Heirs of Ravenscar (3 page)

‘I see.' Richard sat back, his expression still one of anger.

‘And you did marry Anne,' Cecily pointed out in a quiet voice.

‘Practically in secret, here at Ravenscar. A tiny wedding ceremony, with no guests except the immediate family,' Richard answered grimly, shaking his head. ‘I just don't understand why it is that George has to be accommodated all the time. I really don't. And personally I think he's crazy. Let's not forget our cousin Henry Grant, who spent a lot of time in lunatic asylums …'

Ned threw back his head and guffawed, looked amused. ‘Oh, Richard, that's a beauty! Are you suggesting that the bad genes carried by Henry Deravenel Grant of Lancaster might well be inherent in the Deravenels of Yorkshire, the true heirs of Guy de Ravenel? The
real
Deravenels, as we say about ourselves.'

If Edward had hoped Richard would see the joke he was wrong. His youngest brother shook his head, the grim expression making his mouth taut. ‘I think George is crackers. Just consider the daft things he does at times … then you'll see what I mean.'

‘Richard, really, I don't believe that is a very nice thing to say about George. He can be very kind, and he does mean well,' Cecily answered.

No, he doesn't, Richard thought, but said, ‘If you say so, Mother. Let's close the discussion about George, shall we?'

Ned said, ‘I am going to cancel the Christmas festivities, Dick, but if you and Anne wish to come for Christmas you know how much we'd love that, wouldn't we, Mother?'

‘Of course. I haven't seen my grandson for ages. Perhaps Nan Watkins would like to come as well, rather than staying alone in Ripon.'

‘I doubt that very much, Mother,' Richard said softly. ‘She doesn't like to come to Ravenscar anymore, so I am led to understand. It reminds her of her tragic loss. After all, her beloved husband and her favourite brother-in-law Johnny met their deaths here.'

‘W
hy don't you tell him about the house, Ned? He really ought to know the true story, the full story.'

Edward Deravenel sat back in his chair, and regarded Will Hasling, his best friend. He and Will had been boon companions for many years, and colleagues at Deravenels for fourteen, ever since Edward had become managing director. And he trusted Will as he trusted no other man, except for his brother Richard.

Loyaulté Me Lie
, loyalty binds me: That was Richard's adopted motto and he was ever faithful to it.

It was Richard they were talking about this morning, facing each other across Edward's desk, in his office at Deravenels.

‘I never wanted to go into all the details,' Edward explained, ‘about the house. Don't you think it would look strange? What I mean is, don't you think it could appear that I'm boasting about all the things I've done for him over the years? Signalling that he's obligated to me, perhaps?'

‘He might think that, but frankly I rather doubt it,' Will
answered, shaking his head emphatically. ‘No, no, it won't look that way at all. It's ridiculous to even think that, Ned. And he
should
know. And once he understands everything, he won't continue to harbour a grudge and think that you put George before him … that is,
if
he does think that.'

‘Actually, you're quite right, Will. I'll be frank with him.'

‘Would you like
me
to explain the way things are?'

Edward couldn't help laughing. ‘You know, that had crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed the idea as being somewhat silly, since I haven't done anything wrong, quite the contrary, in fact.'

Continuing to chuckle to himself, Edward Deravenel pushed himself to his feet, walked across the floor to one of the tall windows, glanced down at the Strand, thinking how congested with traffic it was today. But then it was the Wednesday before Christmas, and London was busier than ever. This was the first festive Christmas in four years, now that the War was finally over. People were determined to celebrate, to have a good time, to rejoice that peace had come at last.

Christmas for his family was going to be exceptionally quiet at Ravenscar, but he didn't mind. He rather welcomed it, if the truth be known. He had cancelled all of the invitations which had been sent to friends, and everyone had understood his dilemma, understood that he was endeavouring to protect Young Edward. And them as well. Only George had been truculent, as usual. Quite vile, actually.

Turning around, Edward strolled back to the centre of the floor and stood there for a few seconds, a reflective expression settling on his handsome face.

Finally, glancing at Will, he said, very softly, ‘The upset this past weekend was really my mother's fault, Will, in a sense. Her desire to unite the family does seem to cloud her normal good judgement. She simply can't accept that Richard
cannot stand George anymore, or that Elizabeth detests him because he and Neville Watkins were responsible for the ruination of her father and brother. She would rather see George burning in hell than entertain him at Ravenscar. Unfortunately, my mother appears to brush everything to one side, keeps harping on about forgiving and forgetting, letting bygones by bygones. Because we are a family.' He shook his head sadly, and finished in a Cockney accent, ‘That ain't the way it is, me old mate, now is it?'

‘No. And George has always been Elizabeth's enemy since your marriage. He loathes her as much as she loathes him …' Will's voice trailed off. There was no point in reminding Edward that people disliked his wife. Very beautiful she might be, but she was not a very nice woman. Her ambition for her family knew no bounds. She had inveigled Edward into giving several of her brothers positions at Deravenels, and Anthony Wyland, her favourite, played a powerful role in the company these days. But this brother he liked, knew him to be a decent man, talented, and worthy of respect.

After a moment's silence between them, Edward changed the subject, remarked in a more buoyant voice, ‘Jarvis Merson's been in touch with me. Yesterday evening. He's after us to start up again in Persia. Drilling for oil. In Southern Persia, to be exact. He wants us to buy another concession from the Shah. Because we're doing so well in Louisiana, he thinks we should begin expanding, now that the war is over.'

Sitting down behind his desk, Edward continued, ‘It's not the right time, I know that, Will. However, I have decided to create a company, so that we're ready to go ahead when things are right in the world, once we have all recovered from this awful Spanish flu pandemic, and recouped from the War –'

‘I agree it's too soon to think about oil in Persia,' Will interjected, leaning forward intently. ‘There's far too much
turmoil everywhere. I'm convinced we have to sit it out for the whole of this coming year. First, let's get through 1919, and then seriously consider drilling for oil in mid-1920. I believe that's when we should take the plunge.
Not
before
. I know you've always had an odd rather compelling belief in Jarvis, and so do I, actually. He's proved himself a thousandfold with the creation of the Louisiana oil fields, so I don't doubt that he's probably right about Southern Persia. On the other hand, Ned, I've lately heard that some of the top brass at Standard Oil, and also Henri Deterding of Shell, don't fancy Southern Persia at all, don't believe there are
any
strikes to be made there. I do trust Deterding's judgement – he's a great oil man.'

‘I've heard the same stories. However, I do trust Jarvis's nose for oil. He and his new partner, Herb Lipson, are an unbeatable team, in my opinion. Anyway, as I just said, I aim to start a new company. I want to be ready. I'm thinking of calling it Deravco. How does that sound to you?'

Will grinned. ‘Sounds like an oil company to me. And it's short. And sweet, let's hope.'

There was a sudden loud knock on the door; Edward glanced across the room and called, ‘Come in.' He immediately jumped up, a wide smile flashing across his face when he saw his brother in the doorway.

‘There you are, Richard!' he cried enthusiastically. Grabbing Richard by the shoulders, he smothered him in a bear hug. ‘Did you get my message about lunch?'

‘I did. That's why I came down to your office, to find out what time you wish to leave,' Richard answered.

‘Pick me up at twelve forty-five and we'll walk across to the Savoy Hotel,' Ned said.

When Richard and Will left his office, Edward sat for a few minutes, going through the papers on his desk. After perusing them conscientiously, and making notes on a pad, he sat back in the chair and stared out into the room.

His mind went to the oil business in Southern Persia, and he felt a little rush of genuine excitement. He had always believed that oil was the business of the future; he wanted Deravenels to own more than their stake in Louisiana, and Merson was just the man to make his dream come true. He had believed in Jarvis from the day he had met that bright if rather talkative young man. And he had been proven right in his assessment of him.

Yesterday, when he had been meeting with Alfredo Oliveri to talk about the marble quarries in Italy, Oliveri had suggested they look farther afield, perhaps investigate the quarries in Turkey.

Swivelling around in his chair, Edward gazed at the map which hung on the wall behind him. His father's map of the world, with all its little numbers written in so neatly. There was Persia sitting right next to Turkey. Perhaps they could kill two birds with one stone. He and Oliveri could go to Turkey to see about marble and then move on to Persia to see about oil.

Not yet, of course. Alfredo had pointed that out most vociferously. Europe was still in upheaval and disarray, and it was not possible to pursue the idea of buying Turkish marble quarries until travelling became much easier. And, as he and Will had just agreed, the same reasoning applied to oil.

Just the prospect of these trips gave him a boost, helped to dispel some of the irritation he was feeling about his brother George.

Opening his engagement book, Edward looked at the notations he had made in them last week. Always methodical,
he wrote in his lunch date with Richard, and then frowned. He had arranged to see Jane tonight. For dinner. And he still had to buy a gift for her.

Today was the eighteenth, exactly one week from Christmas Day, and on Friday afternoon he was taking the train back to York and then driving out to Ravenscar. Tomorrow he had the private luncheon for his close friends in the company, a lunch he always gave across the street at Rules. Tomorrow night he was dining with Vicky and Stephen Firth. He had already bought their Christmas gifts, and also one for Grace Rose.

His lovely Grace Rose, growing more like him than ever, and already almost eighteen.
Eighteen
, he muttered under his breath, and he wondered where all the years had gone.

Because of his plans for the rest of the week, he had no alternative but to find a present for Jane
today
. After his lunch with Richard he would go to one of the fine jewellers. She loved emeralds, and that was what he would get her … emerald earrings or an emerald brooch.

As he flipped through the pages of his engagement book, Edward suddenly realized with a sense of dismay that he would be in Yorkshire for almost ten days.
Ten days
. Rather a long time to be ensconced with Elizabeth. Perhaps there was a way he could rectify that. Just as he had managed to rectify the problem of George and the private luncheon tomorrow. He had not wanted him to come. Once he had cancelled the invitation for George and his family to visit Ravenscar for Christmas because of Young Edward's illness, George had behaved in his usual spoilt way. He had thrown a tantrum. To quiet George down, placate him, he had suggested that his brother should go to Scotland to represent him at a business meeting.

Edward smiled to himself, a smile that also held a hint of smugness. The ploy had worked. George had jumped at the
chance to wheel and deal with the Scottish tycoon, Ian MacDonald. Good riddance, he thought, rather pleased with himself, and then got up, went to the cupboard on the other side of the room. Opening the double doors, he stepped inside and began to turn the dial of his safe, until it finally clicked open. Taking out a slim folder of papers, he closed the safe door and locked it.

A clean slate next year, he reminded himself. I want a clean slate next year. I've a lot of changes to make.

Richard and Edward sat opposite each other in the handsomely decorated Grill Room of the Savoy Hotel. After toasting each other with their flutes of Krug champagne, they had looked at the menus and ordered.

They had both chosen Colchester oysters, to be followed by steak-and-kidney pie, having similar tastes in food, as well as in other things. They shared a love of fine clothing, although Richard was much more conservative than his brother.

They enjoyed talking about books, English politics, and the coverage given to world events by the daily newspapers. They saw eye-to-eye on almost everything, because Edward had raised Richard after their father had been murdered in Italy, and he had imbued in the younger boy a love of justice and fair play.

Like Edward, Richard was a compassionate man who understood the pain and suffering of others, and was empathetic to their plight. Ned had favoured Richard since his childhood, spoilt him, made him feel special, and he had protected him in every way. And so naturally he was Edward's loyal ally, and defender, whenever that was necessary. Richard admired Ned, adored him.

The two brothers settled back in their chairs and sipped this finest and most expensive of all French champagnes. After a moment or two of silence, Edward leaned forward. ‘Look, Dick, there's something I want to tell –'

Interrupting him swiftly, Richard exclaimed, ‘Before you say anything, I must apologize, Ned. I was wrong to quarrel with you about George, last Saturday. I've no excuse really, except to say that I let my hurt feelings get the better of me. I'm so very sorry.'