IN THE LION’S DEN
Barbara Taylor Bradford

Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2019

Cover photographs © Lee Avison/Trevillion Images

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008242466

Ebook Edition © November 2019 ISBN: 9780008242480

Version: 2020-08-05

Dedication

For my darling Bob, with my love

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Characters

PART ONE:

HONOUR & LOYALTY

London/Kent 1889

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

PART TWO:

TRUE FRIENDSHIP

London/Hull/Gloucestershire 1890

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

PART THREE:

UNEXPECTED REVELATIONS

London/Hull/Kent 1890

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

PART FOUR:

TAKING CHANCES

London 1891–2

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford

About the Publisher

CHARACTERS

THE FALCONERS

Philip Henry Rosewood Falconer, founder of the dynasty; a head butler.

Esther Marie Falconer, his wife and co-founder of the dynasty; a head housekeeper.

Their sons

Matthew Falconer, his eldest son and heir; a stall owner at the Malvern Market.

George Falconer, a noted journalist on The Chronicle daily newspaper.

Harry Falconer, a chef and owner of a café, the Rendezvous.

Their grandchildren (Matthew’s offspring)

James Lionel, an ambitious young businessman on the rise.

Rosalind, known as Rossi, a seamstress.

Edward Albert, assistant to his father on the stalls.

Their daughter-in-law

Maude Falconer, Matthew’s wife and mother of his children; a seamstress.

THE VENABLES

Clarence Venables, Esther Falconer’s brother-in-law, great-uncle of James Falconer, owner of a shipping company in Hull.

Marina Venables, Clarence’s wife and younger sister of Esther Falconer. Great-aunt of James Falconer. A noted artist.

Their children

William Venables, eldest son and heir, working at the Hull shipping company.

Albert Venables, second son, working at the Hull shipping company.

Their daughter-in-law

Anne Venables, Albert’s wife.

THE MALVERNS

Henry Ashton Malvern, owner of the Malvern Company, a big business enterprise and real-estate company.

Alexis Malvern, his only child and heir; a partner in the business.

Joshua Malvern, his brother and business partner.

Percy Malvern, his cousin who runs the wine business in La Havre.

THE TREVALIANS

Claudia Trevalian, eldest daughter and heir of the late Sebastian Trevalian.

Lavinia Trevalian, sister of Claudia.

Marietta Trevalian, sister of Claudia.

Dorothea Trevalian Rayburn, an art collector and member of the Trevalian private bank’s board. Sister of the late Sebastian; now the head of the family.

Cornelius Glendenning, Claudia’s husband, a banker, now running the Trevalian private bank in London.

THE CARPENTERS

Lord Reginald Carpenter, a publishing tycoon and proprietor of The Chronicle.

Lady Jane Cadwalander Carpenter, his wife.

Their daughters

Jasmine Carpenter, a debutante.

Lilah Carpenter, a debutante.

Their twin sons

Sebastian and Keir Carpenter, born in March 1889.

THE PARKINSONS

Maurice Parkinson, a well-known biographer, journalist and academic.

Ekaterina Parkinson, known as Kat, his wife, descended from the Shuvalovs.

Their children

Natalaya Parkinson, eldest daughter, known as Natalie, assistant to Alexis Malvern, in charge of the arcades.

Irina Parkinson, second daughter, a dress designer.

Alexander Parkinson, son, known as Sandro, a theatrical designer of stage scenery.

(All three children are English born.)

PART ONE

ONE

Dread. That was the feeling James Lionel Falconer was experiencing as he sat at his desk in his office at Malvern House in Piccadilly.

It was the afternoon of Wednesday 25 September 1889, and an hour since a packet of documents had arrived by courier from Paris. James had opened the packet hastily and read them immediately, shocked by the bad news they contained.

James looked down at his hands resting on the pile of documents, a chill running through him at the thought of giving them to Henry Malvern, who was an ailing man. Rocked by his daughter’s breakdown and his brother Joshua’s stroke and lingering death, his employer had been unwell all summer with a debilitating fatigue. But James had no choice. The head of the company had to know everything.

A deep sigh escaped him as he opened the top drawer of his desk, placed the documents inside, locked the drawer and pocketed the key.

Taking out his watch he saw that it was almost seven o’clock. At least he didn’t have to face Mr Malvern until tomorrow morning, by which time his friend and colleague Peter Keller would be in his office next door if James needed him. Keller was stalwart; they had shared interests and had become close friends. And Keller worked in the Wine Division and might be able to help solve this mess. Though it was hard to see how, since it now turned out that Percy Malvern, Mr Malvern’s cousin, was not only a thief who had stolen millions from the Wine Division in Le Havre, but also a bigamist.

Striding across the room, James put on his coat and left his office.

When he stepped outside onto Piccadilly, it was drizzling after a day of heavy rain. The early evening light had dimmed, and there was a slight mist, but the street lamps were aglow. People were rushing home, dodging in and out and around each other, the pavements wet and slippery. James joined the throng.

He hurried toward Half Moon Street, wanting to get home as fast as he could. The sound of horses’ hooves, the rattling of carriage wheels, and the general bustle of the traffic in the streets grated on him tonight. He turned up the collar of his topcoat and plunged his hands into his pockets. It was not only wet but also cold for September.

The moment he opened the door and went into the small flat he shared with his Uncle George, a newspaperman, James felt a great sense of relief. The gas lamps on the walls filled the room with a shimmering light and a fire burned in the hearth. In an instant his uncle’s smiling face appeared around the kitchen door. ‘Supper is almost ready!’ he announced. Smiling, James hung his damp coat on a hook behind the door, then returned to the kitchen to help George.

His uncle was deftly carving a large piece of roast beef, and he said, without looking up, ‘Your grandmother left this for us today, while we were at work.’ Laughing, he added, ‘And these two loaves of freshly baked bread. You see, she dotes on you, Jimmy lad.’

‘And you too, Uncle George … you’re her son.’

A smile slid across George’s face, and he finally looked across at his nephew. ‘She’s the best there is, nobody like her.’

James nodded, and spotted the small glass pot with a white paper label stuck on it. Horseradish sauce, it read, in his grandmother’s handwriting. He smiled inside. She always thought of every little thing, right down to the last detail.

Sitting at the kitchen table a bit later, eating their roast-beef sandwiches and drinking mugs of hot tea, James was quiet. His mind kept going over the problems dogging the Wine Division in Le Havre, problems that the documents he’d received today confirmed.

‘I dread giving the terrible news from France to Mr Malvern,’ James said, grimacing.

‘Just give him the documents and tell him he won’t like what he reads,’ George had suggested. ‘You may well find that he’s been expecting bad news anyway.’

Sleep did not come easily that night. James considered it to be his saviour, the key to his health. Yet when it was elusive he did not toss and turn like some people might; instead he lay perfectly still. Reflection and analysis were his special friends during these wearisome, sleepless hours.

He was glad he had his uncle to talk to. He had always been particularly close to George, even as a child, and they had truly bonded on a different level when he moved into the flat on Half Moon Street in Mayfair. Not that they saw much of each other. George was a journalist working on The Chronicle, where his star had risen over the years. His hours at the newspaper changed constantly.

James appreciated George’s wisdom and began slowly to relax, stretching his long legs in the bed, settling himself comfortably on the pillow. The dread had slithered away. Mr Malvern had to know everything, and perhaps he might not be too surprised after all.

Unexpectedly, and much against his will, thoughts of Alexis Malvern, Henry’s daughter, crept into his mind, and for a moment he felt a rush of emotion, a sudden desire for her. But he squashed this when he focused on her lack of concern for her father and for the business she would one day inherit. He saw her continued absence as a dereliction of duty. And these thoughts damaged her image in his mind. He thought her behaviour didn’t quite live up to his standards, just didn’t ‘fit the bill’. Then, quite unexpectedly, Georgiana Ward came into his mind, and he wondered how she was, how she was doing. He had only ever once asked his cousin William if he had any news of her. William had shaken his head, then told him, ‘My mother has only heard from her once, letting her know that she was feeling better away from London fogs. That’s all I know.’

James had remained silent at the time, not wanting to probe too hard. A small sigh escaped as he turned on his side. Whenever he thought of the older woman who had been his first lover, he realized how kind she had been to him, how much she had cared about him. One day, he thought. One day I will meet someone like her … I know I will.

He also missed William, who was far away in Hull. As he fell asleep, his thoughts were only about the importance of family and friends.

James sat up with a start, as if someone had shaken his shoulder. He was wide awake, and the room was very bright. He blinked as he got out of bed and went over to the window. The moon was riding high in the midnight-blue sky, and it was shining into his bedroom because he had forgotten to close the curtains last night. He noticed that the rain had stopped.

He was suddenly restless, wanting to be outside, walking the streets, as he sometimes did, thinking through his problems. And clearing his head. Within minutes he was dressed in his trousers, shirt and shoes; he pulled on a thick jacket for warmth and slipped out of the flat quietly. All he needed was his uncle to wake up and ask where he was going at two in the morning.

His answer would have been nowhere in particular, because that was the truth. Once outside, he walked along Curzon Street and turned onto Park Lane, heading down towards the Wellington Arch and on towards Buckingham Palace. It wasn’t far away, and as he caught sight of it in the distance he noticed there was no Union Flag flying on its flagpole. Queen Victoria was at Balmoral, and the Prince of Wales, her heir to the throne, lived in his own home with his wife, Princess Alexandra. Now there was a beautiful woman, he thought, one who was elegant and regal. She was deaf, but did not appear to let that bother her. Uncle George had told him she was Danish and that her sister Minnie was married to the Romanov Tsar of Russia.

As he neared the palace walls, James slowed down and stood staring at the regal building, almost entirely in darkness, only a few lights showing through upstairs windows. During the summer, Princess Louise, daughter of the Prince and Princess of Wales, had been married there.

Married, he thought. I wonder if I will ever get married. He grimaced to himself. The idea did not appeal to him at the moment. He had other fish to fry. His career. He knew within himself that he was doing well, so lucky to work for the Malvern Company, to be close to Mr Henry. Yet he was always aching inside to be on his own, to start his own retail business. Ever since his childhood he had longed to become a merchant prince. Too soon, he thought. It’s too soon.

He sighed under his breath, slowly walking away from Buckingham Palace. He was still too young to go out on his own. He mustn’t be impatient. His grandmother was forever reminding him of that. He headed down the Mall, his thoughts shifting to the days when he worked on his father’s stalls in the Malvern Market. He had been eight years old, and fell into the work at once, loving every moment of the day. Stay calm and keep going. Slowly, he told himself. And one day you’ll get to where you want to be.

TWO

The following morning James went to Malvern House very early. As he walked down the corridor to his office, he relished the silence, the closed doors, and the lack of lights. He was the first to arrive today.

He immediately unlocked his desk drawer and took out the batch of documents that had been delivered the day before. They had come from Philippe de Lavalière, a private detective in Paris, whom the company had hired to look into the fraud they had discovered. Swiftly, he went through them all, reading a number of them again, and then put them away.

Mr Malvern wasn’t in yet, and so he studied some of the reports from Natalya Parkinson, who had been Alexis’s assistant and was helping to manage the work in Alexis’s continuing absence. He enjoyed working with Miss Parkinson, or Natalie, as her friends and family called her. She was efficient and had quite a flair for helping their tenants arrange the windows of their shops appropriately.

A bit later, when he heard Mr Malvern’s footsteps in the corridor outside his office, James rose and strode out. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said.

Henry Malvern turned, smiled at James. ‘Morning, Falconer,’ he answered. His employer was looking better these days, though he still tired easily.

‘I wonder if I can come in and see you for a moment?’ James asked. ‘It is important.’

Malvern nodded. ‘Of course.’ As he moved on, he added, ‘Come in now, Falconer. I have a meeting in half an hour with the accountants.’

‘Right away, sir.’ James rushed back into his office, took out the documents and hurried after his boss.

After hanging up his overcoat on the coatstand in the corner, Henry Malvern sat down behind his desk. Looking across at James, who was already making his way into his office, he said, ‘Are those documents why you want to see me?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Not from Alexis, I don’t suppose?’

James shook his head. ‘No sir. They arrived late yesterday by courier just after you left. They’re from the Paris office.’ James stopped at the large Georgian partner’s desk and placed the bundle of documents on it. ‘I’m afraid it’s not good news.’

Henry Malvern inclined his head and gave James a hard stare. ‘I wasn’t expecting good news, Falconer.’ He began to read the documents, but then said, ‘Please sit down, you know it makes me nervous when you’re hovering.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ James replied, and sat down in the chair opposite the imposing desk, patiently waiting for his boss to digest everything.

At last Henry looked up, sat back in his chair and shook his head. ‘A bigamist! I’m not too surprised he stole so much, but his romantic philandering does surprise me. My cousin is such a plain man, and rather short, with quite a reserved manner. But as my mother always said, “Still waters run deep and the devil’s at the bottom.” I think her words may well apply to Mr Percy Malvern.’

The documents revealed that Percy Malvern had not only embezzled money from the company, but also had two wives. His English wife Mary, and a seventeen-year-old daughter Maeve, were living in Nice. A second wife, Colette, a twenty-six-year-old Frenchwoman, was living in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, outside Monte Carlo, with a six-year-old son, Pierre.

Percy Malvern himself was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared into thin air.

In the letter he had written, Philippe de Lavalière had suggested that Percy might well have fled abroad, perhaps to somewhere like the French West Indies, where a man could hide for ever. There was little chance of ever finding him.

James nodded. ‘He must be very devious. It takes a special kind of skill to keep two families going. But then money helps, I suppose. Do you think we can recoup any of it, Mr Malvern?’

‘I’ve no idea, Falconer. It doesn’t sound hopeful. In the meantime, I shall have to plan on putting some of my own funds into the Wine Division in Le Havre. That’s the only thing I can think of.’ The older man frowned. ‘It will be a long haul to get back into profit. I’ll have to increase revenue from other parts of the company.’

James paused, and gave Malvern a quizzical look before saying, ‘It might seem strange to suggest spending money at this point, but have you given any more thought to my suggestion that we build an arcade in Hull, sir?’

‘The City of Gaiety, you say it’s called.’ Henry nodded. ‘I have given it some thought. If you can find the right spot, one which you know people will easily frequent, then I might be persuaded. Fortunately, retail is in good financial shape in general, and I’m not against expansion. We’ll need something to make up for this disaster.’ He gestured at the documents from France.

This response made James happy, and a cautious smile broke through. ‘My cousin William Venables has several sites he wants us to look at, whenever you can spare the time to go to Hull, Mr Malvern. And when you’re ready to give it your attention. Also, I’ve done a bit of research and come up with the plans you had made for the Harrogate arcade. They would work very well for the Hull project.’

‘Very enterprising of you, Falconer,’ Henry answered, with a small rush of pleasure. He had always known that this young man was clever; he had also proved to be a hard worker and extremely disciplined. Occasionally he was also fierce, a young lion marking out his territory. And now he had offered a way out of this hole. Henry Malvern thought for a moment then cleared his throat and said, ‘We should go to Hull as soon as possible. Maybe we can make a start on this before the cold weather sets in. What do you think of that?’

James beamed at his boss. ‘I’ll start making the arrangements immediately, sir.’

Esther Marie Falconer was the kind of woman whom everyone liked, and many truly loved. To her family she was Mother Earth, compassionate, understanding, full of wisdom and kindness. To her employers, the Montagues, she was the best head housekeeper in London, calm, organized and discreet. And as her staff and her children knew, she could also be tough, relentless, and implacable, but by nature loving in her heart. And she loved her family to the very depths of her soul. They were her whole life.

Now, she sat in her small but comfortable housekeeper’s parlour, which served as an office in the Montague mansion near Regent’s Park. Five days ago her husband, Philip Falconer, the house’s butler, had fallen down the stone steps leading to the cellar and broken his ankle. He had only just been discharged from hospital and she had some thinking to do.

She cringed yet again when she thought about the accident and how lucky he’d been. If he had fallen and hit his head, he might not be alive today. She closed her eyes, leaned back in the chair and thanked God for protecting him. Her devoted husband, her stay and her stand, had never had an accident of any kind before in his life. And she prayed that the first would be the last.

Opening her eyes, Esther glanced at the calendar once more, adding up the weeks the Montague family would be travelling through Europe. It was as she thought. They would not return until late October. Lucky again. Philip would be recovered by that time.

It struck her suddenly that she and Philip had always been lucky. In a certain sense they had led charmed lives.

Her thoughts fell backwards in time … to when she was twelve years old, growing up in Melton, a small village just outside Hull, one of the great seaports in England.

Even at twelve she had been clever and ambitious, and also quite pretty. She knew perfectly well that those were the reasons she had been taken into service at Melton Priory, home of Lord Percival Denby, the Sixth Earl of Melton.

Through her mother’s connection to Lady Minerva Denby, Lord Percival’s sister, Esther was trained to be a lady’s maid in order to look after Lady Agatha, the sixteen-year-old daughter of the earl.

Esther had been with her mistress ever since, travelling with her when she was a young girl and staying with her once she married – for fifty years, to be precise.

How time flies, Esther thought, with a small shock, remembering she was now sixty-two years old. Philip was four years older, almost sixty-six. Not that he looked it, and neither did she. But then they had been protected and well fed living with the Montagues, who appreciated their loyalty, honesty and devotion, and all the hard work they put in. As long as his ankle healed well, they would continue to serve. She rubbed her left hand absent-mindedly, where a niggling arthritis made it ache.

Over the years, Esther had risen in the ranks to become the head housekeeper at Lady Agatha’s two homes – the John Nash-designed Regency house in London and the old country estate in Kent, Fountains Court.

Esther and Philip had met at the London house when Lady Agatha married the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague, who owned both of their homes. Philip, a Kentish man, had also gone into service when he was young, just sixteen. Having started out as a junior footman at Fountain Court, he was now head butler and devoted to the Honourable Mister, as he referred to Mr Montague.

Like his wife, Philip had remained with his original employer and was highly valued.

Just imagine, Esther thought, glancing around her parlour, I was married from this house and I am still here. She smiled as she looked at the small photograph of her husband with their sons and grandchildren and remembered the boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

We met, looked at each other and just clicked. Lucky. Indeed, I was. And so was he, she thought.

Pushing back her chair, Esther got up and went out into the corridor, walked down to the kitchen, pushed open the door. ‘I’m going upstairs now, Cook, since we’ve settled everything about supper tonight.’

‘It’s all in hand, Mrs Falconer,’ Cook answered, and gave her a huge smile. ‘I’m looking forward to cooking a few of your family’s favourite dishes.’

Esther smiled back and retreated. She climbed the back staircase and crossed the hall, discovered Philip and their grandson sitting together in the conservatory, which opened onto the garden at the back of the house.

‘There you are!’ she exclaimed, hurrying across the room. ‘Nattering away like two old codgers.’

‘I am an old codger,’ Philip said with an amused laugh.

‘That’s not so!’ his wife answered, and went and sat next to James on the sofa.

‘I’m so happy we can have our Saturday supper here downstairs in the servants’ dining room, instead of at your house. Easier for your grandfather.’

James nodded, glanced at Philip. ‘It was nice of the Honourable Mister to let us all come here, wasn’t it?’

‘Indeed it was, James,’ Philip replied, and looked down at his left leg encased in plaster of Paris, stretched out and resting on an ottoman. ‘He sent a telegram from Monte Carlo immediately after he received mine. He insisted that you all join us here for our traditional supper. Even told me to choose one of his wines.’

‘Wonderful things, these telegrams,’ Esther observed. ‘I can’t imagine how we ever managed without them. The Honourable Mister also insisted your grandfather rest in here as well, to benefit from some light and warmth. Anyway, James, I’m relieved to see you looking well. Your father told me you are working long hours.’ She gave him a hard stare.

‘Yes, I am, Grans, but I’m in fine fettle at the moment. And Mr Malvern is such a nice man to work for. We’ve been doing some reorganization of the whole company, and he’s appreciated my help. He says he couldn’t have done it without me.’

‘James, whatever happened to Mr Malvern’s daughter? Is she not working alongside her father and you?’ Philip asked.

James shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He looked from his grandfather to his grandmother, and continued in a solemn voice, ‘It’s rather a sad story, really. Miss Alexis doesn’t seem to have recovered from the death of her fiancé. Just a week before they were to be married. She lives in Kent and hardly ever comes to Malvern House.’

Esther frowned, said in a low voice, ‘I seem to remember you talking about her. She was a first-class businesswoman, one of only a few in London.’ Esther paused and shook her head. ‘Isn’t she his only child? Mr Malvern’s heir?’ she asked, puzzlement echoing in her voice.

‘That’s correct, Grans. But she doesn’t seem to be interested in the business. Or anyone. Not even her father. It’s a shame. So sad to see the pain he’s in. He’s heartbroken, in my opinion.’

Esther leaned back, shaking her head again, looking nonplussed.

It was Philip who now spoke up. He glanced at James, a brow lifting quizzically. ‘Is she physically ill in some way?’

‘Not that I know of,’ James answered, his forehead puckering. ‘What are you getting at, Grandfather?’

‘It sounds to me as if Miss Malvern is mentally disturbed. How long has she been acting this way?’

‘It’s over a year since Sebastian Trevalian died.’

There were a few moments of silence. Glances were exchanged. It was Esther who spoke first. ‘It seems to me that she can’t let him go, that she’s hanging onto his memory. Very sad. I’m sure the sudden loss of the man she was about to marry was a shock. It would leave a terrible sorrow. However, to avoid society for so long appears abnormal, in my opinion. The way she is behaving is odd, to say the least.’

‘She went to see a famous doctor in Vienna,’ James volunteered. ‘His name is Doctor Sigmund Freud. Seemingly he examines the mind, not the body.’

Philip suddenly was sitting up straighter and nodding his head vehemently. ‘I’ve read about him! In one of Lady Agatha’s science magazines. He is called a mind doctor. The patient talks to him, and he does an analysis of the things the patient says. I’m not quite sure how he cures the patient, though. But he is becoming famous.’

‘She was treated by him for six months,’ James confided. ‘That is why Mr Malvern offered me a job as his … assistant, I suppose you’d call me. Miss Malvern had gone to Vienna.’

‘I remember it now,’ Esther exclaimed. ‘Your father told me the story.’ Esther looked off into the distance, as if she could see something far away. After a moment or two, she said, ‘So what is going to happen, James? Is she ever coming back?’

‘I’ve no idea. To be honest, I don’t think Mr Malvern knows either.’

‘But what is he going to do without an heir?’ Philip asked.

Esther stared at Philip. ‘Poor man. And whatever will he do with Malvern’s?’

James said quietly, ‘He has spoken to me about selling the company, once we’ve got it back into the best shape we can. We’re working on that.’

‘Do you think he would sell that old family company?’ Philip asked.

James did not answer at first. A moment later, he said slowly, but in a firm tone, ‘Yes, I do think he would, if the price is right.’

THREE

Esther was delighted when she opened the door and saw the rest of the Falconer family all together, standing on the step at the back.

‘Come in, come in!’ she exclaimed, pulling the door further ajar, a huge smile spreading across her face.

Once they were in the narrow lobby and the door was shut, there were hugs and kisses and greetings exchanged. She couldn’t help thinking how smart her three sons looked, dressed in their best clothes.

Matthew’s wife, Maude, was elegant in a simple cream linen dress which fell to her ankles, decorated with a black cotton rose on her shoulder.

Her granddaughter, Rossi, was likewise decked out in a summer frock, made of pale-blue crepe de Chine. Rossi’s younger brother, Eddie, wore his one and only best suit.

‘Let’s go and see Dad, shall we?’ Matthew announced, taking charge.

‘Yes, come along,’ Esther answered, smiling at her firstborn child. ‘He’s with James up in the conservatory.’

They clustered around Philip in his chair, fussing about him, making him feel well loved.

It was Eddie who pushed his way to the front, and said, ‘I’ve brought a painting for you, Grandpa.’ He handed him the package, and turned to Esther. ‘And one for you too, Grandma.’

He stood and watched as his grandparents opened their gifts and praised his artistic talent; Matthew and Maude smiled with pride at their younger son.

Rossi had also brought gifts for her grandparents. ‘A scarf for each of you.’ She then explained, ‘Silk summer scarves, because sometimes it does get cool in the evening.’

Esther and Philip gave more thanks and complimented their granddaughter. Then Esther turned to Matthew, Harry and George and said, ‘Would you three come downstairs with me to the kitchen, please? Rossi and Maude can entertain Dad for the moment, and you can chat with him shortly. Will you come as well, James?’

The men nodded and followed Esther out of the room. Once they were in the hall, George asked, ‘Is there a problem, Ma?’ Concern echoed in his voice.

‘No, no,’ Esther answered swiftly. ‘Let’s go downstairs so that I can explain something to the three of you.’

Harry said, ‘I’d love to see the kitchen, Mother. I haven’t been in it for ages. And say hello to Cook.’

Esther led them down the back staircase and, once at the bottom, she turned to the others. ‘Look at these stairs, tell me if you think a man with a cast on his leg can come down and go up easily, even with your help.’

‘I don’t believe he can,’ Harry said immediately, then looked at his brothers. ‘What do you think, George, Matthew?’

George shook his head. ‘You’re right. It would be a difficult task, even with each of us holding him on either side. The staircase is steep and narrow, with a turn in it.’

James exclaimed, ‘But Grandpa thinks we’re having supper in the servants’ dining hall. Won’t he be upset if we don’t?’

‘Perhaps,’ Esther replied. ‘However, I don’t think we can let him anywhere near this staircase. In fact, I have already had the table set in the breakfast room. It’s quite large, and we’ll easily fit around the table.’

‘He’s not going to be happy about that,’ Harry announced, staring at his mother. ‘You know he’s had those rules of his for donkey’s years. Staff do not use the family’s living quarters when they are absent. Dad calls it trespassing.’

‘I know that only too well. He only agreed to sit in the conservatory because the Honourable Mister instructed him to. But thank goodness for telegrams. I sent one to Lady Agatha in Monte Carlo, explaining the problem. Her reply was simple. She agreed with my suggestion about the breakfast room.’

‘It’s a good thing you did that, Mother.’ Matthew rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘Once he’s read Lady Agatha’s telegram to you, I doubt there will be any problem.’

‘I just wanted you to know this, because I need you to back me up, if that’s necessary.’

‘Absolutely, Grans,’ James answered at once. Her sons assured her they too were on her side, and that there was no good argument to be otherwise. Their father could not navigate this staircase with a plaster cast up to his knee, even with their help.

‘But how will you manage the stairs to your flat?’ Matthew asked his mother.

‘That’s less of a problem – we can use the main staircase for now, while the family is away. And he does his paperwork in the conservatory.’

Esther thanked them, then added, ‘Let’s go to the kitchen with Harry. He’s dying to see it and talk to Cook for a few minutes.’

They received a cheery welcome from Mrs Holmes, who had been the cook for the Montagues for twenty years. She then said to Harry, ‘I must congratulate you. I’ve heard all about your new restaurant and I’m happy it has taken off so well.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Holmes.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’m glad you don’t mind that I’ve pinched some of your recipes.’

Cook laughed. ‘I enjoyed it when you slipped in to watch me doing my job when you were younger.’

‘I’ve told them about eating in the breakfast room,’ Esther now said, wanting to move on. ‘And they will back me up.’

Cook nodded. ‘It’s a dangerous staircase for Mr Falconer to use. The breakfast room presents no problems, and the food goes up on the dumbwaiter as it does every day when the family is in residence.’

They stood talking to Mrs Holmes about the supper and Harry asked her permission to look at her beautiful copper pots, pans and moulds, admiring them as he did.

After leaving the kitchen, Esther took her sons and grandson to the breakfast room. They agreed that it was ideal for the family supper. The gas lamps were already glowing. The table looked inviting, with a bowl of fresh flowers in the centre.

When they returned to the conservatory, Rossi wanted to know where they had been and what they had been doing. ‘Uncle Harry needed to check the menu, no doubt,’ she said to her mother, grinning.

‘Not really,’ Harry answered. ‘Mrs Holmes is a great cook, as we all know. She has made some lovely dishes for tonight … favourites.’

‘I wanted to show the boys the back staircase,’ Esther cut in swiftly, needing to get the problem out of the way. ‘They agree with me it’s very steep.’ She stared at her husband and said to him, ‘We are having the supper in the breakfast room, which is on this floor—’

‘No, no, we can’t do that, you know the rules,’ Philip interrupted.

‘Yes, we can. I sent a telegram to Lady Agatha.’ Before he could object further, Esther took the telegram out of her skirt pocket and handed it to him.

Philip read it in silence and gave her a faint smile. ‘You win,’ he acknowledged. ‘And you’re right, actually. That staircase would be a problem for me in this plaster cast.’

Esther always enjoyed the Saturday night suppers and, on this particular evening, the gathering of their little clan over a meal was no exception.

As her eyes swept around the circular table in the breakfast room, she saw that everyone was enjoying themselves, and this pleased her.

She looked at her three sons, studying them one by one by one. They were rather handsome in their different ways, and certainly they were well put-together. All three were neat and tidy in their dark ready-made suits, with their discreet silk ties – gifts from her, in fact. Each of them wore a floppy silk handkerchief in the top pocket of their jackets as a finishing touch. There was a flutter of pride behind her smile.

They had done well in their chosen jobs, and because she and Philip had brought them up with high standards, they were decent men, honourable, loyal and full of integrity.

Oddly, they had been rather mischievous, sometimes even naughty boys. They had had their differences, which led to quarrels and rows, occasional fist-fights, as well as heated verbal battles. Their father and she had taught them to sort things out fairly and quietly, not at high voltage. Eventually they had learned to do this.

When they were still quite young, Esther had invented the Saturday night supper, a special meal where they were expected to be on their best behaviour. They enjoyed the delicious meals she concocted and made. It became a ritual the boys loved.

If they had misbehaved earlier in the week, they were banned. This rule brought them up short most of the time. It ensured a better attitude on their parts. None of them wanted to be excluded from the Saturday night get-together. It was a very special treat.

Her gaze settled on Maude, her daughter-in-law, wife to Matthew, mother of James, Rossi and Eddie. She and Philip loved this gentle and caring woman who had created a happy home for her husband and children. Very slender, more so than ever after a bad bout of flu some years before, Maude’s burnished brown hair was shot through with fine threads of silver now, but her deep brown eyes were as expressive as ever and her face as loving.

She welcomed the extra money earned from her clever sewing and had a kind word for everyone. We were lucky yet again, Esther thought, when Maude came strolling into Matthew’s life. She’s added so much love to the family.

If only Harry and George could find lovely women like her. Esther’s spirits dropped slightly when she thought of her two bachelor sons now sitting opposite her. It was her great hope this would soon happen, before they got too set in their ways. She didn’t want them to be lonely, especially in their old age.

It will happen, she decided, and when they least expect it. Some young woman from somewhere will appear, and perhaps they’ll fall in love. She sighed under her breath and pulled herself out of her reverie.

Now Kitty, the senior housemaid, was coming in with a tray which held three soufflés, followed by her two juniors, Fanny and Maureen, also carrying trays of soufflés.

‘Thank you, Kitty,’ Esther said, smiling at her and the other girls. ‘They look wonderful.’

‘Yes, they do indeed,’ Philip added, and the rest of the family nodded in agreement.

‘My mouth is really watering,’ Harry said, wondering what Cook’s secret was. The soufflés had not dropped, were still beautifully risen, even though they had been carried upstairs. Perhaps that was it. They had not been sent up in the dumbwaiter. Rushed up, no doubt, by the maids. Only in a very smart house like this with a cook as talented as Mrs Holmes would they taste something as fancy as a soufflé, and many complimentary comments were made as they ate them. When the roast beef arrived, served with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and Brussels sprouts, the men broke into quiet cheers.

Esther laughed. ‘I’m glad you’re happy,’ she said, looking at her three boys. ‘You all asked if we could have a Sunday lunch on a Saturday night. Cook has obliged.’

FOUR

Alexis Malvern stood on the rise that looked down towards Romney Marsh. It was still shrouded in mist, images blurred, indistinct, but when she lifted her eyes and looked beyond, she saw the sea, and further still the faint outline of the French coast. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she recalled how Sebastian had liked to stand here at dusk, pointing out the lights of a foreign land just across the English Channel. This view at twilight had always delighted him.

For days Kent had been cloudy and wet, and Goldenhurst drenched, muddy underfoot in some areas, the last of the late-blooming flowers wilted and limp. Much of the gardens had suffered and been destroyed by the almost constant rainfall. Now, on this Friday afternoon in the first week of October, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the colour of their bluebells in May, and a light breeze brought freshness to the air.

Turning, she walked across to the corner of the gardens where she and Sebastian had liked to sit in the arbour nestled there. In summer, masses of blue flowers filled this part of the gardens, and invariably she would silently thank Magdalena Ellis, the talented gardener, who had helped Sebastian to create this oasis of natural beauty.

Leaning back against the bench, she closed her eyes, her grief rising up again. He should have been here with her now, as her husband of one year. Perhaps a baby too. The anniversary of his death had brought it all back again, stronger than ever. Her fiancé had been older than her, with grown-up children of his own, but he had been in the prime of his life and no one had expected pneumonia to kill him.

Shaking her head, she attempted to turn her mind to her imminent guests. She couldn’t help wondering if it had been a mistake to invite Jane and Reggie to come for the weekend. There was no doubt in her mind that Jane would start lecturing her once again about why she was living down here in Kent. Or she would start wondering aloud if Alexis was ill and should revisit Doctor Freud in Vienna, asking if Alexis could be heading for another breakdown, perhaps?

A little shiver ran through Alexis at this thought, and she sat up with a jerk, glanced around, blinking.

I’ll have to keep them really busy, she decided, as she slumped back, forcing herself to relax. Two days ago she had written a note to Sebastian’s eldest daughter Claudia, with an invitation for her and her husband to come for the weekend, dispatching Gates, the new driver, to deliver it. He had returned with an acceptance, much to her relief.

At the thought of her friend, Alexis experienced a sudden lifting of her heart, a lightness of spirit that she rarely enjoyed these days. But then Claudia always brought happiness with her and a special kind of love, like that of an adoring sister. And in her lovely face, Alexis saw Sebastian and felt he was with them, which calmed her. Claudia had been the person who had introduced them and she shared in Alexis’s grief for the dynamic man who had died too young.

‘So Reggie’s coming tomorrow afternoon, is that it?’ Alexis asked, pouring more tea in Lady Jane’s cup.

‘That is correct, my dear. He does apologize, most profusely. However, he must see this American fellow, who owns the largest newspaper in New York City. It’s important to Reggie. You know how men are when it comes to business.’

‘I do, yes. And how are your girls? I suppose they must be in Italy by now? Claudia is arriving tomorrow, by the way.’

‘That’s nice. I haven’t seen her for ages. Yes, Jasmine and Lilah are very much enjoying Florence and its treasures. My sister was so keen to take them once the Season finished.’ There was a pause while Lady Jane took a sip of her tea, then asked in a gentle voice, ‘And how is your father? Is he feeling better?’

There was a moment of silence before Alexis answered. ‘Yes, he is. I think he has come to grips with his sorrow about Uncle Joshua dying. And shaken off that fatigue that brought him low. Although he’s still somewhat angry about that awful betrayal by his cousin. However, my father is a practical man and accepts that life can be difficult.’

‘Might we be seeing you in London soon?’ Jane murmured, eyeing her friend carefully. ‘Your father misses you, darling.’

Alexis laughed, shook her head. ‘He’s fine, and he doesn’t miss me at all. He has Jimmy boy to keep him company.’

Staring at her, puzzlement apparent in her eyes, Lady Jane asked, ‘Who on earth is this Jimmy boy … and why do you call him that?’

‘Because that’s the way I think of him. He’s a poor boy my father has always admired … he worked on his father’s stalls at the Malvern Market in Camden, but has always had dreams of … glory, shall we say? Matthew, his father, has forever pushed Jimmy at my father, often suggested that Papa might one day give him a job in the Malvern Company. And naturally my father did just that … during the time I was in Vienna, actually.’

Taken aback, Lady Jane gaped at her, speechless for a moment. Finally she said softly, ‘Doesn’t it trouble you that this Jimmy fellow is there in London, working alongside your father, and you, the heir, are still out here in the depths of Kent?’ Jane had wanted to say doing nothing, but she did not dare.

‘Not really. I think Jimmy boy is a real opportunist, and in a hurry to rush up the ladder. But he’ll only get so far. After all, Jane, it is my company.’

Lady Jane wanted to say: But would she be able to run it, since she lacked experience? But Jane put that question to one side for later. Instead she asked in a neutral voice, ‘So, tell me about Jimmy boy, Alexis. I’m curious that your father is so taken with him. And what’s his real name?’

‘James Falconer, and I admit he’s talented, even clever. I met him when I went to Paris to help my father deal with the wine problem. But I find him bossy and arrogant. And very conceited.’

‘Conceited? So he must be a handsome chap … is he, Alexis?’ Lady Jane probed.

‘Not particularly,’ Alexis said, and changed the subject abruptly.

Lady Jane stood in the sitting room of her suite, staring out of the window. The view of the gardens was extraordinary, although she was not really seeing it. Her mind was caught up in the conversation she had just had with Alexis over afternoon tea.

The situation between Alexis and her father troubled her, and had done for a long time. Until today she had been reluctant to say too much. By nature she was discreet, diplomatic, and only ever wanted to make her friend, all of her friends, in fact, feel happy. She did not wish to present their problems to them on a plate, so to speak, and dissect them.

Jane, born Cadwalander, was a handsome rather than beautiful woman, who dressed strikingly and stylishly to her advantage. Now in her thirties, she was the eldest daughter of the most renowned and brilliant barrister in England’s Courts of Justice, Louis Cadwalander, long considered a great star of the courtroom. When Louis’s wife, Estelle, died unexpectedly and very suddenly, it was to their eldest child he turned. This was his fourteen-year-old daughter, Jane. Very simply, he told her to take charge of the household and run it the way her mother had. Jane did so without flinching. She became the chatelaine, managed the butler, the housekeeper, the maids and the gardeners, and brought up her younger siblings. The children did as they were told and called her The General, at first behind her back and then to her face. And she didn’t mind that, and laughed; she thought of it as a compliment.

When Reggie met her, it was love at first sight for them both, and soon he was calling her The General, too, in the most admiring way. He thought she was quite a marvel. And to him she still was. Now she was his private general, her siblings having grown up, but her own twin sons – their little miracles – were now her charges.

Moving away from the window, Jane settled in an armchair in front of the fire. Her thoughts focused on Alexis Malvern. Deep down inside, Jane was upset with Alexis. She believed it was time she pulled herself together and went back to London, worked alongside her father, learning to run the Malvern business. After all, business in general was now undergoing changes every day; she knew that from Reggie. He had told her the world was changing at a rapid pace.

She sat up straighter in the chair. Falconer! Her husband employed a man called George Falconer on The Chronicle. That’s why she knew the name, which was relatively uncommon. Could they be related? Possibly.

Alexis had spoken in the most derogatory way about James Falconer, calling him Jimmy lad, implying he was out for himself, an opportunist and untrustworthy.

Yet she had met George Falconer a couple of times at events at the newspaper and had found him to be a pleasant, rather attractive man. He was the assistant to H. J. Browning, the royal correspondent. Reggie favoured him and often gave him special pieces to write for the editorial page. George had been extremely polite, with excellent manners, she recalled.

Pushing aside thoughts of the Falconers, Jane made herself more comfortable in the chair and brought her attention back to Alexis and her overall problems. Jane was quite sure that her friend preferred to be at Goldenhurst because it was Sebastian’s own creation. He had redesigned the old farmhouse, even built parts of it himself, and so she felt comfortable here.

And comforted, Jane added under her breath. She feels his presence here. It struck Jane at this precise moment that she herself sometimes felt Sebastian’s presence at Goldenhurst. But this is no life for her. She has to move on … get back to work … learn enough to take charge of the company … she will have to do that one day. And who knows when?

We don’t know anything. Jane understood that only too well. We are in control of our own lives to a certain extent, but in the final analysis life is responsible for what happens to us, she thought, good or bad. And Henry Malvern has been ailing, according to Reggie. Men gossiped just like women; news travelled fast between the many private men’s clubs in London. Henry belonged to Savile’s, as did Reggie. Chitchat about the members prattled around.

If only I knew where to begin. That thought was stuck in her head. Jane had tried in the past year to encourage Alexis to spend more time in London, gently reminding her that her father was getting on in years and needed her. Alexis seemed to understand, would nod, and look sorrowful. She had gone to her father’s aid earlier in the year and made a trip to France – but on her return had abruptly come back to Goldenhurst and refused to change her ways.

‘It’s like she’s drugged,’ Jane muttered to herself. ‘I’ve got to find a way to … shock her into coming to her senses …’

The door was flung open, interrupting her thoughts, and Jane jumped up. Her face was radiant as she ran across the room and flung herself at her husband standing in the doorway.

‘Reggie! Reggie darling! What on earth are you doing here? Oh how lovely. You’ve escaped your American newspaper tycoon. However did you do it, you clever thing?’

Laughing, hugging her closer, Reggie released her and said, ‘I didn’t escape. I’m afraid he had rather a bad accident. He fell in the Strand, and a bobby got him to a hospital. He’s hit his head and gashed it badly.’

‘Oh dear. Were you with him? I mean, how do you know?’

‘Jake told the police and the hospital to contact me. He suggested I go to the country and he would see me next week, since he was now trapped in London … they’re keeping him in bed.’ Taking hold of her arm, he walked her across the room and they both sat down in front of the fire.

‘Lucky for me you brought all my gear down here today,’ Reggie said, smiling at her, then leaning forward, warming his hands against the flames. ‘All I had to do was order the carriage and jump in.’ Happiness flooded his face. ‘So here I am, with the woman I love, sooner than expected.’

Jane reached out and grasped his hand. ‘Did you see Alexis?’

He nodded. ‘I said we’d see her at dinner.’

‘Reggie, there’s something I need to ask you,’ Jane began and then stopped.

He looked at her alertly, catching the tone of her voice, but he replied mildly, ‘Go ahead, ask away.’

‘Does George Falconer have any relatives?’

‘Well I’m sure he has a mother and father,’ Reggie responded, smiling, suddenly looking faintly amused.

‘I know that, of course! Please don’t tease me. This is important. Can you tell me what you know about George? After all he is one of your favourites on the newspaper.’

Nodding, Reggie was thoughtful before saying, ‘He has two brothers. One owns a café; the other, the eldest I believe, has stalls at one of the markets.’

‘What about nieces? Nephews?’

‘I believe he does have some. Actually, I met his oldest nephew some time ago. Bumped into them near the Bettrage Hotel in Mayfair.’

Jane sat waiting, holding her breath, her eyes riveted on her husband.

Lord Reginald was frowning. Eventually he said, ‘Now I remember … they were coming out of the hotel and it was the young man I noticed first. Then suddenly, there was George, speaking to me and introducing the young fellow. I was taken aback, actually.’

‘Why were you surprised?’

‘I was startled by the young man. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said he was the scion of some aristocratic family. Tall, good looking, properly dressed. He had impeccable manners, and what a voice … an actor’s voice.’ Reggie shook his head, and exclaimed, ‘Come to think about it, he had a voice that resembles your father’s. Mellifluous. Put him in a courtroom and – with those looks and that voice – he would be like your father. He’d win every case.’

Jane had a surprised expression on her face, could not speak. After a moment, regaining her equilibrium, she said, ‘Are you sure it was George’s nephew, not someone he was interviewing?’

Laughing, Lord Reginald shook his head rather vehemently. ‘I’m sure. Why does this matter to you, Jane? You are being quite intense about this.’

‘Did he say, “This is my nephew”, or did George introduce him by name?’

‘Both. He said this is my nephew, James Falconer.’ Again Reggie asked, ‘Look, why does this matter so much?’

‘Because James Falconer is Henry Malvern’s right-hand man. He’s been working for him since Alexis went to Vienna to be treated by Dr Sigmund Freud.’

Lord Reggie was silent. After a moment, he took out a cigarette and a match flared. He smoked for a moment or two, then asked, ‘Is she afraid of him? Or has she fallen for him?’

‘Neither, in my opinion. I believe she dislikes him, looks down on him. Certainly she was derogatory when she spoke to me about him today. She thinks he’s an opportunist. She’s using him as a reason why her father no longer needs her help.’

‘I see.’ Reginald, a genius in the world of business and perceptive about people, took a moment before he addressed the matter. ‘I have a feeling that James Falconer is a very decent man, if his uncle is anything to go by. I am quite sure he is ambitious – and what’s wrong with that? He obviously wants to move up in the world. I bet he has been a godsend to Malvern.’ He blew smoke into the air and said, ‘I’m afraid our friend has been something of a fool. Sitting around here mooning … for a dead man.’

‘I agree, Reggie. However, I don’t know how to handle this situation with Alexis any more.’

‘She needs a shock … we have to shock her into coming to her senses. I’ll put my thinking cap on.’ Looking hard at his beautiful, sensible wife, he continued, ‘Now I want to ask you a question, Jane.’

‘I will answer you if I can.’

‘What do you think about Alexis’s view of James Falconer? I know you’ve not met him, but I’ve described his manners, his voice, his general appearance. Be honest with me.’

A reflective look came across her face and settled there. She said, ‘I think Alexis might have felt a pull towards him, regretted that emotion, and grown afraid of him. Alexis ran.’

‘And perhaps she felt guilty regarding Sebastian?’

‘Maybe,’ Jane agreed, and pursed her mouth. ‘She was rather strong about his background; she called him a poor boy and mentioned that he’d worked on the stalls.’

‘That’s just the snob in her coming out. But truthfully, in my opinion, a relationship between them is out of the question.’

‘Don’t you think she’s got to take her responsibilities seriously, Reggie? You’ve got to persuade her to go back and help her father, learn how to run the Malvern Company. It’s her legacy.’

Jane was silent, thinking for a moment. After a pause she said softly, ‘I love Alexis. I want to help her, get her better. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I certainly do. I feel the same, Jane. I really do.’

‘What if she remains stubborn, won’t budge?’

‘Then we’ll just have to leave her to lead the life she chooses. It is her life, after all. Not ours.

FIVE

Early on the misty autumnal Saturday morning, before he went riding with Alexis, Lord Reginald promised his wife he would find a way to get Alexis to go back to London.

This promise had helped to relieve Jane’s anxiety, and now she sat in front of the fire in the library, reading a book, relaxing, enjoying the quiet and being alone. Thus the unexpected knocking on the door startled her; she glanced across at it, frowning. Instantly it opened to reveal Mrs Bellamy standing there, her manner somewhat hesitant.

In an apologetic voice the housekeeper said, ‘So sorry to disturb you, Your Ladyship, but Miss Alexis told me you would give me the menu for supper tonight. If you can spare a moment now, it would be helpful.’

Although she was surprised this task had been left to her, Lady Jane put down her book. ‘Yes, of course, Mrs Bellamy. Do come in.’ As she spoke, Jane stood and walked over to the small desk. ‘Have you had any thoughts about it?’

Walking over to join her, Mrs Bellamy replied at once. ‘I do know His Lordship likes my lobster and fish pie, and I had thought of that for the main course.’

Turning to her, Jane nodded. ‘I like it too, so let’s settle on that, Mrs Bellamy.’ Writing this down on the piece of paper she had taken out of a drawer, Jane then added, ‘It’s a bit chillier today, so why not one of your delicious soups first?’

A smile of pleasure slipped onto the housekeeper’s face. ‘My carrot and ginger soup would be perfect before the pie, m’lady. I’ll do some oysters as a between-course too. And what about a plum clafoutis as a dessert, with a cheeseboard to follow?’

‘Sounds perfect to me. Thank you so much, Mrs Bellamy.’

‘There’s just one other thing, m’lady. What time will Miss Claudia and her husband be arriving this afternoon? In time for tea?’

‘Oh no, they’ll be here for supper. They have to attend an engagement party first, and—’ Jane cut her sentence off abruptly. She glanced at Mrs Bellamy as the sound of carriage wheels rattling on the cobblestones outside in the courtyard was heard.

‘Are you expecting someone, Your Ladyship?’ Mrs Bellamy asked.

‘No, I’m not,’ Jane murmured. Excusing herself, she hurried down the hallway to the front door and opened it.

A look of enormous surprise crossed her face as she stood on the front steps. Well, well, well, she thought.

Walking toward her was a young man in his early twenties, tall and good-looking, with fine features and fair hair.

Lady Jane stepped out into the courtyard and walked forward, smiling at the young man. He extended his hand and said, ‘Let me introduce myself, Lady Carpenter. I am James Falconer, and I’m here at the behest of Mr Malvern. I have a letter from him for Miss Malvern.’

Jane stretched out her hand to him. He shook it, and she said, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Falconer.’

‘It is my pleasure, Your Ladyship. If I could speak to Miss Malvern and give her the letter, I can be on my way, Lady Carpenter.’

‘She’s not here, I’m afraid, but she’ll be back fairly soon. You must come in and wait for her. Come along.’

James did not move an inch, although he did reach into his inside jacket pocket and took out an envelope. ‘Could you please give her this when she returns? I will have to come back later because Mr Malvern needs her answer today.’

‘Why do you say come back? You can wait here for her, Mr Falconer. Unless you have somewhere else to go?’

He did not address her question. Instead he said, ‘I don’t believe Miss Malvern would think that quite appropriate. However, there is one thing I would like if it’s not too much trouble … could the driver take the carriage to the back, please, so the horses can drink some water? He knows Goldenhurst, and where the trough is.’

‘Of course he can, and he might want a drink of water himself, or a cup of tea. And so might you, Mr Falconer,’ Jane exclaimed in a brisk manner.

Before James could respond, Broadbent, the butler arrived. ‘Can I help with anything, m’lady?’

‘I think the horses might need water. Oh, and Broadbent, this is Mr Falconer. He runs the Malvern Company for Mr Malvern.’

Broadbent inclined his head and smiled at James, and said to Jane, ‘I know this driver, Your Ladyship. It’s Bolland. He works for Mr Malvern.’

‘Very good, Broadbent. Thank you. Now that is settled, let’s go into the house, Mr Falconer.’

James had no option but to walk alongside Jane and enter the house. She led him along the corridor and into the library. ‘I won’t be a moment,’ she told him, and hurried off.

James looked around the library with interest, admiring the simplicity of the decor, which was clean-lined and soothing. Walking over to the window, he looked out, thinking how well the gardens had been planned. They must be a riot of colour in the summer, he thought.

A moment later, he turned around when Jane entered the room. ‘Please, do come and sit down, Mr Falconer. Mrs Bellamy is making a pot of tea.’

‘Thank you, Lady Carpenter. That is very kind of you.’ He took a seat in the armchair opposite her, and smiled.

She smiled back and couldn’t believe the colour of his eyes. They were as blue as cornflowers. Realizing she was staring at him, she said swiftly, ‘I know your uncle George. Well, I’ve met him a few times, to be accurate. My husband likes his work, especially his editorials.’

‘That’s such a nice thing to hear. I know Uncle George loves The Chronicle. My grandmother is always saying he’ll never get married because he’s married to his newspaper.’

Jane laughed, fascinated by the ease, grace and confidence she discerned in this very good-looking young man. And wondering why Alexis had been so nasty about him. She suddenly knew it had nothing to do with Falconer, in the sense that he was more than likely innocent of any wrongdoing. The fault was probably with Alexis and her troubled mind.

James said, ‘I grew up in Kent as a small child, and my great-grandfather, Edward, owned a grocery shop in Rochester. Anyway, it is a beautiful county, especially around here.’

‘It is indeed. I love it too. Although we have a house near Cirencester, I still enjoy it here.’

‘May I ask you a question, Lady Carpenter?’

‘Yes, please do. I’ll answer if I can.’

‘I couldn’t help wondering why you told Mr Broadbent that I ran the Malvern Company.’

‘Because you do, don’t you? I know Mr Malvern is not well at all, his brother Joshua is dead, his cousin Percy is missing. And his heir, Miss Malvern, is mostly here at Goldenhurst. That leaves you, as I see it, in charge.’

‘I think Mr Malvern does very well, under the present circumstances, Lady Carpenter. I would prefer to say it’s a joint effort, and we do have another good man, Peter Keller, who has taken charge of the Wine Division.’ He leaned forward slightly, staring at her. ‘I wouldn’t want Miss Malvern to think … that I was …’ His voice trailed off and he just shook his head.

Jane thought, oh God, he’s right. She’ll think he really is an opportunist, and I’m sure he isn’t. After a moment Jane gave a small chuckle and, trying to make light of it, she finished his sentence for him. ‘She might think you’re getting too big for your boots … that’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?’

He nodded and leaned back in the chair. ‘I try to do my best,’ he said, and then added, ‘Basically, I’m following in my great-grandfather’s footsteps. I love retailing and I hope to open my own shop one day. A shop like Fortnum and Mason in Piccadilly. That’s my ambition.’

‘I love Fortnum’s!’ Lady Jane exclaimed, and thought to add, ‘And I’ll be your first customer.’

At this moment, Mrs Bellamy came in with the tea tray. Once she had poured for them, she left with a smile and a nod, taking with her the menu Jane had left on the desk.

Jane said, ‘I hope I’m not intruding into your life, Mr Falconer, but it sounds to me as if you are planning quite a different career for yourself … what I mean is, it sounds as if you will be leaving Malvern’s.’ She raised a brow and gave him a penetrating look.

‘You’re not intruding, Lady Carpenter. Everyone knows about my dream … but I won’t leave Mr Malvern until he’s really well again. I wouldn’t let him down.’

‘I believe I already know that,’ Jane said, and changed the subject, asking James if he had any hobbies.

He chuckled at the question and said, ‘It’s perhaps the same as yours, Lady Carpenter.’ He glanced at the book on the desk. ‘I love reading, and I’m especially devoted to Dickens. Are you enjoying Our Mutual Friend?’

Jane did not answer at once, thinking that James Falconer was full of surprises. Finally she said, ‘Yes, I am. Who cannot love his marvellous books?’

The sound of horses’ hooves clattering in the yard announced the arrival of Lord Reginald and Alexis. Jane nodded at the window and said, ‘They have returned from their ride around the estate … Miss Alexis and my husband are about to join us.’

SIX

James, knowing intuitively that Alexis would be angry that he was here at Goldenhurst, immediately stood up. Reaching into his jacket, he took out the letter.

Lady Jane, her eyes fixed on him, saw how intelligent and clever he was. There was no doubt in her mind that he understood Alexis and her complicated mind, her ever-changing moods.

Clearing her throat, Jane looked at James, and said, ‘That’s the best idea. Give her the letter at once to prevent any aggravation on her part.’

He simply nodded and glanced towards the door as it burst open, and Alexis and Lord Reginald came in from their ride.

They were both obviously completely taken aback at the sight of James. Alexis stopped suddenly, her expression one of alarm. However, Lord Reginald, experienced man of the world that he was, hurried forward, his hand outstretched.

‘Falconer, isn’t it? How nice to see you again!’ he exclaimed, shaking hands with James.

‘Thank you, Lord Carpenter,’ James said in a calm and steady voice. ‘I came on behalf of Mr Malvern. He is quite well, but he wanted to be in touch with Miss Malvern.’ He took a step forward, offering the letter to Alexis.

As she took it, she tossed her riding cane and hat to one side and said, ‘You could have just left it with Lady Carpenter and returned to London. You didn’t have to hang around here.’

Jane flinched at the undercurrent of anger in Alexis’s voice, and glanced at her husband, who looked nonplussed at this rudeness.

James said, ‘I had to wait for your answer, Miss Malvern. Those were your father’s instructions, and he told me he wishes to have your reply in writing.’

This last comment appeared to surprise Alexis, her face changing. She simply answered, ‘Oh, I see. I’ll be back in a moment.’ Looking at Jane, she added, ‘Excuse me,’ and left without another word.

Once they were alone, Lord Reggie stared at Jane and raised a brow. ‘Bit abrupt, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Turning to James, she went on, ‘Let’s not stand here waiting.’ She motioned to James. ‘Please, sit down, Mr Falconer, and you, too, darling,’ she finished, smiling at her husband.

Both men did as she suggested, and after a moment, pushing down his annoyance with Alexis, Reggie said, ‘It’s almost tea-time, Jane. Ring for Mrs Bellamy or Broadbent, would you please? Falconer must be hungry, and he’s got a long trip ahead of him this afternoon.’

James shook his head vehemently. ‘That is a very kind thought, Lord Carpenter, but I must leave when Miss Malvern comes back with her reply. Her father is very anxious to have her thoughts on a certain matter.’

‘I understand!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘Only too well.’ Rising, she continued, ‘Please excuse me for a few minutes. I am going to ask Mrs Bellamy to make sandwiches for you and the driver, and bottles of hot tea. She’ll pack everything in a small hamper and you can enjoy it on the return trip.’

‘Oh really, Lady Carpenter, that’s not necessary. You don’t have to go to all that trouble,’ James said, looking suddenly worried.

‘Yes, I do,’ Jane responded as she left the library, closing the door quietly behind her.

Lord Reginald moved to sit in a chair closer to James, and confided, ‘For eight hundred years the Carpenters have been known for their generosity and kindness to others, and especially for their hospitality. You don’t think I’m going to let someone else who’s not a Carpenter besmirch our reputation, do you?’

When James merely nodded his understanding, Lord Reginald added, with a wry smile, ‘I’m afraid some people, when they’re upset, are not quite themselves, do odd things, even behave badly. Just put Miss Malvern’s rudeness down to that, Falconer.’

‘I certainly will, Lord Carpenter. I haven’t taken offence.’

‘Is Mr Malvern in good health?’ Lord Reginald now asked, giving James a penetrating look. The urgency of the letter was troubling him.

‘He is. Though he has been a long time recovering from his fatigue. But we’re doing various new things in his business, and he urgently needs some signatures and approval from Miss Alexis. That’s all I can tell you, sir.’

‘I understand.’

Reginald Carpenter was a good judge of character, and he had been impressed with James’s demeanour, his quiet steadiness when confronted with Alexis and her curtness. After a moment, he said, ‘Do you like your job at the Malvern Company, Falconer?’

‘I do, yes, sir.’

‘If ever you want a change, come and see me on my paper.’

James smiled, obviously quite flattered. ‘I’m afraid I can’t write, Lord Carpenter. I’m not gifted like my Uncle George. But I do appreciate your very kind offer.’

‘I know you’re not a journalist,’ Lord Reggie said. ‘But we have a division called Management and I know you would fit in very well there. I think you are most probably a good businessman and could tackle any number of problems.’

‘Thank you for this extraordinary gesture, Lord Carpenter. But I think it’s best for me to stick with retailing.’

Lord Reginald inclined his head. ‘Consider the offer always there, Falconer. You see, I like the cut of your jib.’

At this moment, Lady Jane came into the library, her face calmer and her eyes smiling again. ‘Mrs Bellamy is doing her best to pack the hamper quickly—’

Jane broke off as Alexis followed her into the room, holding an envelope.

James was already on his feet, as was Lord Reggie.

‘Here is the response to my father’s letter, Falconer,’ Alexis said, her voice not quite as strident as earlier, but her tone still cool.

James took it from her, and inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Miss Malvern. I shall be going now.’

Alexis simply nodded, and walked to the other side of the library, where she stood looking out of the window.

Lady Jane glanced at her husband then said, ‘Come along, Mr Falconer. I will take you to the stables round the back of the house, where your carriage is waiting.’

‘Thank you, Lady Carpenter,’ James replied with a smile. ‘And thank you also for your kind hospitality earlier.’

As the two of them walked towards the door, Lord Reginald said, ‘Wait for me, I’m coming with you.’

The three of them walked to the stable block in silence. It was only when they entered the cobbled yard that Lady Jane spoke. ‘I’m so sorry that Miss Malvern seems out of sorts …’ She let her voice trail off, not wishing to make apologies for her hostess, who had behaved badly.

Lord Reginald shook James’s hand before he stepped up into the waiting carriage. ‘Good to see you again, Falconer. Remember what I said.’

‘Thank you, sir. I won’t forget.’

Jane and Reginald, watching the carriage roll out of the yard, then finally turned and looked at each other as it went out of the gates.

It was Jane who spoke first. ‘You like Falconer. You offered him a job, didn’t you?’

‘As good as. Told him to come and talk to me if he tires of Malvern’s. I think he’s first rate, Jane. His self-control, his confidence, his impeccable manners are everything I need in my executives, wonderful qualities. Don’t you agree?’

‘I do indeed. He’s a very nice young man. Rather exceptional, in my opinion.’

‘Damned right he is, and I can’t believe how rude Alexis was to him. She was awful. I hope she doesn’t behave like that at the Malvern Company.’

‘You seem to have forgotten she doesn’t go to work there any more,’ said Jane with a laugh. ‘I fully believe James Falconer runs the company, and that he’s Henry’s right-hand man.’

‘Then she’s a fool, not going to attend to her business … the one she’ll inherit one day. However, would any woman truly be able to run such a company, with several different divisions?’

Jane shook her head. ‘I don’t know. She was very involved in it before she became engaged to Sebastian. And I do think she’s getting worse, more introspective … she seems to be hiding down here, and she’s still focused on Sebastian. Sadly.’

‘As I said, we must find a way to shock her into thinking of her future, get her to move on, unless you believe she should return to Vienna to see Dr Freud.’

‘I don’t think that would help. We must come up with something … important to her … something that might be at risk,’ Jane said.

Lord Reggie came to a stop and turned to his wife to face her. ‘I don’t know what that could be, but I’ll do some hard thinking. Right now, I’d like to go back to the house and up to the nursery. I haven’t seen my heirs since breakfast.’

Jane smiled at him, her face suddenly radiant. ‘This is the perfect time. They’ll have had their afternoon nap, and be ready to smile and gurgle at you, and happily kick their legs in the air.’

Laughing, suddenly feeling much more cheerful, Reggie took hold of Jane’s hand. Together they walked back inside, happily silent, and went up to the nursery to see their twin sons, Sebastian and Keir, whom Reggie often referred to as his ‘little miracles’.

It was during supper, later that night, that Lord Reginald had a brainwave.

Claudia and her husband, Cornelius Glendenning, known as Connie to his friends, had arrived just in time for supper. Halfway through the main course, Claudia made a reference to a fact Reggie had forgotten.

She was explaining to her husband that her father had loved this house, and had built part of it himself. Like everyone else who heard this, Connie was taken by surprise.

‘I can’t imagine Sebastian on a ladder with a hammer or a paintbrush. He was far too elegant,’ Connie said. ‘Mind you he was full of surprises, often doing the unexpected.’

As Reggie listened to this brief discussion between Sebastian’s eldest daughter and her husband about Goldenhurst, the relaxed farmhouse that Sebastian had loved so much, it came to him. Reggie suddenly knew what to do, what would shock Alexis to the core. But not yet. The timing had to be right.

He felt himself relaxing, some of the tension of earlier dissipating. Both he and Jane worried about Alexis. What troubled them most was this change in her personality. Once full of charm, she was now often cantankerous.

That had certainly risen to the surface with Falconer. Perhaps it wasn’t hatred for him at all. Two sides to a coin, his grandmother Carpenter often said, pointing out that love and hate went together.

The thought lingered in Reggie’s head all through supper, knowing Alexis the way he did. If she was attracted to Falconer, she would also feel guilty because she had loved Sebastian so much. But Sebastian had now been dead for over a year, and he of all people would have wanted her to start a new life.

We shall see, we shall see, Reggie thought as he sipped the red wine, one of Sebastian’s best. The first thing was to see if Alexis would give up this self-imposed isolation from society and immersion in her grief. It might have suited Queen Victoria, but it was quite the wrong course for a woman like Alexis.

SEVEN

‘Well, that’s that,’ Henry Malvern said, looking across at James. ‘She’s not coming back.’ He held the letter in his hand for a moment longer and then threw it in the grate.

The two men were sitting in front of a blazing fire in the library of Henry Malvern’s house early on Saturday evening. The roads from Kent had been empty and Bolland had made it in excellent time.

It was James who broke the silence when he said, ‘Does she mean never? Or maybe in a few months?’

‘The latter, as ever,’ Henry responded quietly, and then shook his head. ‘But I’m beginning to think she will never come back … that she’s stringing me along. How say you, Falconer?’

‘It’s hard to answer that question, sir. Deep down inside, I believe she will realize she has a responsibility to you. And I know she thinks of Malvern’s as her company. Also, I have a feeling she might eventually get bored sitting in the depths of the Kentish countryside. And as the months pass she might start looking to the future, finally leaving the grief behind.’

‘I hope so, for her sake. What kind of life is it, longing for a dead man?’ He sighed deeply. ‘I thought she had started to recover after her spell in Vienna, that when she visited France with you on my behalf she was ready to return to the company. No one expected her to vanish again. When I wrote today, urgently needing her approval on the Hull plans and her signature, I thought I’d told her enough about the plans for the future, the things we were doing in order to encourage her, to excite her, to push her into coming back … but apparently not.’ Throwing James another questioning glance, he asked, ‘How was Alexis anyway? Did she look well? Was she dowdy or glamorous? Was she alone or did she have guests?’

‘Yes, she did have guests, Mr Malvern. Lord and Lady Carpenter were there and she was expecting Mr and Mrs Glendenning. She didn’t look dowdy, but she certainly wasn’t what I’d call glamorous in her appearance. She had been riding and was dressed in the appropriate habit, still in mourning colours, of course. However, she appeared to be well …’ James paused for a moment, wondering how truthful to be. He decided he was going to tell Mr Malvern exactly what happened.

James announced, ‘I’m afraid she wasn’t particularly happy to see me. She was a bit rude, actually. I let it float over my head, so to speak, and gave her your letter. I waited for her reply and she was glad to see the back of me, I do know that, sir.’

‘I’m sorry she was rude, Falconer. You didn’t deserve such treatment, since you were there at my request. But I’ve noticed those angry moods when she has been here in London. Not like her at all … not as she used to be, I mean.’

‘It’s surprising to me she wasn’t excited about the idea of a new arcade in Hull,’ James volunteered. ‘Building something is always a great venture, even an adventure. I can’t wait for next year, when we start the construction.’

‘Once we’ve found the site,’ Henry reminded him. ‘I hope we’re ready for the trip up there next week, since your cousin William now has a few good sites for us to view.’

‘I’ll write to him, sir, and tell him to expect us next Tuesday or Wednesday. Which day do you prefer?’

‘Tuesday, and if we have to stay on we will, and come back later in the week.’ Henry sighed again and sadness slipped into his eyes. After a moment or two staring into the fire, he said, ‘If Alexis doesn’t want the company, doesn’t want to come and supervise the running of it, even while we’re in Hull, if she can’t do that herself …’ He stopped, seemed to choke up. But he shrugged and finished, ‘I suppose I should think of selling it.’

‘Don’t sell it, Mr Malvern. I feel certain Alexis will come to her senses, be back here sooner than you believe.’

Henry rose and walked across to the drinks table, poured cognac into two balloons and carried them back to the fireside. ‘Here you are, Falconer, a bit of good old Napoleon. I want to make a toast to the new arcade in Hull.’

James was not a big drinker, but he took the brandy balloon and clinked his glass to Mr Malvern’s. ‘To the new Malvern arcade.’

‘In the City of Gaiety,’ Henry added, and took a swallow of the brandy. ‘And to all of our other projects,’ he added.

James smiled, took a sip of the drink and felt a slight burning in the back of his throat. ‘I suppose you are going to spend what’s left of tonight with your parents,’ Henry murmured, cutting into James’s thoughts.

‘Yes, I am, sir, when I leave here. I enjoy being at home with my family.’

A fleeting smile crossed Henry’s face and was gone. ‘I wish I could say the same,’ he said in a wistful voice. ‘Anyway, Bolland will drive you to Camden Town.’

Paying attention to him and listening to him carefully, James felt a sudden twinge of sadness for Henry Malvern, who was undoubtedly rather lonely. And then it turned into a surge of genuine anger about Alexis, who was being unkind to her father, strange in her behaviour towards him. It was as if she were unaware of his existence these days.

Finally he said, ‘Thank you for offering the carriage, sir. I’m grateful for your kindness.’

Although he arrived late, Rossi was so happy to see her brother, she hugged him tightly for a good few minutes, before standing away and staring at him. ‘You get better and better,’ she said, laughing, holding onto his arm. ‘You look like … a shiny new penny, James Lionel Falconer, and I’m proud to be your sister.’

‘Adoring sister,’ Eddie corrected her, grinning at his older brother. ‘And I agree with her – you gleam, Jimmy, but maybe more like a brass button than a penny.’

James couldn’t help laughing at Eddie’s comment. After squeezing his younger brother’s shoulder affectionately, he walked forward into the cosy kitchen. He stood with his back to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the fire blazing up the chimney.

He glanced around, loving everything about this room in which he had grown up: the copper pots, pans and moulds hanging on a wall, gleaming brightly in the light from the gas lamps. The long oak table under the window was set for supper, with ten chairs squeezed around it; closer to him were the big armchairs facing the fire. One of the old leather chairs was his father’s favourite; it was where he sat and read the newspaper, enjoyed a glass of beer, finally relaxing after being on his feet all day in the Malvern market. It was Eddie who helped him on the stalls these days.

He smiled to himself, remembering the many times he had sat at that long table, reading a book, or helping Eddie with his reading and writing.

He never had to help his sister, who was quite the scholar. When it came to history, English, writing essays and stories, no one could surpass her. Rossi’s sewing was even better in a certain sense. The shawls she made were intricately put together so that they looked like works of art. In fact, he thought they were Art with a capital ‘A’.

James loved Rossi very much, and admired her talent. Over the last few years she had developed into a really good designer. His mother worked with her and, in the past year, he had convinced Rossi to hire some of the local women to help out with shawls, scarves, and capes. Sewing was a national hobby. Every woman in England sewed; the women Rossi had selected from the area of Camden were good at what they did, and Rossi was thriving.

Glancing across at Rossi now, James said in a warm and loving tone, ‘The last few shawls you made were so beautiful, Rossi. The way you place various fabrics at angles … sort of like a patchwork, but somehow better.’

‘Thank you, James,’ Rossi responded with a quick, pleased smile.

She walked over to the cupboard and took out the rest of the glasses and plates. James joined her, and they placed them at each setting, to finish the table.

Eddie left his own special little corner to one side of the fireplace, where he kept his easel and paintbrushes. He always had a canvas he was at work on, painting being his passion.

‘I’m glad Grandma and Grandpa are here tonight,’ Eddie said, coming to stand next to his brother, smiling up at him.

‘So am I,’ James replied. ‘How lucky we are that the Honourable Mister and Lady Agatha are in Europe for two months, which means our grandparents are free to join us on Saturdays. I’m just sorry I’m so late.’

Rossi nodded. ‘It’s like a gift, having them here. Uncle George and Uncle Harry have also arrived. They’re in the front room. With Father.’

‘So Uncle Harry isn’t making the supper tonight?’ James asked, surprise echoing in his voice.

‘No, we did it,’ Eddie announced.

‘Mother has been supervising us,’ Rossi explained. ‘She’s just changing her frock. She’ll be down in a few minutes.’

‘You should have told me that the other day,’ James said. ‘Forewarned is forearmed.’

‘I made a lamb stew this morning and cooked it with carrots, parsnips and chopped onions, plus a few herbs. Now that you’re here I’ll put it back in the oven.’

‘I’ll go and greet everyone,’ James smiled at her. ‘But come and get me if you need me.’

When the entire Falconer family came together for their Saturday night suppers, it was always a joyous occasion. Tonight was no exception: they loved each other and were proud of their endeavours and achievements, and revelled in being with each other. They hadn’t seen Philip and Esther since the supper at the Montague London house, and everyone was relieved to see that their grandfather was moving around freely on crutches now.

Philip, still with a cast on his leg, was full of praise for Matthew’s stalls, for James and his success at the Malvern Company and Eddie for his artistic efforts. He also complimented his two other sons, remarking on George’s latest story for The Chronicle and pointing out, with pride in his voice, that Harry was about to open a fully fledged restaurant at last. He added that he was happy Harry was keeping the name Rendezvous, which was what his café was also called.

‘Because everyone has loved the café, they’ll recognize the name and come rushing over. You will be flooded with customers.’

Everyone laughed. Picking up his glass of red wine, which he always chose over the beer the other men drank, Philip toasted the women present. His wife Esther, his daughter-in-law Maude, and his granddaughter Rossi. The men joined in, full of smiles.

The stew had been relished, called the best they’d ever eaten, and seconds were served. Later, it was Maude and Esther who cut slices of apple pie and covered them with Bird’s custard. The finishing touch was a cup of coffee for those who enjoyed it.

Surveying the table at one moment, looking at each and every member of his family, James Lionel Falconer understood how lucky he was to be part of this clan. In their different ways, they were all quite wonderful. And very special. He loved them and they loved him, and that was all that mattered. Whatever was unfolding in his work, they would support him. If he chose not to take up the extraordinary chance Henry Malvern had offered him, the chance to move on from working the market to being in business, he knew his family would champion him, however risky it might seem. And as for Alexis Malvern? His eyes rested on his parents, Matthew and Maude. The love they had was what he yearned for some day – a love that was kind and true. And nothing about Alexis Malvern made him believe he would find it with her.

PART TWO

EIGHT

James Falconer stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, giving himself the once-over. He nodded and decided he looked correct, finally admitted he liked his new dark navy-blue suit after all. It had been an investment he’d felt he needed to make, but he’d had to save hard for it.

Straightening his dark navy cravat, he turned away from the mirror and left the bedroom, taking out his pocket watch as he did so. It was exactly five minutes to five. He realized he might as well go down to the street. His colleague and friend Peter Keller was picking him up in a carriage in a few minutes.

He locked the door of the small flat behind him and ran down the stairs. It was a lovely June afternoon. The sun was still shining in a clear blue sky above the tall thin Georgian houses that lined their street, many of them given over to lodgings and apartments like his uncle’s. As he stood on the front steps of their building, he suddenly grinned at the sight of Uncle George walking towards him.

‘Well, well, well, don’t you look the toff,’ George said, also grinning. ‘And where are you off to, all dressed up and fit to kill?’ Then he frowned. ‘Must be somewhere special, you’re usually working till midnight.’

‘I’m going to a supper for Natalya Parkinson – Natalie, as we call her outside the office – who works at Malvern’s, as you know. Her aunt is Mrs Lorne, the well-known philanthropist. She’s giving a little celebration because Mr Malvern has put Natalie on the Hull team.’ James winked. ‘At my suggestion. She’s going to work with me on the building of the new arcade, as my assistant.’

‘Good for you, I feel pleased you know how to delegate. You got Keller promoted. I know that.’

James nodded. ‘The Wine Division needed someone to take over. And he deserved it. Look, here he comes now. At least I think he’s in this carriage coming down the street. We’re going together.’

When the carriage came to a stop, the window came down, and Peter Keller looked out at them.

‘Good evening,’ he said, opening the door. To James he murmured, ‘I didn’t know your uncle was coming.’

‘He’s not. He’s just arrived back from the newspaper.’ James squeezed George’s arm and said, ‘See you later, Uncle George.’

‘Have a good time, lads. Nice to see you, Keller,’ George answered and went into the building.

Climbing into the carriage, James sat down opposite Peter Keller and pulled the door closed. Settling against the seatback, he said, ‘I’m very glad you agreed to come. You seemed a bit hesitant at first.’

‘I think I was. I don’t know any of the other guests. Only Miss Parkinson.’ He gave James a sheepish look, and added, ‘Whom I like a lot, actually.’

James smiled. ‘I know you do, and I suspect Natalie likes you too.’

‘How do you know? Did she tell you?’

‘In not so many words, but I picked up on it. Trust me.’

‘I do. Implicitly.’ Keller leant forward, frowning a little. ‘Can you tell me something about the other guests? Of course, I know who her aunt is – Mrs Lorne, who does a great deal of charity work. I believe she gives a lot of time and money to good causes.’

‘That’s true. She’s married to an American banker, who is of like mind. Also, they’re both hospitable. But I think he’s in New York at the moment. Irina is Natalie’s younger sister. I know she designs evening gowns, and their brother is a scenic designer for the theatre. His name’s Alexander, but they call him Sandro. The last guest I know of is Aubrey Williamson. He’s a barrister.’

‘So you can help me through,’ Keller remarked. He sat back against the seat and explained, ‘I’m always a bit shy socially, especially when I’m meeting new people.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t really know why, unless it’s because I was an only child and we didn’t socialize very much.’

‘That’s probably the reason. But you’ll be fine this evening. Just stick close to me. We’ll circulate, do the best we can.’

‘That I will,’ Keller told him.

James simply smiled and glanced out of the window. The carriage was going in the direction of Chelsea, where the Lorne house was located. He had only been there a few times. He was glad to have the company of Peter. Over the past year, they had become close friends, often had supper together, and went to the theatre or the variety shows. They lived in an overwhelmingly man’s world, one in which men socialized together, and travelled abroad or in England, supporting each other, enjoying large or small get-togethers.

He himself missed his cousin, William Venables, who still lived in Hull and rarely came to London. He smiled inwardly. Now that the Hull arcade was under way, he would see more of William, he hoped.

Keller had had a sad life as a child, James knew that. His parents had been killed in an accident in India, and he had been brought back to England by his nanny. The two of them had lived with his maternal grandmother. She had loved him, looked after him well, but he had been a lonely boy. For all that, he was quietly friendly and was one of the best-informed people James knew. Keller was a voracious reader, devoured books, and was always seeking knowledge. He had told James there had been a truly nice teacher at Rugby, who had mentored him, been a big influence on him in those years. ‘Mr Parsons helped me to open up,’ he had told him once. ‘He gave me self-confidence and told me to value myself, to have the belief that I could do anything if I really tried.’

James was convinced that that teacher at Rugby had put Peter Keller on the right path and that was why he had done so well at Malvern’s. Certainly he had got the Wine Division back on track this past year, for which James was grateful. Peter was twenty-three and would soon be twenty-four, but at times he seemed older than that. Perhaps because of his childhood years. Shorter than James, he had dark hair and a serious face.

How lucky I am, James suddenly thought. I have a big family around me, who have always been there for me, had my back, and given me the greatest start in life. Last month, at the end of May, they had celebrated his twentieth birthday with love and generosity.

‘I believe we’ve arrived,’ Peter Keller announced as the carriage came to a stop.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, James agreed. ‘Indeed we have,’ he said. ‘So, brace yourself Keller! Let’s go inside and knock ’em dead!’

Francesca Lorne paused under the arched entrance to the drawing room, catching her breath in surprise and pleasure. The late afternoon sun was slowly fading, its last rays filling the room with sudden brilliant light, giving it a burnished look. Everything gleamed.

It occurred to her that the room looked different this evening and, of course, it did. Irina, her niece, had been at work. She had filled it with numerous vases of flowers, rearranged certain objects of art, and put new cushions on the sofas and chairs; done one of her ‘fix-ups’, as she called them. Irina could do wonders with quite ordinary things, bringing new life to any room in this house.

Francesca loved Irina and her sister Natalya, as if they were her own daughters. And, in a sense, they were. She and her husband Michael were childless and had brought them up for the past eleven years and had helped to make them who they were today.

When Francesca’s brother, Maurice, and his Russian wife, Kat, had decided to move to Shanghai, the girls had not wanted to go. They had begged their parents to let them stay in London with their aunt and uncle.

Francesca and Michael were genuinely happy to become their guardians and to bring them into their home to live with them. Maurice and Kat had been relieved and touched by this generous offer, and the girls had been well educated and looked after with great care and affection. Natalie, at twenty-five the elder of the two, had sometimes mothered Irina to a certain extent. But it was to Aunt Francesca that they usually turned for advice. Now grown-up young women, they were lovely to look at and a joy to be around. They still lived at the Chelsea house with their aunt and uncle.

The sound of a carriage coming to a stop outside made Francesca turn around. She saw Violet, the housekeeper, hurrying across the hall to the front door. Natalie and Irina were coming down the staircase, as usual well dressed and perfectly groomed, Natalie wearing a fashionably cut dress in palest yellow silk and Irina a gown made from a pretty cream silk with tiny green sprigs.

The two of them were smiling broadly as they stopped next to Aunt Cheska, as they called her. At the same moment, Violet opened the front door to admit James Falconer and Peter Keller.

After introductions had been made, Francesca ushered them all into the drawing room. ‘Let us wait in here for the other guests to arrive … I’m so pleased you are punctual. It always upsets Cook when we have latecomers – she doesn’t like to have her best dishes ruined.’

Keller, wanting to join in and be sociable immediately, said, ‘I understand how Cook feels. After all the great effort she must put in, it would be such a disappointment for her.’

Francesca smiled at him warmly. ‘I like thoughtful young men. Now come along, Mr Keller, and tell me all about yourself. Let’s sit over there by the French doors.’

James quickly glanced around the drawing room. He had seen great beauty and stylishness but had not yet had any time to take in the details. Primrose-yellow walls, touches of pinks and greens, a marvellous airiness and pale colours which were uplifting. He had never seen a room quite like this before, and unexpectedly he felt a sudden lightness of spirit. He was always aware of his surroundings. He preferred beautiful places, which soothed him.

Aware of someone beside him, he turned around swiftly. Irina Parkinson stood next to him. He stared at her, seeing her properly for the first time. She was tall and svelte, and her abundant brown hair was swept up into a mass of silky curls on top of her head. Her eyes were remarkable: very dark, framed by thick lashes. While she was not a great beauty in the current fashion, Irina had lovely features, and her dark eyes and high cheekbones gave her an exotic look that he found fascinating. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude … I’m afraid I got caught up with this room. It’s lovely, Miss Parkinson.’

‘I’m glad you like it, Mr Falconer, and you weren’t rude, not at all.’

‘So many flowers, so many unique objects.’ He glanced at a mahogany table and asked, ‘What are these objects here? I’ve never seen anything like them, not even at the estate sales I used to go to in the country with my father years ago.’

Irina stepped closer to the table and beckoned to him. ‘They are icons,’ she explained. ‘Pictures of a sacred or sanctified person. They are traditional to the Eastern Christian church, especially the Russian church.’

‘They are so beautifully painted, every detail perfect and in such rich colours. As for the frames, they are works of art in themselves,’ James said, peering at the icons. ‘And there are so many. Obviously your aunt collects them,’ he finished, straightening, looking at her.

‘No, she doesn’t, actually. These icons belong to me and Natalie. They were given to us by our mother. She uses the name Kat, but she was christened Ekaterina. You see, she is descended from the Shuvalovs, as are we. We are half-Russian through our mother’s side of the family.’

James nodded. ‘Of course. Now I remember! Your sister did once make a remark to me about being from an old Russian family, but she never told me anything more, nor alluded to it again. It was something said in passing, and it never came up later.’

He felt a sudden pull to her, wanting to know her better.

Realizing he was staring at her, he went on quickly. ‘So how did an old Russian family come to live in London?’

She was silent for a moment or two, gazing at him.

James said, ‘I do apologize. I must sound very nosy and rude. It’s just that—’

She interrupted him with a small, quiet laugh and shook her head. ‘No, not in the slightest. I am happy to tell you the whole story. And I’d better make it quick before the other guests arrive.

‘It was my great-grandfather, Konstantin Shuvalov, who first came here. He was a courtier in the Romanov court, and was posted here in 1850 as the Russian ambassador to London. My great-grandmother was called Zenia and they had one son, my grandfather, Nicholas Shuvalov. My great-grandfather had been educated at Eton and so he sent his son there too, ensuring he spoke excellent English. Nicholas was the father of my mother Kat and her sister Olga, who now lives in Russia.’

Irina broke off as she heard voices echoing in the hall and noticed her aunt hurrying across the room.

‘Excuse me, Mr Falconer, but I have to go and greet the new arrivals. I’ll tell you more about the Shuvalovs later.’

‘I’ll hold you to that!’ James exclaimed.

Irina turned around and smiled at him. It was a lovely smile that filled her face with radiance.

James smiled back and felt his heart lifting, something he had not experienced for a few years.

After the three women went out into the entrance hall, Keller joined James, who had remained standing next to the mahogany table where the icons were displayed. Keller was immediately interested in them. After studying them for a moment, he said, ‘What a splendid collection of icons! Many of them must be very old, I think, and highly valuable.’

‘I didn’t even know what they were,’ James admitted, pursing his mouth, shaking his head. ‘You are truly amazing, Keller. Your knowledge is extraordinary.’

‘Mrs Lorne must enjoy collecting them,’ Keller answered, as usual low-key.

‘Oh, they’re not hers, actually,’ James informed him. ‘I thought the same as you, but Irina told me they belong to her and Natalie. Their mother gave the icons to them. You see, through their mother’s side of the family, they are descended from the Shuvalovs, apparently a well-known and ancient Russian family. Their great-grandfather was the Russian ambassador to London in the 1850s.’

‘How interesting – so he was here during the Crimean War. He was probably glad to be well away from the area, just as many Russian intellectuals are now – fleeing the censorship that has been imposed by Alexander III.’

Impressed by his friend’s knowledge, James fell silent as their hostess returned with her nieces, ushering three other people into the drawing room. Her nephew Sandro, the elder brother of her nieces at twenty-eight, was followed by a good-looking couple. James felt certain they were Aubrey and Rebecca Williamson.

After greetings and introductions had been made, Francesca Lorne led the Williamsons down to the far end of the room, opening the French doors which revealed the garden. They went outside together.

James stepped forward to speak to Irina’s brother, greeting Alexander by his surname, as was the custom. ‘I’m delighted to see you, Parkinson. Natalie tells me you’re doing the scenery for a new play.’

‘Pleasure to see you here tonight, Falconer,’ Alexander answered. ‘And I haven’t quite made my deal yet. However, I am hoping.’ Glancing at Keller, who was talking to Irina, obviously about the icons, he went on. ‘Your colleague appears to be a nice chap.’ Lowering his voice, he added, ‘I have a feeling Natalie rather likes him, not that she’s admitted that to me. Yet …’ He raised a dark brow. ‘What say you, Falconer?’

‘She finds him rather shy, which he is in a way. I like him tremendously. He works hard; he’s a good chap. And most definitely true blue.’ A smile surfaced on James’s face, and he said sotto voce, ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they hit it off. He’s her type.’

‘And what’s that?’ Parkinson asked, his curiosity apparent.

‘Serious without being stuffy, highly intelligent, honest as the day is long, and not a bad bone in his body. I appreciate him, and he’s taken a great burden off my back. He’s turned the Wine Division around and managed to bring it up to par in Le Havre, where we’ve had problems.’

Before Alexander could say anything, Natalie returned to the drawing room and, standing next to her brother and James, told them, ‘Cook is happy. I’d even go so far as to say delirious … because all the guests have arrived. No spoiled dishes ce soir.’

‘I hope I’m sitting next to you,’ James said, as he noticed Mrs Lorne bringing the other guests inside.

‘You must wait and see,’ Natalie replied, and took hold of her brother’s arm. ‘Let us lead the way, Sandro.’

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