Her Own Rules (6 page)

56 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

When Meredith had pressed her further, Patsy had refused to make any more comments. “I want this to be your decision and yours alone,” Patsy had murmured. “If I give you my opinion now, before you’ve seen either hotel, I’ll be influencing you, setting you up in advance. So don’t press me.”

It had been Patsy’s suggestion that if she had no reason to return to London, she should fly to Paris from the Leeds-Bradford Airport. “There’re lots of flights to Paris from there and also from Manchester, which is nearby.” Meredith had agreed that this was a great idea, since it would save so much time.

Leaning back against the car seat, she closed her eyes, thinking of the packing she still had to do, trying to decide what clothes to take. Unexpectedly, she thought of Reed Jamison and the dinner date she had made with him. The mere idea of seeing him filled her with dismay, but she knew she must keep the appointment if she were to break off with him.

It was never on, she thought, sitting up, glancing out of the window. Their relationship had never really lifted off the ground, although lately he seemed to believe otherwise. In an effort to make herself feel better, she adopted a positive attitude, assured herself that it was going to be easy. He would understand. After all, he was a grown man.

Deep down Meredith knew she was wrong in this assessment of him. Instinctively, she felt he was going to be difficult. Her dismay turned into apprehension.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I
know you thought I was being stubborn the other day,” Patsy Canton said, “when I wouldn’t discuss the inns with you, but—”

“More like evasive,” Meredith interrupted.

“Not evasive, not stubborn either. Just cautious. I didn’t want you to get any preconceived ideas, especially from me, before you saw the inns. But now I can give you a sort of—
preview
, shall we say. The owner of the inn near Lake Windermere in the Lakes sent us a batch of photographs. They arrived yesterday. Let me get them for you.”

Patsy pushed herself out of the chair, walked across the small red sitting room of her house in London’s Belgravia, where she and Meredith were having a drink before lunch on Sunday.

In her late thirties, she was an attractive woman, in a way more handsome than pretty, almost as tall 58 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

as Meredith and well built. Her hair was blonde, cut short, and it curled all over her head; her gray eyes were large and full of intelligence. But it was her flaw-less English complexion that everyone commented on.

Pausing at the small Georgian desk, Patsy picked up a large envelope and walked back to the sofa, where she sat down next to Meredith.

“Ian Grainger, the owner of Heronside, is rather proud of the pictures. He took them himself, last spring and summer.” So saying, she handed the envelope to Meredith, who pulled out the photographs eagerly.

After a few seconds spent looking at them, she turned to Patsy and said, “I’m not surprised he’s proud of them. The pictures are beautiful. So is Heronside, if these are anything to go by.”

“Very much so, Meredith. In a way, the photographs don’t really do the inn and the grounds justice. There’s such a sense of luxury in the rooms, you feel pampered just walking into one of them. The whole inn is very well done, lovely antiques and fabrics, and I know you’ll like the decorative schemes, the overall ambiance. As for the grounds, they’re breathtaking, don’t you think?”

Meredith nodded, shuffled through the pictures again, and picked one of them out. It was a woodland setting. The ground was carpeted with irises and rafts of sunlight slanted down through the leafy green canopies of the trees. Just beyond were brilliant yellow daffodils growing on a slope, and, far Her Own Rules / 59

beyond this, a stretch of the lake could be seen—vast, placid, silvery, glistening in the sun.

“Look, Patsy,” Meredith said, and handed it to her partner. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”

“Yes, and most especially the slope covered in daffodils. Doesn’t it remind you of Wordsworth’s poem?”

Meredith stared at her.

“The one about the daffodils. Don’t you know it?”

Meredith shook her head.

Patsy confided, “It’s one of my favorites.” Almost involuntarily, she began to recite it.

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills
,
When all at once I saw a crowd
,
A host, of golden daffodils
;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze
.

“It’s lovely,” Meredith said.

“Didn’t you learn it at school?”

“No,” Meredith murmured.

Patsy went on. “I like the last verse best of all. Would you care to hear it?”

“Please,” Meredith replied. “You recite poetry extremely well.”

Once more Patsy launched into the poem:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
, 60 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
,
And dances with the daffodils
.

“It’s really beautiful,” Meredith said, smiling at her.

“It’s very peaceful…serene.”

“That’s how I feel about it.”

“I think I’ve heard that last verse before.
Somewhere
.

But I’m not sure where,” Meredith murmured. “Not at school, though.” For a moment or two she racked her brain, but try though she did, she could not remember.

And yet the poem had struck a chord in her memory, but she was unable to isolate it. The fleeting memory remained elusive.

Patsy remarked, “Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of the inn near Ripon. The Millers, who own it, did have a few photos, and they were very good, too. Yet somehow they didn’t quite capture the spirit of the place, its soul. So I decided not to take them.

You’ll have to judge it cold when we get to the site.”

“That’s no problem.” Meredith looked at her closely.

“But you
do
like Skell Garth, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, Meredith, very much, otherwise I wouldn’t be dragging you there,” Patsy quickly reassured her partner. “The setting is superb, the surrounding landscape awe-inspiring, picturesque actually. And from the inn there’s a most fabulous view of Fountains Abbey, one of the most beautiful ruins in all of England.

Yes, Skell Garth is a unique place.”

Her Own Rules / 61

“Skell Garth,” Meredith repeated. “You know, when you first mentioned it, I thought it was such an odd name.”

“I suppose it is. Let me explain. The Skell is a river that flows through Ripon and through the land on which both the inn and the abbey stand.
Garth
is the ancient Yorkshire word for
field
, and many of the local farmers still refer to their fields as garths.”

“So the name actually means
the field of the river
Skell
. Am I correct?”

Patsy laughed, delighted with Meredith’s astuteness.

“You’re absolutely correct! I’ll make a Yorkshirewoman of you yet.”

The two friends and partners sat talking about the inns for a while as they sipped their white wine, and then they moved on, became involved in a long and involved discussion about their business in general.

It was Patsy who brought this to a sudden halt when she jumped up, exclaiming, “Oh my God! I smell something awful. I hope that’s not our lunch getting burnt to a cinder.”

She flew out of the sitting room and ran downstairs to the kitchen.

Meredith charged after her.

Patsy was crouching in front of the oven, looking at the roast, poking around in the pan with a long-handled spoon.

“Is it spoiled?” Meredith asked in concern as she walked in.

62 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

“Fortunately not,” Patsy said, straightening. She closed the oven door and swung to face Meredith, grinning. “A couple of potatoes are singed around the edges, but the lamb’s okay. It’s the onions that are a bit scorched. They’re
black
, actually. Anyway, everything’s ready, well,
almost
. I hope you’re hungry, because I’ve cooked up a storm.”

“I’m starving. But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know, I was quite happy to take you out to lunch. Or have you come to the hotel.”

“I enjoy doing this occasionally,” Patsy assured her.

“It reminds me of my childhood growing up in Yorkshire. And anyway, Meredith, it’s not often you get a traditional English Sunday lunch, now, is it?”

Meredith chuckled. “No, and I’m looking forward to it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I
t was a windy afternoon.

A few stray leaves danced around her feet, and her full-length cream tweed cape billowed occasionally as she walked briskly through Green Park.

Meredith did not mind the wind. It was sunny, and this counteracted the sudden gusts, the nip in the air, and she was glad to stretch her legs after sitting so long over lunch with Patsy.

But it had been fun to visit with her old friend and partner, and to catch up on everything, both business and personal. Also, Meredith always enjoyed going to Patsy’s little doll’s house, which is the way she thought of it. Situated in a mews in Belgravia, the house had four floors; it was charmingly decorated, very much in the style they used in the inns. This was a lush country look, which was built around good antique wood pieces, a melange

64 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

of interesting fabrics skillfully mixed and matched, vi-brant colors carefully coordinated to each other plus a selection of unusual accessories.

As Meredith walked on, her thoughts settled on Patsy, of whom she was extremely fond. It was her New York banker, Henry Raphaelson, who had introduced them in 1984. Henry had known Patsy from her teenage days, since he had been for many years a close friend and business associate of her father’s, until his death a merchant banker in the City.

Patsy and she had taken to each other at once, and, after several constructive meetings, they had decided to go into business together, opening a London office of Havens Incorporated.

In the ensuing years Patsy had been good for the company, a great asset. She was as solid as a rock, hardworking, dependable, devoted, and loyal. While she was not as visionary or as imaginative as Agnes D’Auberville, Patsy more than made up for these minor shortcomings because she was loaded with common sense. Also, her talent for public relations had worked well for Havens. There wasn’t a hotel in England that received as much publicity and press attention as Haddon Fields in the Cotswolds, and all of it was positive. In fact, they had never had a negative write-up in the entire ten years the inn had been open.

When Meredith had expressed an interest in opening a hotel in France, Patsy had taken her to Paris to meet Agnes D’Auberville. The two young women had attended the Sorbonne at the same

Her Own Rules / 65

time, which was when they first met, and they had been good friends since those youthful days in Paris.

Agnes, like Patsy two years earlier, had been looking to invest inherited money in a business she could be involved in on a full-time basis. And so she had jumped at the chance to open a Paris branch of Havens Incorporated, and had plunged enthusiastically into the creation of the inn situated in the Loire Valley.

Meredith and Agnes had found the Château de Cormeron, which stood on the banks of the beautiful Indre River and was in the center of the Loire Valley.

After purchasing the château, they had spent almost a year getting it into proper shape and turning it into an inn. Many of the rooms had needed new floors, some new ceilings; they had had to install central heating and air-conditioning; almost all the plumbing had to be replaced, as had the wiring. Once this had been done, they had set about decorating it in the appropriate style, mostly using French country furniture, wonderful old tapestries, luxurious traditional fabrics, and unique accessories culled from local antique shops.

They had put a tremendous amount of energy, effort, talent, and money into its remodeling and redecoration, but the transformation was so stunning, they both knew it had been well worth it.

And much to their gratification, it had proved to be a tremendous success as a small hotel. Château de Cormeron was close to many of the great châteaux of 66 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

the Loire, such as Chinon, Chenonceaux, Azay-le-Rideau, Loches, and Mont-poupon, all open to the public and especially popular with foreign visitors.

Well-heeled tourists gravitated to their charming little Château de Cormeron, seeking its luxury, comfort, and superlative service, which was becoming renowned, its bucolic surroundings, and its proximity to so many famous châteaux. And the fact that the hotel boasted one of the finest restaurants in the Loire region did it no harm.

Agnes D’Auberville had become as good a friend as Patsy, as well as a most dependable business partner, and all three women enjoyed a good relationship.

Patsy, like Meredith, was divorced with two children, twin boys of ten who were away at boarding school.

Agnes, who was thirty-eight, the same age as Patsy, was married to Alain D’Auberville, the well-known stage actor, and they had a small daughter, Chloe, who was six.

I’ve been lucky with them, Meredith thought as she completed her circle around Green Park and went out into Piccadilly. We all balance each other very well, and they’ve both done a great deal to make Havens work in Europe, been instrumental in its success.

Drawing alongside the Ritz Hotel, she stood at the curb, waiting for the lights to change. Once they did, she crossed Piccadilly and headed back to Claridge’s on Brook Street.

Meredith had always liked walking around Her Own Rules / 67

London, and she was thoroughly enjoying her stroll, feeling invigorated by the brisk air and the exercise.

Turning down Hay Hill, she went up into Berkeley Square. But as she traversed it, she couldn’t help thinking that the little park in the center looked a bit bleak today, with its bare trees and patches of dirty snow on the shriveled brown grass.