The Granville Sisters

by Una-Mary Parker

  She dazzled, of course. Vivacious and sparkling, she drifted from group to group, always surrounded by admiring friends, kissing and being kissed, holding out her glass for a waiter to fill again, before moving on to talk to other admirers.

  Daniel had been mesmerized by her when he’d first spotted her in that dark and smoky jazz club, and she mesmerized him still. He stood, his eyes straining to catch glimpses of her in the chandelier-lit ballroom, no longer caring if anyone saw him. She was the most fascinating woman he’d ever known, and whilst his head told him they had no future and never would have, his heart seemed to fold in half in his chest, as if a door was closing for ever.

  At that moment he saw a tall older man with grey hair put his arm around Juliet’s shoulders, and smile down into her face. She nodded, as if she agreed with what he’d said, and reached up to pat his shoulder. Daniel caught the bright glint of gold on her left hand. Her father was obviously urging her away from the window, pointing to something … were they about to cut the wedding cake?

  Juliet was laughing, and then, suddenly, as if she’d felt someone was watching her, she turned sharply, and looked out at the Park.

  Their eyes met across the narrow stretch of grass and road. Juliet’s face registered shock. A second later, her expression became reproachful, her eyes blazed, as if it was all his fault.

  Daniel felt his own heart stop mid-beat, stop so suddenly and painfully he was afraid it would never start again. Then she turned abruptly away, her back view hidden by the mist of white tulle. A moment later she’d vanished into the crowd.

  He walked slowly back to his car, wishing he’d driven along Knightsbridge instead of through Hyde Park. Too many memories had been stirred, too many uncomfortable emotions that were best forgotten had been aroused.

  Those damned dark eyes were still haunting her. Of all the people in the whole of London, why had it been Daniel Lawrence she’d seen, standing in the park, looking into the hotel ballroom? Had he come on purpose? To taunt her with memories of what she’d lost?

  Shaken by the split-second encounter, Juliet could now not think of anything else. She was barely aware of helping Cameron cut their three-tiered cake with a sword; of listening to the speeches, of going up to change before kissing her family goodbye and leaving in a shower of confetti.

  Damn Daniel for appearing today, of all days. Damn him to hell. All she could see in her mind’s eye was his face, and those black, black eyes. All she wanted to think about was the touch of his hands, his mouth, the whole virile strength of his body as he’d guided her to heights of ecstacy.

  Glancing at the gentle, polite face of Cameron, she thought, Oh, God, what have I done?

  An hour later, they arrived at Croydon Airport, where the private plane Cameron had chartered awaited them, ready to fly them to Nice.

  Juliet smiled brightly as she climbed on board, and settled herself in the luxuriously upholstered interior, where a steward was ready to serve them with drinks.

  In the last few hours Juliet had achieved what she’d set out to, and she didn’t intent to be miserable now. Three glorious weeks lay ahead, staying in the best hotels, cruising around the Greek islands on a yacht, dining at the finest restaurants, and shopping for things she didn’t really want.

  It was all going to be marvellous. Wasn’t it? she asked herself. Yes, it was going to be wonderful – as long as she stopped thinking about Daniel.

  Henry and Liza held a large dinner party in Green Street that evening.

  ‘Cameron will be telephoning me when they arrive in Nice,’ Iona Kincardine announced as soon as she arrived. She’d changed into a replica of a Mary Queen of Scots black velvet gown, with a great mass of pearls, and a posy of myrtle, this time, clutched in her bejewelled hands.

  ‘Won’t that be rather late to phone?’ Henry remarked in astonishment.

  Liza was getting the measure of this old dowager. She was stark raving mad. A demented figure, obsessed by her son, and by dressing up as romantic characters from a bygone age.

  ‘Far too late to be phoning anyone,’ Liza observed firmly. ‘Anyway, they’re on honeymoon. They’ve better things to do than ring home.’

  ‘Oh, Cameron will ring me,’ Iona said with a whimsical smile, and tilting her head to one side. ‘He always does when he goes away.’

  Hector Mackenzie, who had been escorting Iona Kincardine all day, spoke now. ‘Whisht now, my dear,’ he said, his Scottish accent soft and melodious, ‘you can’t expect the wee man to be ringing you on his honeymoon.’

  Iona turned, wide-eyed, and looked at him with an expression of innocence. ‘But he knows I’d never sleep if I didn’t hear from him.’

  Hector glanced at Liza, smiling and laughing as if a small child had said something amusing. Then he turned to Iona. ‘I think you’ll have to forgo that privilege this evening. It is his wedding night, you know.’

  Something in the way he spoke made Liza feel uneasy. His tone was licentious, and the knowing way he looked at the dowager was as if they shared a private secret. For some reason she couldn’t explain, Liza felt soiled from overhearing his remark.

  More guests arrived, then Rosie and Charles appeared from upstairs, and Liza forgot about the matter until much, much later.

  The Negresco Hotel reminded Juliet of a giant white iced cake. The car bringing them from Nice airport had dropped them off just before midnight, and they were quickly shown to the Presidential Suite, which overlooked the Mediterranean.

  ‘I’m going to have a quick shower,’ Juliet said, still in her going-away outfit.

  ‘Good idea,’ Cameron replied.

  To her delight, she saw the suite had two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, on either side of a large reception room. After her shower, she returned to the bedroom she’d chosen to be hers, wearing only a bathrobe. In the salon next door, she heard Cameron’s voice. Then she heard a click as he replaced the phone.

  ‘Who are you phoning?’ she called out idly, as she brushed her hair. ‘If you’re ringing room service, I could do with some coffee.’

  Cameron appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking bashful and still wearing the dark suit in which he’d travelled.

  ‘Coffee? At this time of night? All right, dear. I’ll order you some.’ He vanished again. Juliet followed him into the salon, her robe falling seductivly open as she moved.

  He glanced up at her exposed breasts and then turned quickly away to pick up the phone.

  ‘Don’t you think you should have some coffee too?’ she asked provocatively. ‘It’s been a long day … and I hope it’s going to be a long night.’

  ‘I – I think I’m going to have to call it a day, as they say! If you’ll forgive the pun,’ he added, with forced joviality. ‘The truth is, dear, I’ve got the most awful headache. It’s been coming on for the last hour. I was ordering aspirins on the phone a minute ago. I think I’ll have to go straight to sleep.’

  Juliet, to her surprise, felt neither disappointment nor delight. She’d had a feeling all along that Cameron was not going to be a great lover; though she hadn’t expected to sleep alone on her wedding night. She shrugged. ‘I’m sorry you don’t feel well. Probably too much champagne,’ she added lightly, as if to spare his feelings. ‘Actually, I’m rather exhausted myself. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep in the other bedroom, and we’ll meet for breakfast?’

  Relief seemed to pour off him like stale sweat. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said with seeming generosity. ‘Sleep well, Cameron. I hope you’ll be better in the morning.’

  As she slid between the smooth sheets of her own bed, her body ached restlessly. Not for her new husband. But for another tall, dark-haired man with black eyes, who dominated her thoughts, aroused her emotions, and fuelled her desire.

  Only by fantasizing he was making love to her could she assuage her violent longing.

  ‘How about it?’ Charles suggested, as Rosie sat at her dressing table, cleansin
g her face with Pond’s cream. His pale, lean, stringy body was naked as he came to stand behind her, and seeing his reflection in the looking glass, she felt only revulsion.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Charles,’ she replied wearily. ‘It’s late – I never thought the dinner party would come to an end, and I can hardly keep awake.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he demanded petulantly. ‘It’s weeks since you had the baby. It can’t still hurt you to be touched.’

  It wasn’t her body that hurt any more, she reflected bitterly. ‘Well, it does,’ she snapped.

  ‘I have my rights, you know. You’re not even feeding Sophia. You’re just making excuses. It’s not fair, Rosie.’ He sounded like a spoilt boy who’d been denied some sort of treat. Turning away from her, he flopped on to his side of the bed, huddling himself under the blankets, his face to the wall.

  Rosie finished creaming her face slowly, hating the fact she was having to share her old bedroom in Green Street with him.

  This room was where she had dreamed of a fairy-tale future ever since she’d been a little girl. Mummy’s constant assurances of ‘when you’re grown up …’ had indeed seemed like a promise of some future paradise.

  The reality was so different. Her marriage to Charles was bleak and loveless. She didn’t even feel a sisterly affection for him. Did she even like him any more? she asked herself. They had no money, no nice house to live in, and no staff. And no matter how much she adored living at Hartley, she couldn’t help feeling like the poor relation the rest of the family were having to support.

  How could this have happened to her? Why hadn’t she made a brilliant marriage like Juliet, who now had everything.

  She thought about her sister at this moment, revelling in luxury in the south of France, with cars and private planes and a yacht at her disposal, and everything she could ever want in life, hers for the taking.

  Rosie fought back sobs of anger and bitterness, stuffing the sheet into her mouth because the last thing she wanted was to awaken Charles. Why should everything have gone to her younger sister? Juliet had spoilt everything from the moment she’d been born. Always there. Always grabbing the attention, in spite of not being Mummy’s favourite. Always getting in the way, just when Rosie wanted to shine. Just when she wanted to be The One. And always, always a step ahead, damn her.

  Iona Kincardine ran forward on tippy-toes to fling her arms around Cameron’s neck as soon as he got out of the car.

  ‘Welcome home, my darling boy! You’re looking so well. It’s so good to have you back.’

  Today she was draped in tartan shawls, pinned to her left shoulder by a large silver brooch, engraved with the Kincardine crest. No doubt, Juliet reflected, climbing out of the car, she was playing Flora MacDonald and Cameron was her Bonnie Prince Charlie.

  Three black labradors and a clutch of West Highland terriers came swarming over to them, with equally joyous greetings.

  Cameron turned to Juliet, who was being ignored by his mother, and spoke. ‘Well, here we are. Home at last.’ His voice was resonant with relief.

  Home indeed, Juliet reflected drily, as staff appeared to welcome them, and a piper played his bagpipes.

  She looked up at Glenmally Castle, which was silhouetted against the sunset, and it reminded her of a dramatic illustration in a fairy tale, with its mass of sinister towers and turrets, crenellated ramparts and battlements and long slitty windows. This was where the wicked witch resided, ready to put a curse on anyone who crossed her.

  ‘Tea’s almost ready,’ Iona said gleefully, hanging on to Cameron’s arm as she led the way through a deep stone portico, above which was carved the Kincardine coat of arms.

  Inside, blazingly bright carpets, curtains and colourful cretonne sofa covers fought for attention with gilt clocks, brass bowls of heather, stuffed birds in glass domes, and stags’ heads peering down at them from the high dark panelled walls.

  Mrs Maxwell, the housekeeper, appeared at that moment. She was small and washed-out-looking, with thin sandy hair and a dour expression. Her eyes narrowed in close scrutiny as she looked at Juliet.

  ‘Your Grace, would you like me to show you to your rooms?’ she asked in an Edinburgh accent.

  ‘Thank you,’ Juliet replied. She had to admit she rather enjoyed the deferential way servants spoke to her these days.

  Mrs Maxwell showed her to a bedroom as big as a small ballroom, with an adjacent bathroom and sitting room, as well as a dressing room, furnished with several wardrobes and a large chest of drawers. The decorations were restrained to the point of being beige and bland, but the rooms were light and commanded a spectacular view of the distant mountains of Invergordon. In the foreground, reddish-brown shaggy-looking Highland cattle roamed, as did sheep, with their sweet black faces and legs that looked as if they were wearing black stockings.

  ‘If there is anything you want, Your Grace, please ring,’ Mrs Maxwell said, indicating a bell by the fireplace. ‘Duncan will be bringing up your cases in a few minutes, and Flora, your personal maid, will do your unpacking.’

  Juliet smiled with gracious insincerity and thanked her again.

  Mrs Maxwell continued, ‘His Grace’s suite of rooms is at the other end of the corridor.’

  Juliet had the uncomfortable feeling the housekeeper was watching her closely for some reaction.

  ‘Good,’ Juliet remarked lightly. Her heart sank at the sad bleakness of it all. Separate suites. Just like the royal family. It wasn’t that she wanted Cameron in her bed, or even in her room, and perhaps that was the saddest part of all, but what sort of relationship was this going to be?

  Juliet’s marriage had finally been consummated on the third night of their honeymoon, and whilst Cameron, technically, knew what to do, it struck Juliet that his mind was elsewhere, because he was certainly not thinking about her. He kept his eyes tightly shut throughout the quick, perfunctory act, and seemed almost surprised to see her lying beside him when it was all over.

  Juliet quickly learned that if she was to get any pleasure from making love to him, she had to play tricks with her own mind, mixing self-deception with denial.

  It was several days after they’d arrived at Glenmally before Cameron appeared in her bedroom. She was lying in bed, reading.

  ‘Hello there,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Hello,’ she replied softly, putting down her book.

  ‘Would you like to …?’ He climbed into the bed, still in his striped flannel pyjamas.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said politely, and she hoped encouragingly. ‘I’ve hardly seen you all day.’

  ‘There’s always a lot to do on the estate.’ It was obvious he didn’t want to talk. Reaching for her bedside light, he turned it off, plunging them into darkness. Then he climbed clumsily on top of her, fiddling with the flies of his pyjamas as he did so.

  Through the open curtains a moon as bright as a street lamp shone on them, revealing that Cameron had his eyes tightly shut. Moulding her legs around him, she held him close, so she could delude herself into believing it was Daniel’s dark hair she was seeing through half-closed eyes. That it was Daniel’s cheek pressed to hers, that it was Daniel who was entering her needy body, satisfying her desire, giving her his love.

  When it was over she rolled away, her own eyes now tightly shut too, so as not to break the spell.

  ‘Sleep well,’ she heard Cameron say in a kindly voice, as he slipped quietly out of the room.

  When she’d first seen Glenmally, knowing that one day Cameron would ask her to marry him, she’d imagined how she’d redecorate the place.

  By the end of that first stay however, it was made very clear that Cameron and his mother liked things just the way they were.

  But she decided that at least she could brighten up the atmosphere of the castle by entertaining her friends. There were eighteen spare bedrooms, and an enormous staff. They could give wonderful weekend house parties.

  At the first opportunity to talk to Cameron
without his mother being there, she suggested they send out some invitations.

  Cameron’s face froze. ‘I think we should do that sort of thing in London,’ he replied stiffly. ‘The only time we have people to stay here is during the shooting season. Old friends of my parents, who come every year. Of course, we have a dance for the staff in the servants’ hall at Christmas, but that’s the only entertaining we do.’

  ‘Why?’ Juliet’s eyes widened with bewilderment. ‘You’ve got the money and the staff, and this great –’ she was about to say edifice, but quickly changed it to – ‘castle, so why wouldn’t you want to entertain?’

  ‘My mother and I like a quiet life, without ostentation,’ he said gravely.

  ‘You had a house party when you invited me and my parents to stay.’

  ‘That was different.’ His smile was kind though rather rigid. ‘It was important to see whether you would fit in here if we got married.’

  ‘So I passed muster, did I?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘You know that. It’ll soon be the shooting season, Juliet. If you want to, you could ask a few of your friends up for that, I suppose.’

  She thought of her best chums; Archie, Edward, Colin and all the others. They were more at home in a nightclub than they’d ever be on the grouse moors. Her mouth tightened.

  ‘So I have to go to London if I want to see all my friends?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘That’s why I bought the town house, isn’t it?’ Seeing the angry expression in her eyes, he continued in conciliatory tones, ‘Don’t be cross, Juliet. You have to realize this is my mother’s home, too. She’s getting on now, and lots of strangers staying here fluster her. Especially if they’re all young and quite … erm … boisterous.’

  ‘Boisterous?’ Juliet echoed.

  Cameron nodded, eyes dull and bleak. ‘I don’t really like parties, Juliet. I thought you realized that. I’m prepared to socialize when we go to London, for your sake, so I hope, in return, you’ll respect my wishes by not entertaining when we’re up here.’