe this! She must have been insane, besotted or brainwashed by him.’
‘All of those things, perhaps,’ Robert replied.
A terrible thought struck Elizabeth, and she asked in a hoarse whisper, ‘Do you think this was Deravenel money or her own?’
‘I’m not sure. I can’t really tell from the bank transfer.’
‘Cecil told me she invested seventy-five million euros in Philip’s real estate development schemes. Did you know that?’
‘I’d heard rumours that she had been overly generous, but I didn’t know the amount.’
‘Please don’t let Cecil know I’ve told you that.’
‘I won’t,’ Robert promised.
Elizabeth asked, ‘How did you get this bank transfer?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Surely you can tell me, Robin.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t know … well, let’s just say this … I’ve worked at Deravenels for years, my father and grandfather also worked there. And guess what … people have a bad habit of not changing locks.’
‘What you’re saying is that you have a great many keys?’ Elizabeth stared at him knowingly.
‘You’ve got it.’
‘This transfer is obviously a copy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. The original is where it should be. You can keep it if you want, but don’t take it to the office. Lock it up in your safe at home. I actually came across it quite by accident, and wanted you to have it … Forewarned is forearmed. God knows what you’re going to find when you start digging, but I want you to be ahead of the game, Elizabeth.’
‘I have to tell Cecil. I’m absolutely certain the fifty million came from her personal bank account.’
‘Of course. He has to know,’ Robert answered. He eyed her closely, and murmured, ‘You’re not as upset as I thought you would be.’
‘I’m bloody furious, if you want the truth! However, Cecil’s news last week forced me to recognize that the seventy-five million euros she gave to Philip might well be just the tip of the iceberg.’
Robin has done good by me yet again. Persuading me to go to Deravenels was an inspired idea on his part. I have lost my fear of the place. I had been dreading going back after a year’s absence, because it holds so many memories for me, both good and bad. The bad ones are all to do with Mary and her treatment of me. Once she took over she became a tyrant in so many ways, not the least with me. She was suspicious and treacherous, and endeavoured to nullify my existence. Finally she banished me.
I really missed my job, but there was nothing I could do. She was managing director and I had been dismissed. I took myself off to Ravenscar, and although she hated that house and never came there, I remained fearful of her mood-swings and temper tantrums. Long-distance enemy she might be, but an enemy nonetheless, and I never knew when she might do something nasty to me.
The good memories are to do with my father, and when I saw his office looking exactly the way it had when he occupied it, I was happy. I had never quite understood why Mary had torn it apart, put the valuable antiques in the storage unit, and filled it with hard-edged modern furniture. Unless it was a way of obliterating our father in her mind. She had always harboured a grudge against him because he had discarded her mother; deep down, I don’t think she ever forgave him for that, although she was devious enough to put up a good front.
Seeing the room looking the way it had for centuries was a thrill for me, and happy memories washed over me. Once my father had brought me back into his life, when I was nine, he often took me to the office with him in the mornings. I would sit on the Chesterfield and read books about our vineyards in France, diamond mines in India, and gold mines in Africa. He filled my head with information about our ancient trading company before taking me to lunch at the Savoy or Rules. As I grew older, he became impressed with my intelligence and knowledge, and I think that’s when Mary grew more jealous than ever of me. She hated him when he praised me; she hated me because I looked like a miniature Harry Turner with his red hair and height and Turner looks. Father often told me I had the thin, wiry build of my grandfather Henry Turner, the Welshman who had married Bess Deravenel and taken over as the head of Deravenels. And it was true, I did, and I was proud of that.
My father died when I was twelve, but I’d had those wonderful few years with him and my half-brother Edward, and looking back, those years were the happiest of my childhood. I was doing well in the classroom, my father was proud of me, and of Edward. He and I spent a great deal of time together and were close and loving. Then there was my new stepmother, Catherine Parker, a woman who embraced us, my father’s children, and she was loving, kind and mothering to all of us, including Mary.
My father had hurt my feelings when I was a little girl, but he made up for his bad behaviour when I was older. I learned a lot from him, and I suppose he became my role model in the latter part of his life. He was a brilliant man, and he ran Deravenels far better than his father had, whom he sometimes called ‘the caretaker’. He once told me his father had been tight with money, and that he had never allowed his wife Bess to participate in anything to do with Deravenels. She was actually the heiress, through her father Edward, and my father thought it was wrong of his father to exclude her. He adored his mother, who brought him up with his younger sister Mary. They spent a lot of time together at Ravenscar and that’s why he loved it so much, I suppose. His mother was the biggest influence on his life, and it was she who had filled his head with Deravenel family lore and legend.
Father passed that onto me, and tomorrow I shall go to Deravenels and take my rightful place as the head of the company. I am my father’s heir. It is my right.
‘Elizabeth, can you come and have a look at the clothes, please?’ Blanche Parrell asked in her lilting Welsh voice, pushing open the door of the study, poking her head around it.
‘Yes, right away,’ Elizabeth answered. She was sitting in a chair near the fire, thinking about her father, but she roused herself at once and jumped to her feet.
‘Purple really does suit you,’ Blanche said as an aside, and hurried across the foyer.
‘I think so, too.’ Elizabeth followed the lovely Welshwoman, thinking how well Blanche looked today with her pink cheeks, sleek black hair pulled back in a twist, and sparkling black eyes. There was always a warm smile on her face, and she aimed to please at all times. Elizabeth had loved Blanche since she was a child, appreciated her warm and tender nature, not to mention her talent with clothes, and thought of her as one of the family.
‘I know this looks a mess,’ Blanche announced, sounding apologetic as they entered the bedroom. ‘But actually I do know where everything goes.’
‘I’d be surprised if you didn’t!’ Elizabeth glanced across at the set of closets lined up along one wall. To her surprise there were still a lot of clothes hanging there, and she exclaimed, ‘Oh good, I guess we’re keeping those!’
‘Yes, we are. I hate to get rid of really good things, not to mention the haute couture pieces, and those are lovely outfits.’
Indicating several piles of clothes on the floor, Blanche continued: ‘All of that stuff can go to Oxfam and other charities with thrift shops, whilst the things on the bed need altering … skirt lengths are wrong, some jackets might be a bit too big or too small, and those items on the chair are for the dry cleaners.’
Elizabeth nodded her understanding. ‘You’ve done a marvellous job, Blanche. Thank you so much. I wouldn’t have managed to do this myself.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. You’re not ruthless enough about clothing, but then very few women are. They like to hang onto things in case they lose weight, or put it on, or because they might have a special occasion coming up … etcetera, etcetera.’
Elizabeth murmured, ‘I suppose you now want me to try on some of these things?’
‘It would help, don’t you think?’
‘Yes. And I need to pick out a suit for my first day back at Deravenels. I think I should wear something smart but low key. One of those trouser suits, perhaps?’
‘Yes, with a crisp white shirt.’ Blanche walked over to the closets. ‘Let’s go through these, and maybe we can select things for the entire week, to save your time.’
Thomas Parrell sat in Elizabeth’s study watching television, except that he wasn’t really watching or listening. He merely had the set turned on. Picking up the remote, he zapped it off.
The room was instantly quiet, the only noise the crackling of the fire in the grate and the faint ticking of the carriage clock on the mantlepiece. Settling back in the comfortable armchair and stretching out his legs, he glanced around.
He had always liked this handsome yet cosy room with moss-green silk fabric on the walls, a carpet of the same colour, and dark-rose brocade draperies which matched the big comfortable sofa and armchairs. The mahogany bookshelves along the back wall were filled to overflowing with every kind of book. He smiled to himself. When Elizabeth had been a young girl he had called her ‘the bookworm’, and she had laughed with glee, tickled by the name. Never had a more appropriate name been given to anyone. It fitted her perfectly; she never had her nose out of a book, not even today. Elizabeth had always been very learned, a favourite of all the private tutors she had ever had, and he would never forget how awed Harry Turner had been by her precociousness, her intelligence, and knowledge of so many subjects.
The thing Thomas admired most was her toughness of mind. He had come to realize that she thought with her head and not her heart. This, in fact, had been imperative; how well he knew that it was her toughness of mind and swift thinking that had kept her out of trouble – especially with her sister Mary.
Mary was dead and buried and Elizabeth was about to come into her own and he for one was not only relieved but thrilled. He had worked for Elizabeth for years, keeping her books and accounts, and serving as a kind of business manager for her. Harry Turner had appointed him, and he had always been grateful and happy in his job. His sister Blanche and he were usually depicted as members of the Welsh mafia, employees who were as Welsh as the Turners and favoured by them. Once he had told Elizabeth how they were characterized, and she had loved the idea, had burst into gales of laughter. ‘How perfect! And you’re all mine!’
He stood up at the sound of footsteps in the front hall, and when Elizabeth came in he went to greet her with affection.
‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting, Thomas. Your sister has been helping to put together my clothes for the entire week. Saves time. Would you like a drink?’
‘That would be nice. Sherry, please.’
A moment later she handed him the glass, poured sparkling water for herself, and then the two of them sat down near the fire.
‘I needed to see you this evening, Thomas, because next week is going to be extremely busy –’
‘I’m sure it will be,’ he agreed, cutting in.
‘As I told you on the phone,’ Elizabeth went on, ‘Kat is going to look after my properties, for the time being anyway, acting as steward. I’ve also asked her to check out all my bank vaults, and I want to explain that situation. Those vaults at Coutts, the Westminster and Lloyds are stuffed with valuables, from silver and gold objects to extraordinary jewels, according to Cecil. Would you be willing to help her take an inventory of everything?’
‘I would indeed. My pleasure, very much my pleasure, and she will need help by the sound of it.’ He nodded, sipped his sherry, and pointed out, ‘We must have a proper and true assessment made of the value of every item, and I can arrange for that as well.’
‘Do it, please. I want you to move as quickly as possible on the vaults.’ Elizabeth looked across at the door as Blanche suddenly appeared. ‘Come in, join us, Blanche. It’s about time you took a moment to relax. You haven’t stopped all day.’
Blanche came over to the fire, explaining, ‘I’ve finished selecting your clothing for the week. And tomorrow I’ll start choosing for the week after.’
‘You’re a glutton for punishment,’ Elizabeth exclaimed.
‘I always have been, you know that.’