Being Elizabeth (39 page)

‘That's me, Mrs Morran,' Maddie answered with a laugh.

Grace Rose smiled, and winked at her.

After lunch the two of them sat on the long, covered terrace overlooking the lawns surrounded by giant oak trees and
sycamores which Stonehurst Farm was so renowned for. All of them were hundreds of years old and breathtaking in their dark green beauty.

They sipped passion fruit tea and talked about the Deravenel family, which had always been Grace Rose's favourite subject. To Elizabeth she seemed preoccupied by the past, what had gone before, and more than ever. She mostly lived in the past these days, drifting along with her memories.

There was a moment or two of silence between them, and then Grace Rose suddenly said in a very clear, light voice, ‘You will be fine, my dearest Elizabeth. Whatever happens to you in your life, you will always come out on top … you'll be the winner every time.'

Elizabeth leaned into her and squeezed her hand, so soft yet dry, like old paper. ‘I know I will, Aunt Grace Rose … because I'm a Deravenel just like you.'

The old woman smiled at her, and her face was full of love. And they sat together holding hands until Grace Rose finally roused herself. ‘I want to go inside. It's getting too warm for me out here. Although I do enjoy seeing the garden. It's very beautiful, isn't it?'

‘It's lovely,' Elizabeth responded, and helped her to her feet.

‘It's Vicky's garden really. My mother originally created it, you know …' Grace Rose swayed slightly and clung to Elizabeth. In a worried voice, she said, ‘I don't think I can make it inside.'

‘Sit down again.' Elizabeth managed to settle Grace Rose in the chair, then stepped away, intending to fetch Maddie.

‘Don't leave me, Elizabeth,' Grace Rose said in a whispery voice.

Immediately, Elizabeth sat down next to her and took her hand. ‘Don't you feel well?'

Grace Rose smiled at her. It was the most radiant of smiles and the faded blue eyes somehow looked brighter, bluer all of
a sudden. ‘I never felt better, my dear,' Grace Rose murmured and closed her eyes.

After a moment she spoke again. ‘They're all here with me … oh, my darling Charlie … there you are … with Bess … Father… wait for me … I'm coming to you … Charlie … wait, I'm running to your arms …'

‘Grace Rose! Grace Rose!' Elizabeth exclaimed, leaning over her. Her great aunt was so very still, did not respond, and Elizabeth knew then that she was dead. She kissed her cheek, the tears trickling down her face, splashing onto the old wrinkled skin. Brushing her eyes with one hand, Elizabeth choked back the tears, and against her great-aunt's face she said softly, ‘They came for you at last. All those whom you loved so much through your long life. And you have gone with them. How happy you must be now … God speed, Grace Rose. God speed.'

‘S
he gave birth on Saturday night,' Francis Walsington said, looking from Elizabeth to Robert. ‘It's a boy … to be called James, after his grandfather James Stewart. And one day Scottish Heritage will be his.'

‘So she beat me to it. She has produced an heir,' Elizabeth said at last. Settling back in the chair, she went on, ‘Well, some good it will do her. She borrowed trouble when she married Henry Darlay, and we've known that right from the beginning. And even though he is a relative of mine, through his mother who's my cousin, this doesn't bring her any closer to Deravenels.' She glanced at Cecil, and finished, ‘Let's not forget that
other
clause in Father's will.'

Cecil stared back at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘However much she insists she has no knowledge of that clause, it doesn't matter. The clause
is
in your father's will, you're correct, Elizabeth, and it is absolutely clear and it's legal. Harry Turner debarred not only foreigners from inheriting Deravenels, but his sister Margaret's line as well. And we know he did that because he loved his younger sister better, was closer to her. Anyway she was married to his childhood friend
Charles Brandt, who was actually Harry's best friend all of his life.'

‘That is why my brother also favoured their descendants, our Greyson cousins, as do I, I've told you that all along,' Elizabeth said.

‘I've never not understood that,' Cecil replied crisply. ‘But in any event, Marie Stewart de Burgh cannot challenge you.'

‘Cecil's correct,' Francis interjected. ‘And the kilt has never done anything but spout a lot of codswallop. Truly, there is no reason for you to worry. Anyway, she's got her hands full at the moment, between Henry Darlay and a new baby, wouldn't you say?'

Elizabeth couldn't help laughing at Francis's expression. It was gleeful. ‘And I actually do own sixty-five per cent of the shares. Don't let's forget
that
fact.'

‘I'm surprised she carried that child to full term,' Robert said, glancing at Francis. ‘A lot of women would have miscarried if they'd seen their personal assistant murdered in the street before their eyes. My blood runs cold thinking about that horrendous incident.'

‘I agree,' Elizabeth exclaimed, but then she usually did agree with Robert; they were so attuned in their thoughts. ‘Imagine, David del Renzio got mugged in front of her, stabbed to death. And his briefcase grabbed. I wonder what they imagined was in it?'

‘Money, more than likely … and the police never caught anybody,' Francis pointed out. ‘Although Nicholas has his own ideas about that murder.'

‘Who's taking my name in vain?' Nicholas Throckman asked, coming into Elizabeth's office and closing the door behind him. ‘No doubt it's something to do with up yonder beyond the border. I suspect you've heard already that there's a new heir to Scottish Heritage. As if anybody would want to inherit that company –'

‘Not doing too well, is it?' Francis cut in, moving along the sofa so that Nicholas could join them. ‘It's hardly worthy of the name
conglomerate
.'

‘Just before Marie Stewart married Darlay her half-brother was complaining to me that her knowledge of business was nil and the ideas she wanted to introduce were witless,' Robert told them. ‘He was not happy with her interference, and he even confided that he needed to borrow money for the company.' Robert grimaced. ‘He wanted me to recommend a bank.'

‘You should have offered to lend it to him,' Cecil murmured, a small amused smile playing around his mouth. ‘Eventually we would have had them by the short hairs, and we could have probably taken them over,' he finished drily.

Robert laughed, as did Francis and Nicholas, although Cecil was poker-faced.

Elizabeth exclaimed, ‘I wouldn't have permitted
that
! And I wouldn't touch Scottish Heritage with a barge pole. In fact, they couldn't even
give
it to me.' Turning to Nicholas, she said, ‘What about the murder? What did you hear?'

‘Rumours, a lot of them, about a jealous husband. But I'm sure Francis knows more than I do.'

‘Not much. It happened in March, over two months ago now, and the police haven't come up with a thing. Naturally Darlay has been under suspicion. But there's no evidence to show he was in any way involved. Two masked men grabbed David del Renzio, stabbed him, snatched his briefcase and ran like hell. They'd disappeared in an instant. And Marie Stewart was standing there all alone on a street in Edinburgh, her personal assistant bleeding to death at her feet. And she was pregnant to boot.'

Nicholas nodded. ‘I've heard stories … gossip … those Chinese whispers we loathe, and the one story which keeps going the rounds is that Darlay was virulently jealous of David del Renzio, misguidedly believed he was Marie Stewart's lover, and
hired assassins to do his dirty work. But you must remember Darlay is no longer popular, he's turned out to be an arrogant young pup who likes his wine and his women, and can't get enough. Marie Stewart wishes she'd remained the de Burgh widow. Apparently she regrets ever marrying Darlay, so I've been told.'

‘The toy boy,' Elizabeth muttered. ‘Younger than her.'

‘And somewhat depraved, as I understand it,' Robert volunteered. ‘Drugs, and all that.'

‘You reap what you sow,' Cecil said. ‘Darlay will come a cropper before we can say Jack Robinson. In the meantime, I have a meeting in a few minutes. If you'll excuse me, Elizabeth, gentlemen.' He left for his own office.

Elizabeth now said to Nicholas, ‘I suppose what you were saying is that
if
Darlay is involved in del Renzio's murder he's probably going to get away with it. Get away with murder.'

‘Indeed. However, as I've said before, we must not dwell on our highland lassie. She's no threat to you or this company, Elizabeth. Take my word for it. Today is Monday, June the twenty-first in the year two thousand and four, and you're going to be thirty-three in September, and I guarantee you'll grow old in that chair. You'll still be sitting in it when you're sixty, mark my words.'

‘Oh, Nicholas, you do make me laugh,' Elizabeth declared. ‘There's just nobody like you.'

There is nobody like Nicholas, that's absolutely true
.
A
nd
there is no one like my dearest Robin, the love of my life. I
was upset last night when we went home, because I hate
violence. And David del Renzio's murder had haunted me all
that day. I kept asking myself, and then Robin later, what
Marie Stewart had done to make her young husband so
suspicious of her. I had no real answer to that, and neither
did Robin. Except that he did eventually explain that some
men are naturally jealous and suspicious of their wives, for
no reason. And he also reminded me that my oddball cousin
Henry Darlay had a reputation for being spoiled, arrogant
and dim-witted. That he was extraordinarily good-looking
attested to the bit of Turner blood he had in him, Robin also
said, teasing me. But Darlay was good-looking and ambitious.
And I agreed with Robin in the end that his suspicions were
ridiculous in that his wife was so heavily pregnant. How
horribly vindictive of Darlay to set assassins on del Renzio
when the man was actually with Marie Stewart in the street.
How easily she could have lost the baby
.

A baby. Last night, after we had made love. Robin asked me
if I'd ever wanted a baby. I suppose I sort of fudged the answer
the best I could because I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and
if I'd said ‘no' I would have done just that. Instead, I answered
his question with a question. ‘Haven't you always wanted a
child?' I said, and he admitted he had often thought about it,
but added he wasn't particularly concerned if he didn't become
a father
.

He's not here. He went to Paris this morning with Nicholas
Throckman to check on Deravenels, and hopefully hire a new
manager for our head office in France. He'll be gone for a few
days. And I shall look at more of the Deravenel papers and
documents which Grace Rose left in my care. I can't believe
she's been dead almost two years. I miss her
.

As for Marie Stewart, I must put her out of my thoughts. I
felt a degree of sympathy for her yesterday, when we were
discussing del Renzio's murder and the circumstance of it, but
I think I have to set that aside. Francis reminded me that she
is my enemy. And her own worst enemy, perhaps. Francis
Walsington has always predicted she would come to a bad end,
and Grace Rose had enormous faith in his ability and many
talents. Well, we shall see. I know I've not heard the end of
Marie Stewart just yet
…

‘I think we might have to ask Norfell to step down,' Cecil Williams said to Elizabeth, his voice low. He did not relish this discussion because it involved Robert Dunley, and he'd been putting it off for days.

‘Why? Has he been dabbling in Scottish matters?' she asked and then chortled. ‘Hardly possible, Cecil, since madame up yonder is solely interested in her new infant.'

‘No, nothing to do with Scotland, Elizabeth,' Cecil responded, and took a sip of wine, preparing himself.

The two of them were having supper at Mark's Club in Mayfair. Cecil had invited her to dine with him because Robert was still in Paris with Nicholas, and he believed this was a good time to talk to her privately.

‘If it's not about the kilt, then what
is
it about? What has Norfell done for you to think he has to go?' Elizabeth asked, her curiosity fully aroused.

‘I shall be blunt, and tell you straight, and without any fancy folderol. Norfell is not your friend.'

‘That's not surprising since he's another five-times removed relative of mine,' she retorted with a wry smile. ‘They all seem to want to get at me somehow. But go on, Cecil, tell me more.'

‘He's not your friend because he's Robert's enemy, I'm convinced of that.'

She stared at him, a mixture of sudden annoyance and astonishment crossing her face, and exclaimed, ‘And Robin has always said he bears watching! So he was right about Norfell, wasn't he?'

‘Indeed he was. It's jealousy, basically. I don't mean romantic jealousy, but envy of Robert's success at Deravenels. He's done
a lot of backstabbing, so I've been told, and he would truly enjoy seeing Robert take a stumble. To fall out of favour with you.'

‘The latter is not likely or even possible, and you know it. If you want to give Norfell the sack, go ahead. But let's not forget he's been doing wonders with the hotel division. Isn't there a way to render him powerless whilst still employing him?'

Relieved that she was taking this so well and not flying into a rage, as she often did, Cecil allowed himself to laugh with her. ‘The only way to do that would be to send him off to some far-flung spot. Like the South Seas. Pity we don't have a project for him, he enjoys these jaunts.'

Elizabeth stared at Cecil alertly, then gave him a radiant smile. ‘You've just jogged my mind. I've long wanted to open a place in Fiji, that area anyway, a hotel and a spa combined. They've become extremely popular, and Anka Palitz has been after me to create a really luxurious club. Why don't we send John Norfell to Fiji? Or wherever we decide, to scout locations, etcetera, etcetera.'

‘You're serious, aren't you?' Cecil sat back, nodding to himself.

‘I am indeed. But I would like to discuss it with Robin first.'

‘Will you tell him the reason why?'

‘Certainly. He should know, shouldn't he? In fact, if we, the triumvirate, agree that it's a good idea to keep Norfell and to send him away –' she laughed with sudden gaiety, and went on, ‘– to Fiji or Bali, or wherever, then let's have Robert send him.' When Cecil was silent, she said, ‘No? Yes? What?'