Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  She was the best housekeeper he had ever employed, equally as concerned about absolute cleanliness as he was. There was never a speck of dust anywhere to be found.

  He could not stand dirt, whether it was on himself, his clothes, or in his home. He was clever enough to understand that this aversion sprang from his horrendous childhood and growing up in a hovel.

  At the back of his mind was a fond remembrance of Jack Trotter lingering there, and he thought of it now. On that first day when he had met the publican of the Golden Horn, he had been given clean underwear, trousers, and a shirt that had belonged to Jack’s late son, and sent to have a bath in the flat above the pub.

  Later, when he emerged from the bathroom, he had found Jack in the taproom of the public house. Jack had looked shocked when he saw him, had wondered out loud who would have guessed that there was quite a looker under all that grime.

  After that, over the next year, Jack had teased him about his looks, warned him he better beware, that women would throw themselves at him when he was older. And they had.

  Adam came to a standstill in the entrance to the sitting room, admiring it as he so often did. Everything in it was white.

  The soaring ceiling and walls, the silk draperies at the two tall windows, the fabrics on the two sofas and the chairs placed around the room gave it a cool feeling. There was a white handmade rug in the middle of the polished parquet floor, which completed the pristine look and drew attention to the handsome fireplace.

  What made the room so visually effective were the paintings hanging on the walls, splashes of vivid color that enlivened the ice-white setting. Beautiful porcelain lamps, antique porcelain ornaments, and tall vases of white flowers were the ideal finishing touches.

  As he walked in, looking around, checking that things were in place, he couldn’t help wondering what Alicia Stanton would think of his room, the whole flat, in fact? He knew it was elegant. He had hired the best interior designer in London to make sure of that.

  The thought of her being here later this evening excited him. He had wanted her for several years and was determined to have her. And eventually he had seen a way to get her. He had realized that she would be perfect for Broken Image, the new film he was making with Mario. Although he’d had to coax Mario into agreeing to hire her.

  Having her under his nose in the studio for ninety days thrilled him to the core, and he had managed to handle the situation very well.

  He had fussed over her a little at first, and then had pulled back, and it had worked. He was certain of that. She had been unable to tear her gaze away from his in the restaurant today. There had been that come-hither look in her blue eyes, and her desire for him was written all over her face.

  Mine, he thought, she will be mine.

  Turning around, he walked back through the entrance foyer and went into his bedroom. Then he looked in the bathroom and was satisfied. In the last few minutes, Mrs. Clay had cleaned up after him.

  His bedroom was decorated in various shades of blue. There was a masculine, tailored feel to it, without the look of being overdone. Two carved antique chests of polished mellow wood were balanced by a small bureau plat, the elegant flat-topped French writing desk he liked. Standing on this were a French brass lamp, a leather blotter, and brass ink pots; that was all.

  Adam stood in the middle of his bedroom, thinking about later. If everything went as planned, she would come home with him tonight, be here in his huge bed with him. He had to make sure of that. He had not seen her apartment and was not certain he would want to go there after dinner. Definitely not, he decided. She has to be here where I am fully in control.

  Once more he returned to the entrance foyer and saw Wilson, his butler, walking toward him.

  “Good evening, sir,” Wilson said, inclining his head. “Cook has made the mixed canapés, as you requested, and Harvey and Molly were free to serve tonight. They’re already here.”

  “Then we’re all set, Wilson. Thank you. And I assume you’ve put Dom Pérignon on ice.”

  “I have indeed, sir.”

  * * *

  The first guests to arrive exactly at six-thirty were Ellen and Reg Greene, who owned the public relations company which did publicity for his films. They were always on time, which pleased Adam, and were charming.

  After affectionate greetings, he walked with them into the white sitting room, confiding that Alicia was coming later. As they took flutes of champagne off the tray Harvey offered, he added he truly believed she would steal the picture.

  “That’s not going to please Andrew Vance,” Ellen said. “He thinks he’s the greatest male lead around.”

  “That’s because he’s blinded by his own vanity,” Adam murmured. “He’s also forgotten that James Brentwood owns that title.”

  They then spoke about James Brentwood’s success in Hollywood, and what a huge film star he now was throughout the world.

  “MGM has seen to that,” Ellen remarked. “They’ve done a wonderful job promoting him, but then aside from being a truly great actor, he’s a cameraman’s dream. He can also charm the birds out of the trees.”

  Adam laughed. “The camera loves him, that’s true. I don’t think there’s any other male actor more photogenic, not even Errol Flynn, Tyrone Power, or Clark Gable. Mind you, the three of them are extremely handsome men.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw the screenwriter Margo Littleton coming through the foyer, with her writing partner, Jeffrey Cox, and excusing himself, he went to greet them.

  These were the two writers Adam had brought in to do the third rewrite and the shooting script. He admired them, thought they were the best in the business, and they always proved him right.

  Margo and Jeffrey knew Ellen and Reg. Within a few seconds the four of them were chatting away, indulging in shoptalk.

  Adam stood with them while Wilson moved around the sitting room adroitly, making sure everyone had champagne and that the waitress, Molly, was serving the canapés. The waiter, Harvey, followed with the Dom Pérignon.

  At one moment, Adam excused himself, explaining he had a quick phone call to make, and hurried down the foyer to his bedroom. He wanted to be sure that everything was in order for later tonight, when he brought Alicia here to bed her. There was not a shred of doubt in his mind that this would happen, and he couldn’t wait.

  The large bed was set against the long back wall. It had not yet been turned down, but Mrs. Clay would do that after they had all left.

  He opened the drawer of his bedside table to double-check certain things were in place, and they were. He wanted everything he might need to be within easy reach.

  When the designer had been restoring the flat, Adam had asked him to create two dressing rooms at each end of the bedroom. One had been for himself, and he used it every day.

  The other was designed for a woman’s requirements. He walked into this dressing area now and glanced around. Of course, it was spotlessly clean. There was a small bathroom, with a shower, a washbasin, a toilet, and also his favorite innovation, a French bidet, which had had to be imported.

  In the dressing room, which was painted pale blue, there was a mirrored Venetian dressing table with bottles of perfume arranged at one side and a set of combs and a hand mirror at the other.

  Earlier this evening he had hung a loose kimono in the dressing area, and now he lifted the hanger off the hook and looked at the garment. It was pale blue, made of double chiffon, and it was brand-new. He had bought it two weeks ago hoping for this night to come. His night of seduction.

  This thought made Adam smile. Seduction wouldn’t be necessary. She was already aching for him; he had seen that in her eyes a week ago on the backlot, and again today in the Causerie. The idea of the drinks party had come to him in a flash as he stood talking to her and Constance, and he had invited them to join him. He had then rushed back to his office after lunch and scrambled, inviting Ellen and Reg, Margo and Jeffrey. None of them had country homes; they were boun
d to be free on Friday night and they were. His improvisation had worked. They usually did.

  The moment he had his group together, Adam had phoned Wilson, who had done his work efficiently after the call. Impromptu drinks at six-thirty, suddenly announced, were not unusual, and Wilson knew how to make things run smoothly for his employer.

  * * *

  Adam was aware that Felix and Constance would be a little late, because they were going to pick up Alicia to bring her with them.

  He glanced at his watch, saw that it was seven, and left his bedroom.

  They were bound to arrive any moment, and he wanted to be in the sitting room to greet them. And welcome Alicia to his home. The thought of her being here thrilled him, and he couldn’t help wondering what she would think of his unusually elegant flat.

  Coming to a standstill next to Margo, he said, “Oh, by the way, Felix and Constance are coming tonight, and they’re bringing Alicia Stanton with them.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely, Adam, I do want to meet her again. When I saw her at Shepperton I was really impressed. I loved her comments about our improvements in the script—” Margo stopped. “I think she’s arriving now.”

  * * *

  Everyone knew each other since they were show business veterans, and they instantly fell into conversation. There was a sudden nice buzz in the room, which delighted Adam.

  Wilson made sure that Harvey and Molly moved around, filling up empty flutes with champagne, offering plates of canapés to the guests.

  Adam noticed how easily Alicia held her own, moved elegantly through the small group, making certain to speak to everyone. But then she had been born into a great family of aristocrats, and her manners were impeccable.

  Slightly amused that she shook his hand lightly, and immediately moved on when she arrived, he kept his distance. Obviously she did not want to display her feelings, and neither did he for that matter.

  He stood at the other side of the room, yet found it extremely difficult to keep his eyes off her. Cleverly, she managed to avoid his gaze.

  The way Alicia looked tonight was different. He had been momentarily stunned when she walked in, still was, if the truth be known. She looked more beautiful than ever, younger, almost girlish, and she appeared taller, rather willowy, a slender, reedlike creature moving with gracefulness.

  Within seconds he realized that when he saw her at Shepperton, on a soundstage or the backlot, she was wearing theatrical makeup, which was heavy, and her hair was arranged in a plain style to suit the character she was playing.

  She was the Honorable Alicia Ingham Stanton now. Herself. Relaxed, natural, self-confident. He had not failed to miss how extraordinary her skin was, that special peaches-and-cream complexion some English women were known for. Her blond hair shone in the lamplight; it was brushed out, fell in soft folds around her fine-boned face. The bloom is on the rose, he thought.

  Like all the Ingham women, Alicia had wonderful blue eyes, and he knew the story about them always wearing clothes to match their eyes.

  He smiled to himself, and glanced away, then walked over to Felix.

  It hadn’t surprised him at all that Alicia had kept to the tradition this evening. Her dress was pale blue, was well cut, had a plain top, long sleeves, and a full skirt that flared around her shapely legs.

  The fabric intrigued him. It was some kind of soft silk that literally clung to her body. He found it very sexy, couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms on the dance floor at the Savoy, to feel that silkiness under his hands.

  It was Constance who came to join him and Felix. She drew them both to one side, away from the others. In a low voice, she said to Adam, “I know you’re interested in Alicia, and I was wondering if you would like to take her to the Savoy for dinner alone. We wouldn’t mind at all, would we, Felix?” Her husband nodded in agreement.

  “No, no. I don’t want you to do that, Connie,” he said at once, and firmly. “It’s much better if we all go out together. I don’t want to … rush this.” He eyed Constance and then Felix, an amused look crossing his face. “She’s also interested in me.”

  “Do you think we didn’t know that? Of course she is. And I think it’s a perfect match. What about you, Felix?”

  “Ditto.” Turning to Adam, looking at him intently, Felix said, “She’s the best thing that could happen to you, and I think she needs someone like you. I never quite understood that relationship she had with Mellor. I always thought he didn’t appreciate her, and he wasn’t classy enough.”

  “Well put, Felix,” Constance said, and touched Adam’s arm affectionately. “Don’t dillydally with this situation, start a new relationship. I can promise you she wants it.”

  “Did she actually say that?” Adam asked swiftly, his eagerness echoing.

  “She said she was interested in you when we were at lunch today.”

  Adam’s light gray eyes sparkled. “I sort of guessed that. Look, I do want us all to go to dinner, that is, the four of us. However, don’t offer to take her home. Please allow me to do that, won’t you?”

  “We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Constance responded.

  Felix winked at him.

  Twenty-one

  Alicia was glad that Constance had seated her opposite Adam at the table in the restaurant at the Savoy Hotel. For her it was preferable to face him rather than having him sit next to her. If he were close, it would be unbearable. She would be tempted to touch him—on his arm, his leg, it didn’t matter where. She just longed to make physical contact, even to embrace him, put her arms around him. Of course she couldn’t. Not yet.

  Felix asked if they would like to continue with Dom Pérignon, and Alicia immediately shook her head. Constance declined also, and Adam merely said, “You know I don’t drink, so water will be fine with me.”

  Alicia suddenly realized that he hadn’t had a glass in his hand at his flat earlier. On the other hand, she had moved around a lot, endeavoring not to be anywhere near him. Nor did she wish anyone to see her looking at him longingly. She believed she had managed quite well to conceal her interest in him. Now it didn’t matter, because Constance and Felix knew her feelings about Adam Fennell: she wanted to be with him.

  Sitting up a little straighter, tossing back her blond locks, she gazed at Adam intently, her eyes opening wider. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she raised a brow, her eyes not leaving his face.

  Adam gazed back at her, obviously sharing her feelings. After a long moment, he inclined his head slightly.

  Alicia gave him a nod in return, her eyes even more intense.

  A faint smile lightened his face. His gray eyes sparkled, and he sat up in the chair himself, thrusting his chest forward slightly. The deal sealed, he thought, and a look of pleasure crossed his face.

  It was a look that thrilled her. And she offered him a wide smile that was warm, loving. To Felix, she said, “I think I will have a glass of wine with dinner. I’m afraid I drank a lot of Adam’s fine champagne, so nothing now, thank you.”

  “Let’s look at the menu,” Constance suggested. “I’m a little hungry.”

  Felix nodded, and beckoned the waiter. Glancing around the room he said, “The place is full tonight, but then Carroll Gibbons and his Orpheans, as he calls his band, are still as popular as they were during the war. And they’re as good as ever.”

  Adam took a menu from the waiter, and scanned it, exclaimed, “Ah, I see oysters! Well, of course, there’s an R in the month. And Colchester oysters at that. They’re for me.”

  “I’ll start with oysters, too,” Alicia murmured. Everyone ordered them, and then chose grilled sole.

  “We’re just old stick-in-the-muds,” Constance remarked. “Not adventurous at all, at least as far as food is concerned.”

  “I think it’s a question of our taste buds,” Adam remarked. “I have always enjoyed really good English food, the kind they serve here. But I don’t need much persuasion to go to a French restaurant or have an Italian me
al in Soho.”

  Alicia exclaimed, “I love this song, ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.’” Pushing back her chair, she looked across at Adam and said, “Will you come and dance with me?”

  Adam nodded, stood at once, came around and helped her out of her chair, then took her arm. To Constance and Felix he said, “You don’t mind, do you … I wouldn’t want to miss this treat.”

  The Lamberts laughed, encouraged the two of them to take the floor.

  The minute their feet touched the dance floor she was in his arms, holding on to him tightly. He slipped one hand down her back, placed it firmly around her waist.

  She said, “Is it really a treat?”

  “No, it’s a thrill. I’ve longed to hold you close to me.”

  “I’ve wanted the same.”

  He led her around the floor, holding her slightly at a distance, and then slowly he pulled her closer. So that they were face-to-face. Their bodies touched.

  “Are we all right?” he murmured against her hair.

  “We are.”

  He placed his hand on her back, bringing her even closer, pressed her body into his. “Is this better?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she whispered back, conscious how aroused he was. It filled her with excitement.

  They had stopped dancing, just stood together in a tight embrace, swaying to the music, oblivious to the other dancing couples, aware only of their erotic feelings for each other.

  At one moment he asked in a lowered voice, “You will spend the night with me, won’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will have to be at my place. I’m expecting calls from Los Angeles early tomorrow morning.”

  “But what about the staff…?” She left her question unfinished.

  “They’ll be gone by ten tonight. They don’t work at weekends.”

  “So you like your privacy?”

  “I do. So, are we still all right?”

  “Very much so.”

  “That’s a relief,” he murmured, and they began to dance again, although they remained locked in their tight embrace.

  * * *