‘Deravenels, yes. Actually, it’s about my shares. I own fifty-five per cent and –’
‘Which makes you the largest single shareholder. I am right about that, am I not?’
‘You are. However, I would like to own more, to protect Deravenels against any takeover bid. I believe it’s my duty to keep it safe.’
‘A takeover would never succeed. The structure of the company is far too complex,’ Grace Rose announced with genuine conviction, sure of herself on this matter. ‘That has always been my understanding of it, explained to me long ago by my father, also by my great friend Amos Finnister. And by your father as well. Both my father and yours did change certain rules, modernized them.’
‘Yes, I know, and it’s the rules they made that protect it in many different ways.’ Elizabeth paused, took a deep breath, and hurried on, ‘I’ve come to ask you something, actually, Grace Rose, and I –’
‘You want to buy my shares, don’t you?’
Elizabeth was taken aback, and did not answer for a moment. Then she said in a firm voice, ‘Yes, I do. I realize you might want to leave them to your great-nephew, Patrick, but if you would at least consider it I would be very grateful.’
‘No, I can’t sell my shares to you because –’
‘Please don’t explain,’ Elizabeth interrupted swiftly, cutting her off, not wanting to embarrass her great-aunt. ‘I understand, really I do.’
‘No, you don’t understand at all, and please allow me to finish my sentence, Elizabeth. I can’t sell them to you because I have already left them to you in my will.’
Elizabeth was stunned and she gaped at Grace Rose, momentarily flustered, unable to say a word.
Grace Rose began to laugh. ‘For once I’ve rendered you speechless. That’s unusual for you, my dear. You normally have a comment to make about most things.’ Her eyes were twinkling; she was enjoying this moment. She knew she had just told Elizabeth she would receive the thing she most desired in this world – even more control of Deravenels. And she was thrilled she had made her great-niece happy.
Elizabeth finally spoke. ‘I’ve never been more surprised in my life. You knocked the breath out of me, Grace Rose. I can hardly believe it. How wonderfully generous of you. Thank you, thank you so very much.’ She jumped up, went over to her great-aunt and hugged her, then looking down at her, she laughed tremulously, and added, ‘I still can’t believe it …’
‘You must believe it because it’s true.’
Elizabeth went back to her chair, and sat back, trying to calm herself. She was flooded with many mixed emotions and close to tears, so touched was she by this most extraordinary gift.
Grace Rose sat studying her, loving this young woman whom she had known all of her life. She had attended Elizabeth’s christening and watched her grow, often appalled and angered by the way she had been treated by Harry Turner … the child she had given her heart to so long ago, and whom she had loved as if that little girl had been her own.
Unexpectedly, Grace Rose experienced a marvellous sense of peace, of true fulfilment. She had forever tried to make amends for Harry Turner’s despicable behaviour, and she had often succeeded but perhaps never more fully than she had today.
What a wonder Elizabeth had become … strong and brave and full of confidence.
Reaching out, Grace Rose took hold of Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Everything I have came from my father, Edward Deravenel, and it is only right that it should go back to a Deravenel. That is you, Elizabeth. You are the last of the line. And you are my heir.’
PART THREE
Dangerous Reversals
Be not afraid of sudden fear.
Proverbs 3:17
For he shall give his angels charge over thee,
to keep thee safe in all thy ways. They shall
bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy
foot against a stone.
Psalm 91
By night on my bed, I sought him whom my
soul loveth: I sought him but I found him not.
The Song of Solomon 3:1
THIRTY-ONE
Luck is running with me. And seemingly all the way. At least, so far this year.
First and foremost, and of the greatest importance to me, is my relationship with Robin Dunley. It has never been better in my entire time with him, even going back to our childhood. We are completely in step and in tune. And we have never been more in love. I absolutely adore him, and he feels the same. I know that very well. It is a meeting of the minds; we think alike, speak alike, and, in fact, sometimes he takes the words right out of my mouth, or we say something in unison. It is so uncanny, and so pronounced some people think we have rehearsed beforehand. How silly that is, yet I understand why they do think that.
He has my best interests at heart, just as his are foremost in my mind and heart. There are secret moments, when I am alone, or he is sleeping and I am awake, that I wonder what it would be like to have his child … a small adorable Robin to love, to care for and cherish and watch growing up to become the man his father is …
There is no man like my dearest Robin, not in my estimation. He has the kindest heart, a most loving nature, and his thoughtfulness knows no bounds. And yet he is strong-willed, impetuous, sometimes temperamental and often bossy. A tough negotiator when it comes to business, he always says that when he’s doing business, it’s my business he’s doing. All he wants is to make the best deals for me and to protect me in every way he can.
He makes me laugh, and occasionally he makes me cry. Only he can calm me down when I am angry, or upset, and I suppose, now that I think about it. I run the gamut of emotions with Robin. We are sexually attuned, have the same desires and needs and appetites, and being with him is sheer bliss.
He is the centre of my existence, just as I am the centre of his, and if ever there was a marriage made in heaven this is it. Because I do think of our relationship as a marriage. What else can one call it? We are partners in every way. No piece of paper do we need. He does not mention the legality of our union any more. Nor do I. He’s as happy as I am, just the way it is.
I am happy on another level because of Grace Rose. Ever since she told me last September that I am her heir, I have been walking on clouds. She has left me the one thing I want most of all – additional shares in Deravenels.
It never occurred to me that she would do such a thing, because she has a great-nephew. Nor did I realize she owned ten per cent of Deravenel shares. That afternoon she explained everything to me. Her first shares were given to her by Edward Deravenel; these were boosted by shares from her special friend, Amos Finnister, who worked for Edward. He was the man who found Grace Rose in a cart in the East End when she was a child of four, and he had remained devoted to her all his life. After the death of Vicky and Stephen Forth, who brought her up, she inherited another two and a half per cent which created a grand total of ten per cent altogether.
Grace Rose went on to further explain that she had made various other bequests in her will, to charities and staff, and including paintings and jewellery to her great-nephew, Patrick. He was the grandson of Maisie Morran, Charlie’s sister, who had married an Irish aristocrat when she was a star on Broadway. They had had one son who had died in his early forties, and Patrick was the only child, and sole heir to the title, the lands, and considerable money. In Grace Rose’s opinion, Patrick had everything he could ever want or need, but she had left him the two Post-Impressionist paintings he had always admired, along with a few pieces of Cartier jewellery for his wife-to-be. ‘The rest is yours, Elizabeth,’ she had finished that day and had immediately changed the subject.
Many of our business ventures have come to a happy conclusion, and this has made Cecil, Robin and myself feel a degree of satisfaction that our considerable efforts have proved successful. I should include Ambrose here, because it is Robin’s brother who has created our most beautiful resort. In Marbella. It was opened in March and we went to Spain for this impo
rtant event. And even though I say so myself, success is stamped all over it. We know we have a winner.
Another thrill was the opening of my spas in April … in London. Paris and New York. I have Ambrose’s wife Anne Dunley to thank for that. She is in charge in London and Paris; Anka Palitz in New York. Because of Anne, who helped with the negotiations, Anka runs our spas across America. Six of them used to be hers. We bought her company in December, with the understanding that she would remain with Elizabeth Turner Spas for five years. She agreed and sold us her spas, and now she is my American partner.
At the beginning of May I met with a Russian, Alexander Maslenikoff. He was one of five people interested in buying the house in Chelsea. I knew he was a tough cookie, but he seemed the most likely candidate to pay what I wanted, and so I persisted with him. I won in the end. I asked for eighty million pounds; he offered fifty-five; I said thank you, but no thanks. And I walked away. I was confident that he wanted my beautiful house so badly he would increase his offer. He did. A day later he came back and said his final price was seventy million pounds sterling. Not a penny more, he added. I took it. Once we had agreed on the price, he was easy to do business with. After an immediate inspection by his surveyors and engineers, he signed on the dotted line, and handed me a cashier’s check for seventy million. It cleared immediately. Now my beautiful house of bad memories is his and the money is mine … money to keep Deravenels safe, if needs be.
Robin keeps saying that I can’t put a foot wrong, that 1998 is my year. Let’s hope that he’s right, let’s hope that Lady Luck keeps running with me …
It was Tuesday May twenty-sixth, and tonight would be the first of the Sotheby’s auctions … The Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings of the Deravenel–Turner Collections were going on the block. Robin had gone to fetch Grace Rose, and Elizabeth knew she must finish dressing. She was wearing a purple silk cocktail dress by Chanel and the gold medallion which had belonged to Edward Deravenel which she had inherited. As she stared at herself in the mirrored closet door in her dressing room, she realized how wonderful it looked against the purple silk.
As she turned around, the sculpture which Robin had given her for Christmas caught her eye and as always it brought a smile to her face. It was placed on a table against a back wall, where it was shown off to perfection, and it depicted a bed split down the middle diagonally. One half of the bed was made of bright-red silk roses, the other was composed of nails, nail heads down, sharp tips pointing up.
It was by the sculptor and painter Edwina Sandys, Winston Churchill’s granddaughter, and a friend of Robin’s. Most appropriately, it was called The Marriage Bed, and it appealed to Elizabeth’s sense of humour just as much as it had to Robin’s when he had first seen it.
‘Here they are, Elizabeth,’ Blanche Parrell said, hurrying into the dressing room. ‘They were in the shoe closet in the bedroom. The evening bag must be in here though.’
‘Oh, thanks, Blanche dear, and yes it is. I just saw it a moment ago.’ After stepping into the high-heeled silk pumps, dyed purple to match the dress, Elizabeth went on, ‘What time is Thomas picking you up?’
‘He’ll be here in a few minutes, with Kat. He went to fetch her first. I told him to wait downstairs in the car. You don’t have time to be socializing right now.’ Stepping away, Blanche now eyed Elizabeth appraisingly.
‘Do I pass muster?’ Elizabeth asked, smiling at this warm and loving Welshwoman who had been part of her life since her childhood. ‘Obviously not. Why are you frowning, Blanche?’
‘Earrings,’ Blanche answered. ‘That’s what you need. Those gold hoops set with diamonds. I’ll go and get them. Back in a jiffy.’
Elizabeth found the purple silk evening bag by Prada, put in a lipstick, tissues, then went to take out the purple silk stole which matched the dress. When Blanche returned with the hoop earrings she took them from her and put them on and said, ‘I’m ready, and so are you, I see. You look lovely, Blanche, I’ve always liked you in navy blue.’
Blanche beamed at her. ‘Thank you. I bet you’re excited, aren’t you? Tonight’s the big night. On tenterhooks too, I suppose?’
‘You’re correct, Blanche, I’m excited, nervous, apprehensive and shaking inside, actually.’
‘Well, if it helps you, you look as cool as the proverbial cucumber. No sign of nerves, or any other emotion for that matter.’ Blanche laughed. ‘You always were an actress, even when you were little. I often used to say to Thomas, “Let’s not forget she’s an actress, and she’s a good one.” You could have been on the stage, you know.’
They laughed together like the conspirators they’d always been as they went out of the dressing room, and Elizabeth suddenly said, ‘Certain people think Sotheby’s won’t get the high prices tonight, and that some of the paintings might not even sell. The art business suffered at the beginning of the 1990s. There was a bit of a chill in the air because of the recession. Which everyone had predicted, of course. However, Cecil Williams believes that it’s levelled off and the art market is now back to normal. He’s very confident the prices are going to go high tonight.’
‘Cecil knows what he’s talking about,’ Blanche remarked. ‘But then you know that without me having to tell you.’
The intercom buzzed and Elizabeth went to answer it.
Robert said, ‘I’m here, darling, with Grace Rose. And Thomas has just arrived to pick up Blanche.’
‘We’ll be right down,’ she answered.
THIRTY-TWO
From the moment they arrived at Sotheby’s New Bond Street galleries Robert knew the evening was going to be unique.
It was in the air. A buzz, a sense of excitement, the undercurrent of anticipation mingled with tension, a feeling that the auction which would soon commence would be the art event of the season. For one thing, it was an evening auction, and word had gone out that it would be plastered with the rich and famous, and also elegance personified.
And indeed it was. The crowd milling around were the crême de la crême of London society, all the women dressed in cocktail attire, the men in their best Savile Row numbers.
Within a few seconds Robert spotted many people he knew … friends, business acquaintances and colleagues. Most of the top brass from Deravenel had already arrived, and he raised a hand in greeting to Charles Broakes and Sidney Payne and their wives. He saw John Norfell talking to Jenny Broadbent, one of the top women tycoons in the City, and an art-collector of some renown, and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Mark Lott and Alexander Dawson.
Elizabeth had seen them, too, and she whispered, ‘Enemies as well as friends have gathered to see what happens to my famous art collection. And those two in particular want me to fall flat on my face.’
Robert smiled at her lovingly, and there was a great deal of confidence in his voice when he said, ‘It’s going to be your evening, Elizabeth, you’ll see. I told you the other day, this is your year, and Lady Luck is walking with you all the way.’
She simply nodded, made no comment, but her dark eyes were full of sparkle and anticipation.
Turning to Grace Rose, who was holding onto his arm, Robert said, ‘And you’re going to be the star of the show, Grace Rose. You look spectacular and your sapphire earrings are … mind-boggling.’
‘Thank you, Robert, you certainly know how to make an old lady feel special. But I do believe it is Elizabeth who’ll be the star of this show, for undoubtedly it is going to be … quite a show.’
He laughed, and so did Elizabeth, who suddenly experienced a rush of pride in her great-aunt. Tall, slender, and straight-backed, with her shimmering silver hair and perfect make-up, she was indeed a knockout, and also the most regal woman present.
All eyes were on the three of them as they made their way to the room where the auction was to be held. As they moved along slowly, making their way through the crowds of people, Grace Rose suddenly announced, ‘I think this lot are here to buy, Elizabeth. I can smell it in the air
. Money. And there are art-dealers I recognize from Paris as well as here. They’ll buy, mark my words.’
‘I hope so,’ Elizabeth murmured, glancing around, waving to her cousins, Francis Knowles and Henry Carray, and spotting her great-uncle Howard, looking for all the world like the patriarch that he was.
‘I know the global recession played havoc with the art market a few years ago, Grace Rose,’ Robert said, ‘but you told me months ago that it has gradually swung back up. It has, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes. Prices have been much higher lately, and especially so when the art is really good. That’s the important thing, and I personally believe the paintings Jane Shaw collected, and those she found for Edward, are of the finest calibre. Don’t forget another very important thing, Robert. Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings are always in demand. I have no worries, none at all. There may be a lot of socialites here for the fun of it, but I guarantee there are many serious buyers as well.’
When they entered the large gallery where the auction was going to be held, they were given catalogues and numbered paddles, and were directed to a section of the gallery where seats had been reserved for Elizabeth and her guests.
A moment later, Marcus Johnson was heading their way, looking purposeful, his handsome face full of smiles, his entire being filled with energy and enthusiasm. This kind of evening, one on which he had worked diligently behind the scenes, was just up his alley.
After greeting the three of them, he ushered them to their seats, made sure they were comfortably settled, then leaned closer to Elizabeth. He said, ‘I’ve got to go and take care of the press now. Everything’s set for Annabel’s later. I’ll meet you there, after the auction.’ He gave her a huge smile. ‘And we’ll celebrate.’