Elizabeth did not want to be divorced from him, and she would create havoc, Cecily was convinced of that. The scandal would be enormous. And Ned would never be rid of Elizabeth, no matter what, even if they were divorced. Nothing really would be accomplished. And then there were the children to consider. They needed their father, who adored them, enjoyed them and spent a great deal of time with them; whereas their mother left them to their own devices, or with Nanny and the new governess, Miss Elliot.
Unexpectedly, Cecily wondered what other mother would have sent her son off to his mistress, as she had done tonight. Many would have done so under similar circumstances, if their son was hurting and despairing, especially if they knew the mistress was a compassionate and loving woman who never made demands.
Years ago she had made it her business to find out everything there was to know about Mrs Shaw and she had been relieved and grateful that it was Jane who was the other woman in his life. He was in safe hands with her. She hoped he had gone to Jane’s and not to his club, where he would sit and drink with other men, and become even more morose than he already was. She did not want him to feed his unhappiness and discontent. She wanted him to be comforted by someone who obviously loved him dearly, and who would steady the situation.
TWENTY-NINE
‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Jane,’ Richard said, ‘I’m looking for Ned. Does he happen to be there with you?’
‘No, he’s not, Richard,’ Jane answered, gripping the receiver tighter, all of her senses alerted to trouble. ‘Actually, I’m not expecting him tonight. However, he just might come over.’
‘I understand. I spoke to Mallet, but you know what butlers are, one never gets a straight answer from them. They’re protective by instinct and training. I have also spoken to our mother, and she did say he had been there earlier, but that he had left. Anyway, would you please ask him to telephone me, should he arrive? It’s quite important that I speak to him.’
‘I certainly will, Richard. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, and my apologies for disturbing you.’
‘You didn’t, it’s perfectly all right. Goodnight again.’ She hung up, and walked across the library, sat down, picked up the book she had been reading, but she was unable to concentrate. Her mind was on Edward Deravenel. The man she loved, and who always seemed to be in the line of fire.
He had been extremely angry when he had left this afternoon, and she knew he had gone home to deal with Elizabeth. As only he could. She was quite certain he would have handled the situation appropriately; he could be really tough; even ruthless when he had to be. It was imperative that he silence his wife, stopped her inventing stories, spreading lies about him, and about Fenella, lies which inevitably led to awful, damaging gossip.
The woman was a troublemaker. Jane had long known this, and yet she herself was not in a position to tell him what to do about her unconscionable behaviour. It was not Jane’s place.
He had been to his mother’s house in Charles Street tonight, according to his brother, and perhaps Cecily Deravenel had been able to help him, to advise him. She was a wise woman, a worldly woman of great sophistication; she had untold knowledge and she understood people, knew what made them tick.
His marriage to Elizabeth was not ideal, everyone close to him knew this. However, Jane was well aware that Edward Deravenel was not an unhappy man. Far from it, no matter what the world thought.
He had his children, whom he adored, and he relished being with them. And, of course, he had her for companionship, friendship, shared interests, and there was a sexual relationship between them as well.
Edward enjoyed this house, which he had lovingly helped to create and design; also, their somewhat domesticated existence here pleased him enormously. He was able to relax in the tranquil atmosphere she had created, feel truly at home. In a peculiar sort of way it was a kind of marriage they shared; he often teased her and said they were like Darby and Joan, an old married couple.
Their relationship aside, he was extremely happy in his work, completely fulfilled by it. Deravenels meant so much to him, the whole world; in fact, it was his life. He enjoyed going to the office every day, relished the routine of it, the challenges, the triumphs, the problem-solving, and the camaraderie he shared with his top executives, lauded the part they had played and still played in the building of this mighty company.
He never stopped working; he took immense pleasure from it, and he was proud of what he had accomplished since taking over fourteen years before. He had built it into the greatest trading company in the world; there were none bigger, and this was a huge thrill to him.
Ned enjoyed his immense success, his fame, his power, the money, and the privileges that came to him. But unlike a lot of successful people he had time for everybody in his orbit, from the commissionaires who worked at the front door of the building, to the telephonists, typists and secretaries, as well as the top brass.
He was a friend to all. A man of exceptional kindness, Ned was there for everyone who might need him, and nothing was ever too much trouble. He never spoke badly about anyone, nor did he criticize. ‘Live and let live,’ could easily be his motto.
His close friends knew how loyal he was to them; whenever they had problems or troubles, he was there for them, too, and there was no limit to the effort he would make on their behalf. He was philanthropic as well, very charitable, and generous to a fault when it came to those in need, those less fortunate than he was. Put very simply, he was a genuinely good man.
Those who truly knew him intimately, as she did – Fenella, Vicky, Stephen, and Will – his lot, as he called them, recognized all of these qualities and loved him for what he was as a man. Their loyalty to him was staunch and unwavering, and their devotion knew no bounds.
Those people who didn’t know him at all thought he was a snob, a womanizer, and a playboy, because they looked at this extremely handsome man, the expensive clothes, the way he was elegantly dressed and turned out, and made a snap decision based on nothing of any consequence. Some saw that unique and extraordinary self-assurance as arrogance, which, again, was not true. But they did not matter in the scheme of things. His friends knew he wasn’t a snob, a womanizer, a playboy, or arrogant, the last least of all. And anyway, the womanizing had been exaggerated, in her opinion. He had been faithful to Lily Overton, just as he was faithful now to her.
And if there were some who characterized him as an adulterous husband, then so be it. They were usually those people who were uninformed, knew nothing of his private life, or more to the point, had no knowledge of his shrewish and disagreeable wife. A woman most of his intimates despised.
Leaning back in the chair, Jane glanced around the library, still thinking of him. This was Edward’s favourite room in the house, along with the blue-and-yellow room. He loved libraries, and what’s more loved designing and creating them. Sometimes she thought it was because he loved books as much as she did.
The library here was panelled, but the wood had been painted a peculiar faded green which Ned called French Green; it was clear apple green which had been muddied down with grey paint so that it took on a somewhat smokey hue … like a meadow covered in mist, that was the way Jane thought of the colour.
Shelves of books lined the walls, many of them rare first editions, which he had found for her. They were mostly bound in red Moroccan leather; dark red fabrics echoed the bindings, were used to upholster the sofas and chairs, while French green velvet hung at the windows. It was a comfortable room which a man could feel at home in, but one which was not too overpoweringly masculine.
Earlier, Jane had asked Wells to light the fire, and she was glad he had. Even though it had been a sunny day for March, the weather had changed tonight. It had grown chilly by nightfall and she could hear the wind howling outside.
Picking up her book, Jane tried to become involved with the story, and was eventually absorbed, until she suddenly heard a noise – the front door closing. She leapt up, putting the
book on a side table before leaving the room swiftly.
Hurrying out into the front hall, she was relieved and happy to see Ned taking off his overcoat.
‘Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming, darling,’ he said to her, and threw his coat on a bench, took her in his arms, gave her a tight hug. ‘I didn’t even want to ring the doorbell for fear of disturbing everyone.’
‘Don’t be so silly, you could have.’ Taking his arm she led him into the library, and continued, ‘You look rather pale. Tired, Ned. I hope things weren’t too difficult?’
‘No. She won’t do it again, I feel fairly certain of that.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it, if you don’t mind, Jane. The less said the better. I’d like to forget about that particular encounter.’ He shivered, headed for the fire, as usual, stood in front of it, warming his back. ‘I’d love a Scotch, but please don’t ring for Wells, I’ll get it myself.’
‘No, no, I’ll do that, and before I forget, Richard telephoned you a short while ago. He said it was important that he spoke to you. Apparently he’d already called Berkeley Square and Charles Street, and no one knew where you were.’
‘I see.’ He went to the Georgian desk, sat down in the chair and dialled his brother’s Chelsea house. Richard answered immediately.
‘Were you looking for me, old chap?’ Ned asked warmly. ‘I was, yes, Ned. Thanks for returning my call. I’m assuming you’re at Mrs Shaw’s?’
‘I am indeed. I just arrived. Jane said you told her it was important you heard from me.’
‘It is. Listen, Ned, George has been up to some of his rotten tricks today. Out of the blue, Isabel invited herself to tea this afternoon, and at one moment she told Anne that this house was hers. Theirs. And that we had to move out. What about that then?’
Ned threw back his head and laughed uproariously. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said at last, as the laughter died away. ‘And what did Anne say to her sister?’
‘She told her that you had bought the house from their mother, paid for it lock, stock and barrel, and that you had then given it outright to us, or rather to me. So it was not theirs at all.’
‘Bravo to Anne! And I suppose Isabel left, after making threats, and went home to tell the tale to George?’
‘She did leave in a big huff, yes. But that’s all I know, and will ever know.’ Richard chuckled, and finished, ‘All I can say is thank God for your foresight, and for doing what you did. It’s obvious that George is still on the rampage …’ He allowed the sentence to drift off, and waited for his brother to respond.
‘I hope he isn’t, I truly do, Dick. That’s all I need. I’ve just calmed everything down at Deravenels, and you and Will have solved the problems with Ian MacDonald, closed the deal. I was hoping for a bit of peace.’
‘Then you shall have it. We’ll all see to that! As for George, there is nothing he can do about my house, because that’s what it is, thanks to you … My house.’
‘Indeed it is, and now I’ll say goodnight, if you don’t mind. I just arrived here and have hardly said hello to my friend. I’m being rather rude.’
‘Of course, Ned, and goodnight. See you at the office tomorrow.’
‘That you will, Dickie. Goodnight.’
Jane had returned carrying two glasses, Scotch for Ned and a glass of champagne for herself. After handing him the crystal glass, the two of them went to sit near the fire.
Ned clinked his glass to hers, sat back in the chair, and said, ‘George has been up to his tricks again.’
‘Oh no, Ned, I can’t stand it!’ She looked horrified.
‘Ah, but I’ve bested him.’
‘You always do.’ She frowned, asked ‘What was it about?’
‘I suppose I do manage to stop him in his tracks, but this one was a real shocker for him. I’m absolutely sure of it.’ He then proceeded to tell her about Isabel’s visit to the Chelsea house that afternoon, and the manner in which Anne had put her in her place.
She listened attentively, brought him another drink almost immediately, and then sat patiently, paid great attention as he spoke about business, and things in general. Not once did he mention Elizabeth, and neither did she.
She was well aware that he was truly tired tonight, on the edge of exhaustion, she thought. There was a weariness in his voice, and his face had remained pale, had not become flushed as it sometimes did when he was in the warmth and having a drink. It worried her, that unusual paleness and the weary voice, the sense that he was at the end of his tether. He who was so robust seemed oddly depleted, unusual for him.
Much later he told her he would stay the night with her, and they had gone up to bed together. But as they lay there in the dark, with the firelight making patterns on the walls, luxuriating in the peace and quiet of the moment, Ned had started to doze.
Suddenly bestirring himself, shaking himself awake, he said with a faint laugh, ‘Sorry, darling, I’m afraid I dozed off.’
Pushing herself up on one elbow, bending over him, Jane said softly, ‘And I think you should, you’ve had such a tiresome day. Let’s go to sleep. Both of us. Right now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized again. ‘I don’t think I can make love to you. I’m absolutely deadbeat, Jane.’ He put an arm over her body, and added, ‘Consider yourself well and truly kissed, darling girl.’
‘I do,’ she answered. ‘Now go to sleep.’
Much to her relief, he did so almost immediately. But she lay awake for a long time, worrying about him. He had taken a lot of emotional punishment lately, especially from George, who should be horsewhipped for his bad behaviour. She didn’t trust him and never had. He was treacherous and greedy. Nor was she overwhelmed by Richard; Little Fish, Ned had called him since Richard had been a child. There was something wary, secretive and overly cautious in Richard. Those she trusted were his intimate friends. Not his family. Except for his mother who adored him.
Jane herself soon fell asleep, but it was a restless sleep filled with bad dreams about the warring Deravenels and their internal vendettas, death and destruction.
Anthony Wyland was an exceptional man. He was honourable, loyal, totally devoted to Edward, and if needs be he would lay down his life for him. When the Wyland Merchant Bank had run into trouble some years ago, it was Edward who had come to Anthony’s aid, offered to help in any way he could. Anthony had been honest, had told Edward not to waste his money trying to bail out the troubled merchant bank. And then he had asked him for a job. Ned had given him one and never regretted it. Neither had Anthony.
He had worked for Edward for a number of years now, and because of his financial knowledge and skill with figures Ned had found him invaluable. Apart from his loyalty, devotion and honesty, Anthony was a cultured man who shared many of Edward’s interests, especially books and art, and they had become firm personal friends as well as colleagues, and brothers-in-law.
Now, on this rainy March Thursday afternoon, Anthony sat with his sister in the library of Edward’s family home in Berkeley Square. She had welcomed him with a degree of reserve, no doubt because she knew why he had asked himself to tea. However, she had said nothing so far, merely greeted him and asked about their mother.
Thankfully tea had been brought in by Mallet at an awkward moment when their sister Iris’s name had come up. Anthony suspected it was Iris to whom Elizabeth had spoken … how stupid she was. Iris was the family chatterbox, the gossip, the carrier of tales out of school. An idiot, in his opinion.
Once Mallet had poured tea and departed, Anthony said slowly, ‘I hope you won’t be doing any talking to Iris in the future, Lizzie. She’s a bit of a risk, you know.’
‘No, she isn’t, she’s a sweet girl, and don’t call me Lizzie. You know I hate it.’
Her tone made him cringe. He had come here with the best of intentions, and she was prickly and argumentative without any real provocation on his part. He didn’t have much time for her these days, and he was sorry for Ned who had to c
ope with her on a daily basis. She must be a thorn in his side; certainly she was in his. More like a chain of thorns, he thought. Poor Ned.
Sipping his tea, Anthony said, after a moment, ‘Don’t take an attitude with me, Elizabeth. I’m one of the few friends you have, a real friend, I mean.’
‘I doubt that: you work for him. Where is he, by the way? He hasn’t come home for days.’
‘I’ve no idea where Ned is – more than likely he’s staying at his club if he’s not here.’
She merely stared at him, and sipped her tea.
My God, she is beautiful though, Anthony thought, gazing at his sister for a moment. She was already thirty-eight going on thirty-nine, and looked like a girl of twenty-eight, perhaps even less. The hair was spun gold, piled high on top of her head like a crown; the complexion was milky white, flawless, unlined, without blemish, and the pale blue eyes clear, crystalline almost.
As for her figure, it was superb. She was not tall, but she had never put on weight over the years, and she was slender, her breasts high and taut, and she had lovely legs. No wonder Ned fell into her bed so often. There were few women as beautiful as she, anywhere in the world. But what a harridan she could be. More’s the pity, her brother thought.
‘You’re staring at me,’ she snapped.
‘No, admiring you, that’s all.’ Anthony leaned forward, and said in a quiet, conciliatory voice, ‘Listen to me, my dear. Ned is a good husband, he lavishes you with everything you could possibly want … so give him some slack, leave him alone.’
‘I haven’t done a thing to him! Why do you say that?’
‘You’ve lied about him and Fenella Fayne, you know you have.’
‘The original story was an utter fabrication, the one about the cart, and Finnister finding the girl, and all that rubbish about a woman called Tabitha James. There was no such person. It was Fenella. Always her. He slept with her, has done so for years, and he got her pregnant, and he may well get her pregnant again, since he’s still sleeping with her. She’s a slut. Just like all the other women in his life.’