The taxi pushed its way through the busy Paris traffic, and frequently came to a standstill, and as they moved at a snail’s pace across the city Anne’s thoughts eventually, and inevitably, turned to Harry Turner. He was arriving tomorrow to celebrate his birthday with her; now she made up her mind to have a serious talk with him before he returned to London on Monday.
She needed to talk to him about their relationship, which had come to a standstill. That had happened slowly, of course; in a sense, it was inevitable, because, very simply, it was going absolutely nowhere. There was nowhere for it to go.
Harry was a married man – separated, that was true, but unable to free himself. She was his girlfriend because she refused to move in with him, to become his mistress. Anne had always been somewhat nervous about making that move, knowing very well that her family, and most especially her rather old-fashioned diplomat father, would disapprove of such a serious step. She was almost twenty-six, and at the end of her tether. She wanted a good life with a man she loved, and one with whom she could have children.
Last night her brother Greg and she had dinner together at his apartment, and he had tackled her about Harry. Almost at once he had made it quite clear that she ought to be ‘moving on or moving out’. Greg had lectured her sternly about her involvement with Harry, a man almost fifteen years her senior. And he had pointed out, for the umpteenth time, that he was bound by steel bands to his wife, whom he characterized as a ‘religious maniac’. Which she wasn’t, of course, Anne knew that. Catherine was simply a woman who was a devout Roman Catholic, one who would never divorce because she couldn’t forfeit her religion.
Anne sighed to herself. With Greg now living in Paris she knew she could expect a lot more stern lectures from him, that was inevitable.
The taxi finally came to a stop at an old nineteenth-century building with a huge porte-cochère, and after paying the driver she went through the small side door into the cobbled courtyard. She put her head inside the concierge’s little office, and greeted him with a bright smile, then hurried along the corridor to Jill Handelsman’s flat, inserting the key in the door, and going inside.
She was the first to arrive, and she hurried through the foyer into the drawing room which faced onto a lovely garden. Although of medium size, it did have a hedge, several trees and a lawn, with a fountain in one corner. There was even a small terrace immediately in front of the French windows, and it was here that Anne envisaged putting a small table and chairs, so that the terrace could be used for drinks or simple meals in the warm weather.
Walking through into the dining room, Anne emptied her satchel, spread out the many fabric samples, and then glanced over her shoulder as she heard a key in the door.
A moment later Jill was hurrying forward through the entrance hall, smiling hugely when she spotted Anne in the dining room.
Smiling in return, Anne walked out to greet her, and, after a quick hug, she said, ‘I brought you all of the samples so that we can see how the colours look in the drawing room. I still think my idea of a play of different creams and pinks will be the perfect combination, Jill.’
‘I agree,’ Jill answered, following Anne into the dining room, where the fabrics were scattered on the table for her inspection.
‘There’s going to be a few different woods in the room,’ Anne explained, ‘and also some of the parquet floor will be visible. It struck me that lots of cream fabrics, of different textures, and a hint of green with the rose pink, would be light and airy, perfect for the room looking onto the garden.’
‘I think you’re right.’ Jill sat down at the table, as did Anne, and together the two women went through the fabrics. After choices were made Anne showed her the floor plans, explaining where everything would be placed.
‘I’d like us to go to each room,’ Anne said, standing up. ‘So that I can show you where I envision each piece, and we can discuss it. You and Marty must feel comfortable here, and at ease. It’s my job to give you all the alternatives, all the possibilities.’
‘I’m glad I have you, Anne,’ Jill murmured, glancing at the young Englishwoman. She had taken to Anne immediately they met in the antiques shop, and when she had discovered that Anne was also an interior designer she had hired her at once. There was something very special about this talented young woman, Jill thought, a young woman with a great deal of style, chic and flair, who had such a fantastic eye for furniture, paintings, tapestries and objects of art. Jill thought she was an extraordinary find, and was even thinking of asking her to redesign their home in New York. A perceptive person, she had also detected a certain sadness in Anne, a loneliness even, and wondered about her personal life, but had never asked one question. She was far too polite to do so, and would never infringe on a person’s privacy.
They walked on through the apartment and were now standing in the bedroom. Anne said, ‘I think the bed should go on this wall, Jill, don’t you?’
Immediately rousing herself from her thoughts, Jill nodded. ‘It’s really the only useable wall, actually. And it’s wonderful to have a fireplace in a bedroom. It’ll be very cosy in winter, don’t you think?’
Nodding her head, Anne walked over to the far wall and explained, ‘The fruitwood armoire you liked so much at the shop would be perfect here, and, incidentally, I’ve found two night tables, and two crystal lamps. We’re almost done, you know,’ she finished with a light laugh.
‘I hope that doesn’t mean I won’t see you ever again,’ Jill murmured, meaning this. She had grown fond of Anne Bowles over the last few months.
‘I’m almost always in Paris part of the week, Jill. But you know that, and we can have lunch, or meet up in the evening any time you want. And I would like you to meet my younger brother, Greg. He’s living here now, working at the Paris office of a British bank.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Jill exclaimed. ‘And how nice for you to have your brother here now.’
‘It is. Unfortunately, he tends to lecture me about my life –’ Anne broke off, and shrugged, not wanting to say another word, afraid she might confide her troubles in this very nice American woman who was so sympathetic towards her.
No one would understand how complicated it was to love Harry Turner.
FIFTY-NINE
Anne stood near the window in her living room which looked out onto the avenue Montaigne, hoping to catch sight of Harry as he crossed the street from the hotel. He was due to pick her up at seven o’clock, but he was nowhere in sight.
She glanced at her watch, saw that it was five minutes to seven, and smiled to herself, thinking how old-fashioned he was in certain ways, and gallant.
On the phone early that morning, long before he had left London, he had said he would come and collect her to escort her back to the Plaza Athénée. They were to have dinner in the garden of the hotel, where he was staying. She could have easily walked across the street, met him in the restaurant, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
A split second later she heard his key in the lock, and swung around, made for the entrance hall.
He came in, closed the door behind him and stood smiling at her, then began to walk towards her.
As always when she saw him after an absence, her heart jumped and she felt a wonderful rush of excitement, something she had never experienced with any other man. How marvellous he looked in his impeccably-tailored dark-blue silk suit, a precise bit of Savile Row tailoring at its ultimate best. The crisp, white shirt enhanced his light tan and the blue silk tie reflected the colour of his eyes. He was perfectly dressed and groomed right down to his highly-polished black loafers.
They met in the middle of the room, and he looked down at her, his face suddenly turning serious, and then he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly without saying a word.
Anne clung to him, and she knew at that moment that she could never leave him, certainly not of her own free will. As he kissed the top of her head, and pressed her even closer into his body, all of her worries and troub
les, which had been lodged like a stone in the middle of her chest for weeks, just dissolved in that instant. It seemed to her that a great burden had been lifted and she felt herself relaxing against him.
Still holding her tightly, he murmured in a quiet but emphatic voice, ‘God, I’ve missed you, Anne, truly, truly missed you. My life’s not worth living without you. I want you to know that.’
‘I’ve missed you, too, Harry. I’ve been very stressed, but I’m all right now that you’re here.’
He tilted her face to his, studied it for a moment, and then bent down and kissed her deeply on the mouth.
It was a prolonged kiss, one which she returned ardently, her passion, as always, matching his. And then he gently moved away, his eyes full of sudden laughter as he said, ‘If we don’t leave now, immediately, for dinner, I’m afraid we won’t be leaving at all.’
She laughed with him, nodded, and then went over to the chest in a corner of the room, returned with her black silk evening purse that matched her high-heeled black silk shoes, a striking contrast to her white silk dress and which picked up the colour of the wide black patent leather belt around her slender waist.
‘I’m ready,’ she said, tucking her arm in his.
They walked to the door, but she held him back before they left the flat, and whispered, ‘Happy birthday, darling.’
Every eye was on them as they crossed the lobby of the hotel making for the restaurant in the inner courtyard, which was surrounded by the four walls of the hotel. They made a striking couple, both of them elegantly dressed and good looking, and so obviously in love.
The maître d’ hurried to greet them as they stood poised in the entrance. ‘Good evening, Monsieur Turner, I have your usual table over here in the corner.’
Harry nodded, smiled, followed him, led Anne over to his preferred table near one of the ivy-clad walls. ‘Merci beau-coup,’ he murmured, and looked pleased when he saw the bottle of Dom Perignon already in the silver bucket filled with ice. ‘I think we’ll have a drop of that now,’ he murmured to the maître d’.
‘Oui, monsieur,’ he answered and beckoned to the wine waiter.
Once the sparkling wine was served, they clinked glasses and Anne said, ‘I have a little gift for you, darling. It’s in my bag, but if you wish I’ll give it to you later.’
He shook his head, grinning at her. ‘I’d like it now, if you don’t mind. You know I’m like a child when it comes to presents.’
Opening her black silk purse, she took out a small red box from Cartier, and as she handed it to him she explained, ‘I didn’t think you would want to be unwrapping something in public. So here it is, without benefit of paper and ribbon.’
Harry, still smiling beatifically, opened the box and stared at the pair of gold cufflinks set on the black velvet, his eyes widening slightly. One had an enamelled white rose surrounded by small diamonds, the other an enamelled red rose also edged in diamonds. ‘Anne, they’re beautiful! Unique. Thank you, sweetheart.’ He reached for her hand resting on the table and kissed it; still smiling at her, he went on softly, ‘And I have something for you … a little gift. But I’d prefer to give it to you later.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, her dark eyes glowing, her curiosity aroused.
‘If I tell you it won’t be a surprise, now will it?’
‘No, you’re correct. And I’m so glad you like the cufflinks. I thought they would be quite meaningful to you … The white rose of York and the red rose of Lancaster … Deravenel and Turner finally joined as one dynasty, by your mother and father.’
‘I love them,’ he murmured, and took another sip of his champagne. ‘I’ve a lot to talk to you about, Anne,’ he continued. ‘But let’s relax for the moment and enjoy being together, and we can look at the menu and order.’
‘You sound serious,’ Anne remarked, frowning. ‘Is everything all right … at Deravenels?’
‘Couldn’t be better. As a matter of fact, on Saturday night Charles gave me the best birthday present in the world –’ He paused, grinned, and added, ‘After yours, of course, my little sweetie.’ He took hold of her hand again and explained. ‘He has found two companies we can probably take over. Both of them fit very well into Deravenels, and I shall start working on them next week.’
‘Both? Or just one?’
‘I think I shall work on both of them, since we can afford to buy both. We’ve got plenty of cash, as we always do. One’s a food chain, which would fit perfectly into our wine, liquor and food division, and the other is something I’ve yearned for a long time –’
‘Oil,’ she said, cutting in. ‘Charles found you an oil company.’
‘Right on the button, yes, he did. He has a nose for sniffing things out. The only problem is that I’ve got two competitors to cope with, and they’re both top-notch. Buccaneering tycoons like me.’
‘Jimmy Hanson and Gordie White,’ Anne said, and sat back in the chair, staring at him. ‘I am right, aren’t I?’
‘Almost, but not quite. Good old James Hanson, yes, and with him I include his partner, my old pal Gordon White. But I consider them to be one entity, since they own their company together. The other financier who is after both these companies is Jimmy Goldsmith.’
‘He’s brilliant! Unbeatable they say.’
‘All three of them are, but I shall have a go at it, Anne. As you well know, I’ve made my mind to take Deravenels to another stage. My father kept everything steady, kept the company on an even keel, but he didn’t do anything at all daring, he was too careful, never wanted to take risks. And he was very parsimonious. I spoke to John Dudley about that the other day, and he agreed with me. His father Edmund worked for Father for years; there have always been Dudleys at Deravenels. Anyway, both our fathers were parsimonious by nature. They never wanted to take chances.’
‘But you do, I know that, Harry, and you should. Greg always says money must make more money, and it should be used, not just left to sit gathering dust.’
Harry burst out laughing. ‘That’s a nice turn of phrase. How is your brother?’
‘He’s fine, he sends his best. He likes living in Paris, and he’s doing well at the bank.’
‘Good to know. Now, shall we look at the menu?’
‘Let’s do that, and I think we should start with caviare, because it’s your birthday.’
‘You do have such good ideas, Anne.’
At the end of the dinner, after the waiter had served coffee, Harry felt around in his pocket, saying, ‘Here you are, Anne, this is for you. Give me your hand, darling.’
She stared at him nonplussed, and then offered him her right hand.
‘No, no, not that one. Your left hand, please.’
Still staring at him perplexed, her black eyes wide with curiosity, she did as he asked, then gasped in surprise when he slipped the extraordinary twenty-carat diamond ring on her engagement finger.
‘Harry, my God! It’s fantastic.’ Anne stared down at the perfectly beautiful pear-shaped diamond ring, and then looked up into his eyes. ‘Does this mean you’re asking me to marry you?’ she asked, sounding a little breathless and excited.
‘You know I would if I could, Anne darling, but I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘So nothing has changed then,’ she whispered, her voice suddenly saddened; a cloud crossed her face. ‘If you’re still not able to marry me, how can I possibly wear this ring? On my engagement finger, I mean.’
He leaned across the table, his handsome face very serious and intent. ‘Listen to me, I can’t go on any longer, not like this. I really do want you to live with me quite openly. And perhaps if you do, Catherine might be embarrassed into granting me a divorce. I doubt it, though, and I must be honest with you about that. However, no matter, I do believe we should make our relationship much more permanent. We can be so happy together.’
‘My family will have a fit, especially my father. He’ll be apoplectic.’ Anne’s dark eyes filled with worry, and she shook her head. ‘I�
��m a bit nervous about taking such a step.’
‘I know that and I do have some thoughts to share with you, sweetheart. First of all, I don’t expect you to come and set up house with me in Berkeley Square, because I know you will never do that, that you’d abhor the idea. However, I will buy you a larger flat, or even a house. I’ve already made inquiries and there seem to be quite a few really nice properties available near me in Mayfair. Once you have your own residence, I will live there with you … most of the time. We’ll work out a proper routine, no one need be any the wiser. I will also take care of your future, in case anything should happen to me. I’ll create a trust for you, and give you anything else you feel you need to protect your future.’
‘I – I – just don’t know, Harry,’ she answered in a low voice. Even though it was 1970, and things were a lot easier after the Swinging Sixties, she knew there were still codes of behaviour to consider. And certain rules and regulations. No matter how she and Harry might do it, her father would be dismayed, and furious with her. Also, there was her own self-respect to consider. How could she bring herself to live with a man already married to someone else? He would never really belong to her if he had a wife.
‘Don’t you want to spend the rest of your life with me, Anne?’
‘Yes, I do, I really do, darling. When I saw you tonight, coming into the flat after two weeks apart, I suddenly realized I can never leave you. But I want a proper life, children, Harry. And you want – no need – an heir. And I know I wouldn’t be comfortable if I had an illegitimate child, and anyway, an illegitimate son would not be your legal heir –’
‘I can make him legal by adopting him, giving him my name, and making him my heir in my will. I just know you’ll give me a son, Anne, and I want a son now, whilst I’m young, so that I can watch him grow, enjoy him. Oh, let’s do it, Anne.’
‘But my family –’
‘I don’t really want to hear about them,’ he announced, interrupting her. ‘It’s your life, not theirs, and my life, too. And there’s a lot at stake.’
The Heir Page 46
