In the Lion's Den

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘I wanted to show the boys the back staircase,’ Esther cut in swiftly, needing to get the problem out of the way. ‘They agree with me it’s very steep.’ She stared at her husband and said to him, ‘We are having the supper in the breakfast room, which is on this floor—’

  ‘No, no, we can’t do that, you know the rules,’ Philip interrupted.

  ‘Yes, we can. I sent a telegram to Lady Agatha.’ Before he could object further, Esther took the telegram out of her skirt pocket and handed it to him.

  Philip read it in silence and gave her a faint smile. ‘You win,’ he acknowledged. ‘And you’re right, actually. That staircase would be a problem for me in this plaster cast.’

  Esther always enjoyed the Saturday night suppers and, on this particular evening, the gathering of their little clan over a meal was no exception.

  As her eyes swept around the circular table in the breakfast room, she saw that everyone was enjoying themselves, and this pleased her.

  She looked at her three sons, studying them one by one by one. They were rather handsome in their different ways, and certainly they were well put-together. All three were neat and tidy in their dark ready-made suits, with their discreet silk ties – gifts from her, in fact. Each of them wore a floppy silk handkerchief in the top pocket of their jackets as a finishing touch. There was a flutter of pride behind her smile.

  They had done well in their chosen jobs, and because she and Philip had brought them up with high standards, they were decent men, honourable, loyal and full of integrity.

  Oddly, they had been rather mischievous, sometimes even naughty boys. They had had their differences, which led to quarrels and rows, occasional fist-fights, as well as heated verbal battles. Their father and she had taught them to sort things out fairly and quietly, not at high voltage. Eventually they had learned to do this.

  When they were still quite young, Esther had invented the Saturday night supper, a special meal where they were expected to be on their best behaviour. They enjoyed the delicious meals she concocted and made. It became a ritual the boys loved.

  If they had misbehaved earlier in the week, they were banned. This rule brought them up short most of the time. It ensured a better attitude on their parts. None of them wanted to be excluded from the Saturday night get-together. It was a very special treat.

  Her gaze settled on Maude, her daughter-in-law, wife to Matthew, mother of James, Rossi and Eddie. She and Philip loved this gentle and caring woman who had created a happy home for her husband and children. Very slender, more so than ever after a bad bout of flu some years before, Maude’s burnished brown hair was shot through with fine threads of silver now, but her deep brown eyes were as expressive as ever and her face as loving.

  She welcomed the extra money earned from her clever sewing and had a kind word for everyone. We were lucky yet again, Esther thought, when Maude came strolling into Matthew’s life. She’s added so much love to the family.

  If only Harry and George could find lovely women like her. Esther’s spirits dropped slightly when she thought of her two bachelor sons now sitting opposite her. It was her great hope this would soon happen, before they got too set in their ways. She didn’t want them to be lonely, especially in their old age.

  It will happen, she decided, and when they least expect it. Some young woman from somewhere will appear, and perhaps they’ll fall in love. She sighed under her breath and pulled herself out of her reverie.

  Now Kitty, the senior housemaid, was coming in with a tray which held three soufflés, followed by her two juniors, Fanny and Maureen, also carrying trays of soufflés.

  ‘Thank you, Kitty,’ Esther said, smiling at her and the other girls. ‘They look wonderful.’

  ‘Yes, they do indeed,’ Philip added, and the rest of the family nodded in agreement.

  ‘My mouth is really watering,’ Harry said, wondering what Cook’s secret was. The soufflés had not dropped, were still beautifully risen, even though they had been carried upstairs. Perhaps that was it. They had not been sent up in the dumbwaiter. Rushed up, no doubt, by the maids. Only in a very smart house like this with a cook as talented as Mrs Holmes would they taste something as fancy as a soufflé, and many complimentary comments were made as they ate them. When the roast beef arrived, served with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and Brussels sprouts, the men broke into quiet cheers.

  Esther laughed. ‘I’m glad you’re happy,’ she said, looking at her three boys. ‘You all asked if we could have a Sunday lunch on a Saturday night. Cook has obliged.’

  FOUR

  Alexis Malvern stood on the rise that looked down towards Romney Marsh. It was still shrouded in mist, images blurred, indistinct, but when she lifted her eyes and looked beyond, she saw the sea, and further still the faint outline of the French coast. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she recalled how Sebastian had liked to stand here at dusk, pointing out the lights of a foreign land just across the English Channel. This view at twilight had always delighted him.

  For days Kent had been cloudy and wet, and Goldenhurst drenched, muddy underfoot in some areas, the last of the late-blooming flowers wilted and limp. Much of the gardens had suffered and been destroyed by the almost constant rainfall. Now, on this Friday afternoon in the first week of October, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the colour of their bluebells in May, and a light breeze brought freshness to the air.

  Turning, she walked across to the corner of the gardens where she and Sebastian had liked to sit in the arbour nestled there. In summer, masses of blue flowers filled this part of the gardens, and invariably she would silently thank Magdalena Ellis, the talented gardener, who had helped Sebastian to create this oasis of natural beauty.

  Leaning back against the bench, she closed her eyes, her grief rising up again. He should have been here with her now, as her husband of one year. Perhaps a baby too. The anniversary of his death had brought it all back again, stronger than ever. Her fiancé had been older than her, with grown-up children of his own, but he had been in the prime of his life and no one had expected pneumonia to kill him.

  Shaking her head, she attempted to turn her mind to her imminent guests. She couldn’t help wondering if it had been a mistake to invite Jane and Reggie to come for the weekend. There was no doubt in her mind that Jane would start lecturing her once again about why she was living down here in Kent. Or she would start wondering aloud if Alexis was ill and should revisit Doctor Freud in Vienna, asking if Alexis could be heading for another breakdown, perhaps?

  A little shiver ran through Alexis at this thought, and she sat up with a jerk, glanced around, blinking.

  I’ll have to keep them really busy, she decided, as she slumped back, forcing herself to relax. Two days ago she had written a note to Sebastian’s eldest daughter Claudia, with an invitation for her and her husband to come for the weekend, dispatching Gates, the new driver, to deliver it. He had returned with an acceptance, much to her relief.

  At the thought of her friend, Alexis experienced a sudden lifting of her heart, a lightness of spirit that she rarely enjoyed these days. But then Claudia always brought happiness with her and a special kind of love, like that of an adoring sister. And in her lovely face, Alexis saw Sebastian and felt he was with them, which calmed her. Claudia had been the person who had introduced them and she shared in Alexis’s grief for the dynamic man who had died too young.

  ‘So Reggie’s coming tomorrow afternoon, is that it?’ Alexis asked, pouring more tea in Lady Jane’s cup.

  ‘That is correct, my dear. He does apologize, most profusely. However, he must see this American fellow, who owns the largest newspaper in New York City. It’s important to Reggie. You know how men are when it comes to business.’

  ‘I do, yes. And how are your girls? I suppose they must be in Italy by now? Claudia is arriving tomorrow, by the way.’

  ‘That’s nice. I haven’t seen her for ages. Yes, Jasmine and Lilah are very much enjoying Florence and its treasures. My si
ster was so keen to take them once the Season finished.’ There was a pause while Lady Jane took a sip of her tea, then asked in a gentle voice, ‘And how is your father? Is he feeling better?’

  There was a moment of silence before Alexis answered. ‘Yes, he is. I think he has come to grips with his sorrow about Uncle Joshua dying. And shaken off that fatigue that brought him low. Although he’s still somewhat angry about that awful betrayal by his cousin. However, my father is a practical man and accepts that life can be difficult.’

  ‘Might we be seeing you in London soon?’ Jane murmured, eyeing her friend carefully. ‘Your father misses you, darling.’

  Alexis laughed, shook her head. ‘He’s fine, and he doesn’t miss me at all. He has Jimmy boy to keep him company.’

  Staring at her, puzzlement apparent in her eyes, Lady Jane asked, ‘Who on earth is this Jimmy boy … and why do you call him that?’

  ‘Because that’s the way I think of him. He’s a poor boy my father has always admired … he worked on his father’s stalls at the Malvern Market in Camden, but has always had dreams of … glory, shall we say? Matthew, his father, has forever pushed Jimmy at my father, often suggested that Papa might one day give him a job in the Malvern Company. And naturally my father did just that … during the time I was in Vienna, actually.’

  Taken aback, Lady Jane gaped at her, speechless for a moment. Finally she said softly, ‘Doesn’t it trouble you that this Jimmy fellow is there in London, working alongside your father, and you, the heir, are still out here in the depths of Kent?’ Jane had wanted to say doing nothing, but she did not dare.

  ‘Not really. I think Jimmy boy is a real opportunist, and in a hurry to rush up the ladder. But he’ll only get so far. After all, Jane, it is my company.’

  Lady Jane wanted to say: But would she be able to run it, since she lacked experience? But Jane put that question to one side for later. Instead she asked in a neutral voice, ‘So, tell me about Jimmy boy, Alexis. I’m curious that your father is so taken with him. And what’s his real name?’

  ‘James Falconer, and I admit he’s talented, even clever. I met him when I went to Paris to help my father deal with the wine problem. But I find him bossy and arrogant. And very conceited.’

  ‘Conceited? So he must be a handsome chap … is he, Alexis?’ Lady Jane probed.

  ‘Not particularly,’ Alexis said, and changed the subject abruptly.

  Lady Jane stood in the sitting room of her suite, staring out of the window. The view of the gardens was extraordinary, although she was not really seeing it. Her mind was caught up in the conversation she had just had with Alexis over afternoon tea.

  The situation between Alexis and her father troubled her, and had done for a long time. Until today she had been reluctant to say too much. By nature she was discreet, diplomatic, and only ever wanted to make her friend, all of her friends, in fact, feel happy. She did not wish to present their problems to them on a plate, so to speak, and dissect them.

  Jane, born Cadwalander, was a handsome rather than beautiful woman, who dressed strikingly and stylishly to her advantage. Now in her thirties, she was the eldest daughter of the most renowned and brilliant barrister in England’s Courts of Justice, Louis Cadwalander, long considered a great star of the courtroom. When Louis’s wife, Estelle, died unexpectedly and very suddenly, it was to their eldest child he turned. This was his fourteen-year-old daughter, Jane. Very simply, he told her to take charge of the household and run it the way her mother had. Jane did so without flinching. She became the chatelaine, managed the butler, the housekeeper, the maids and the gardeners, and brought up her younger siblings. The children did as they were told and called her The General, at first behind her back and then to her face. And she didn’t mind that, and laughed; she thought of it as a compliment.

  When Reggie met her, it was love at first sight for them both, and soon he was calling her The General, too, in the most admiring way. He thought she was quite a marvel. And to him she still was. Now she was his private general, her siblings having grown up, but her own twin sons – their little miracles – were now her charges.

  Moving away from the window, Jane settled in an armchair in front of the fire. Her thoughts focused on Alexis Malvern. Deep down inside, Jane was upset with Alexis. She believed it was time she pulled herself together and went back to London, worked alongside her father, learning to run the Malvern business. After all, business in general was now undergoing changes every day; she knew that from Reggie. He had told her the world was changing at a rapid pace.

  She sat up straighter in the chair. Falconer! Her husband employed a man called George Falconer on The Chronicle. That’s why she knew the name, which was relatively uncommon. Could they be related? Possibly.

  Alexis had spoken in the most derogatory way about James Falconer, calling him Jimmy lad, implying he was out for himself, an opportunist and untrustworthy.

  Yet she had met George Falconer a couple of times at events at the newspaper and had found him to be a pleasant, rather attractive man. He was the assistant to H. J. Browning, the royal correspondent. Reggie favoured him and often gave him special pieces to write for the editorial page. George had been extremely polite, with excellent manners, she recalled.

  Pushing aside thoughts of the Falconers, Jane made herself more comfortable in the chair and brought her attention back to Alexis and her overall problems. Jane was quite sure that her friend preferred to be at Goldenhurst because it was Sebastian’s own creation. He had redesigned the old farmhouse, even built parts of it himself, and so she felt comfortable here.

  And comforted, Jane added under her breath. She feels his presence here. It struck Jane at this precise moment that she herself sometimes felt Sebastian’s presence at Goldenhurst. But this is no life for her. She has to move on … get back to work … learn enough to take charge of the company … she will have to do that one day. And who knows when?

  We don’t know anything. Jane understood that only too well. We are in control of our own lives to a certain extent, but in the final analysis life is responsible for what happens to us, she thought, good or bad. And Henry Malvern has been ailing, according to Reggie. Men gossiped just like women; news travelled fast between the many private men’s clubs in London. Henry belonged to Savile’s, as did Reggie. Chitchat about the members prattled around.

  If only I knew where to begin. That thought was stuck in her head. Jane had tried in the past year to encourage Alexis to spend more time in London, gently reminding her that her father was getting on in years and needed her. Alexis seemed to understand, would nod, and look sorrowful. She had gone to her father’s aid earlier in the year and made a trip to France – but on her return had abruptly come back to Goldenhurst and refused to change her ways.

  ‘It’s like she’s drugged,’ Jane muttered to herself. ‘I’ve got to find a way to … shock her into coming to her senses …’

  The door was flung open, interrupting her thoughts, and Jane jumped up. Her face was radiant as she ran across the room and flung herself at her husband standing in the doorway.

  ‘Reggie! Reggie darling! What on earth are you doing here? Oh how lovely. You’ve escaped your American newspaper tycoon. However did you do it, you clever thing?’

  Laughing, hugging her closer, Reggie released her and said, ‘I didn’t escape. I’m afraid he had rather a bad accident. He fell in the Strand, and a bobby got him to a hospital. He’s hit his head and gashed it badly.’

  ‘Oh dear. Were you with him? I mean, how do you know?’

  ‘Jake told the police and the hospital to contact me. He suggested I go to the country and he would see me next week, since he was now trapped in London … they’re keeping him in bed.’ Taking hold of her arm, he walked her across the room and they both sat down in front of the fire.

  ‘Lucky for me you brought all my gear down here today,’ Reggie said, smiling at her, then leaning forward, warming his hands against the flames. ‘All I had to do was order the c
arriage and jump in.’ Happiness flooded his face. ‘So here I am, with the woman I love, sooner than expected.’

  Jane reached out and grasped his hand. ‘Did you see Alexis?’

  He nodded. ‘I said we’d see her at dinner.’

  ‘Reggie, there’s something I need to ask you,’ Jane began and then stopped.

  He looked at her alertly, catching the tone of her voice, but he replied mildly, ‘Go ahead, ask away.’

  ‘Does George Falconer have any relatives?’

  ‘Well I’m sure he has a mother and father,’ Reggie responded, smiling, suddenly looking faintly amused.

  ‘I know that, of course! Please don’t tease me. This is important. Can you tell me what you know about George? After all he is one of your favourites on the newspaper.’

  Nodding, Reggie was thoughtful before saying, ‘He has two brothers. One owns a café; the other, the eldest I believe, has stalls at one of the markets.’

  ‘What about nieces? Nephews?’

  ‘I believe he does have some. Actually, I met his oldest nephew some time ago. Bumped into them near the Bettrage Hotel in Mayfair.’

  Jane sat waiting, holding her breath, her eyes riveted on her husband.

  Lord Reginald was frowning. Eventually he said, ‘Now I remember … they were coming out of the hotel and it was the young man I noticed first. Then suddenly, there was George, speaking to me and introducing the young fellow. I was taken aback, actually.’

  ‘Why were you surprised?’

  ‘I was startled by the young man. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said he was the scion of some aristocratic family. Tall, good looking, properly dressed. He had impeccable manners, and what a voice … an actor’s voice.’ Reggie shook his head, and exclaimed, ‘Come to think about it, he had a voice that resembles your father’s. Mellifluous. Put him in a courtroom and – with those looks and that voice – he would be like your father. He’d win every case.’

  Jane had a surprised expression on her face, could not speak. After a moment, regaining her equilibrium, she said, ‘Are you sure it was George’s nephew, not someone he was interviewing?’