‘I agree with Thomas,’ Kat volunteered, beaming at her. ‘And I think another category could be called Tiaras. After all, they’re unique, and wait until you actually see them, Elizabeth. They are truly impressive.’
‘That’s a great idea, Kat. I think I would use Sotheby’s for the auction. Oh, and by the way, when am I going to meet Mr Pollard?’
‘Any time you want. His wife works in the real estate division of Sotheby’s. You could use them if you decide to sell this house.’
‘Couldn’t be better.’ Elizabeth smiled at her. ‘Did he say anything about the house?’
‘He remarked on its beauty and outstanding condition, said how well-cared-for it looked. He actually told me you could easily get thirty million pounds for it.’
‘Oh, yes, I know I could. But I would never take that. In fact, I won’t take anything less than seventy million pounds.’
Kat gaped at her, and so did Thomas, but before they could make any comments, Blanche returned, followed by Ann, who was pushing a tea cart.
‘You’re both a welcome sight!’ Elizabeth exclaimed, standing up, walking across the floor to join them. ‘That’s just what I need to warm me up. A nice cup of tea.’
FOURTEEN
She had forgotten how beautiful the upper floors of the Chelsea house were, with their spacious bedrooms, wide corridors and generous landings. There were windows along the main corridor, and it was light-filled as she made her way to the master bedroom.
Pushing open the door, Elizabeth went in and glanced around, remembering the last time she had been in this room. She had come to visit Mary, who had not wanted her to come, and had done so out of a sense of family duty. But her half-sister had been cold, had shown no interest in her, and had made it abundantly clear she could not wait for her to leave.
Elizabeth recalled how she had gritted her teeth and stayed, sitting in the chair which had been placed near the bed for visitors. Mary, convinced she was carrying Philip’s child, had looked smug, even self-satisfied at certain moments, but also extremely ill. Elizabeth was fully aware that her half-sister’s swollen belly was due to a terrible sickness, and nothing else. This had proved to be true when Mary had later been diagnosed with cancer of the stomach.
But that day, over a year ago now, her half-sister had been unbending in her attitude. She had snarled at her, told her she could not work at Deravenels any longer, and that she was disowning her once and for all.
‘Get out! Get out of my sight!’ she had screamed at one moment, her dark eyes bulging in her sweating face. ‘You’ve always been a thorn in my side, you little bitch. You took my father away from me. Some good it did you. I’m the one with the power now. Not you. You’ll never have the power –’
Mary had started to cough, falling back against the pillows, and Elizabeth had risen in alarm, leaned over her, only to be fiercely pushed away.
And so she had sat down in the chair, waiting for Mary to recover. When her half-sister was finally breathing more normally, she had asked her if she could do anything to help her.
Mary’s response had been swift and angry. ‘Get out! That will certainly help. Go away and never come back here.’
And so she had done exactly that.
Elizabeth sighed under her breath, and walked across the room, glanced down at the garden. The winter landscape was devoid of colour and beyond the River Thames was the colour of lead. Dismal today. When she turned around, she stared at the huge four-poster bed, with its fresh white linen and collection of lace-trimmed Victorian pillows on display. And she thought of all those others who had occupied this room … other members of the family.
Her great-uncle, Richard Deravenel, and his wife Anne Watkins Deravenel … Richard, the uncle her grandmother Bess had seemingly adored. Her father had once told her all about him, how he had loved his elder brother Edward Deravenel so devotedly, and adored his nieces and nephews, especially Harry’s mother, Bess, eldest child of Edward. The nephews … her mind focused on them for a moment … those two little boys who had disappeared from the beach at Ravenscar … never to be found. A great and puzzling mystery when it happened. But not so puzzling today, when children constantly vanished, either abducted by an angry parent or by strangers with criminal intent. Every five minutes. Statistics showed that every five minutes a child disappeared … somewhere in the world, and was as often as not never found.
Harry Turner had lived here with his third wife Jane Selmere, mother of her father’s first and only male heir, sister of the Selmere brothers … Edward and Thomas, two handsome, dangerous men.
Turning around, Elizabeth left the master bedroom and hurried along the corridor to the bedroom that had once been hers. It was shadow-filled in the late afternoon light, twilight actually, but Elizabeth could see that it was exactly the same, remained just as she had left it. Closing the door, she leaned against it, her eyes roaming around.
Unexpectedly everything changed.
The years fell away. The past ensnared her.
He is standing in the corner, near the window.
Tall, slender, dark-haired, and so very handsome. Even though the light is dim I can see the laughter in his hazel eyes … those eyes which are so often filled with passion and desire. For me. I closed the bathroom door, but did not move.
‘Sweetheart, come here,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Quickly, come, let me hold you. Please, Elizabeth, I’ve been waiting for you.’
Still, I did not move, turned to a pillar of salt, I’ve no doubt. And there was no doubt in my mind what he wanted. I shivered, filled with fear. And anticipation. He had done that to me, my sailor man, taught me to want his hands on me, his mouth on mine. It was wrong, I know that. But he was … irresistible. Against my own volition I went to him. He pulled me into his arms and held me close. He was so tall and strong, and I could feel his heart thundering under his thin cotton shirt. He bent down and kissed me, his mouth hard on mine, and then his tongue was seeking mine. And I sought his, responded. I thought my legs would give way, and I clung to him. He pulled me closer, pressed me into him, and I felt his hardness, shivered.
‘Touch me, feel me, Elizabeth,’ he whispered against my hair. ‘See what you do to me, my little sweetheart. This is yours, it’s for you.’
I twisted, tried to pull away, suddenly afraid that we would be caught. But he was the stronger, and he bent me back against the bed, pulled up my nightgown, looked at me for a long moment, sighing. ‘Elizabeth, Elizabeth, I want you so much. All of you, my little sweetheart.’
‘Tom, no, we can’t,’ I whispered, struggling to sit up, but he pushed me back, leaned over me. He kissed me again, and then his hand was between my legs, touching me lovingly, in that clever, expert way of his. ‘Oh, you lovely, moist little flower,’ he murmured, touching me lightly, very lightly, pushing his fingers into me as I began to moan. ‘Yes, Elizabeth, yes. You love this, don’t you? And you love me, don’t you?’
Sudden fear rendered me speechless, and I struggled up, pushed him away with all of my strength. My instinct for survival kicked in as my head began to clear. ‘Tom, we can’t do this. Not here. It’s too dangerous,’ I whispered and reached for my dressing gown, pulled it on. ‘Please, Tom, you must go. Please. For your own sake. Please. What if someone comes in?’
He grinned. ‘Nobody’s going to come in, Elizabeth. It’s only seven in the morning,’ he murmured softly. ‘But I can see you are frightened. Promise me you’ll meet me later. At the Ritz Hotel.’ He reached into his trouser pocket, showed me a key, and crossing to the dressing table he put the key in the drawer. ‘Two o’clock. Let’s finally make love to each other properly. Come to the sixth floor, the room number’s on the key. All right?’
The thought of being in his arms, alone together in a bed, not stealing moments like this, sent a thrill rushing through me. Yet I was also afraid of taking that step. It could mean catastrophe. As I was hovering uncertainly on the brink. I was saved the problem of answering. The door burst op
en and Kat Ashe was standing there.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ she cried aghast, looking alarmed, staring at me and then at Tom. ‘Admiral Selmere, why are you in Elizabeth’s room at this hour of the morning?’ she demanded, staring even harder at him, her eyes appraising.
‘Just came to ask Elizabeth if she had some aspirins,’ he said calmly, his face devoid of all expression. As he spoke, he put his hand in his trouser pocket and brought out a bottle of the pills, showed them to her. Then he gave her a dazzling smile. To me he said, ‘Thank you, Elizabeth,’ and strode out.
Kat came across to me and peered intently into my face. ‘I don’t like this, Elizabeth. He shouldn’t be in your bedroom, especially when you’re undressed. It’s wrong. He’s married to your stepmother.’
Thankful that I was wearing my dressing gown, I pulled it tighter around me. ‘I know, but he only wanted the pills.’
‘I understand. But it didn’t look right when I came in, and his presence in your bedroom could easily be misconstrued by one of the staff. We don’t want any nasty gossip, now, do we? And lock your door in future.’
‘There’s no lock,’ I pointed out.
‘Well, there will be later.’ Kat announced and went out, forgetting to tell me why she had come to my room in the first place.
Once I was alone again I lay down on my bed and thought about my sailor … Gorgeous but dangerous. Should I meet him in the room he had taken at the Ritz? I didn’t know what to do.
When Elizabeth returned to the library, Thomas Parrell was standing in front of the fireplace, warming himself. ‘So, did you refresh your memory about the upstairs bedrooms?’ he asked, smiling at her.
‘I did indeed, and I must reinforce what I said earlier, Thomas. The house is a jewel, and I want to get as much as I can for it.’
‘Have you decided to sell it?’ Kat asked, a brow lifting.
Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak to her, still full of the long-ago memory of that morning in her bedroom when she had been a teenager.
‘I think you’re wise,’ Kat now said, and Blanche agreed. Then Kat asked, ‘Do you want me to talk to Alex Pollard about it? Maybe he can arrange a meeting for you with his wife.’
‘I’d like to meet him to talk about the auction, but I’d prefer not to discuss the house yet,’ Elizabeth answered, suddenly herself again. She sat down near the fire, and continued: ‘Tell me a little more about the auction, and when you think it can be held.’
She was unable to sleep.
Too many thoughts were running around in her head … the extraordinary possessions at the Chelsea house, staggering in their beauty and worth … doing rapid mental arithmetic … the value of the other things which now belonged to her … the jewels, the tiaras, the silver and gold objects, the paintings and antiques at Waverley Court and Ravenscar. Everything spelled money. That was the bottom line.
Money. The bane of her life when she was a child; there had never been enough of it to provide for her needs, according to Kat and Blanche. And it was still a problem today. Because of Mary. Instinctively, Elizabeth knew that the Spanish deal would not be quite as simple as Robin had made it sound. It had gone too well too quickly. There was bound to be a catch. And the catch would be money, she felt it in her bones.
Cecil had said he would never permit her to give money to Deravenels. But in a tight squeeze, if ever there was one, she could lend them money, couldn’t she?
Her great-grandfather Edward Deravenel had done that when he had used his own money to finance Deravco Oil in Persia. His partners had been two American wildcatters, Jarvis Merson and Herb Lipson, men he trusted and had faith in. Once they had struck their first gigantic gusher and many more, and the company had become a success, Edward had sold Deravco Oil to Deravenels. The oil company had been a boon, a marvellous addition to the trading conglomerate, and Edward had made a huge personal fortune.
Edward Deravenel had begat Bess Deravenel; Bess had begat Harry Turner, her father. And there was no question that she was his child. She looked like him, and he looked like Edward, and it was perfectly obvious that she herself was a true Deravenel through and through. She carried their genes, Turner genes as well, and so she was a mixture of both … Funny though, how she gravitated to the Deravenel side of the family, was drawn to them …
Now her thoughts turned to the Chelsea house, and she dwelt on it for a long time. She had surprised herself when she had said she wanted seventy million pounds for it. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized the price was not out of the realm of possibility. In fact, she might even get more. The house was beautiful, and she had even been tempted at one moment to keep it, but this afternoon she had truly understood that it held too many hard memories for her … bad memories of Mary’s rejection of her a year ago … of her stepmother Catherine’s rejection of her when she had sent her away … after she had caught her in Tom’s arms … memories of him, at times too painful to bear.
How foolish she had been, flirting with him the way she had, allowing him to pet her, touch her. Thank God she had never slept with him. Still, her silly behaviour had indirectly led to his fall from grace. Reckless, charming, witty Tom, with his devastating looks and potent sexuality. And total lack of common sense. He had been his own worst enemy.
After leaving the Royal Navy as a rear admiral, the youngest in centuries, he had joined Deravenels as an adviser to the Shipping and Cruise Line Division. But he had fallen foul of his brother when Edward Selmere was the administrator; he had had no compunction in giving his younger brother the sack. Disgraced, and with Catherine dead, Tom Selmere had moved to France, where he had subsequently been killed in a car crash.
Car crash, she thought cynically. To her it had been a fishy story right from the start, and she had often wondered if Tom had been murdered. And she still did.
She would sell the Chelsea house … and in so doing would expunge some of the bad memories in her head. The decision was made. No going back.
FIFTEEN
Robert Dunley stood in front of the mirror in his dressing room, a distracted expression on his handsome face. His mind was on business, the business of Deravenels, and he was anxious to get to the office.
Turning away from the mirror, he reached for his suit jacket hanging on the back of a chair, slipped it on and hurried into his bedroom. Sitting down at the desk, he went through the folder of papers he had studied on the flight from Madrid last night, made a few more notes and then put them in his briefcase.
Five minutes later he was out in the street, hailing a cab. Since it was only six-thirty in the morning, he had no problems. One was drawing up immediately and within seconds he was heading through Belgravia and soon entering the Mall, on his way to the Strand and Deravenels.
As he hunched into his overcoat and settled back in the seat, his mind focused on Elizabeth and Cecil, and the business at hand. He hoped they would approve of the tentative deal he had proposed to Philip Alvarez. He and his team had spent endless hours hammering it out in his hotel suite in Madrid, and he was positive they had covered every possible angle. He began to mull everything over in his mind, looking for any problems, any objections they might have, but he couldn’t find any that were serious.
The cabbie was suddenly saying, ‘’Ere we are, guv,’ and coming to a standstill. Robert had made it in record time; he jumped out of the cab, paid, and went into Deravenels, greeting the commissionaire on duty. Then he took the grand staircase two steps at a time, anxious to get started.
The lights were turned on in his office and he could hear Elizabeth talking to Cecil through the door which opened on to hers. He dropped his briefcase on a chair, hung up his overcoat and went in, exclaiming, ‘Don’t tell me I’m late. Good morning, the two of you.’
‘Good morning, Robert,’ Cecil said, cheerful as always. ‘Welcome back.’
Elizabeth leapt to her feet and came to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘No, you’re not late,’ she told him. ‘We’
ve only been here a couple of minutes ourselves.’
Robert followed her to the seating area at one end of her office, and took a chair next to Cecil. ‘Ambrose and Nicholas went down to Marbella late yesterday afternoon. They wanted to take more photographs and have another look at various things at the resort. They’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘I know you’re anxious to tell us about the meetings with Philip Alvarez, but before you do, I have a question.’ Elizabeth sat back on the sofa, and gave Robert a searching look. ‘Everything seems to have gone so smoothly I can’t help thinking there’s a catch somewhere … and that the catch is money.’
‘You’re absolutely right, it is,’ Robert answered at once. ‘Before we can take over and run the Marbella resort we do have to finish the resort, and that will indeed cost us money.’
‘How much?’ Cecil asked, leaning forward slightly in the chair, looking at Robert alertly.
‘About seventy million euros.’
‘Seventy million!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘That’s throwing good money after bad!’
‘It’s not, actually. Because we can have the resort finished, up and running by the end of 1997, and I believe it will be a huge success. Also, I see it as a short-term investment. If we decide to go into the project, I think we should understand at the outset that we’re going to sell it within five years. We’ll get our total investment out, and make a big profit. I foresee an even bigger boom in the leisure industry, and especially with resorts like this one in Marbella.’
Cecil, listening carefully, and as usual making notes, nodded. ‘Tell us more abut the resort, Robert. What’s so special about it? And what makes you think it will be such a resounding success?’
‘First, it’s on a large tract of valuable land, and it’s beautiful, located right on the edge of the sea and the beach. The golf course is finished and the clubhouse is built. The polo grounds are also ready, but the polo clubhouse is not built yet. However, the small hotel is up, but, like the golf clubhouse, it needs decorating. And the villas have to be built.’