Secrets of Cavendon
Page 15
“How does Melinda know so much about his household?”
“Christopher Longdon saved her brother’s life during the war. They were friends and in the Royal Air Force together. She wants to help Christopher with the start-up of his charity,” Tony explained. “She doesn’t really know him well, but I guess she’s checked things out.”
“Maybe she can introduce me to her brother. He might have some useful ideas for me.”
Tony shook his head, grimaced. “Afraid not. Her brother, Ronnie, died last year of a heart attack.”
“Oh, how terrible. I’m sorry to hear that.” Victoria stood up, put the note in her pocket, walked toward the door. “I’ll do some research, do the best I can.”
“I know you will, ducks. That’s why you’re our favorite. You put such a huge effort into your work, which is more than I can say for most.”
“Thanks, Tony. And thanks for making my pictures look so good.”
Victoria walked down the corridor, mulling over the new assignment. It troubled her enormously, and she wondered how to make it work. It was a real challenge. Well, she liked a challenge, didn’t she?
Once she was inside her small office, she made a few notes about Christopher Longdon, and then wrote a list of possible sources who could help her. Charlie, more than likely, and also Elise.
They were having dinner tonight, and she could talk to her then. Victoria’s thoughts went to Lady Diedre, who knew everybody, and also Uncle Harry, who had been in the RAF.
The phone on her desk began to ring, and she picked it up instantly. “Victoria Brown here.”
“It’s Elise, Vicki, just checking that we’re still on for tonight.”
“I’ve booked a table at Le Chat Noir, if that’s all right with you?” She could hear the clatter and noise of the newsroom in the background.
“Great, but I can’t make it before eight. I’m still writing a tough story.”
“That’s when I booked it for. I guessed you’d be hard at it until then. Listen, before you go, do you know anything much about Christopher Longdon?”
“He’s our greatest war hero. Did over a hundred missions over Germany, or something like that, and he was very courageous. Why?”
“I’ve got to do a shoot on him for the magazine.”
There was a silence before Elise murmured, “Gosh, that’ll be tough. He’s in a wheelchair.”
“I’ll have to be inventive, Tony told me. So I will be. See you tonight, Elise.”
Nineteen
When Victoria arrived at Le Chat Noir too early, she was seated at once by the new owner, Jean-Philippe. He was the son of the former proprietor, Jacques André, who had died last year. He and his mother now ran the restaurant together and were making a good job of it.
Because of Will Lawson and Lady Diedre, the entire Ingham family, and its offshoots, favored the charming little spot, and Jean-Philippe knew them all.
“We have moules tonight, Miss Brown,” he murmured as he hovered next to the table. “And also our entrecôte, as well as Dover sole.”
“Thank you, Jean-Philippe,” Victoria answered. “The moules always tempt me.”
He smiled and glided away, returned a moment later with water; a waiter followed him with a basket of bread and a plate of butter.
“Would you like a glass of wine, mademoiselle?” Jean-Philippe asked as he poured the water.
“Not at the moment, thank you,” Victoria answered. “I’ll wait for my guest to arrive. I’m expecting Miss Elise Steinbrenner. You know her, she’s with the Daily Mail; she’s often here.”
“Mais oui.” He turned on his heel when several people came crowding in, excused himself, and went to greet the new arrivals.
Victoria sat back in the chair, glancing around, wondering if there was anyone she knew in the restaurant, but they were all strangers.
She pulled a small notebook out of her bag and glanced at the notes she had made earlier.
So far she knew that Christopher Longdon lived in a large house overlooking Hampstead Heath. He had been born in 1921, had joined the RAF when the war started in 1939.
Apparently he was one of the young fighter pilots who helped to win the Battle of Britain in the air. This aside, he was amongst the very few who had survived the war, even though he flew up into the sky in his Spitfire every day.
His plane had crashed several weeks before armistice was declared, which was when he was badly wounded.
She had heard this from Charlie, to whom she had spoken on the phone that afternoon. Charlie had only these few facts in his head but offered to phone a friend who might be able to help. “I believe Angus is a pal of Longdon’s, or was,” Charlie had explained. “They went to school together. Eton, I believe.”
Charlie had promised to phone her back tomorrow, and she knew he would. He was reliable. Putting her notebook away, she took a sip of water, wondering what kind of shoot this would turn out to be. How would she make him look heroic in a wheelchair? Wasn’t that up to the writer? To the words that would tell his story movingly? She had no idea where to start, nor did she know anyone who could help her.
She was fully aware that she herself was the most innovative photographer in London. Paloma? Perhaps she would give Uncle Harry’s wife a ring tomorrow and pick her brains.
“Here I am!” Elise exclaimed, coming to a stop at the table, surprising Victoria with her stealthy arrival.
Victoria immediately jumped up, hugged Elise, who hugged her back. The two young women sat down, smiling across the table at each other. They had bonded years ago and were genuinely loyal and loving friends.
Elise said, “I need a drink. Shall we have a glass of white wine? I’ve had a hell of a day, a crazy day.”
“And I’m facing a hell of a shoot. So let’s order a bottle of wine. I need a drink as much as you.”
Jean-Philippe came over to greet Elise, and Victoria ordered two glasses of white wine. As the proprietor hurried off, Victoria said, “Let’s start with a glass of white first, not a bottle. We might want to change to red, depending on what we eat.”
“I really feel for you,” Elise began, settling back in the chair. “I think Christopher Longdon is the most admirable man and, obviously, immensely brave. But this is a tough assignment, Vicki. I agree with you there. Here’s the thing, I told my news editor about your assignment. He’s a mine of information about people and he told me a couple of things. Christopher Longdon’s not married. He was an only child and his parents are dead.”
“It’s still not much to go on, but thanks anyway. We both know newspapermen always have the best information, so I spoke to Charlie today.”
At this moment the waiter arrived with their wine, and Victoria waited until he had departed to start speaking again. “He gave me a few details, but not much.”
The two women clinked glasses, said cheers, and took a sip of their wine before Victoria spoke. She then told Elise everything she knew about the subject of her next shoot. “Which amounts to nothing,” she finished.
“I’ll do a bit of digging next week, see if I can come up with more facts,” Elise promised. “However, I do think this is one of those assignments which will have to—evolve. By that I mean you might see endless things that will work, once you meet him. I’m sure some ideas will come to you then. You’re in the dark at the moment.”
“You’re right, Elise. Thanks for that!” Victoria exclaimed, her face suddenly lighting up. “It’s silly to have preconceived ideas, to be negative before I’ve even met the man. I shall give his assistant a ring on Monday morning. I’ll explain I need to come and chat with Mr. Longdon, that I have to do a sort of preshoot interview. That way I can get a dekko of the house, the garden, and the man himself. Hopefully, I’ll find inspiration.”
“Knowing you, I bet this will turn out to be the best shoot you’ve ever done. A challenge suits you. Oh and by the way, Charlie’s coming to Greta’s little shindig tomorrow night, and he asked if he can bring Alicia.”
“Won’t you have some early copies?” Elise asked.
“You’re right, I probably will, and you and Greta will be the first to get one each, along with Alicia and Aunt Alice.” Victoria grinned at Elise and went on. “Shall we look at the menu? Jean-Philippe told me they have moules tonight, their famous entrecôte, and also Dover sole, as well as their usual items.”
“I think I’ll have entrecôte and pommes frites.” Elise rolled her eyes. “Sounds delicious.”
“So will I. It’s been such a funny week at work, a lot of negatives to develop, so much to do. And I haven’t really had a proper meal for days,” Victoria remarked.
“The same for me. I seem to have been on the run mostly. Too many tough stories. Hey, but I’m not complaining, just explaining. I love being on a newspaper; it’s like being in the center of everything. You know what’s going on everywhere, thanks to the ticker tapes.”
“I know. And all the time.” Victoria lifted her hand when she saw Jean-Philippe. He came over to the table at once and they told him what they wished to eat. Victoria asked him to choose a good red wine for them, that she would leave it to him.
Once they were alone, Elise leaned forward and said, “I need to talk to you, Vicki. I’ve not been feeling so good lately. I’ve been depressed on and off. It worries me, because my mother suffered from depression, you know.”
“You must talk to me. I’m your best friend,” Victoria replied. “If not me, who else? Well, there’s Greta, of course.”
“I prefer to talk to you, Vicki, but not at this moment. I shouldn’t have brought it up now. Can we talk later, after dinner?”
“Whenever you want, I’m here for you.” Victoria reached out and squeezed her arm, offering her a loving smile.
They both fell silent for a while. Jean-Philippe brought a bottle of red wine and showed it to Victoria, who nodded. When he went off to open it, Victoria looked across at Elise and asked, “What are you wearing tomorrow evening, do you know?”
“Something simple,” Elise responded. “Greta has only invited a small group, and it’s not one of her fancy sit-down dinners. She’s making a buffet. So I’ll wear a plain silk dress.”
“So will I. You know what? I’m so glad it’s the weekend. I’ve errands to do tomorrow, but Sunday I plan to sleep late.” She paused, leaned in to Elise, and said, “Why don’t we go to the pictures? I’d like to see The Third Man. It’s had fantastic reviews.”
“That would be nice,” Elise responded, and then hesitated. “But I might have to be on call to go in to work on Sunday. Can I tell you tomorrow?”
“That’s fine,” Victoria replied. “Our dinner is on its way, thank goodness. I’m ravenous.”
Forcing herself to be more cheerful, Elise said, “I’m so glad we made this date, Vicki. It’s lovely to see you; it’s been over a week.”
Vicki smiled, already fairly certain what Elise’s problem was, at least part of it: she had no real personal life.
The plates of entrecôte steak and pommes frites were placed before them, and with a bright smile, Jean-Philippe looked from one to the other and said, “Bon appétit.”
* * *
It was later, over coffee, that Elise finally began to confide in Victoria. “I get depressed at times these days, and I don’t always know why. After all, I do have a job I love, and yet I suddenly find myself down in the dumps.”
Victoria nodded, answered her swiftly. “Do you think you made a mistake? I mean going to live in a flat on your own?”
Frowning, Elise shook her head vehemently, sounded certain when she replied, “No! I need to be out on my own, with a place of my own. After all I’m twenty-eight and an adult woman.”
The way she said it made Victoria laugh. “And I suppose I should be out on my own, too. Yet here I am, still living with Greta in her guest room.”
“You haven’t found a flat, I know, but there’s one to let around the corner from me, on Oakley Street. Perhaps you should go and look at it?” Elise made these words sound like a question, and she stared hard at Victoria, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“To be honest, I haven’t had time to breathe lately, never mind go flat hunting,” Victoria responded. “Several times Greta has asked me to stay on, to share the house with her. She even suggested I could pay rent, if that made me feel better. Although she did add that obviously money didn’t matter.”
Stirring her coffee, Victoria now said in a lower voice, “I really think she misses you, Elise, and that she’s also rather lonely, because I’m hardly there.”
When Elise did not reply, Victoria took a deep breath and plunged in. “And you’re lonely. I think that’s probably why you get depressed. You come home at night to an empty place, with no one to welcome you, no food to eat, because like me you don’t have much time to shop…”
Her voice trailed off when she saw the miserable expression settling on her friend’s face. Victoria wondered what to say next to make her feel better.
After a few moments, Elise said in a quiet voice, “Are you suggesting I move back in with Greta?”
“I wasn’t, not really, but why not?” Victoria smiled. “Listen, we’ll swap places. I’ll take over your flat, and you can move back in with your sister.”
Elise started to laugh. “No way. It took a lot of guts on my part to leave in the first place. I really do want a home of my own. I mean, what if I meet a nice man? I’d want to … entertain him. Having a flat means I have real privacy.”
She took a sip of coffee, and after a moment she looked at Victoria and murmured, “The steak was really good and the pommes frites. I enjoyed my dinner. Perhaps that’s part of my depression; I’m not getting enough to eat these days.”
“Don’t get mad,” Victoria began cautiously, and speaking with care, she continued, “I said that you are lonely, and you didn’t respond. I want to put that another way. I think that perhaps you’re depressed because you haven’t got a boyfriend. And I do know you literally ache for one.”
Taken aback, Elise stared at her aghast and exclaimed, “I don’t think I ache for a man. However, I would like to meet someone, that’s true.” There was an angry edge to her voice.
“I’m trying to be helpful, Elise,” Victoria murmured. “Don’t be cross.”
“I’m not, but since I use words to earn a living I like to be precise.”
Victoria remained silent, realizing that she had hit a sore spot. And she was aware she was correct. Elise’s problem was that she needed to be involved with a man, actually in a serious relationship, that Elise wanted to get married, longed to have a baby, to start a family of her own.
“Sorry I snapped,” Elise said in a regretful tone a moment later. “You’re my best friend, and I know you are only concerned for me, not being critical. And you’re right, if I’m honest. I do worry, though, because I’m getting older by the minute.”
Victoria looked at her watch. “Another minute gone! Hurry up, look around. Do you see a likely man? Go and grab him before someone else does.”
Elise’s laughter bubbled up. She had to sit back in her chair to catch her breath. After a moment she said, “There’s really nobody like you, Vicki. You manage to pull me out of my dark mood. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, I care about you. I’d do anything for you. I also know the reason why you wish to have your own flat. Luckily, I don’t feel the same, not at this moment. I’m so busy with work, I’m rather relieved to camp out at Greta’s for as long as she’ll have me.”
“Then you’ll be able to stay forever, she loves having you around, if only late at night and at weekends. And you’re not facing the same problem as me.”
“What
are you getting at?”
“You’re only twenty-one, Vicki. You’ve got lots of time to meet someone, get involved, get married. I’ll be thirty before I can blink.”
“Then I shall have to go on the hunt for you, Elise. Dig up a smashing chap from somewhere. Immediately. I shall now give every adult male I meet the once-over, keeping the beautiful Elise in mind. Leave it to me.”
Twenty
Adam Fennell stood looking at himself in the long mirror in his bedroom. As usual it was through critical eyes.
This evening he liked what he saw: the crisp white shirt, a blue silk tie, and a darker blue suit from the best tailor on Savile Row.
A lighter blue silk handkerchief was just visible in the top pocket of his jacket. Conservative, no flash, he thought as he turned away from the mirror. He hated flash.
He had returned home at four o’clock. He was an early riser, generally at his office in Wardour Street, or out at the studio, by seven in the morning.
Leaving work early was mandatory. He needed a few hours to himself before his evening appointments. The first thing he did when he got home was strip off his clothes and take a shower. Cleanliness was of prime importance to him. Then he put on fresh underwear and a silk dressing gown and went into the library to look at the day’s post on his desk.
An hour before going out he would don a newly laundered white shirt—always white—and one of his many impeccable suits. He never thought of himself as a dandy. That word he reserved for men like Bryan Mellor. He considered himself to be properly dressed and left it at that.
Adam glanced around as he walked through the large entrance foyer of his flat in Bryanston Square. He paused, making sure that the flowers on the antique hall table did not look too stiffly arranged.
He nodded to himself, pleased. Mrs. Clay, his housekeeper, had obviously messed them up a bit after they had arrived from the flower shop, just the way he liked.