But he had. He held her tightly, stroked her long auburn hair. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re angry with me … because I didn’t tell you he was coming home tonight,” she lied. “Say you forgive me, Harry. Please.”
He looked down at her and smiled, touched her face with tenderness. “There’s nothing to forgive, my Pauline, my dearest love. I was startled that’s all, not angry, never with you.”
Reaching for his clothes Harry rushed over to her bathroom.
Pauline stood watching him moving across the bedroom, struck yet again by the beauty of his lithe body, and the tears came back, rolled down her cheeks. Slipping into her dressing room, she closed the door, stood for a moment wiping away her tears. Then she picked up a towel, placed it on the padded stool before sitting down.
They had made love several times this afternoon and she was full of him. He might have made her pregnant. She hoped so. But she was forty-eight. Too late, wasn’t it? She breathed deeply. The scent of his cologne, Jicky, and the smell of him was all over her.
She reached for a bottle of perfume, was about to spray herself, but changed her mind. She wanted his smell on her. There was a knock on the door and she went to open it.
Harry stood there, gazing at her. A slow smile slid across his face. “You look beautiful.” He took hold of her arm, tightened his grip and brought her closer. “You’d better get dressed,” he said, and asked, “Will you be alone next week?”
“I suppose so.” She touched his face gently. “I’ll phone you as soon as I can.”
Harry nodded, and let go of her arm. And he was gone.
Pauline turned away from the door, dressed swiftly, attended to her hair and makeup. Usually she bathed after their lovemaking but not today. She wanted his seed in her, wanted his baby, yearned to have part of him for the rest of her life. A son or a daughter. It didn’t matter as long as it was his.
* * *
Pauline Mallard went downstairs to wait for Sheldon Faircross, her husband, knowing he would be arriving shortly. Crossing the floor of the library, she went to the drinks table and filled a glass with sherry. She stood for a moment, staring down into the pale liquid, her mind still on Harry Swann.
In some ways she regretted meeting him and having an affair with him, because he had, in a sense, ruined her life. She had fallen in love for the first time. That was verboten. And now she knew she would have to let him go. A divorce and remarriage was not in the cards. Harry could never be hers. She was in a trap.
When she had married Sheldon fifteen years ago she had agreed to play by his rules. He would sort out the mess of her finances, created by her first two husbands. Both of them had spent a great deal of her inheritance from her father, the late Allan Mallard, one of America’s greatest tycoons.
With Sheldon’s help, her financial affairs were in better order, but she was not quite the great heiress she had once been. Nevertheless, she was by no means poor. And neither was Sheldon; he was a millionaire many times over.
Sheldon’s rules were very simple. A self-made man, he wanted the prestige of her name, her beauty and elegance on his arm and at the head of his dinner table. He also demanded her total loyalty.
However, because he had no interest in her sexually, preferring young men, he had told her she could have her love affairs as long as she was discreet. Also he had made her swear she would never reveal his own sexual predilection.
She had willingly agreed at the time. Not only did she have her own money intact again, she had the legitimacy of marriage to a well-known tycoon, a wonder on Wall Street, but also Sheldon’s great fortune to spend as she wished. And permission to have as many affairs as she wanted. Sheldon had made it clear that her dalliances with other men must be only sexual. No emotional entanglements, he had insisted. And until Harry it had all worked. Now she wanted to marry Harry, be his wife, have his baby. And have Harry all to herself. He was the best lover she had ever had. And a lovely man.
Still staring into the sherry, she thought: I could walk away from Sheldon. He manages my money and has control of it. But money doesn’t matter to me. Harry will look after me.
Bringing the glass to her mouth, she swigged some of the sherry, and reminded herself that the money did matter to her. She had been born into it, enjoyed spending it, and she would miss it. If she was honest she would also miss her life on the international scene. Harry would never enjoy that life; he might well be genuinely besotted with her, but he was devoted to Cavendon and the Inghams.
No way out, she thought, I’m stuck. And then she swung around as Sheldon said, “Good evening, Pauline. I see you’re alone.”
“Hello, Sheldon, and naturally I’m alone.”
“Harry’s just left, though. I’m certain of that.”
Pauline merely nodded and walked over to the fireplace. Sheldon joined her, kissed her cheek. He went and poured himself a single malt and strolled across the room.
“The affair must have run its course by now,” Sheldon said, joining her on the sofa.
“I suppose…” was all she could say.
“Harry has no doubt fallen in love with you. They all do, actually. But how do you feel about Harry?”
“He’s been gentlemanly, caring. He’s a nice man.”
“And great in the sack, I’ve no doubt. He wouldn’t have lasted this long with you if he hadn’t been hot to trot whenever you beckoned.” Sheldon laughed.
Pauline was silent. She hated Sheldon’s weird outbursts of vulgarity and discussions about her affairs. She had frequently thought that he might get some sort of kick out of discussing them. In the way some men enjoy voyeurism.
When there was no response, Sheldon said, “I spoke to our friend Tiger this morning. She’s invited us to stay with her at the château in Versailles. She’s giving a big summer party. We’re invited. And I accepted for us both.”
Pauline was momentarily startled, then said swiftly, “That’s great, Sheldon. She’s such a marvelous hostess.”
“And she has great taste. In other guests. There’ll be a lovely group of delectable men and women staying for the long weekend.”
“I see,” Pauline murmured, realizing what he was getting at. After a brief pause, she asked, “How’s your Italian lover?”
Sheldon grinned at her. “He’s run his course. I’ve sent him back to Italy. I’m fancy-free, my darling, just like you.”
“Am I fancy-free?” Pauline raised a brow quizzically.
“Of course. Harry has to go now, Pauline. It’s been too long, this affair, and it’s becoming serious. Remember, we have a deal, you’ll always be married to me, and I’ll safeguard your money, and you can have as many men as you want. Just think, Tiger is bound to have someone delicious lined up for you.”
Swallowing back incipient tears, Pauline said, “When is this party in Versailles? And are we going to Paris first?”
“We’re leaving Harrogate on Sunday. We’ll go back to London for a few days. Paris next weekend, then on to Versailles.”
“Good heavens, Sheldon, I can’t leave on Sunday. You’re only giving me tomorrow to pack!”
“All you need is your jewelery and a few clothes, Mrs. Heath will send on everything else. It doesn’t matter, really, because I intend to take you shopping at Chanel and Schiaparelli. I also have in mind a few new pieces of jewelry from Cartier.”
She nodded, forced a smile. “What great ideas you have, Sheldon,” Pauline remarked, understanding that he was taking her away from Harrogate before she could see Harry again. Today was the end of their affair. Sheldon had just made sure of that.
As she sat there, listening to him talking about their Paris trip, she suddenly heard another voice at the back of her head. It was her late father, Allan Mallard, explaining that he never did anything without a lawyer at his side. A bevy of lawyers, if need be. He had said that so many times. Warning her, she supposed.
I need a lawyer, maybe a bevy of lawyers, she thought. High-power
ed, Manhattan lawyers with clout. They will help me to take back control of my life. My inheritance. A divorce from Sheldon. Then I can go to Harry. We can be married. The mere idea of this made her smile.
Sheldon, as usual scrutinizing her intently, said, “You look happy all of a sudden, Pauline. Why the smile?”
“I was just thinking about the future…” She let the sentence go unfinished, leaning back against the cushions.
“Ah, yes. Our trip to Versailles will be part of that, and lots of fun.”
Pauline nodded, her mind racing, making plans to go to New York. She would not allow Sheldon to thwart her. He was about to get the shock of his life. Yet another happy smile spread across her face as she thought of Harry Swann and their future together.
Seven
Harry had left Harrogate behind and was driving north heading for Cavendon, filled with relief that Pauline had revealed why she had acted so oddly this afternoon.
He chuckled to himself. How well she knew him after only a few months. If she had told him when he had arrived this afternoon that her husband was on his way back to Yorkshire he would have left immediately. She had not wanted to forgo their tryst and so had kept it from him.
Pauline Mallard. What a unique woman she was. Stunningly beautiful with her luxuriant dark auburn hair, pure white skin, and amber-colored eyes. She had a flair for clothes, and the money to buy the best, and consequently everyone stared at her wherever she went. She caused quite a stir. Women envied her looks; men undoubtedly lusted after her.
He loved her, was devoted to her, and if she finally agreed to divorce Sheldon Faircross he would marry her at once. Not only were they well matched sexually, he enjoyed her company, found her extremely intelligent. Also she was filled with knowledge about so many things, she made a wonderful companion. And she made him laugh with her quirky sense of humor.
As he drove on he thought of a conversation he had had with his mother recently. To his surprise he had found himself confessing that he wanted to get married because he wanted children. Not one, or two, but lots.
How he envied Miles and Cecily with their little brood, and Daphne and Hugo with their five marvelous offspring.
That’s what life was all about, wasn’t it? Marrying a special woman and creating a wonderful family, a family to love and protect and cherish.
He winced as he remembered his mother’s comment after he had confided his wish for children. She had told him in a cold voice that his current lady love was far too old for childbearing; she had added that his secret love affair was about to go public.
When he had tried to explain his feelings for Pauline, his mother had shushed him up, and terminated their conversation.
But he was well aware why Cecily wanted to talk to him. She was going to chastise him and tell him to end his relationship with a woman who was married. His sister disapproved, and there was no doubt his mother had egged Cecily on to have a confrontation with him.
Pauline must leave her husband, that’s the only way to go, Harry decided, as he turned off the main road and onto Cavendon land.
And as always when he came back here, even after only a few hours, he felt a rush of happiness, contentment, and a sense of belonging. This land was home … this land he tended and protected with love in his heart. This was where he belonged.
* * *
He never saw the girl on the bicycle who was racing down the lane on the left side of Cavendon Road which led into Little Skell village. He was only aware he had hit her when there was a crunching sound, a high-pitched scream, a pair of bare legs in the air, and then a thud.
Pulling on the brake at once, Harry jumped out of the car filled with alarm. He saw the bent front wheel of the bicycle on the ground but there was no sight of the girl. He looked to his left, then his right and was baffled.
A moment later, a girl’s voice cried, “I’m here in the ditch. Can you help me, please?” He ran across the road and up onto the grass verge as a mop of curly red hair appeared on the edge of the ditch. The girl was pulling herself up, holding on to tufts of grass and weeds.
Thank God she’s not dead, Harry thought. He knelt down on the grass, offered his outstretched hands. She took hold of one of them, and then the other. He pulled her up and a moment later she was crouching next to him, panting heavily.
Harry looked at her, his eyes scanning her swiftly. “Are you injured? Does anything hurt?” he asked worriedly, concerned about her.
“I don’t think anything is broken,” she answered, frowning. “I do feel a bit shaken up, though.”
“I’m not surprised,” he answered. “I’m so sorry I hit you. I didn’t see you coming down the side lane, I’m afraid. Perhaps I ought to drive you to the hospital in Harrogate, and have you checked for injuries.”
The girl shook her head vehemently. “No, no, I’m perfectly all right, but thank you.”
Harry said somewhat insistently, “I do think you should see a doctor. You could have internal injuries. Yes, I’d better get you to a doctor.”
The girl burst out laughing, and shook her head again. “I’d know if something was damaged. Honestly I would. My brothers say I’m a tough bit of stuff.” She half smiled, and went on, “I must apologize. I was riding my bike far too fast. So sorry about that.”
Harry nodded, and said, “If you’re certain you’re all right, I won’t insist on a trip to the hospital.”
“I am sure.” The girl straightened her colorful floral frock, pulled up her white socks, then brushed her hands over the cotton frock. “Not even the dress is damaged,” she announced, her eyes twinkling. Thrusting out her right hand, she said, “Thank you for hauling me out of the ditch. I’m Phoebe Bellamy, by the way.”
“Harry Swann,” he answered, smiling at her, taken with her girlishness, her friendly manner. She had a pretty face covered with freckles and hazel eyes. He thought she was about twelve, and he had no idea who she was. He wondered why she was on Cavendon land.
Giving him a surprised stare, Phoebe cried excitedly, “Are you one of the famous Swanns of Cavendon? You’re not related to Cecily Swann, the Fashion Queen of the World, are you?”
Chuckling at this description of Cecily, he answered, “She’s my sister.”
“Oh gosh! Oh wow! Oh my goodness me! What an honor to meet you, Mr. Swann.”
Harry was amused by her undisguised enthusiasm. He said, “And so you are Phoebe Bellamy. Nice to meet you, and I’m truly sorry it was in such an unfortunate way. Now, where does Miss Phoebe Bellamy live? It must be somewhere close.”
“It is, Mr. Swann. I’m staying with my uncle, Commander Jollion.”
“I know him well, and his son, Noel, who must be your cousin.”
“He is. We’re all staying with Uncle Edgar for the whole summer.”
Harry got up off the grass and offered Phoebe his hand, pulled her to her feet. “Let’s see how well you can walk, and let’s hope all is in order. If nothing’s hurting I shall drive you back to Burnside Manor.”
Together Harry and Phoebe crossed the road to the car. He eyed her carefully as they walked and saw that she seemed perfectly normal.
They both stopped when they came to the broken bicycle. Looking down at it, Phoebe said, “Oh gosh! What shall I do with the bike?”
“I’ll put it on the grass verge over there,” Harry replied. Picking it up he did so. “I’ll send someone for it tomorrow morning. Perhaps we can repair it for you. We have a workshop.”
“Oh how nice of you. Thank you, Mr. Swann. I’m so sorry I’m causing you so much trouble. Listen, I’m fine. I can walk back to Mowbray.”
“No, you’re not going to do that. I shall drive you to the manor and explain to Commander Jollion exactly what happened.”
“That’s not really necessary, the telling part,” Phoebe protested, sounding alarmed.
“I shall take the blame. Now, please get into the car, Phoebe.”
Eight
Diedre had not slept well. She had spent
a restless night, her mind working overtime, so many thoughts spinning around in her head.
For once she had not been worrying about her father and his health. For the last few weekends he had been almost like his old self, much more vigorous, in good form, with his humor restored. She was aware that she shouldn’t ever worry about him. Charlotte loved him and looked after him with great care and diligence. They all owed her a lot.
It had been the favor for Cecily that had occupied her thoughts most of the night, and Greta Chalmers, in particular Greta’s predicament.
With her years of experience in British intelligence, Diedre knew there were many different ways to get visas and travel documents, and other means by which to extract people from Germany. The problem with the Steinbrenners was that hideous J for Jew stamped on their passports. Four brand-new passports would be difficult to obtain. It was the same with visas and travel documents. Four were just too many; even two would be hard to come by. Acquiring one might be impossible, in fact.
She had two contacts who might be able to help. The one she had asked several favors from was the most powerful. He was in the High Command of the Third Reich, and she knew he would do anything for her, if it was at all possible. Yet she was reluctant to ask him. They had been friends for years; she admired and respected him as a dear friend. She did not want to go to him yet again. And so soon.
Sitting up in bed, blinking in the pale dawn light coming in through the draperies, Diedre bunched the pillows up behind her head, lay back and concentrated on her other contact.
The second one she had to dismiss immediately as well because he was linked to her first contact. He was also in a powerful position in the High Command, and might easily bring his superior down if caught. She dismissed him as well. Also, he would be more useful in other areas.
It struck her that her own man in Berlin was the best to use. He was young but thought fast on his feet, and had a lot of experience. Also she could telephone him with a degree of impunity.