by Angela Arney
The ploy had worked. Nicholas had forgotten. Liana smiled in the darkness. There was no need for her to worry: there would not be another child. Confident of the powerful allure of her body, she was sure she could always use it to distract Nicholas whenever necessary.
But for once Liana was wrong. Nicholas had not forgotten, on that night or any other, although he was lulled into believing that she, too, wanted another child. But later, when still no prospect of another baby seemed any nearer to materializing, Nicholas went to Donald Ramsay.
‘She’s probably working too hard. Stress can sometimes cause a form of infertility,’ said Donald, not in the least bit worried. ‘Be sensible; there’s no rush. She’s very young. Give it time, and for God’s sake don’t mention your concern to her.’
‘I’ve already mentioned it,’ admitted Nicholas, ‘but she laughed at me. She said it would happen when nature decided.’
‘In that respect she’s quite right,’ agreed Donald, slightly put out that Nicholas had, in his opinion, rushed his fences. ‘You can help by trying to persuade her to ease up a little on the work she does but please, Nicholas, do be sensible and learn to be patient yourself.’
Donald Ramsay was too wise to voice his own thoughts on Liana. In his opinion Nicholas needed time to understand the complex woman he had married. Everyone thought Liana an exceptional young woman, and she was. But, unlike others, Donald and his wife Dorothy were not entirely fooled by the steely image she projected. The steeliness of resolve did exist, there was no doubt of that, but it was finely sprung and stretched taut. Donald knew he would be wasting his breath if he tried to explain that to Nicholas now, so he held his tongue.
‘One wrong move, and she’ll snap like a violin string,’ Dorothy had observed to her husband. ‘God alone knows what could happen then. Liana needs time to herself, time to reinforce her emotional defences against whatever it was that tore them down in the first place. Something dreadful must have happened to her in the war.’
Donald agreed. It was on the night of Eleanora’s birth that he became sure that Liana would never open up her mind and heart, not to him, nor to anyone else. Even in the midst of all her pain she had clung on to whatever it was that tormented her, clasping it to herself tight, and hidden it with a desperate tenaciousness. And Donald’s psychology was that if she could not open up and release the pain, there was only one alternative for her, at least for the time being. She needed to build a wall around the emotions she was too afraid to share, a wall so high and so secure that eventually she would be able to relax. One day in the future, for her own sake, Donald fervently hoped that she would be able to unburden herself because only then would an inner peace come to her. But that day was a long, long way off. He knew how much Nicholas adored his wife but sometimes Donald wondered if loving was enough.
While Nicholas was worrying about Liana’s inability to conceive, the truth was that long before he had returned to Broadacres Liana had made a decision. There would be no more children. The silent vow she had made on their wedding day to give him a son was forgotten, swept away on a tide of illogical obsession and renewed passion once Eleanora arrived. Her reasoning was simplicity itself. The arrival of Raul’s child filled her heart, mind and soul with even more poignant memories of Raul. Even the pain of his loss, and the ever-present ache of knowing she was deceiving Nicholas every minute, every hour of every day could not dull the closeness she felt to Raul every time she looked at Eleanora. She had no need of more children. Raul’s child was gift enough. Eleanora filled her heart by keeping Raul alive in a very special way. There was the terrible fear that children from Nicholas would push Raul out of focus, usurp him from the central hidden core of her life where he existed in a fantasy world, the very essence of life to her, not dead at all. Liana was not prepared to risk losing such precious memories so she hardened her heart and deliberately denied Nicholas the son he longed for.
Next to keeping Raul alive in her heart came her almost equally passionate love for Broadacres, and initially she was anxious about its fate. She knew that if Nicholas should die before William, then William would automatically become the next earl. Should that happen she had no doubt that William would lose no time in ejecting her and Eleanora. She could imagine his malicious glee at such a prospect. From Margaret she learned that if Nicholas did not produce an heir in the form of a son, the next male member of the family would inherit the earldom, and if William were not alive the title would go to Peter, the son of Nicholas’s sister who lived in New Zealand.
But it was not the inheritance of the title that worried Liana, it was who would have Broadacres. She wanted it for herself and she wanted Eleanora to have it after her. Divine Providence having placed Broadacres and its lands in her lap, she had no intention of losing it. So she waited, picking the moment very carefully, and casually mentioned her fears to Nicholas not long after he had returned to Broadacres.
‘Darling, what would happen to Eleanora and me if you should die?’
Nicholas had laughed at first. ‘I’ve just survived a war, darling. I’ve no intention of dying now!’
But Liana persisted, she had to make him look at it seriously. ‘Accidents can happen,’ she said solemnly, ‘and I know William would be the next earl if you should die, and I also know he doesn’t like me. He wouldn’t want me here at Broadacres. I’d have to leave.’
‘Rubbish,’ Nicholas would not listen at first. ‘Of course he wouldn’t throw his own sister-in-law out.’
‘He would, Nicholas, and you know it. In fact, if he were in one of his black moods, he’d probably throw your mother out as well.’
Nicholas thought long and hard and reluctantly faced the fact that Liana was probably right. He thought of William and his black, unpredictable moods, his unreasonable hatred for anything or anyone he took a dislike to; he thought of his mother, and of Liana and baby Eleanora, and realized that it was not something he could leave to chance, hoping that a son and heir would come along quickly. He had to do something now. He made up his mind on a course of action, and in so doing quite unwittingly sealed his own fate where any future children were concerned.
‘There is no need for you to worry,’ he told Liana. ‘William will never be able to force you to leave Broadacres because I shall make a will leaving the house and estate jointly to you and my mother, and then on your deaths it will go to Eleanora or my eldest son if by then we have a son. If I should die before William, he would, of course, still inherit the title Earl of Wessex, but that is all, because although the law decrees that the title must pass on to the nearest male relative, that relative need not of necessity inherit the estate.’
‘You’re sure?’ Liana had already copiously studied papers in the library which indeed had told her that the estate was not entailed in the way many lands of the aristocracy were. She thought she knew, but she was not quite certain what that meant.
Of course I’m sure, darling. Broadacres and its lands are not entailed, thank God. So that means I am free to leave it to whomsoever I choose. And I am going to make arrangements to leave it to you.’
‘William won’t like that.’
Nicholas smiled wryly. ‘No, he won’t, and therefore we won’t tell him. There’s no need to create extra unpleasantness. Apart from the family solicitor, who can be relied upon for complete confidentiality, only you and my mother need know.’
And so it was done. Margaret was relieved when she knew of Nicholas’s decision and thought it a prudent move, although as she said, ‘I’m quite certain you will live to a ripe old age, my dear, and produce a whole clutch of sons.’ But she agreed with Liana, accidents could happen and it was better to be prepared.
Mr Paris, senior partner of Paris, Paris and Blundell, a firm of solicitors established in Winchester for over one hundred and fifty years, approved of Nicholas’s plan. He knew William and heartily disliked him, and thought it sensible that the present earl should make provision for his wife and daughter and also for Lady Margare
t. Old Mr Paris knew something of the unhappy life Lady Margaret had lived with the former earl and had a great affection and admiration for the gentle, dignified way she had coped with it. It was good that Nicholas was looking after her; he doubted that William would. The will was duly drawn up, signed and witnessed and locked away in the cavernous vaults of Paris, Paris and Blundell.
Once that was done Liana relaxed. She was safe and so was Broadacres. There was no need to produce a son and heir, no need at all. She could concentrate now on restoring Broadacres to its former glory, close her heart around Raul, her secret love, and forget about babies.
Not once did it occur to her that she was being selfish or that she was denying Nicholas, who had given her everything, the greatest gift she could give him. Nor did it occur to her that it was quite irrational, perpetuating the myth of a man long dead to her and the world. Rationality did not enter into it where Raul was concerned. Liana could not accept that Raul was not real whereas Nicholas was. And if sometimes she did see it, then her eyes were quickly averted. She preferred blindness to sight. Blindness was exquisite, it gave her an illicit joy. It meant Raul lived on in her heart and now could stay there for ever. The obsessive, passionate love generated so long ago in the three short weeks she had had as Raul’s lover was as intoxicating to her now as ever and Liana determined she would never let it go.
The plans she had made to prevent conception, long before Nicholas had returned to England, could continue uninterrupted. Some months after Eleanora’s birth, Liana had gone to London. Knowing that Donald Ramsay would not approve, and, of course, unable to tell him her reasons, she had gone to a private birth control clinic in London. It had not been easy finding out where to go but as usual she had persisted and once she had found the right place she made her visit in secret one day, when ostensibly she was visiting London to look at new clothes. There she had been fitted with a dutch cap which was then carefully hidden away in her own private bathroom at Broadacres. Once Nicholas returned Liana used it punctiliously with clinical detachment. So while Nicholas was praying and trying to wait patiently for Liana to conceive, Liana was carefully ensuring that conception was impossible. In the beginning she did have the grace to feel a little guilty about yet another deception but after a while it became automatic. And once the future of Broadacres was secured, she saw no reason to think of it at all. Apart from a secret six-monthly trip to the clinic for a refitting, she put the matter from her mind. There were so many other things to think of concerning Broadacres, and in the beginning Nicholas appeared content. There was no time to waste pondering on the rightness of her decision. She had made it and that was that.
*
Nicholas watched Liana growing in intellectual stature as each day passed. Her ability to assimilate facts and then to act on them unerringly and instinctively never ceased to amaze him.
Socially, not only was she accepted but fêted wherever they went. She made it her business to gradually nudge the Hamilton-Howards into the forefront of society. With the inbuilt self-confidence of a family who could trace their history back over four hundred years, they had never bothered much about mixing. They lived secluded lives, doing as they pleased without regard for the consequences. Earning money had always been considered a pastime necessary only for the middle and working classes, not the aristocracy. Before the advent of Liana, apart from selling the occasional picture or some valuable piece of porcelain, Nicholas had never considered dedicating any time to actually generating an income. In pre-war days it just was not the done thing and anyway, like his mother, he much preferred the company of dogs and horses to that of people. He considered a day’s hunting, up to his ears in mud in the company of local farmers, much more enjoyable than doing the social rounds. But Liana had opened his eyes and made him see that meeting people was an essential part of their life. Their forays into high society were only undertaken if Liana thought someone worth cultivating would be present. Their socializing was mainly with businessmen and politicians, anyone with the potential of being useful to Broadacres in a present or future enterprise. Liana was the driving force behind all such activities, persuading, cajoling, bullying when necessary, and Nicholas usually a willing follower.
‘Darling, I know that you’d planned to go riding. But this is important.’ Nicholas recognized the steel-like thread running through Liana’s deceptively gentle voice. Inevitably it meant that she would get her way. ‘And it isn’t as if it’s the hunting season now,’ she continued, demolishing an argument before he had time to present it. ‘It’s summer.’
Nicholas made a token protest. ‘The Hampshire Hunt rides to hounds all year round.’
‘You can miss the meet this once.’
Nicholas gave in, as Liana had known he would. ‘All right, tell me the worst. What have you got lined up for me? I’ll do anything, as long as it’s not opening the Longford Village Fête again.’
Liana laughed, remembering the valiant efforts of Nicholas the year before coping with a thunderstorm, a leaking marquee roof and a microphone which did not work. ‘Nothing as awful as that, and much more important: a visit to South Wales.’
‘Wales! Whatever for?’
‘For the opening of an extension to a steelworks. All the top men in the steel industry plus some important politicians will be there.’
‘Socialist politicians,’ grumbled Nicholas. Like most of his contemporaries he was finding it difficult to come to terms with being governed by the Socialists.
Liana was realistic and didn’t care which political party was in power as long as they didn’t interfere too much with her plans.
‘Darling, this is nineteen forty-seven. The Socialists will be in power at least until nineteen fifty and then will probably go on to win the next election if the newspapers are correct. I think it is about time you accepted that fact. Anyway, Socialists, Conservatives or whatever, it’s unimportant. The only people who matter are the ones with power. At the moment, the Socialists have it. It is only a matter of time before steel is nationalized, and it’s vital that we get in now and make good contacts with management and politicians. Because if we are to succeed with our plans for expanding Elver Forge Industries, we shall need a reliable supply of steel at a good price. So darling, I have graciously accepted on your behalf to open the extension to the Maeglas Steelworks.’
‘Oh, God!’ Nicholas groaned. ‘You know how I hate occasions like that – all pomp and ceremony; everyone fawning around me because I’m an earl.’
‘Nasty, but necessary,’ said Liana firmly, linking her arms around his neck and kissing him.
‘Slave driver!’
‘Darling, it’s for Broadacres.’
‘I know, I was only teasing.’ He kissed her back. ‘You’ve done wonders for Broadacres. I don’t know how we ever managed without you.’
‘Not very well,’ Liana reminded him dryly. ‘That’s why we’ll put up with whoever we have to be nice to in Wales. But’, she added pulling a face, ‘we don’t have to like them.’
‘God! I never dreamed you were so practical when I married you,’ said Nicholas grinning. ‘If I had known, I would have asked you sooner.’
Liana hugged him. ‘I’ll try to make sure our day in Wales isn’t too boring.’
‘Darling, nothing is ever boring with you.’
Nicholas spoke the truth. Even going to functions he hated, being fawned upon and flattered by hordes of avid social climbers was not so bad if Liana was there. She had a knack of deflecting the worst bores and, although she conformed, Nicholas knew Liana regarded the so-called social niceties with disparaging disdain. Like his mother and himself, she had a healthy disregard for all forms of pretentious nonsense. Her philosophy was simple: if it would help swell the coffers of Broadacres, then it would be done. But the flattery never went to her head and afterwards they would laugh about it. It formed a bond between them, a secret joke.
Clever, hard-working, impatient to be rich, Liana steamed ahead. A juggernaut at full
power, Nicholas often thought, albeit an elegant one. When the Hamilton-Howards sallied forth into the world of high society there were no snide remarks now from Clara Maltravers and her cronies, nor anyone else, concerning the business assets of the Hamilton-Howards. Most of them were green with envy.
*
‘I can’t think how you manage so well.’ Clara Maltravers sighed heavily. ‘Even my sheep are a disaster this year. The foot rot has cost me a fortune.’ She took another scone and piled it high with cream. ‘A fortune,’ she repeated piteously.
‘If you won’t pay out for a decent land manager and good shepherds, what else can you expect.’ Liana, joining the family in the Grey Room for afternoon tea was annoyed to find an uninvited Clara Maltravers there. She did not like her, thinking Clara affected and snobbish. ‘Those sheep of yours should have been moved out before the meadows were flooded, then they wouldn’t have got foot rot.’
‘And how long have you been an expert on English sheep rearing?’ enquired Mrs Maltravers, her plummy voice ominously sweet.
‘I’m not. I only know what Wally Pragnell tells me. He’s the expert around here where farming is concerned.’
‘I must agree with Liana there.’ Nicholas hastily tried to fill an awkward pause in the conversation. ‘We’d be lost without Wally.’
‘There you are, then,’ said Clara Maltravers in a tone of triumphant vindication. ‘I’m not so fortunate. I don’t have anyone like Wally Pragnell. It’s not easy to find men willing to work on the land.’
‘There are plenty of unemployed men about,’ Margaret pointed out.
Clara glared at her. How dare she have a point of view! ‘I said willing workers,’ she snapped, ‘not unemployed men.’
‘Workers are only willing if they are paid enough,’ observed Liana pointedly.
It was like waving a red rag at a bull as far as Clara Maltravers was concerned. ‘Paid enough! I pay my workers what they are worth and usually that’s not much. The wretched Socialists have ruined everything with welfare-state hand-outs – paying people to be sick and unemployed! The country is going to the dogs; people don’t want to work. Before the war, people were glad enough to do anything, no matter how little they earned. Today, half of them don’t know what real work is.’
