The Last Secret of the Deverills

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll go back home.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Thank you, Martha. You’re like a guardian angel. You appeared just when I needed you.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said happily, her heart swelling with satisfaction.

  ‘But what about you?’ he asked. ‘Now you’ve found me, will you come and see Papa?’

  ‘I don’t know, JP,’ she said. ‘I already have parents who love me. I’m not sure that trying to build a relationship with your father, our father, is a wise thing to do. I have found my twin and that’s enough for me.’ She smiled resignedly. ‘If he desperately wanted to know me, I would open my arms to him, but he doesn’t. I don’t want to engineer something that isn’t there. Do you understand?’ JP nodded. ‘Isn’t life complicated?’ She laughed at the absurdity of theirs. ‘It’s hard making sense of it sometimes. I think you should forgive Kitty. She must be hurting so much because you’re like a son to her. Go back and make it up with her. Don’t sit in judgement over her. That’s not your place. That’s God’s place. You must find it in your heart to understand her. Then tell Alana that you love her. I believe it is only with forgiveness and love that you can right those wrongs. In fact, there is no other way.’

  JP took her hand again. ‘And now we have found each other, will you promise me you won’t run away again?’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, JP. I’m going to be here for the rest of my life.’

  Kitty was in the garden on her knees pulling out elder from the border when JP appeared. She put down her trowel and stared at him fearfully. She could tell from his expression that he wasn’t furious with her any more and her heart flooded with relief. He didn’t speak. He walked up to her, and once she had scrambled to her feet he almost squeezed the life out of her in an impassioned embrace. Kitty closed her eyes and let his forgiveness wash away her pain.

  Alana was in the kitchen slicing apples for the pie when there came a knock on the door. She wiped her hands on her apron and went to answer it. A scruffy young boy in a jacket and cap presented her with a bouquet of wild flowers. ‘This is from JP Deverill,’ he said importantly.

  Alana stared at him in shock. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, this is from JP Deverill,’ he repeated.

  Alana ignored the flowers. ‘Where is he?’ she asked eagerly, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Is he here?’ The child blinked as he tried to remember what he’d been told to say. ‘Speak up, boy!’ she demanded. ‘Where is he?’

  The child thrust the flowers into her hands. Alana barely looked at them. ‘He wants to know if you will see him,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I’ll see him,’ she replied impatiently. ‘Where is he?’

  The boy put his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud wolf whistle. Alana’s hand shot to her heart as JP came round the corner on his horse. The sight was so astonishing. There he was, her knight on horseback, as he had been that day in the hills when she had first lost her heart to him. Suddenly she remembered how to laugh and she remembered how to love and the tears blurred her vision so that JP became a dark smudge that was getting bigger and bigger as he approached. When at last he dismounted, she rushed at him. ‘I’ve been an eejit!’ she said, falling into his arms. ‘Will you ever forgive me?’

  JP remembered Martha’s advice. It is only with forgiveness and love that you can right those wrongs. ‘Of course, I forgive you,’ he said. ‘Even though there’s nothing to forgive.’ He kissed her ardently and Alana felt as if his kiss was lifting her out of a very dark place and carrying her into the light. ‘Come ride with me,’ he said.

  ‘But I’m in the middle of baking,’ she replied.

  ‘Leave the baking. Come into the hills. I want to be alone with you.’

  Aileen suddenly appeared in the doorway. She stared at JP as if she’d just seen a ghost. ‘Oh Aileen,’ said Alana. ‘Here, take these flowers, would you, and put them in water and hook my apron on the back of the door,’ she added, untying it and raising it over her head.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Aileen asked as JP helped her sister onto his horse.

  ‘I’m going into the hills with my fiancé,’ Alana replied proudly and Aileen grinned.

  JP swung into position behind her and took the reins. ‘My knight in shining armour,’ said Alana happily. ‘I prayed you’d come back,’ she told him as the horse walked slowly up the beach.

  ‘You did?’ he asked.

  ‘I did,’ she replied, then she lifted her chin and grinned. ‘But what took you so long?’

  JP and Alana were married in the summer of 1950 after a long engagement. JP had finished his course at Trinity College, Dublin and moved back down to Cork, where he started work as an architect. He had always loved building things with his father as a boy and he discovered that the pleasure had never left him.

  JP was Protestant and Alana Catholic, but they were not going to allow religion or anything else to come between them. JP promised to bring up any children they might have in the Catholic faith and they were married in the sacristy of the Catholic church of All Saints.

  Before the ceremony Alana was sitting at her mother’s dressing table while Aileen threaded flowers into her hair when her father came into the room. He swept his eyes over the ivory dress that his cousin’s wife Loretta had made for her and noticed she was wearing Emer’s veil that she had brought all the way from America for this very day. ‘You look beautiful, Alana,’ he said and a lump lodged in his throat, thinning his voice. He coughed to clear it. ‘The image of your mother.’

  ‘Thank you, Da,’ she said, glancing at her reflection. ‘Don’t make me cry. I’ve already cried twice already, haven’t I, Aileen.’

  ‘She has, Da, and twice I’ve had to repair her make-up.’

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said, stepping closer. He held out a velvet pouch.

  ‘What is this?’ She untied the string and poured a pretty silver and lapis rosary into the palm of her hand. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, welling up again.

  ‘I can’t pretend it’s an heirloom, Alana, but it caught my eye in Dublin and I thought you’d like it.’

  ‘Oh Da, I’m going to cry again.’

  Aileen shot her father a disapproving look and reached for a tissue. She handed it to her sister and sighed. ‘We should have left your make-up to the last minute,’ she said.

  Alana dabbed beneath her eyes. ‘Thank you, Da. This means the world to me.’

  ‘I hope you’ll have something for me on my wedding day,’ said Aileen.

  Her father patted her back. ‘Don’t you worry, Aileen. I’ll find something just as pretty for you too. But today is Alana’s.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Are you nearly ready?’

  ‘It’s tradition for the bride to be late,’ said Alana.

  ‘And it’s tradition for the father of the bride to wait at the bottom of the stairs,’ Aileen added pointedly.

  Jack nodded and grinned. ‘Very well. I’m proud of both my girls,’ he said.

  Aileen smiled. ‘You can be proud at the bottom of the stairs,’ she said firmly and watched him leave the room. ‘If he carries on like this I’m going to be after ruining my make-up as well!’

  Jack found Emer in the kitchen toying with Alana’s bouquet. She was wearing a caramel-coloured dress with a discreet hat. When she saw him she looked up and smiled. ‘Did she like it?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Very much.’

  ‘Good.’

  He put his arm around her waist and kissed her. ‘I can’t believe our little girl is getting married,’ he said.

  ‘Neither can I. Doesn’t seem very long ago that she was playing truant and running off into the hills.’

  He gazed at her steadily. ‘I don’t know what you said to her, Emer, and I’ve never asked. But your words brought her back to JP – and to me. Yes, they brought her back to me and I’m grateful to you for that.’

  Emer put her
hand on his cheek and returned his gaze with her usual serenity. ‘She chose to come back, Jack,’ she said. As you chose to come back to me. ‘And she chose to be happy,’ she added. As did I.

  Kitty had not spoken to Jack since Alana had confronted her about the letters. She had avoided him on purpose, as he had avoided her. The rare times they had found themselves in the same place at the same time they had hastily retreated or simply turned the other way. Kitty had grieved for Jack, but she knew that the only way to survive in her marriage was to give him up completely. And, as hard as it was to accept, she knew that he had given her up too. He had once held the roots of her heart with a fierce and forceful grip. Now he did not.

  Kitty sat in the church sandwiched between Florence and Robert as Jack walked down the aisle with Alana. The music began, played on the fine electric organ Bridie had donated, and Kitty kept her eyes on her prayer book. Robert sat stiffly beside her in the front row with his straight leg stretched out. Their marriage wasn’t as warm and intimate as it had once been, but it was cordial enough and she was grateful that they were still together. Perhaps in time he’d come to forgive her. Kitty saw the bride and her father out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t look, and she knew Jack wouldn’t be looking in her direction either. Her heart was thumping beneath her dress and her hands were growing damp inside her gloves.

  Bertie and Maud also sat in the front row and Maud almost eclipsed the bride with her glamour and beauty. She had given permission to Bertie to sell her house in Belgravia and a line had been drawn under their separation. She now sat in a pale blue dress and matching hat, which brought out the exquisite blue of her eyes. Deverill diamonds sparkled on her ears and around her neck and Bertie took her hand and squeezed it. Had she not been wearing gloves the large engagement ring, which had been absent during her affair with Arthur, would have been on display, glittering on the third finger of her left hand. Bertie and Maud gazed at each other with affection and Bertie felt an enormous sense of pride at having won her back. He resolved to treat her like his most precious treasure for the rest of his life and so ensure that he never lost her again.

  Bridie sat with her mother and Leopoldo, Michael, Sean, Rosetta and their children. She glanced at Kitty and was suddenly seized by a great sorrow. It came from somewhere so deep and was so unexpected that she had to press her handkerchief to her mouth to stifle the sob that came with it. It was all too much. Her son’s wedding was making her emotional and she was assaulted by wave upon wave of nostalgia and a searing longing for her past when she and Kitty had been as bonded as sisters. Over the years Bridie had made various friends: Rosetta and her attorney’s wife Elaine Williams in New York, and later Emer, but none of them shared the history that she and Kitty shared. No one went as far back as they did. And Bridie felt desperately sad that one foolish episode with Lord Deverill all those years ago had set off a chain of events that had driven them apart and turned them into enemies. She wanted so badly to reconcile; she longed for it with all her heart. But she couldn’t imagine how that might be achieved.

  Father Quinn performed the marriage ceremony and JP and Alana vowed to love each other until death parted them. They gazed into each other’s eyes and knew that, after everything that had happened, they would never allow anything to come between them again.

  At the end of the service they walked up the aisle hand in hand to the faltering chords of Mrs Reagan, who was having trouble getting to grips with this swanky new organ. Kitty stepped into the aisle and found herself beside Jack. She caught Emer’s eye, for his wife was right behind him, and panicked. But Jack smiled confidently and held out his hand. Kitty had no option but to give him hers. He slipped it smoothly around his arm and proceeded to lead her onwards. Kitty’s breathing was shallow as she walked towards the door. She focused on the light at the end of the aisle and lifted her chin. Behind them Emer walked with her children, Robert walked with Florence, Bertie with Maud and Bridie with Leopoldo. They stepped out into the sunshine and Jack turned and smiled wistfully down at Kitty. In his eyes she saw his regret and his sorrow, but most of all she saw affection. ‘We had our time,’ he said softly. ‘And it was special. But Emer is my future and Robert is yours. They both deserve our love and our loyalty.’

  Kitty swallowed back her tears. She nodded. I’ll always love you, she said silently and he nodded, as if he had heard. As if he had heard and had said the same to her: I love you, Kitty Deverill, and I always will. Then he let go of her hand and walked away.

  Chapter 31

  London, 1953

  As the snow began to fall in big feathery flakes the grandest ladies and gentlemen of the city arrived at Deverill House in their chauffeur-driven cars, along with starlets of the silver screen, literary giants and newspaper proprietors, politicians, artists and minor royalty. Beatrice Deverill sat in the upstairs drawing room holding court in a lavish velvet gown, her neck and wrists glittering with diamonds from which her late husband, Sir Digby, had made his great fortune. In the event of her eightieth birthday no one cared to remember that he had lost that fortune or that his daughter Celia had travelled out to South Africa to find it. All anyone cared about was that Lady D’s Salons were the place to be on a Tuesday evening and it didn’t matter how one acquired an invitation so long as one did.

  Beatrice had awoken from her stupor, taken off her widow’s weeds and returned to London with aplomb. Celia knew that it had all started that Christmas when Kitty had come to stay. Boysie had just divorced Dreary Deirdre and he had been on such ebullient form that he had enticed Celia’s mother from her mourning like a snail from its shell. Reluctant at first and then curious, Beatrice had discovered that there was fun to be had out of life still. She realized she was growing old and she did not want to die miserable. ‘I shall join my darling Digby soon enough, I might as well enjoy myself as much as I can before I go.’ She had been true to her word. She had left her misery behind and accompanied Celia and Boysie to London. With their encouragement she had resumed her Tuesday-evening Salons and it hadn’t taken long for them to regain their reputation. The war had changed much in London but it hadn’t diminished people’s desire for entertainment, champagne and frivolity. There was an air of positivity, optimism and opportunity, and Beatrice had always had a talent for throwing the most unlikely people together. For Celia and Boysie it was a joy to see the brash and somewhat vulgar Beatrice again. How they had missed her.

  The pianist played ‘Anything Goes’ and Boysie found Celia and pulled her into the middle of the room and started dancing with her. Celia squealed with laughter as Boysie, who had a natural sense of rhythm, led her across the floor. Soon it seemed that everyone was dancing. ‘It’s just like old times,’ Celia shouted above the noise.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to say it’s a riot!’ Boysie shouted back.

  Celia giggled. ‘Well, it is!’

  ‘It’s more than a riot.’ Boysie grimaced as someone stood on his foot. ‘I need some air. Will you come outside?’ he asked, limping in the direction of the balcony, which looked out over the front of the house and onto Kensington Palace Gardens. They escaped through the French doors and Boysie took off his jacket and draped it over Celia’s shoulders. He burrowed inside the pocket and found his cigarettes and lighter. ‘Fancy a smoke, old girl?’

  ‘Love one, darling,’ she said and watched him light it for her. ‘Isn’t it glorious, out here in the snow? It looks like a winter wonderland.’

  ‘Divine,’ said Boysie, handing her the cigarette. She took it between her crimson lips and inhaled.

  ‘Do you know, I haven’t been this happy in a long time. Not since before Archie killed himself. Really, I feel blessed. You’re here and Mama is well again and I’ve managed to rebuild some of Papa’s fortune. If I had a glass of champagne, I’d make a toast to you, Boysie. You’ve been such a dear friend for so many years. Think of what we’ve both been through and how we’ve survived.’

  ‘Hang on a moment,’ said Boysie and he d
ived into the sitting room to emerge a second later with two flutes of champagne. ‘Say that again, it was beautiful.’

  ‘Oh really, you’re such a tease,’ she said.

  ‘No, I mean it. What you said was beautiful. The bit about you and me.’

  She laughed and took a sip. ‘You’re a dear friend, that’s what I mean to say.’ They clinked glasses.

  ‘So, anyone catch your eye tonight?’ she asked.

  Boysie laughed. ‘There’s a rather delicious brunette I have my eye on.’

  ‘Ooh, not that Cavendish boy?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one.’

  ‘Darling, are you sure he’s one of you?’

  ‘Certain. I have a nose for it, don’t forget.’

  ‘All right. Well, do be careful.’ She smiled at him fondly. Then she turned and looked out over the drive where the snow was now settling and forming a flawless blanket of white. ‘Darling, I have an idea. I’ve been thinking about it for some time.’

  ‘I love your ideas. Are we going to Ireland or South Africa?’

  ‘No, it’s something else—’

  ‘Go on, old girl. I’m all ears.’

  She turned and looked at him earnestly. ‘You love me, don’t you, Boysie?’

  ‘I love you more than I love anyone else in the world,’ he said, not wanting to complicate things by including his children.

  ‘And I love you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘What’s this all about, old girl?’

  She beamed a smile and gazed at him with doe eyes. ‘Let’s get married.’

  Boysie grew serious suddenly. ‘But, darling—’

  ‘I know, I don’t want to sleep with you either. Well, I wouldn’t mind if you kept to your side of the bed. No, I mean it. We’re perfect together. You can have your affairs and I can have mine, but at the end of the day we’ll have each other to come home to. I don’t ever want you to leave. It’s not like you’re going to marry anyone else, is it?’ She put her glass on the balustrade then turned and brushed the snow off his shoulder. ‘I understand you, Boysie. I know you and I know exactly what you are. I love you as God made you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t want to make love to you, but I want to wrap my arms around you and kiss your brow and love you. There, I’ve said it. What do you say?’