Suddenly the fence was there! Right in front of her. Robert held his breath, praying she would clear it. And she did. The young mare, Crimson Lass, sailed over lightly, took it like a dream and landed perfectly. A feeling of absolute relief swept through him, and he took the fence himself, as easily as she had. He galloped on after her, shouting, ‘Elizabeth! Wait! Stop!’
She did so, finally slowing, and turned around in the saddle. ‘What’s wrong? Are you not all right, Robin?’
‘I’m fine. Even though you almost gave me a heart attack a moment ago.’
‘I did?’ She looked at him oddly, and frowned. ‘How did I do that?’
‘I thought you were pushing Crimson Lass too hard, that she wouldn’t make it, and that you would be thrown.’
She smiled a trifle smugly. ‘You must trust me, Robin. You see, I’ve become quite a good horsewoman since we last rode out together … so long ago.’
‘So I see.’ He looked at his watch, changed the subject. ‘Shall we go back to the house? It’s already twelve-thirty. I’m hungry, aren’t you?’
‘We’d better make for home. Myrtle told me lunch would be at one o’clock prompt.’
They turned their horses and cantered side by side across the meadow in silence. It was a beautiful day, crisp and sunny, and the Kent sky was a soft cerulean blue, intersected with puffy clusters of white clouds. The red-gold leaves had not fallen yet and there was a beautiful, burnished look to the stands of trees which lined the edge of the meadows, and the woods still retained their russet and golden autumnal hues. As they rode on, Robert thought of the times he had spent here when he was a boy, how his father had driven him down to Aldington so he could keep Elizabeth company. He felt a sudden, unexpected yearning for those boyhood years gone by, when the world had been so very different, somehow nicer, better, to his way of thinking. Everything in its proper place … all of his siblings joyful, happy and still alive, and his parents, too. Sorrow struck at him hard, darkened his handsome face, and the pain of his losses made his heart clench.
After a moment, he straightened in the saddle, and looked ahead. He was clever, determined, ambitious, and an optimist … he must not look back into the past, but ahead … and he must keep on going … going forward …
Elizabeth interrupted his meandering thoughts when she said, ‘Robin, would you come to Stonehurst Farm with me this afternoon? I want to go over there and have a look around.’
‘I’ll come with you, yes, of course. What did Kat have to say about it?’ he asked, his interest sparked.
‘That it’s in perfect condition, thanks to the caretaker Briney Meadows. In fact, she went as far as to say she thinks it’s worth a small fortune. The gardens have been kept up by Alison Harden over the years, and it’s still something of a showplace. The gardens were spectacular, Robin, if you remember? We went there constantly to be with Aunt Grace Rose. She did love us so. You said she was a hoot, your favourite adult.’
‘She made us laugh with her wry sense of humour, and she let us eat anything we wanted … fruitcake, chocolate mousse and custard tarts, and once you and I ate a whole trifle. She was aghast.’
‘Don’t remind me!’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘I was the one who was sick afterwards. Little Greedy Guts, that was me.’
Robert shook his head and scowled. ‘Not you, Elizabeth, you never ate enough, and Kat was always complaining you were too thin.’
‘Oh, I know, she was a bit of a fusspot, wouldn’t you say? Just like you are.’
‘I’m not a fusspot!’ he protested, sounding not only indignant but slightly injured.
‘You were just now worrying that I couldn’t jump a little fence, that I’d break my neck.’
‘Kat and Cecil and everyone else would have my guts for garters if anything happened to you when you were with me. And you know it,’ he pointed out, still indignant.
Elizabeth merely grinned and, wanting to tease him, she spurred Crimson Lass forward, galloping ahead as fast as she could.
Elizabeth and Robert were both carried back in time as they walked around Stonehurst Farm with Briney Meadows later that afternoon. The caretaker had worked there for fifty years and had known them when they were children.
In every room the windows sparkled, the floors shone, the antiques gleamed. The carpets were fresh, looked newly cleaned, and there was not a speck of dust anywhere. Nothing was out of place; the house was perfect.
‘I feel as if I were here only yesterday,’ Elizabeth said, turning a beaming face to Briney. ‘It’s exactly the same as it was when I was a little girl.’
‘Aye, it is indeed, Miss Turner, but then Miss Grace Rose is a stickler, she always kept it up, and made sure we did. She was a perfectionist in those days, and she still is. On the phone to me all the time, issuing orders.’
‘I didn’t know she still took an interest in the house, Briney,’ Elizabeth said, sounding surprised, looking at him swiftly.
‘Oh, she does, Miss Turner! It’s thanks to her supervision that the house has been very well maintained and cared for over the years. And the gardens as well. I’m sorry that Alison, the gardener, isn’t here today. She’d be proud to show you around, and the sunken garden is looking lovely at the moment. You see, it’s a bit of a mild winter this year, so far anyway.’
‘We noticed the gardens when we drove in,’ Robert remarked, ‘and they’re spectacular – all those lovely shrubs and bushes and the copper beeches … just breathtaking.’
Briney nodded, beaming, obviously pleased by this praise, and as he stood there looking at Robert he remembered the boy he had been and Briney smiled inside. Now here he was, a grown man, so tall and handsome, and before he could stop himself he blurted out, ‘No frogs in your pocket today, sir, eh?’
Robert threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘What a good memory you have, Briney. I was rather keen on frogs when I was a schoolboy, wasn’t I?’
‘That’s a fact, sir. You found them fascinating, and you were always fiddling around in the pond. There was many a time I thought you’d fall in.’
‘You caught a tadpole for me there once and put it in a jam jar,’ Elizabeth interjected. ‘I bet you don’t remember, though.’
‘’Course I do … it was a gift for you, one of my first.’ He chuckled as they stepped out onto the front steps. ‘And how on earth could I forget that most glorious tadpole?’
Elizabeth laughed, and said, ‘Thanks for showing us around.’ She shook Briney’s brown gnarled hand and went outside.
‘My pleasure, Miss … you both make me feel young again … bring back memories, that you do.’
Robert grasped Briney’s hand firmly and shook it. ‘Yes, it’s been a bit of a trip down memory lane for all of us, Briney. Take care now.’
Briney waved as they walked towards the flagged terrace, and they waved back before striking out towards the sunken garden.
At one moment Elizabeth said, ‘I noticed Briney didn’t mention Mary, but then I’m not really surprised. Toby said they didn’t like each other, and he mentioned that Briney was respectful to her but kept his distance.’
‘He’s a nice old chap, the salt of the earth,’ Robert responded and then looked at her, frowning. ‘I wonder why your aunt Grace Rose is so involved with the house? You once told me she had given it to your father.’
‘That was my understanding.’ Elizabeth shrugged. ‘Maybe she just loves it because she grew up there, and lived there as an adult, and after her marriage to Charles Morran. Incidentally, Kat’s right. I think the property’s worth a small fortune.’
‘Do you plan to sell it?’ Robert asked.
‘I don’t know. I can’t very well live in all these houses, now, can I? Stonehurst Farm is beautiful. However, I’ve always loved Waverley Court the best, and it does happen to be closer to London. I can’t sell Ravenscar, you know. It’s entailed, and must pass to my heirs when I die.’
‘Hey, no talk of dying today! You and I have a lot of living to do yet, my g
irl!’
‘That’s true, we do, Robin. Together.’
He threw her a surreptitious look, but made no comment.
NINE
Grace Rose had always had a flair for clothes, an individual unique style of dressing, and on this Sunday afternoon she looked quite wonderful, Elizabeth thought. Her marvellous abundance of luxuriant silver hair was stylishly coiffed, she was well made-up, and her outfit truly caught one’s attention. She wore a loose, raglan-sleeved jacket of purple silk brocade with a purple silk camisole and matching silk trousers. Ropes of large amethyst and turquoise beads hung around her neck, and small amethyst studs were fastened to her ears.
As she sat sipping her tea and studying her, Elizabeth found it hard to believe Grace Rose was ninety-six. Her looks belied this, and so did her mental capacities. There were no signs of senility or dementia – in fact, just the opposite. Grace Rose had a keen mind, total comprehension, and her dry wit was still intact. It was true that Grace Rose was a very old lady, the same age as the century, but her spirit was forever young. Elizabeth was well aware her aunt kept herself constantly busy, continued to work for her favourite charities, handled many of her own business affairs and was well informed about everything going on around her.
Putting down her teacup, and leaning forward from the waist, Elizabeth said, ‘I’ve never seen you looking better, Aunt Grace Rose. You’re just beautiful.’
‘Thank you, and I might say the same about you, my dear. Those russet colours really suit you, Elizabeth. I think that outfit is by Hermès. I used to favour those colours myself a long time ago.’ Grace Rose paused, then asked, ‘I wonder if you would do me a favour?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you mind calling me Grace Rose? The way you did when you were a child and a young woman. In the last year or so you’ve been adding aunt, and it does make me feel rather old.’
Elizabeth chuckled, answered emphatically, ‘Grace Rose it shall be!’
‘Thank you.’ Settling back against the needlepoint cushions on the sofa, Grace Rose focused on Elizabeth, studying her as she herself had just been studied. After a moment, she announced, ‘Never let them see you sweat.’
Taken aback by this Elizabeth gaped at her, not quite sure how to respond.
Grace Rose, who never missed a thing, was fully aware that she had succeeded in truly startling her great-niece, as she had fully intended to do, and she smiled inwardly. Then that smile surfaced, as she explained, ‘That’s what my father used to say to me … “Never let them see you sweat.” And he never did. And you won’t either, will you, Elizabeth? Tomorrow. At the board meeting.’
‘I certainly won’t,’ Elizabeth managed, aware that Grace Rose knew about the board meeting because she was a shareholder.
Grace Rose continued, ‘My father had another rule he lived by in business, and it was this: Never display weakness, never show face. He once told me that his cousin, Neville Watkins, had drilled this into him when he was starting out in business at the age of nineteen. Edward Deravenel made it his mantra, and so should you. It will serve you well.’
‘You’re right, it will, and as you know I’ve always admired my great-grandfather.’
Grace Rose gave Elizabeth a long thoughtful look, finally remarked, ‘Everyone fell under his spell. Fatal charm, that’s what he had. In abundance. And he was a loving, generous man, and dependable.’ A small sigh escaped her, then she straightened, and continued in a brisker tone, ‘We’re the last, you know, you and I. The last of the Deravenels.’
Elizabeth nodded, afraid to say one word, afraid to remind her great-aunt that she was also a Turner, not wishing to offend her.
It was as if Grace Rose had read her mind, when she went on swiftly, ‘Oh, I know, you’re a Turner. But your father Harry did not resemble them. And neither do you. His genes and yours come from Bess Deravenel, my half-sister and your paternal grandmother. She and I were both redheads like you, you know.’ Grace Rose patted her hair. ‘It’s silver now but it was once a shimmering red-gold.’
Turning slightly on the sofa, Grace Rose shuffled some folders and documents, which were sitting atop an occasional table standing next to her. She found what she was looking for … a silver-framed photograph. Handing it to Elizabeth, she explained, ‘This is Edward with your grandmother and me … that’s me on the left. It was taken in 1925, about a year before our father died.’
Elizabeth had not seen this photograph before, and she sat holding it in both hands, gazing at it for a moment. Her grandmother Bess and Grace Rose looked very much alike, and both young women bore a strong resemblance to Edward. They were very beautiful. She said, with a wide smile, ‘There’s certainly no doubt who fathered the two of you! Or from whence I come, either!’
Grace Rose smiled, looking pleased, and asked, ‘Could you put the photograph back, over there on the console table, please, Elizabeth. There’s a space where it usually stands.’
Elizabeth nodded and rose, walked across the room to the console table between the two tall windows, and put the frame in its given place, then returned to the seating area in front of the blazing fire, settled in the armchair.
The two women were sitting in the elegant drawing room of Grace Rose’s flat in Chester Street, in the heart of Belgravia. It was a spacious room, and Elizabeth had always thought it charmingly decorated, with its restful cream, pink and green colour scheme, lovely antiques and extraordinary art. Grace Rose had quite a special and unique collection, and Elizabeth had always admired the paintings on these walls and in the other rooms.
On various tables around the room, arranged in groups, were photographs of the entire Deravenel family, the Turners, and also of Grace Rose’s late husband, the famous actor Charles Morran. Vases of flowers abounded, and the warm air was redolent with their fragrances mingled in with the faint scent of the potpourri Grace Rose favoured, made by nuns in Florence, which she bought at the Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella.
Once Elizabeth had finished her tea she placed the cup and saucer on the coffee table, and broke the silence when she ventured, ‘Kat told me you needed to see me, Grace Rose.’ She gave her aunt a questioning look.
‘Yes, I do.’ Grace Rose focused her faded blue eyes on Elizabeth. ‘You’ve led an extreme life, and I suppose it will continue to be extreme, given the circumstances.’ A puzzled expression struck Elizabeth’s face and she responded, ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean by extreme.’
‘Exactly that. Everything about your life so far has been extreme. Different from most people’s. Unusual. Not standard. Mine was like that, too.’ Leaning forward again, touching Elizabeth’s hand lovingly, she continued, ‘Your mother died when you were a very small child. You barely knew her. Your father behaved in the most abominable manner, heartlessly shunting you around among us, and cutting you off. Shunning you. I loved Harry from the day he was born. He was the son of my favourite sister, and yes, I spoiled him, it’s true. But I grew to truly dislike him over the years, especially when he became a man. And not the least because of the way he treated you. His behaviour was appalling, quite unconscionable, and I told him so. Of course he didn’t want to hear that.’
Elizabeth nodded, and then asked quickly, ‘He didn’t own Stonehurst Farm, did he?’
‘That’s correct. I did offer it to him as a gift, but he didn’t want it because he preferred Waverley Court. There was also another reason. Your father was reluctant to take on the burden of the upkeep … of the house and the grounds. So I kept it, and Charles and I continued to go there at weekends. After my husband died I felt very lonely there without him. However, I love Stonehurst. I grew up there, and so I’ve never sold it. Somehow I just couldn’t let it go to strangers.’
‘How did it come about that Mary lived at Stonehurst for the last few years? Did she also think it was hers and that Father had owned it?’
‘Yes, she did, I’m afraid. I immediately explained the situation, enlightened her. But she really did want to spend w
eekends there and so we came to an arrangement. I agreed to pay for the upkeep of the house and the entire property, and she said she would be responsible for paying the wages of the staff. Unlike you, and your father before you, Mary did not seem to care for Waverley Court, for some reason.’
Oh, I know all the reasons, Elizabeth thought, but said, ‘I went to Stonehurst Farm on Friday, because I truly thought it had passed on to me, that now I owned it. I had no idea it was still yours. But the way Briney spoke, I began to realize that you were still very involved with the house, and I was puzzled. I somehow felt it must be yours.’ Looking apologetic, Elizabeth finished, ‘I feel awful about intruding the way I did.’
‘Don’t be silly, you weren’t intruding, and neither was Kat when she went over there last week. Anyway, you’re family and you can go there whenever you wish.’
‘I just don’t understand … about Father, I mean, and why he let us believe he owned Stonehurst Farm.’
‘I did offer to give it to him, Elizabeth, and he was extremely flattered and pleased about my gesture. But then he discovered how expensive it was to run, and finally he … declined my offer. I think what happened is that Harry had told everyone I was giving him Stonehurst, boasted perhaps, but then never bothered to explain he hadn’t accepted my gift, or why. Perhaps he was embarrassed.’
Elizabeth pursed her lips. ‘I believe you’re right, but how odd of Father to do such a thing.’
Grace Rose said briskly, ‘I needed to see you, to talk to you about something which troubles me, but before we get to that, can I ask you a few things?’
‘You can ask anything you want.’
‘Is Deravenels going under?’ Grace Rose’s eyes were riveted on Elizabeth.
‘No, it isn’t. Absolutely not. Cecil Williams and I have been on top of things for two weeks, and we’re sorting out the problems. We are positive we can solve them all.’