In the Lion's Den

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Good for you, I feel pleased you know how to delegate. You got Keller promoted. I know that.’

  James nodded. ‘The Wine Division needed someone to take over. And he deserved it. Look, here he comes now. At least I think he’s in this carriage coming down the street. We’re going together.’

  When the carriage came to a stop, the window came down, and Peter Keller looked out at them.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, opening the door. To James he murmured, ‘I didn’t know your uncle was coming.’

  ‘He’s not. He’s just arrived back from the newspaper.’ James squeezed George’s arm and said, ‘See you later, Uncle George.’

  ‘Have a good time, lads. Nice to see you, Keller,’ George answered and went into the building.

  Climbing into the carriage, James sat down opposite Peter Keller and pulled the door closed. Settling against the seatback, he said, ‘I’m very glad you agreed to come. You seemed a bit hesitant at first.’

  ‘I think I was. I don’t know any of the other guests. Only Miss Parkinson.’ He gave James a sheepish look, and added, ‘Whom I like a lot, actually.’

  James smiled. ‘I know you do, and I suspect Natalie likes you too.’

  ‘How do you know? Did she tell you?’

  ‘In not so many words, but I picked up on it. Trust me.’

  ‘I do. Implicitly.’ Keller leant forward, frowning a little. ‘Can you tell me something about the other guests? Of course, I know who her aunt is – Mrs Lorne, who does a great deal of charity work. I believe she gives a lot of time and money to good causes.’

  ‘That’s true. She’s married to an American banker, who is of like mind. Also, they’re both hospitable. But I think he’s in New York at the moment. Irina is Natalie’s younger sister. I know she designs evening gowns, and their brother is a scenic designer for the theatre. His name’s Alexander, but they call him Sandro. The last guest I know of is Aubrey Williamson. He’s a barrister.’

  ‘So you can help me through,’ Keller remarked. He sat back against the seat and explained, ‘I’m always a bit shy socially, especially when I’m meeting new people.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t really know why, unless it’s because I was an only child and we didn’t socialize very much.’

  ‘That’s probably the reason. But you’ll be fine this evening. Just stick close to me. We’ll circulate, do the best we can.’

  ‘That I will,’ Keller told him.

  James simply smiled and glanced out of the window. The carriage was going in the direction of Chelsea, where the Lorne house was located. He had only been there a few times. He was glad to have the company of Peter. Over the past year, they had become close friends, often had supper together, and went to the theatre or the variety shows. They lived in an overwhelmingly man’s world, one in which men socialized together, and travelled abroad or in England, supporting each other, enjoying large or small get-togethers.

  He himself missed his cousin, William Venables, who still lived in Hull and rarely came to London. He smiled inwardly. Now that the Hull arcade was under way, he would see more of William, he hoped.

  Keller had had a sad life as a child, James knew that. His parents had been killed in an accident in India, and he had been brought back to England by his nanny. The two of them had lived with his maternal grandmother. She had loved him, looked after him well, but he had been a lonely boy. For all that, he was quietly friendly and was one of the best-informed people James knew. Keller was a voracious reader, devoured books, and was always seeking knowledge. He had told James there had been a truly nice teacher at Rugby, who had mentored him, been a big influence on him in those years. ‘Mr Parsons helped me to open up,’ he had told him once. ‘He gave me self-confidence and told me to value myself, to have the belief that I could do anything if I really tried.’

  James was convinced that that teacher at Rugby had put Peter Keller on the right path and that was why he had done so well at Malvern’s. Certainly he had got the Wine Division back on track this past year, for which James was grateful. Peter was twenty-three and would soon be twenty-four, but at times he seemed older than that. Perhaps because of his childhood years. Shorter than James, he had dark hair and a serious face.

  How lucky I am, James suddenly thought. I have a big family around me, who have always been there for me, had my back, and given me the greatest start in life. Last month, at the end of May, they had celebrated his twentieth birthday with love and generosity.

  ‘I believe we’ve arrived,’ Peter Keller announced as the carriage came to a stop.

  Pulling himself out of his reverie, James agreed. ‘Indeed we have,’ he said. ‘So, brace yourself Keller! Let’s go inside and knock ’em dead!’

  Francesca Lorne paused under the arched entrance to the drawing room, catching her breath in surprise and pleasure. The late afternoon sun was slowly fading, its last rays filling the room with sudden brilliant light, giving it a burnished look. Everything gleamed.

  It occurred to her that the room looked different this evening and, of course, it did. Irina, her niece, had been at work. She had filled it with numerous vases of flowers, rearranged certain objects of art, and put new cushions on the sofas and chairs; done one of her ‘fix-ups’, as she called them. Irina could do wonders with quite ordinary things, bringing new life to any room in this house.

  Francesca loved Irina and her sister Natalya, as if they were her own daughters. And, in a sense, they were. She and her husband Michael were childless and had brought them up for the past eleven years and had helped to make them who they were today.

  When Francesca’s brother, Maurice, and his Russian wife, Kat, had decided to move to Shanghai, the girls had not wanted to go. They had begged their parents to let them stay in London with their aunt and uncle.

  Francesca and Michael were genuinely happy to become their guardians and to bring them into their home to live with them. Maurice and Kat had been relieved and touched by this generous offer, and the girls had been well educated and looked after with great care and affection. Natalie, at twenty-five the elder of the two, had sometimes mothered Irina to a certain extent. But it was to Aunt Francesca that they usually turned for advice. Now grown-up young women, they were lovely to look at and a joy to be around. They still lived at the Chelsea house with their aunt and uncle.

  The sound of a carriage coming to a stop outside made Francesca turn around. She saw Violet, the housekeeper, hurrying across the hall to the front door. Natalie and Irina were coming down the staircase, as usual well dressed and perfectly groomed, Natalie wearing a fashionably cut dress in palest yellow silk and Irina a gown made from a pretty cream silk with tiny green sprigs.

  The two of them were smiling broadly as they stopped next to Aunt Cheska, as they called her. At the same moment, Violet opened the front door to admit James Falconer and Peter Keller.

  After introductions had been made, Francesca ushered them all into the drawing room. ‘Let us wait in here for the other guests to arrive … I’m so pleased you are punctual. It always upsets Cook when we have latecomers – she doesn’t like to have her best dishes ruined.’

  Keller, wanting to join in and be sociable immediately, said, ‘I understand how Cook feels. After all the great effort she must put in, it would be such a disappointment for her.’

  Francesca smiled at him warmly. ‘I like thoughtful young men. Now come along, Mr Keller, and tell me all about yourself. Let’s sit over there by the French doors.’

  James quickly glanced around the drawing room. He had seen great beauty and stylishness but had not yet had any time to take in the details. Primrose-yellow walls, touches of pinks and greens, a marvellous airiness and pale colours which were uplifting. He had never seen a room quite like this before, and unexpectedly he felt a sudden lightness of spirit. He was always aware of his surroundings. He preferred beautiful places, which soothed him.

  Aware of someone beside him, he turned around swiftly. Irina Parkinson stood next to him. He stared at her
, seeing her properly for the first time. She was tall and svelte, and her abundant brown hair was swept up into a mass of silky curls on top of her head. Her eyes were remarkable: very dark, framed by thick lashes. While she was not a great beauty in the current fashion, Irina had lovely features, and her dark eyes and high cheekbones gave her an exotic look that he found fascinating. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude … I’m afraid I got caught up with this room. It’s lovely, Miss Parkinson.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it, Mr Falconer, and you weren’t rude, not at all.’

  ‘So many flowers, so many unique objects.’ He glanced at a mahogany table and asked, ‘What are these objects here? I’ve never seen anything like them, not even at the estate sales I used to go to in the country with my father years ago.’

  Irina stepped closer to the table and beckoned to him. ‘They are icons,’ she explained. ‘Pictures of a sacred or sanctified person. They are traditional to the Eastern Christian church, especially the Russian church.’

  ‘They are so beautifully painted, every detail perfect and in such rich colours. As for the frames, they are works of art in themselves,’ James said, peering at the icons. ‘And there are so many. Obviously your aunt collects them,’ he finished, straightening, looking at her.

  ‘No, she doesn’t, actually. These icons belong to me and Natalie. They were given to us by our mother. She uses the name Kat, but she was christened Ekaterina. You see, she is descended from the Shuvalovs, as are we. We are half-Russian through our mother’s side of the family.’

  James nodded. ‘Of course. Now I remember! Your sister did once make a remark to me about being from an old Russian family, but she never told me anything more, nor alluded to it again. It was something said in passing, and it never came up later.’

  He felt a sudden pull to her, wanting to know her better.

  Realizing he was staring at her, he went on quickly. ‘So how did an old Russian family come to live in London?’

  She was silent for a moment or two, gazing at him.

  James said, ‘I do apologize. I must sound very nosy and rude. It’s just that—’

  She interrupted him with a small, quiet laugh and shook her head. ‘No, not in the slightest. I am happy to tell you the whole story. And I’d better make it quick before the other guests arrive.

  ‘It was my great-grandfather, Konstantin Shuvalov, who first came here. He was a courtier in the Romanov court, and was posted here in 1850 as the Russian ambassador to London. My great-grandmother was called Zenia and they had one son, my grandfather, Nicholas Shuvalov. My great-grandfather had been educated at Eton and so he sent his son there too, ensuring he spoke excellent English. Nicholas was the father of my mother Kat and her sister Olga, who now lives in Russia.’

  Irina broke off as she heard voices echoing in the hall and noticed her aunt hurrying across the room.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Falconer, but I have to go and greet the new arrivals. I’ll tell you more about the Shuvalovs later.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that!’ James exclaimed.

  Irina turned around and smiled at him. It was a lovely smile that filled her face with radiance.

  James smiled back and felt his heart lifting, something he had not experienced for a few years.

  After the three women went out into the entrance hall, Keller joined James, who had remained standing next to the mahogany table where the icons were displayed. Keller was immediately interested in them. After studying them for a moment, he said, ‘What a splendid collection of icons! Many of them must be very old, I think, and highly valuable.’

  ‘I didn’t even know what they were,’ James admitted, pursing his mouth, shaking his head. ‘You are truly amazing, Keller. Your knowledge is extraordinary.’

  ‘Mrs Lorne must enjoy collecting them,’ Keller answered, as usual low-key.

  ‘Oh, they’re not hers, actually,’ James informed him. ‘I thought the same as you, but Irina told me they belong to her and Natalie. Their mother gave the icons to them. You see, through their mother’s side of the family, they are descended from the Shuvalovs, apparently a well-known and ancient Russian family. Their great-grandfather was the Russian ambassador to London in the 1850s.’

  ‘How interesting – so he was here during the Crimean War. He was probably glad to be well away from the area, just as many Russian intellectuals are now – fleeing the censorship that has been imposed by Alexander III.’

  Impressed by his friend’s knowledge, James fell silent as their hostess returned with her nieces, ushering three other people into the drawing room. Her nephew Sandro, the elder brother of her nieces at twenty-eight, was followed by a good-looking couple. James felt certain they were Aubrey and Rebecca Williamson.

  After greetings and introductions had been made, Francesca Lorne led the Williamsons down to the far end of the room, opening the French doors which revealed the garden. They went outside together.

  James stepped forward to speak to Irina’s brother, greeting Alexander by his surname, as was the custom. ‘I’m delighted to see you, Parkinson. Natalie tells me you’re doing the scenery for a new play.’

  ‘Pleasure to see you here tonight, Falconer,’ Alexander answered. ‘And I haven’t quite made my deal yet. However, I am hoping.’ Glancing at Keller, who was talking to Irina, obviously about the icons, he went on. ‘Your colleague appears to be a nice chap.’ Lowering his voice, he added, ‘I have a feeling Natalie rather likes him, not that she’s admitted that to me. Yet …’ He raised a dark brow. ‘What say you, Falconer?’

  ‘She finds him rather shy, which he is in a way. I like him tremendously. He works hard; he’s a good chap. And most definitely true blue.’ A smile surfaced on James’s face, and he said sotto voce, ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they hit it off. He’s her type.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ Parkinson asked, his curiosity apparent.

  ‘Serious without being stuffy, highly intelligent, honest as the day is long, and not a bad bone in his body. I appreciate him, and he’s taken a great burden off my back. He’s turned the Wine Division around and managed to bring it up to par in Le Havre, where we’ve had problems.’

  Before Alexander could say anything, Natalie returned to the drawing room and, standing next to her brother and James, told them, ‘Cook is happy. I’d even go so far as to say delirious … because all the guests have arrived. No spoiled dishes ce soir.’

  ‘I hope I’m sitting next to you,’ James said, as he noticed Mrs Lorne bringing the other guests inside.

  ‘You must wait and see,’ Natalie replied, and took hold of her brother’s arm. ‘Let us lead the way, Sandro.’

  NINE

  James followed Natalie across the front entrance hall, flagged in black-and-white marble, somewhat reluctant to leave the lovely drawing room. Although he had been to Mrs Lorne’s house several times, he had previously only ever been entertained in the library opposite.

  That room was rather masculine, with shelves full of books and dark-green leather sofas and chairs. He had had tea there once, and a meeting with Natalie on another occasion. So seeing the rest of the house today was a revelation to him.

  Natalie paused at the doorway of the dining room and whispered, ‘You’re in for a surprise. Come on, you’re going to see how clever Sandro is.’ As she spoke she took hold of James’s hand and led him inside.

  He was indeed taken aback, and drew in his breath as he glanced around. What he saw were the most beautiful murals of garden scenes on all four walls, broken only at the window where narrow green silk draperies hung to the floor, neat and unobtrusive.

  The scenes Sandro had painted were true to life: green trees, bushes and lawns. There was a blue sky filled with puffy white clouds and a wonderful mixture of flowers with the blooms in their natural colours: pink roses, delphiniums, daffodils, and tulips of varying hues.

  Turning to Natalie, he exclaimed, ‘What an amazing effect he has created! I feel as if I am really in the garden, in the middle of
it.’

  Natalie said rather proudly, ‘My brother is probably one of the best scenic designers for the theatre in London.’

  ‘If this room is anything to go by, I would say the very best,’ James replied, his tone sincere.

  ‘Please everyone, do be seated,’ Francesca Lorne announced. ‘There is a place card at every setting. It’s easy to find your name.’

  Within seconds the chairs at the round table were filled.

  James was surprised to see he was seated next to Mrs Lorne, on her right, with Aubrey Williamson on her left, positioned between Mrs Lorne and Irina.

  Irina gave James a smile as she sat down and then winked at him, which amused him. There was something about this young woman that touched him. It was not just her loveliness, but something else that drew him to her … perhaps her warm and welcoming personality. A deep kindness emanated from her. She had a certain aura he could not quite pinpoint.

  Well schooled in manners by his Falconer grandmother, James turned at once to his hostess and praised her for her beautifully set table. Silver and crystal sparkled in the candlelight, and the large bowl of pink roses gave off a lovely scent.

  ‘And I must compliment you on the overall beauty of this room, Mrs Lorne. Especially your nephew’s murals, which are breathtaking. They are so lifelike I feel I have stepped into the garden, as I just told Natalie.’

  ‘They are unique,’ Mrs Lorne murmured. ‘Everyone says exactly the same as you. There is no doubt about it, Sandro is genuinely gifted. His theatrical designs are much praised, you know.’

  At this moment, the door to the kitchen opened and the housekeeper appeared. Addressing Francesca Lorne, she announced, ‘Supper is about to be served, madam.’

  ‘Thank you, Violet. You can all come in. I know we’re in for a treat.’

  Within seconds, Violet ushered in three young maids in black dresses, white aprons and starched white headdresses. All were carrying trays laden with dressed crab arranged in well-scrubbed crab shells, decorated on top with sprigs of parsley. The trays were placed on two empty sideboards. The crab was served by two of the maids. The third maid carried around a large platter of sliced brown bread, already buttered.