Heirs of Ravenscar (5 page)

‘You don't look it! Anyway, you know I've always preferred older women. And everyone knows I like blondes best, especially blonde widows.' He grinned at her. ‘Or divorcees. Ten years is not that much, you know.'

Jane realized it would be better to let this topic fade away, and she smiled and said, ‘I have a surprise for you.' Putting down her glass of champagne, she went to her desk and returned to the fireside with an envelope, which she handed to Edward.

‘What is it?' he asked curiously.

‘Something I found for you, if you want to buy it.'

‘Aha! a painting, my Jane! That's what it is, isn't it?'

She nodded and sat down, looking at him expectantly.

Edward took the photograph out of the envelope, and stared at it, caught his breath as he took in the unique beauty of the Renoir. It was marvellous, a painting of two young girls aged about sixteen or seventeen. They were wearing identical orange dresses with black fronts and trimming, sitting on a window ledge against a backdrop of blue sky. Both had hair of a burnished red-gold, swept up on top of their heads. Their gaze was directed at a book they were reading.

‘It's absolutely marvellous!' he exclaimed, looking across at Jane. ‘
Glorious
. And the girls remind me of Grace Rose and Bess. Except that these two young ladies look as if they are the same age.'

‘It's called
Les Deux Soeurs
. Renoir painted it in 1889. And you're quite right, they are the same age I think. Look at the skin tones, Ned, the beauty of their faces. It's an incomparable painting. I fell in love with it when I saw it.'

‘Which gallery has it?'

‘It's in private hands. It was brought here to London at the outset of the war. For safety, I suppose.'

‘And now the owner wants to sell it?'

‘Apparently. If you
are
interested I can take you to see it on Friday.'

Edward frowned. ‘I was going to go to Ravenscar that morning. But I'll tell you what, Janey, I'll take the late afternoon train instead. We can see the painting in the morning hopefully, and then we'll have lunch. How does that sound?'

‘That's perfectly fine. So you do want it, do you?'

‘Of course I do. It's wonderful. How much is it?'

‘I don't know. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist it,'
she said, nodding, smiling. ‘I was sure it would remind you of your own little redheads.'

‘It does, and as usual your instincts were right. You second-guessed me perfectly. Thank you, darling. And now I have a surprise for
you
.' Rising, he hurried out of the parlour, got his briefcase, opened it and took out a package.

He held this behind his back as he returned, and handed it to her with a bit of a flourish once he stood in front of her.

‘What is it?' she asked, staring down at the package covered in dark blue wrapping paper and then looking up at him.

‘Open it and see.'

Tearing off the paper, Jane found herself holding a dark blue cardboard box. Lifting off the lid, she saw that the box held a jewellery case made of very dark blue velvet. Once she was holding the case she glanced up at him again, shaking her head. ‘By the looks of this, you've been very extravagant again. Oh, Ned, you do spoil me so.'

‘No, I don't. Open it.'

She did. Her light eyes widened when she saw the lacey bib composed of diamonds interwoven with aquamarines. For a moment she was stunned and gazed at him speechlessly. Finally she said softly, ‘Darling, it's just … beautiful.'

‘As are you. I was going to get you an emerald brooch or emerald earrings, and then when I saw this I immediately thought of your eyes … they're the same colour.' He picked the necklace up, held it in front of her so that it caught and held the light. ‘Look, Jane, your eyes are this colour exactly.'

Edward slipped the necklace in his pocket, took hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘I want you to try it on. Immediately.
Now
. It won't work with this dress, so come on, darling, let's go upstairs. I want to see it on you.'

She made no protest. He hurried her out of the room, up the stairs, and into the bedroom, and he went on swiftly,
‘Take off your dress, Jane. I want you to put this on.' As he spoke he took the necklace out of his pocket. ‘Hurry up, I can't wait to see how it looks on you.'

Laughing, she did as he said, and in a second stood in front of him in her underwear.

Circling her, Edward went and stood behind her, put the necklace around her neck, fastened it, and guided her across to the dressing table, pressed her down into the chair. ‘Look at yourself, look how the stones reflect the colour of your eyes.' She leaned forward, staring at herself in the mirror, and he leaned over her shoulders, regarding her reflection.

He murmured, ‘The necklace is perfection, and so are you.'

Turning her head, she gazed up at him, and her eyes filled. ‘Thank you, thank you for this lovely, lovely gift. I will treasure it forever, Ned.'

‘As I will always treasure you, Jane. Please remember that, especially when you start getting strange ideas, start thinking you're too old for me.'

In a few long strides he had crossed the bedroom floor. He locked the door, took off his jacket, threw it on a chaise longue, and then as he turned around, walked back to her, he began to unbutton his shirt. ‘I'm now going to prove that you're
not
too old, that I still desire you.'

Jane met him in the middle of the floor, her eyes on his. ‘Can you unfasten the necklace, please?'

‘No, I can't,' he whispered, and took her in his arms, pulled her closer, so that her cheek rested against his bare chest. ‘I want you to wear it tonight. All night. But I will unfasten this,' he added; his hands fumbled for the hooks of her bra. ‘Let's find that bed of ours,' he said against her hair. ‘It's a matter of some urgency.'

Jane now saw that he did indeed have a strong need for her, that he wanted her; she shed the rest of her clothes,
followed him. He was undressing as quickly as she had. A moment later he took her in his arms, held her tightly. His mouth found hers and he kissed her deeply, passionately, his tongue on hers, his hands sliding down to her breasts. When they broke their long kiss he led her to the side of the bed.

They lay down together, catching their breath. Eventually Edward propped himself up on one elbow, looked down into her face. ‘Jane, my beautiful, beautiful Jane, you're such a silly girl.' He lowered his face to hers, added, ‘You'll never be too old for me …' Leaving the rest of his sentence unfinished, he kissed her once more.

Edward lay on top of her, pushed his hands under her buttocks and brought her close to him as he entered her. It was the same as it always was with them. Desire and an overwhelming need. Passion. Urgency. They swiftly found their familiar rhythm, clinging to each other as they soared together, filled with ecstasy, and the pure joy of being together, possessing each other so completely and with total abandon.

At one moment Edward stopped abruptly, raised himself up to gaze down at Jane.

She stared back, perplexity crossing her face.

He said with a small smug smile, ‘The aquamarines are indeed the colour of your eyes, especially at a moment like this.'

He lowered himself onto her once more, his face against her neck. ‘Oh, how I love you. Love
you
, Jane. I'm yours. Just as you are mine. Come now, come to me.
Now
.' And she did, calling his name. He echoed her, cried out, sank against her breasts, sighing, ‘Oh Jane, oh Jane.'

They remained joined together for a few minutes. It was Edward who moved first. He took a pillow and placed it
against Jane's chest. ‘The necklace is a little sharp against my skin,' he told her, his voice low. ‘There, that's better … with the pillow between us.'

‘I can take it off, darling.'

‘No. I want you to wear it tonight. I know you'll find a dress that has the right neckline.'

‘I will.'

There was a long silence, a lovely quietness between them that lasted for a while. It was Jane who broke it finally when she suddenly said, ‘What did you do about the dog?'

‘Dog?' Edward asked, puzzled.

‘Don't you remember, I suggested you buy a dog for Young Edward. He's always wanted one, or so you once said, ever since he was very small boy. I told you I thought it would be a lovely Christmas present.'

‘Oh, my God! The dog! I'd forgotten about it. I was going to buy it in Scotland for him … a West Highland terrier, he loves that breed. Damnation!'

‘You can still get one, Ned. At Harrods. They sell dogs.'

‘I'd have to take it with me to Yorkshire. That's a bit of a nuisance.'

‘I'm sure they'll send it up for you. In a van.'

‘What a good idea. What on earth would I do without you? I'll go over there tomorrow morning, and pick one out, arrange for it to be taken up to Ravenscar. Well done, Janey, well done. You've saved my bacon again.' Pushing himself up, he leaned over her, kissed the tip of her nose. ‘This necklace
is
a bit dangerous,' he murmured, touching it with one finger, and starting to laugh. ‘I'm surprised I don't have a raw chest.'

‘I did volunteer to take it off.'

‘I know, but I didn't want you to … You know … I like to make love to women wearing
only
jewels and nothing else.'

‘
Women!
' she exclaimed. ‘Now what other
women
wearing only jewels do you make love to, Edward Deravenel? Tell me
that
.'

‘Only you my sweet, only you,' he answered swiftly, telling her the absolute truth.

Jane was wise enough to make no further comment, even though she did believe him. She was well aware he was faithful to her. The whole world knew that, including his wife. She wondered if this troubled Elizabeth. Didn't one other woman in a married man's life pose a threat? Whereas many women in a married man's life could be so easily dismissed. She let these thoughts slide away from her, and instead asked, ‘By the way, why did you send George off to Scotland? You never did say.'

‘I wanted to get him out of my hair. He'd invited himself for Christmas at Ravenscar, and to please my mother I'd acquiesced. And then when I cancelled our Christmas festivities, told the guests they could not come, he became very obstreperous. Because Young Edward was ill I'd decided to cancel my trip to Scotland. It then occurred to me that I could get rid of George by sending him up to Edinburgh to negotiate the deal with Ian MacDonald. The deal for his liquor business. Killing two birds with one stone, really.'

‘Isn't that a bit dangerous?' she asked, pushing herself up on the pillows. ‘Allowing him to be the voice of Deravenels?'

Edward looked at her intently. ‘He can be a bit volatile, I know that, even in business discussions. But I promised him a large bonus if he pulls it off to my satisfaction. He'll be careful how he handles himself because of the prospect of money.'

‘I hope he doesn't make a mess of it,' she murmured, thinking out loud.

‘Funny thing is, Jane, Richard said the same thing to me earlier today,' Ned said. ‘If it doesn't work, I won't care too
much, you know. George is strange at times, but more of a nuisance I'd say than anything else.'

‘No, he's not a nuisance, Ned. He's a threat.'

‘Why do you say that?' he asked, frowning to himself. Will Hasling had made the same comment several times in the last few weeks.

Jane answered in a thoughtful voice, ‘I think he's in competition with you. I've always believed that George sort of … well,
fancies
himself, thinks he can be you, thinks he's as good as you, as clever as you, and he's not. Everyone knows how brilliant you are.'

‘It was Neville who put those ideas in his head, a long time ago. Obviously they've taken hold. Now that the War is over perhaps I can ship George off somewhere. To America, perhaps.'

Jane laughed. ‘On a
permanent
basis, of course. Don't you think that would be a good idea?'

‘Yes. And I've got an even better idea,' he murmured, leaning towards her, kissing her fully on the mouth, and moving even closer. ‘I want to make love to you again, before we go down to dinner.'

‘What about the necklace –'

‘To hell with the bloody necklace,' he interrupted, smiling at her. ‘I don't care if I do get a few scratches as long as I can have you in my arms. You, Jane, my one true love.'

‘Oh Ned –'

He cut off the rest of the sentence by placing his mouth firmly on hers.

A
mos Finnister sat in his office at Deravenels on the Strand, giving Will Hasling his entire attention. There was an expression of concern on his face as he listened to the other man.

‘And so,' Will continued, ‘I would appreciate it if you could do a bit of digging, Amos. In your usual discreet fashion.'

Nodding, Amos asked, ‘Do you think Mr George has fallen in with a bad lot? Is that it, Mr Hasling?'

‘Yes. And a dangerous lot, at that. The drinking, the whoring are bad enough, well that's George's nature, I'm afraid: he's always been a bit of a libertine. It's the drugs that worry me, and the gambling. He's losing a lot of money on a regular basis,
a great deal
, in fact. Very troublesome.'

‘If I might ask, how did you find this out?' Amos gazed at Will steadily.

‘Someone came to me, warned me.' Will nodded, and murmured, ‘Thank God.'

‘I'm assuming it's someone you can trust, Mr H?'

‘It is, actually, Amos, and there's no good reason why you shouldn't know. It came from one of my brothers – Howard. When he was at Eton he became extremely close to a boy called Kim Rowe-Leggett, and, in the way of old Etonians, they've stayed close friends over the years. Rowe-Leggett is a stockbroker in the City these days, quite well-known, and very successful. Anyway, he likes the occasional flutter on the ponies, and he sometimes gambles, on a small scale, at one of the newer London gambling clubs. He's a member of Starks, Julian Stark's place, another old Etonian. To get to the point, my brother told me that according to Kim Rowe-Leggett the gossip about George is rampant. Naturally I'm perturbed. Not only about his gambling losses, but the drugs.'

‘I don't blame you.' Amos shook his head. ‘Mr George is a great worry to Mr Deravenel, as you well know. And more than once in the last few weeks he's asked me to keep an eye on him. You know what I mean … he wants me to keep track of what his brother does in his spare time, but in a … casual way, unobtrusively, shall we say?'

Will rubbed his mouth with his hand, frowning. ‘I wonder if Mr Edward has heard any of the gossip about Mr George? Has he said anything to you?'

‘Not really. When he does express concern it's in a … well, a mild way. He doesn't get excited, or anything like that. And he's said nothing about gambling or drugs.'

‘It's bound to get back to him sooner rather than later, especially if there is a demand for payment of the gambling debts. Julian Stark might come to Mr Deravenel if he doesn't get satisfaction from George.' Will sighed. ‘I have to tell him, Amos. I really do. He and I have never had any secrets from each other in all the years we've worked together here at Deravenels, and even before that, when we were at Oxford.'

Amos sat back in his desk chair and stared off into the distance, an odd look settling on his face.

Will Hasling noticed this immediately, and asked, ‘What is it, Amos? You're looking peculiar.'

‘Can it wait until after Christmas? What I mean is, Mr Edward is a bit worried at the moment, as you well know, about his little boy. And it is the holiday season … the annual lunch tomorrow and then the dinner at your sister's tomorrow evening.'

‘I see what you mean.' Will became reflective for a moment or two, weighing the odds before remarking, ‘I understand exactly what you're saying, but we all know that he
detests
surprises. If the gossip comes to him from someone else, he's going to be furious with me for not telling him, preparing him in advance.'

Sitting up straighter in the chair, Amos agreed, exclaiming, ‘A point well taken. I reckon you will have to have a word with him. To quote my late father, forewarned is forearmed.' Leaning forward across the desk, Amos added quietly, ‘Mr Richard said to me only last week that he believed his brother George was not suitable for Deravenels and shouldn't be given any power in the company. That he had very poor judgement.'

Will was not at all surprised by this confidence. He had long been aware that there was bad blood between the two brothers. Richard was devoted and loyal to Ned, and would lay down his life for him, but he loathed George.

Will had known Richard since his childhood, and he loved him, admired him. He was of good character; a stickler for discipline and a bit straightlaced. He was also very hard working, talented in business, and Edward was especially pleased that he had settled in so well at Deravenels. Will knew that.

Of late Richard had become unusually critical of George. Will recognized that Richard had suffered because of George who had tried to block his marriage to Anne Watkins in the meanest way. Will stifled a sigh. He had never quite
understood why Ned had not intervened sooner, rectified the situation, not allowed it to drag on.

Rousing himself from his thoughts, realizing Amos was waiting, Will continued. ‘Do you think Richard knows any bad gossip about George? Has he mentioned anything to you?'

‘No, he hasn't. However, he might have heard
something
. Last week, out of the blue, he did make a remark – he said his brother was venal.'

‘He certainly hit the nail on the head.'

‘In my opinion George Deravenel is a dyed-in-the-wool trouble maker.'

Will gave Amos a long look, murmured, ‘He's also …
dangerous
.'

‘Oh, I know
that
. Ever since he became entangled with Neville Watkins, and
his
machinations all those years ago, I've been suspicious of him. To tell you the truth, I've not trusted him since then.'

‘And neither have I.' Will Hasling rose, walked towards the door, explaining, ‘I must get off, Amos, my wife is waiting for me at the Savoy Hotel. We're going to the Savoy Theatre tonight.'

‘I understand. Have a pleasant evening, Mr H.'

Will swung around when he reached the door, and stared hard at Amos. ‘I
will
have to speak to Mr Edward as soon as possible. I must inform him about everything, prepare him. And please do a bit of digging, won't you? Who knows what you'll turn up.'

‘You can depend on me. If there's anything to find, I'll find it.'

There was going to be trouble
. He could smell it in the air already. And he knew it in his bones for sure. For as long as
he could remember, Amos had relied on his intuition, coupled with his insight into people. He also had a knack of knowing what made people tick, understood why they did the things they did, recognized their motivation. All of these gifts, because that's how Amos thought of them, had helped him when he was a copper on the beat, policing the streets of Whitechapel, Limehouse, and other areas of London's East End.

And they had continued to work for him during his years with Neville Watkins; nor had they disappeared when he had joined Deravenels, to head up the Security Division. A wry smile touched his mouth. No such thing as a Security Division until
he
had been hired to ‘watch my back', as Edward Deravenel had so succinctly put it at the time.

These days this was no longer necessary. Most of Edward's enemies were dead; some were
living abroad but had been rendered powerless by Edward Deravenel's success as head of the
company. Deravenels had always been a huge global corporation; he had turned it into an
operation which was bigger than ever and made more money than it had in its entire history.

His was a household name, not only in England but around the world, and he was considered to be one of the most influential tycoons in the City. Some said he was even more important than his late cousin Neville Watkins, who had been the greatest magnate at one time.

Amos now remembered that once he had told Mr Edward he wanted to retire. Edward had thrown a fit. Or something tantamount to one. He had gone berserk. That was the only word for it.

‘I want you here by my side for the rest of your life, and mine!' Edward had declared heatedly. ‘I will not
countenance
talk of your retirement, and that's that. Don't bring it up again, Amos. And besides, always remember that men who retire invariably fall apart and die.'

Amos had been a little stunned by these words at the time, words so emphatically uttered, and yet he had also been immensely flattered. He realized then that he had a most special place in Edward Deravenel's life and in his heart, just as his boss did in his.

Loyal, devoted, discreet and protective, Amos Finnister was also calm and cool under any circumstances. And he was so extraordinarily trustworthy that Edward Deravenel had never bothered to hide any aspects of his extremely complicated life from the former private investigator, who was usually at his side.

It was quite common knowledge at Deravenels that Amos Finnister was very close to the managing director, but no one knew just how close. Except for Will Hasling, who was even closer to Ned, being his longest and dearest friend.

These three men worked in harmony together, and had for years. They trusted each other implicitly, and were totally discreet about each other, revealing nothing to colleagues or family. Once, rather laughingly, Edward had said that they were like The Three Musketeers, and in a certain sense that was true.

The relationship between them worked for a number of reasons. Edward and Will, though aristocrats, were not snobs; they were affable, accessible, natural, and democratic in their attitudes. Amos Finnister knew he must never overstep the line. He was well aware of his place in the order of things. And he was never over-familiar. He knew how wrong that would be.

These three had been hand-in-glove for a long time. They thought alike, after years in each other's company, and acted in a similar manner when confronted by problems. And they could usually second-guess each other.

Amos rose, walked up and down the office for a few seconds, stretching his long legs. And thinking hard.

Will Hasling was a lot more troubled that he was letting on, Amos was convinced of that. And he also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Will would tell Edward everything tomorrow morning. And Edward would want
him
on it immediately.

Amos stepped over to the window and looked out. It seemed like a nice night, with a clear, dark sky, no clouds at all, and a galaxy of stars.

After locking his desk and taking his overcoat from the cupboard, Amos left his office and went down the stairs. He crossed the imposing, soaring marble lobby of Deravenels, as usual admiring its grandeur, and stepped out onto the Strand.

The thoroughfare was busier than he had seen it in a long time. Taxis, motorcars and omnibuses crowded the road, and the pavement was congested with pedestrians, mostly moving swiftly, hurrying about their business. It struck him immediately that he must walk. He had no alternative since it would be hard to find a cab in this mess.

Anyway, he did enjoy walking; it reminded him of his days on the beat, he supposed, and he usually did his best thinking when his feet were moving. Buttoning his topcoat, he set off at a brisk pace.

Tonight he was heading to the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly. His old friend Charlie Morran was staying there, and they were to dine in the elegant Ritz Restaurant, which was one of the best in London. He had sometimes eaten there with Edward Deravenel, and he knew it quite well.

The hotel itself was palatial, with marble floors, rich carpets, crystal chandeliers, handsome dark-wood furniture, potted palms and huge arrangements of flowers. It was a particular favourite of the rich and famous, a rendezvous for the most well-known people in London … the aristocracy, socialites, famous actors, actresses, and writers, members of
Parliament, politicians and heads of state … the crême-de-la-crême of the world.

Amos's thoughts remained focused on Charlie as he strode out towards Trafalgar Square. He had not seen him for over two years; the young man had been at the front in France, fighting for King and Country.

When war had broken out in August of 1914, Charlie had immediately booked passage on a ship from New York to Southampton, and had come home to England to be a soldier. ‘I'm determined to do my bit,' was the way he had put it to Amos when he had first arrived in London, adding, ‘I want to stand up and be counted, fight for what's right and just. So here I am, and I'm going to enlist in the British Army this week.' And he had.

Charlie had come back to London alone; his sister Maisie had already left America the year before. In 1913 she had gone to live in Ireland with the man she had just married.

Amos had grown very proud of Charlie and Maisie, and of the success they had achieved over the years. Within a few months of arriving in New York, where Charlie had constantly insisted the streets were paved with gold, the two Cockney kids from Whitechapel had found work in the theatre. And eventually they had become stars on Broadway, as they had always wanted. And why not?

They could sing, dance, and act, and both were clever mimics, quite aside from being exceptionally good looking. Talent and looks. The best combination. It was really no surprise to Amos when Charlie's letters kept arriving very promptly with news of their continuing triumphs.