Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “You’re lucky with the weather, Victoria. It’s another Indian summer day, just like it was on Tuesday. You will be shooting mostly outside, won’t you?”

  “With the planes, yes. But I thought I could get a really cheery shot in the mess, with the group around Christopher holding pints of beer, or whatever. I want to catch something … convivial, very male oriented.”

  A moment later the doorbell rang, and Greta said, “You’d better answer it, Vicki.”

  It was Rory standing on the doorstep, and Victoria invited him in, and introduced him to Greta, who said, “You’ve certainly got a great day for the shoot, Mr. Delaney.”

  “We do indeed, and call me Rory.”

  Victoria said, “I’ll just get my camera bags, and then we can be off. But I did want Greta to meet Christopher, say hello to him.”

  “That’s fine, but let me help you with the bags first, Victoria.”

  “Thank you. You can take one, I’ll manage the other. Here they are.”

  A moment later Victoria and Rory carried the bags to the Daimler parked outside the house. Victoria noticed a black van behind the car, and said, “I suppose Freddy and Bruce are in the van, aren’t they?”

  “That’s right, we’ve got stuff we need in there. Come on, we can put the camera bags in the boot of the Daimler.”

  “Right. I’m just going back for my shoulder bag. I’ll only be a minute.”

  A few seconds later Victoria and Greta walked over to the car, where Rory was standing; he opened the door on the side where Christopher was sitting.

  Victoria immediately stepped forward, a huge smile on her face. She leaned into the car and kissed Christopher on his cheek, surprising herself more than him.

  Standing back swiftly, she said, “This is Greta Chalmers, Christopher. Greta, I’m happy to introduce you to Christopher Longdon.”

  Greta thrust out her hand, unable to speak for a moment, stunned by the beauty of the man. There was no other word to use to describe him. He was strikingly good-looking, very masculine, and his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, his dark brown eyes sparkling, very alive.

  He said, “Hello, Mrs. Chalmers, Victoria didn’t tell me you were coming with us. But you are welcome.”

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Mr. Longdon. However, I’m afraid I’m not tagging along. Although I’d love to. Duty calls. I have to go to work.”

  She discovered she couldn’t look away. He was extremely compelling in his slightly worn flying suit, with a white silk scarf tied around his neck. Now she remembered how all of the fliers wore that scarf. And they had copied it.

  Realizing she was staring at him far too long, she exclaimed, “We copied the scarf, Mr. Longdon! At Swann Couture during the war. Because all the fliers like you wore them, and women wanted them.”

  He nodded, then laughed. “We wore them not to be dandies, but because in a Spit, a Spitfire, you turn your head a lot. The scarf was a precaution to stop our necks from chafing, as we constantly looked around for Luftwaffe planes on our tails.”

  “We certainly sold a lot of them.” Turning to Victoria, Greta touched her arm. “Have a wonderful shoot.” She looked at Christopher and smiled. “It was a privilege to meet you, Mr. Longdon.”

  She said good-bye to Rory and walked back up the steps and into the house. No wonder Victoria was infatuated, and Greta was quite certain that she was. The man was charismatic, had captivated her in only a couple of minutes. Injured though he was, he was bait for any woman.

  * * *

  Once Rory was in the driver’s seat of the Daimler, he closed the inside window between the front and the back seats, giving Christopher his privacy as he always did.

  Leaning into Victoria, Christopher kissed her on her cheek, looked into her face, his smile as huge as ever. “You kissed me first. So I am compelled to kiss you back.”

  Victoria felt herself filling with happiness at being with him again. She relaxed, leaned back, content to be near him.

  Christopher said, “I thought it a good idea to wear my old flying suit. Rory asked the others to do the same, so we’re all set to go when we arrive at Biggin Hill.”

  “It was a great idea. I always prefer to do my outside shots whilst the weather is good. As Greta said to me earlier, it’s another Indian summer day. I hope it lasts.”

  He inclined his head, and shifted slightly in the seat to look at her properly. “Do you share the Phene Street house with Greta?”

  “No. I’m just camping out there for the moment.”

  “Don’t you have anywhere to live?” he asked, a note of sudden concern echoing in his voice.

  “Oh yes, I do. I have my own flat in Belsize Park Gardens, but something happened and I—” She instantly stopped abruptly, realizing she was about to tell him about Phil Dayton. Clearing her throat, she continued quickly, “Her sister, Elise, decided she wanted her own place, and she took a flat nearby. Greta was by herself, and lonely. Also, I felt a bit isolated in north London, and I was far from my friends in Chelsea and Mayfair. And the magazine office as well. So I camp out there a bit, and Elise is helping me to find a flat in the area.”

  “It’s nice of you to keep Greta company. I understand her predicament only too well.” A small smile lurked around his mouth. “I also enjoy your company, Vicki.”

  Her eyes widened slightly and she exclaimed, “You called me Vicki, like my friends do. So are we now friends?”

  “We are.” He paused, his eyes intently searching her face. “I want to be your best friend. Your very best friend, actually, if you’ll let me.”

  Victoria swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. She wanted to throw herself against him, hold him close, kiss him. After a moment, recouping her flaring emotions, she said, “I want that too, Christopher. I wanted it from the moment we met. I felt very drawn to you.” There. It was out. She had said it. She was relieved she had voiced her feelings.

  There was a lilt of happiness in his voice when he exclaimed, “It’s a deal.” He gave her his hand, and she shook it, laughing.

  He laughed with her, opened her hand, kissed her palm. “Sealed with a kiss.” His eyes lingered on her. “You must have done research on me for the shoot. So I’m sure you know all about me. But I don’t know anything about you … except that you’re the most adorable girl I’ve ever met.”

  “What do you want to know?” she asked, thrilled by his words.

  He studied her again. “I think you must be very young. About nineteen?”

  She shook her head.

  “So how old are you?” he probed in a low voice.

  “Twenty-one. I’ll be twenty-two next March. And you’re twenty-eight, I know from the information I gathered.”

  “Seven years’ difference. A very big gap.”

  “I don’t think so. Next question.”

  “Are you in a relationship with anyone?”

  “No, I’m not. Are you, Christopher?”

  “Footloose and fancy-free. And have been for a long while. A moment ago you said something happened, when you mentioned your flat in Belsize Park Gardens. Then you rushed on to speak about Greta. So what exactly happened?”

  “It’s a long story—”

  “I like your long stories,” he interrupted peremptorily. “So tell me.”

  “When I first went to London, I worked at PhotoElite, a famous agency. Paloma knows Michael Sutton, the owner, and she got me the job. Anyway, one of the young men working there became a bit of a pest, wanting to take me out. I wasn’t interested.” She paused, and took a deep breath, remembering how she had started to feel afraid of him.

  Christopher said, “And so he persisted. I hope he didn’t hurt you in any way.”

  “No, he didn’t. But he started to park his gray Vauxhall in my street, farther along from number forty-three. I’d obviously noticed his car, and it disturbed me even more. The third time I saw it I got back into the cab I’d just vacated, and went to Phene Street. I told Greta about Phil Dayton, and she insist
ed I stay with her that night. And then through her, I got a job with Elegance Magazine. Melinda had wanted me to join her staff for months. It was the perfect solution for me.”

  “And what about this man Dayton? Did you report him to the owner of the agency?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Why not?” Christopher frowned. “He could still pester you from afar, you know.”

  “He won’t. Because once I’d given my notice to PhotoElite, I went to see Phil Dayton. I warned him that I would report him to Michael and the police if he didn’t leave me alone. I frightened him off, I believe. If I’d told Michael about his behavior, Michael would have given him the sack, and I would have made an enemy out of Mr. Dayton.”

  Christopher, already totally infatuated, experienced a rush of admiration for her. “Clever girl,” he murmured. “You did exactly the right thing. And so what happened to your flat?”

  “I still have it, because I don’t think I want to stay with Greta indefinitely. I’ll go back there. You see, I’ve yet to find a flat in Chelsea.”

  “I see.”

  Christopher now fell silent. He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes. He was utterly smitten with this young woman who had come into his life so unexpectedly, taking him by surprise with her beauty and naturalness. She was unlike any of the women he had known in the past. In fact, she was probably an original … they’d undoubtedly thrown the mold away when they had made her. He smiled inwardly at his thoughts. Her appearance filled him with pleasure and delight. Her outgoing personality, her natural joie de vivre, warmed his soul. It seemed to him that her nature matched his own.

  Victoria had the same kind of happiness inside her that he did, and a positiveness he had owned all of his life. It was a trait that had seen him through great trouble. As it would her, if need be. They were alike in so many ways.

  Without opening his eyes, he reached for her hand, and held on to it. They settled into a compatible silence. He felt himself relaxing. Her presence soothed him, made him feel calm, safe.

  She was the woman of his dreams. With a little luck perhaps she could be his.

  * * *

  When they eventually arrived at Biggin Hill, Rory parked near the building where the mess room was located, then he went to help Victoria out of the car.

  As he made for the boot, he said, “I asked the base commander, on Christopher’s instructions, not to have a welcoming committee standing out here. I suggested everyone wait for us in the mess.”

  “That was a good idea, the best way to handle things.” Victoria pulled her camera bag out of the boot as Rory took the other one.

  A moment later they were joined by Freddy and Bruce, who had parked the black van immediately behind the Daimler. After introducing them to her, Rory told Victoria that the two men would help Christopher to get out, once Bruce had taken the wheelchair out of the van.

  As the two men went to get the chair, Rory called after them, “Don’t forget the crutches.”

  Victoria stared at Rory, a surprised expression on her face. She frowned as she said, “Can Christopher use crutches?”

  “Oh yes, for a bit anyway. His injuries were mostly on his left side. That leg’s useless, but he can stand on his right leg for a short while with the help of crutches. He wants to do that in one of the group pictures.”

  “I thought he was a paraplegic?” She sounded puzzled.

  “He is, but only partially. He has an incomplete injury at a low level of his spinal cord, that’s where the paralysis is located.”

  She remained silent, digesting what he had just told her.

  Glancing at her, Rory added, “Christopher’s upper body is very strong, especially his arms and his chest. Freddy has made sure of that. It enables him to do a lot of things.”

  “Is Bruce also a physiotherapist?”

  “Yes, and an expert masseur. They both keep him very fit.”

  “Very fit indeed,” Christopher announced, wheeling himself over to the two of them. Addressing Victoria, he said, “Shall we wait out here?” He looked toward the airfield. “I see they’ve plenty of planes waiting, including some Spits.” He began to chuckle. “What wouldn’t I give to get into one and roar up there into the wild blue yonder, as the song goes.”

  “I wish you could, too,” Victoria said, and looked up at the sky. “The weather’s still all right, but there are a few clouds gathering. I would like to get you and the men with the planes as soon as possible.”

  “Then let’s do it now, at once.” He turned his head, said to Rory, “Will you go and get Noel and the other lads, please.”

  “At once,” Rory answered, and dashed over to the staff building.

  Victoria stepped closer to the wheelchair, and put her hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Rory told me you can stand on crutches for a short while. Will you do that for a few shots?”

  “I certainly will. Oh look, Noel’s coming out with some of the lads I know, and oh my God, my former wing commander is with them. What a turnout.”

  She smiled to herself on hearing these words. He was so modest. And of course it was a big turnout. He was Britain’s greatest war hero. More than one hundred missions over Germany; a flight lieutenant who had saved his crew before himself many times over; who had made the ultimate sacrifice for them by forcing them to bail out first on his last flight. An unselfish and courageous gesture that had almost cost him his life as he went down with his plane. But he had lived, even though he had suffered spinal injuries which had left him a paraplegic. What did that mean? Was he in pain? How had it affected his life in general? And why was she worried about him?

  Twenty-seven

  Cecily sat in front of the fire in the library, waiting for Miles to arrive home. He had gone to a special dinner in Harrogate to meet with some of the town council there.

  The evening was all to do with the Festival of Britain, which was already in the planning stage throughout the country, even though the festival was not until 1951.

  Because Miles was the Earl of Mowbray and a premier earl of England, he had been asked by the council to be the head of Yorkshire’s participation in the upcoming plans for the festival.

  He had agreed. She smiled to herself, settling back against the cushions, enjoying this little period of peace and quiet.

  Miles had agreed to a lot of things of late. Three months, she thought, it’s only three months since he agreed to take the bank loan, putting practicality before his pride.

  It had helped that it was a private bank, and he was dealing with the managing director, who was the son of the owner and was an old Etonian like himself.

  There was a knock on the door, and Eric came in carrying a tray. “I’ve brought a bottle of the best cognac, your ladyship,” Eric said, placing the tray on the table. “It’s his lordship’s favorite.”

  “Thank you, Eric.” Reaching out, she touched the bottle, glanced up at Eric, and nodded. “Thank goodness the fourth and fifth loved brandy and bought so much of it years ago. I couldn’t believe the prices it all brought at the auction.”

  A smile struck Eric’s face, and he chuckled. “His lordship was all for the auction in the end, and, in fact, he enjoyed mucking around in the wine cellars with me, if the truth be known. I think he was more startled than me at the quantity of great wines, cognacs, and liqueurs that were down there and had not turned like so many other bottles.”

  Cecily nodded. “I know. He said he believed his ancestors must have all been drunkards. I disagreed and explained that there wouldn’t be so much stock left if that had really been the truth.”

  Eric Swann, who was her father’s cousin, leaned closer and said in a low tone, “You’ve done this place good, Ceci. Always. And Cavendon’s almost back on its feet, thanks to you. We’re all proud of you. I just wanted you to know that.”

  “Thank you, Eric, and thank you for everything you’ve done to help me, and Miles, make every little thing run smoothly.”

  He inclined his h
ead and departed, quieter on his feet than any butler she had ever known. Eric was family to her, but he never stepped out of place.

  His comments tonight had been unusual, but she realized he had needed her to know that the Swanns of Cavendon thought very highly of her. Things here had improved enormously.

  The bank loan had been a boon, the wine auction a huge success. The estate was on an even keel. Safe for them as well as the Inghams.

  Her own business was on an upward arc thanks to Aunt Dottie and Greta. Smaller offices, a reduced staff, and the unexpected revenue from the recent sale had helped to keep Swann steady. The money Aunt Charlotte had given her, plus Greta’s investment in the company as her partner, had enabled them to go full swing into work on the collection for next summer. And what had happened today had been fortuitous.

  The door opened and Miles interrupted her thoughts as he walked in. “There you are, darling.” He strode over to the sofa, continued, “You waited up for me. That’s nice.”

  She stood up and he took her in his arms, hugged her, kissed her cheek. “You sound happy,” she said. “The evening must have gone well.”

  “It did indeed. And I must say I think this idea of the Festival of Britain is truly brilliant. It’s going to do wonders for the country. In so many different ways,” Miles said. “One of the most important things, as far as I’m concerned, is that the bombed-out cities are going to be rebuilt. Finally. Starting in January of 1950. The government wants the country to look good. Apparently they anticipate visitors from all over the world. And the festival will be great for us, help Cavendon no end.”

  “It sounds fabulous, and I’m happy you’re happy.” Cecily sat down, picked up the bottle of cognac and poured a good measure into each of the brandy balloons. “I’ve got some wonderful news, Miles.”

  Joining her on the sofa, he accepted the balloon she offered, raised a brow. “It must be awfully good news, indeed, if you’re bringing out our rarest cognac.”