Being Elizabeth Read online

  ‘It looks like a pretty spring day out there,’ Robert murmured, coming to stand next to her. ‘But it’s an illusion.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’ She eyed him knowingly. ‘Like so much else in life …’

  He made no response, and a moment later Cecil handed her the flute of champagne. She thanked him, sat down, and looking at both men, said, ‘I wonder what has happened to Nicholas? Shouldn’t he be here by now? It’s almost one.’

  ‘I feel certain he’ll arrive at any moment,’ Cecil reassured her. He glanced at Robert, raised a brow and asked, ‘How was the traffic?’

  ‘Not too bad. But Nicholas might be a bit more cautious than I am. I’m lucky I didn’t get stopped by a traffic cop. I drove like a fiend.’

  ‘Nicholas is bringing me the black box,’ Elizabeth announced, looking at Robert. But before he could respond, she changed the subject abruptly. ‘If I’m not mistaken, you were rather friendly with Philip Alvarez, weren’t you? Didn’t you go to Spain with him a while ago?’

  Robert nodded. ‘Yes. But I can’t say I was very friendly with him. Let’s put it this way – he was always pleasant to me, and at one moment he needed advice, mostly from my brother Ambrose. Actually, we went to Spain together, to do a small job for him.’

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something and instantly closed it when she saw the warning look on Cecil’s face.

  Cecil cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think we ought to get into a long discussion about Philip Alvarez at this particular moment. Robert, you might be able to shed some light on that resort he was building in Spain, so do let’s plan to have a little talk. Later. I think Nicholas has just arrived.’ Rising, Cecil walked out into the Long Hall, said over his shoulder, ‘Yes, it’s him.’

  A second later, Nicholas Throckman was greeting Cecil, Elizabeth and Robert, a wide smile on his face. They were all old friends, and enjoyed being together. After accepting a glass of champagne, and raising his glass to them, Nicholas said, ‘I’m so sorry to deliver this in such an unconventional fashion, Elizabeth.’ He chuckled. ‘In a Fortnum and Mason shopping bag, of all things. But actually, this is how it came to me. Anyway, here it is.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with a Fortnum and Mason shopping bag,’ Elizabeth replied as she took it from him. Placing it on the floor next to her, she lifted out the black box; holding it in both hands, she stared down at it and felt a shiver run through her. The box was, in fact, more like a jewel case, and embossed across the lid in now-faded gold letters was the name she revered: Edward Deravenel.

  Placing it on her knee, with her hands on top of it, she said slowly, it in a shaky voice, ‘When I was eleven, two years after my father had accepted me as his daughter again, he showed me this box. And he told me a story about it. Or rather, about what’s inside. Come and sit down for a minute or two. I’d like you to hear what Harry Turner told me fourteen years ago.’

  The three men did as she asked, nursing their glasses of champagne. All were curious, wanted to hear the story.

  Elizabeth did not immediately begin. Instead she looked down at the box once more, smoothed her hand over it, seemed suddenly thoughtful, far away, lost in memories.

  Robert Dunley, watching her intently, could not help thinking how beautiful her hands were, long and slender with tapering fingers and perfect nails. He had half-forgotten her lovely hands …

  For his part, Nicholas was admiring her gumption and disregard for convention. Here she was, wearing a bright red sweater and matching trousers on the day her sister had died, and she didn’t give a damn what any of them thought. But that was Elizabeth, honest to the core. He knew, only too well, that there had been no love lost between the sisters, and he admired Elizabeth for not pretending otherwise.

  Cecil’s thoughts were on Elizabeth’s quick, keen mind, the way she had mentioned Philip, quizzed Robert about the trip to Spain. Dunley might well be a good source of information about the disastrous investment Mary had made … he would talk to him later.

  Elizabeth shifted her position on the sofa, glanced up at the painting which had hung above the fireplace here in this library for seventy years or more … The life-size portrait of Edward Deravenel … what a handsome man he had been: her father had truly looked like him, and so did she.

  Focusing on the three men, she said, ‘This box once belonged to him, my father’s grandfather, as you all know.’ She gestured to the portrait, then, lifting the lid off the box, she took out a gold medallion on a slender chain and held it up for them to see. It glinted in the sunlight.

  On one side was the Deravenel family emblem of the white rose and fetterlock, the rose enamelled white; on the other side of the medallion was the sun in splendour, commemorating the day Edward had taken the company away from the Grants of Lancashire in 1904. Around the edge of the medallion, on the side bearing the rose, was engraved the Deravenel family motto: Fidelity unto eternity.

  ‘I’m aware you’ve all seen this medallion before, as have I. But my father first showed it to me when I was eleven years old, as I just told you. He explained that his grandfather had designed it, and had had six of them made. For himself, his two cousins, Neville and Johnny Watkins, his best friend Will Hasling, and two colleagues, Alfredo Oliveri and Amos Finnister. They were the men who had helped him take control of the company, and were devoted to him for the rest of his life. Father then went on to confide that his mother, Bess Deravenel, had actually given it to him when he was twelve … just before she died. Apparently, her father had asked her to keep it safe for her younger brother, who would one day inherit the company. Well, you know that old story about the two Deravenel boys disappearing in mysterious circumstances. My grandmother explained to Father that she had been keeping it for his elder brother Arthur, who had unexpectedly died when he was almost sixteen. And now she wanted Harry to have it, because he would become head of the company –’

  ‘Didn’t Bess ever give the medallion to her husband, Henry Turner?’ Robert asked, cutting in peremptorily.

  ‘Obviously not,’ Elizabeth answered. ‘Actually, now that I think about it, my father never mentioned his father in that conversation about the medallion, he just told me how thrilled he’d been to get it, and proud. He said he treasured it because of its historical significance. He adored his mother, and I suspect it was extra special to him because it was one of her last gifts to him.’

  ‘And now it’s yours,’ Nicholas said, gazing at her fondly, his eyes benign and caring. Like Cecil and Robert, he was extremely protective of her, and would always defend her and her interests.

  Elizabeth went on, ‘My brother Edward received it after my father’s death, even though he was too young to run the company, as you all know. It was his by right. And then it went to Mary when Edward died. Whoever wears it is the head of Deravenels, but basically it is only a symbol. Still, it’s always been tremendously important to the Turners, and it’s passed on to the next heir immediately.’

  Cecil said, ‘It’s a beautiful thing, and when your father wore it on special occasions he did so with great pride.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, he did. You know, there’s another bit of family lore attached to this particular medallion, which Father told me about. Seemingly, Neville Watkins and Edward Deravenel had a terrible falling out, a genuine rift that went on for years and was devastating to everyone.’ She took a sip of champagne, and continued, ‘Johnny, Neville’s brother, was torn between the two of them, and tried to broker a rapprochement, but couldn’t. Ultimately, he had to take his brother’s side, he had no choice. When he was killed in a car crash in 1914 he was wearing the medallion under his shirt. Edward’s brother Richard brought Johnny’s medallion to him, and Edward wore it for the rest of his life. His own he gave to his brother.’

  Now picking up the medallion again, leaning forward, Elizabeth showed them the side bearing the image of the sun in splendour. ‘If you look closely, you can see the initials J.W. which apparently Edward had engraved on the rim here
, then he added his own initials. When my father received the medallion, he added his initials, as did Edward, and also Mary.’ She passed the medallion to Cecil, who looked at it closely then gave it to Nicholas, who did the same and handed it to Robert.

  After staring at the series of initials, Robert glanced at her, and announced, ‘You must wear it today, Elizabeth. Now. Because it’s yours and it signifies so much, the history of your family. Next week I’ll have your initials added to the rim, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Why that’s lovely of you. Thank you, Robin.’

  Rising, he went over to her, opened the clasp and fastened the gold chain around her neck. ‘There you are,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘You’re now the boss!’

  Before she could say anything, Lucas appeared in the doorway of the library. ‘Lunch is served, Miss Turner,’ he announced.

  ‘Thank you, Lucas, we’ll be right in.’

  Jumping up, Elizabeth hugged Robert, and said softly against his ear, ‘You always manage to do the right thing, ever since we were little.’

  ‘And I can say the same thing about you,’ he answered, taking her arm and leading her out of the library into the Long Hall, followed by Cecil and Nicholas.

  Once they were in the dining room, Elizabeth turned to Cecil, and said, ‘Come and sit next to me, and Nicholas, Robin, please sit opposite.’

  They all took their seats, and Elizabeth said, ‘We’re having Yorkshire pudding first, then leg of lamb, roast potatoes and the usual vegetables. I hope you’re going to enjoy it.’

  Nicholas grinned. ‘A traditional Sunday lunch is my favourite meal of the week. I’ve been looking forward to it all morning.’

  ‘I bet you didn’t get many of those in Paris, did you, old chap?’ Cecil said. ‘And by the way, I for one am glad you’re back.’

  ‘So am I,’ Nicholas asserted. ‘And from what I’ve gathered from our phone conversations, there’s a lot for us to do.’

  Cecil nodded. ‘That’s true, but before we start reorganizing the company, and getting it on a more profitable level, I think we have to do something about the board. It’s top heavy.’

  ‘It certainly is!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘Mary added far too many additional board members, and in my opinion it should go back to the way it was in my father’s time. Eighteen.’

  ‘Agreed, and –’ Cecil broke off as Lucas came in carrying a tray followed by a young maid.

  The butler placed the tray on a side table, and then he and the maid gave everyone a plate on which there was a large, round Yorkshire pudding.

  After serving the gravy, the butler asked, ‘Shall I pour the wine now, Miss Turner?’

  ‘Why not, Lucas. Thank you.’

  Once they were alone again, Nicholas looked across the table at Cecil and Elizabeth, and said, ‘A large board is unwieldly, don’t you think? And also too many voices and lots of differing opinions create monumental problems in the long run. I’m glad you’ve decided to tighten it up.’

  ‘The whole company needs tightening up,’ Robert said. ‘There’s been a lot of waste. Not only of money, but of talent as well. The company needs new blood, new young blood, quite apart from anything else.’

  ‘Robert, you took the words right out of my mouth,’ said Cecil, inclining his head. ‘And now, here’s a toast to you, Elizabeth.’ He picked up his crystal goblet of red wine, and raised it to her. ‘To a new beginning at Deravenels and your great success!’

  The other two men repeated her name, and lifted their glasses; Elizabeth smiled at them, her dark eyes glowing, and they all took a sip of the vintage claret.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she put the glass down on the table again. ‘I just want to say that I’m happy the three of you are here with me today, and that we’re going to face the future together at Deravenels. I don’t think I could do it without you.’

  ‘Oh, you could,’ Robert said confidently. ‘But it’ll be better with us around, don’t you think?’

  She laughed, began to eat, and the men followed suit.

  From time to time Robert looked across the table at her and held her gaze until she glanced down at her plate and continued to eat. She was so happy he had decided to come up, be with her on this very special day. He looked wonderful, so good-looking, so very glamorous. All of a sudden she realised she was staring at him, perhaps a little too intently, when he raised a dark brow and threw her a questioning look. Her stomach tightened and she felt herself flushing. Much to her astonishment, she had become very aware of him physically in the last hour or so, extremely conscious of his presence.

  FOUR

  He has not changed much over the years, my friend Robin. Not in character at least. He has always been thoughtful, caring, worrying about my comfort; or second-guessing me; or showing up out of the blue, as if he could read my mind. When I was a child I was always hoping he would persuade his father to bring him to Kent to stay with us. Often I got down and prayed that he would arrive.

  Sometimes he and his father would show up at Waverley Court, usually on a Friday afternoon, and John Dunley would leave Robin with us for the weekend, or often longer in the summer. Kat Ashe, my governess, had taken a great liking to Robin and welcomed him warmly. Looking back. I’m sure it was Kat and Robin’s father who concocted these visits between them, knowing how isolated I was.

  We first met at my father’s Chelsea house, and we took an instant liking to each other. That day when he came to have lunch and play with me, I asked him how old he was, and he told me he was eight. I remember how surprised I was, because he was tall and looked older, and then I confided, ‘I’m also eight. My birthday is on September the seventh. When’s yours?’ I don’t think I’ll ever forget that look of astonishment on Robin’s face. ‘That’s my birthday too! September the seventh. We’ll have to have a joint party!’ He grinned at me and exclaimed, ‘Gosh, we’re actually twins, Elizabeth!’ It’s often struck me how alike he and I are, in fact.

  I was a lonely little girl. My father had taken a terrible dislike to me after my mother died in a car accident in France. He shunned me, eventually disowned me, and shunted me around to stay with any of his relatives who would have me. I felt unwanted and unloved, and actually I was. By him, anyway.

  Eventually, Father sent me to Kent, to live at Stonehurst Farm. And Kat came too. She became a surrogate mother to me; Kat loved me very much, and loves me to this day, but, as can only be expected, in those days I wanted my father’s love. He with-held it. In fact, he was cruel and inhuman in his behaviour towards me.

  My father abandoned me, showed me little or no consideration, and did not bother much about my well being, leaving everything to Kat. He was verbally abusive to me when we did meet, calling me terrible names, telling me I was a bastard, insisting that he was not my father, and shouting at me, saying that my mother had been a cheating whore. I never quite understood why he hated me so much, and I still don’t, not really. Obviously, I was terrified of him.

  When I was little I pretended that Robin was my brother, because I so desperately wanted a family, wanted to belong to somebody. And needed someone to love. I loved Robin then, and I still love him. He is my best friend. And I know, deep inside, that I am his; certainly he’s often told me so. We were close in childhood, but we drifted apart as we grew older and he was sent off to boarding school. Still, if I ever needed him, he was always there for me, and in those awful days when Mary was vengeful and mean, he was kind and comforting. My loyal and devoted Robin.

  I’m glad Cecil likes him. They’ve known each other for years because Cecil worked for Robin’s father at one time, which was when they got to know each other. They are somewhat different in temperament. Cecil Williams, with his grey eyes and clever face and bright intelligence, is a man that everyone trusts and listens to. Like me, he has a degree of caution, is wary and does not make hasty decisions. He watches and waits, as I do. A lawyer by training, he scrupulously abides by the rules.

  Robin is also
intelligent, shrewd and clever, and has proved himself to be brilliant in business. His handsome features and dark good looks, plus an easy natural charm and a gift of the gab, add to his potent charisma. And with his height and build and flair for clothes, women tend to run after him, fall at his feet. Although he doesn’t pay much attention to them, I know he likes women and their company. But he’s never been a womanizer; he has a good reputation in that respect. The only thing I have ever cautioned him about is his impulsiveness. And he does appear to be more restrained these days.

  I’m glad he came up to Yorkshire last Sunday. It was a lovely surprise and he, Nicholas, Cecil and I were able to talk at length about Deravenels and future plans. He and Nicholas left on Monday morning. Cecil and I stayed on, of course, working together for several days. Also, we had to remain at Ravenscar because of the funeral. Sixty people attended, and we managed to squeeze everybody into the chapel. John Norfell had arranged everything with his usual good taste and punctilliousness. The chapel was filled with flowers, Mary’s favourite priest was brought from London, and the priest and John Norfell accompanied the coffin. Afterwards there was a catered lunch at the house. I did my duty and played the part, kept a solemn demeanour and said all of the right things to everyone with a quiet dignity. At least, Cecil told me I had been dignified and appropriate. Once everyone left, Cecil and I loaded his car with luggage and drove to London together.

  And here I am on Saturday morning, back in my own apartment in Eaton Square, waiting for my darling Kat, who’s due to arrive at any moment. I can’t wait to see her … it’s been several months since we last met.

  ‘Let me look at you, darling girl,’ Kat said, staring up into Elizabeth’s face. ‘I must say, you look none the worse for being all those weeks in the frozen north. I’d even go so far as to say you seem to be in blooming health. If a little pale.’

  Elizabeth began to laugh, hugging her former governess, the woman who had brought her up. Finally releasing her, she said, ‘Kat, I’m never anything but pale, and you should know that since you’re the one who never let me out in the sun or the wind.’