Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story

by Angela Arney

  How long she sat, enmeshed in a warp of time, she did not know. But slowly Liana realized that it was possible the impossible had happened. Conflicting emotions caused her heart to beat unsteadily, fluttering like a bird one moment, thumping heavily like a lump of lead the next. One moment she was reeling under the impact of a joy so great she could scarcely breathe; Raul was still alive, and he had written the story in the belief that she was dead. But why had he not written about their beautiful love affair? Why had he not told of his love for her? Why substitute an unknown man from the village as her companion in the final days at the castello? Then, just as suddenly, the joy was replaced with the familiar, bitter anguish. Raul was dead, but by a quirk of fate, the same fate which had always dogged her life, the story had lived on through some unknown person. Now written down, although not the complete story, there was enough to give Peter, and anyone else who might read it, the insight to be able to guess at the truth – not the whole truth, Eleanora’s parentage was still safe, but she, Liana was not.

  She closed her eyes. All the years, such a heavy, heavy burden she had carried – a strange burden, a mixture of pain and grief plus the bitter-sweet joy of her daughter. But the secret of her own identity, Liana had always thought to carry with her to the grave, and now it was a secret no longer. For here it was, lying on the desk in front of her, written out in story form. And Peter had read it.

  Upstairs in the hall, Alice was given the task of banging the gong to signal the drinks were ready in the Grey Room. She gave two hefty bangs, just as her mother had told her, then made her way, smart in her new parlour maid’s uniform, into the Grey Room, ready to serve the drinks.

  The vibrating resonance of the gong echoed down, drifting along the stone cloisters into the library office. It roused Liana out of the half-dreaming state she had fallen into. She sat up abruptly. Joy at the possibility that Raul was still alive and fear of discovery jostled for supremacy in her mind, both emotions pressing in on her until it was almost unbearable. But as she stood, ready to make her way to the Grey Room, Liana knew what she must do: the same as she had always done – give nothing away. For the time being she would wait. Facts, hard facts, those were what she needed, and the first one was to find out the name of whoever had penned the manuscript.

  Making her way along the cloisters and up the stairs, she paced herself in slow, measured steps. Breathing slowly, she regained some control of the erratic beat of her heart. If Raul were dead and someone else had written the story, then her secret was still safe. For nothing, except the joy of being held once more in Raul’s arms, would persuade her to admit the truth, and Liana had no doubt of her ability to successfully refute the story if it should prove necessary. Only for Raul would she confess, for nothing less could possibly make up for the loss of Broadacres and everything that went with it. It was Raul or Broadacres, a simple choice.

  At the door of the Grey Room she paused. It seemed she was the last to arrive. The murmur of voices and the occasional burst of laughter percolated through the door. Holding her head high, she opened the door and swept in. Alice bobbed forward, a gin and tonic already prepared for her on a silver salver.

  ‘Thank you, Alice.’ Liana smiled at Meg’s young daughter. ‘You do look nice tonight. I’m glad I chose that blue for you instead of black; it brings out the colour of your eyes.’

  Alice blushed prettily. ‘Thank you,’ she said shyly, and retreated across to the sideboard.

  Liana turned to greet the other guests. She smiled at Peter. I wonder if she’s read the manuscript, he thought. There was nothing about her assured appearance to suggest she had, or if she had, was in the slightest bit perturbed. Her smiling gaze swept past Donald, Dorothy and Margaret, all sitting on the largest of the Chippendale settees. Richard and Anne Chapman were standing by the white marble chimney piece with Nicholas. Richard smiled and raised his glass in a half-salute which she returned. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Eleanora and a tall, slightly balding man, standing by one of the windows. They had their backs to the room, and Eleanora was pointing out of the window into the darkness. Nicholas came across to meet Liana.

  Kissing her on the cheek, he turned and called to Eleanora. ‘Darling, come and say hello to your mother, and bring your guest.’

  At his words the two at the window turned back into the room. Suddenly Liana felt the solid floor slipping away into nothingness beneath her feet.

  Eleanora was coming towards her. She was smiling, speaking, saying something but Liana could not hear. Her eyes were fixed on the man beside Eleanora: father and daughter walking together. It was Raul. The passage of years had changed him, coarsened his features, but not so much that she could not recognize him. There was no mistaking the man she had dreamed of for the past twenty-three years, the father of her daughter.

  Her gaze switched to Eleanora. She was clinging on to Raul’s arm, laughing. Father and daughter! Lovers! Oh, my God! What malicious power had conspired to twist their lives and bring them together in this fashion? A choking nausea overcame her. Father and daughter, Raul and Eleanora. Oh, God!

  With a crash the glass dropped from her nerveless fingers and shattered on the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Downstairs in the vast kitchen of Broadacres, Mary Pragnell was extolling the virture of good, plain cooking.

  ‘Now, if Lady Liana had fainted and there had been soufflé on the menu, a right pickle we’d have been in and no mistake. But as it is, nothing will spoil by waiting a few minutes. Turn the gas down under that soup, Melanie, there’s a good girl.’

  Melanie did as she was told. ‘Do you think it will only be a few minutes? Alice said she went out like a light.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mary was comfortably positive. ‘Her Ladyship is no weakling. Been overdoing it, that’s what. Dashing off to France, and then dashing back here, working in her office right until the last minute and then dashing straight up to dinner. Anyone would faint! A little lie down and she’ll be all right.’

  But Liana did not want to lie down. ‘No, Donald, I am perfectly all right.’ She struggled to an upright position and saw that someone – it must have been Nicholas because he was there with Donald – had carried her into the little anteroom, next door to the Grey Room. She was on the Victorian day-bed which stood against the wall.

  ‘But, darling, you must be exhausted. That’s why you fainted.’ Concerned, Nicholas knelt at her side.

  Liana looked at him, then trembling looked quickly away. The gentle compassion in his voice only emphasized the tortuous, guilt-ridden emotion now tearing her to pieces. The blindness, which she had so steadfastly cultivated was swept away in a sudden blaze of simple perception; what right had she ever had to blame him for anything? Her own shameful burden was so much greater. Never knowingly would he have allowed William to harm James; whereas every single deception she had practised had been planned. Put into perspective, the family secret of William’s illness was understandable. Her own deception was quite another matter. True, it had always seemed justified. Or to be more honest she had always succeeded in persuading herself that it was justified. Until tonight. Now the flimsy veil of absolution had been torn to shreds, life had turned its full nightmarish circle, revealing the truth in an ugliness she had never dreamed possible. Nicholas was still kneeling at her side, and Liana turned towards him wanting to speak, but no words came. The dreadful enormity of what she knew she must do robbed her of speech. And the worst thing of all was the knowledge that she would be robbing Nicholas yet again. He had lost his only son, and soon, through her revelations, would lose his daughter.

  For the first time, she allowed herself to concede that his grief at the loss of James equalled hers and that she had compounded it by turning away from him. By not sharing the sorrow, she had made it worse. Now he was about to lose the daughter he had loved so dearly for the past twenty-two years. He did not deserve to be so badly hurt. Without warning, long-buried memories of her wedding day came back, a
nd Liana remembered how she had thought then that she had married a good man with integrity who would never let her down. And if she was absolutely honest, she knew he never had.

  She remembered, too, the vow she had made to herself at her wedding. She had vowed to make him happy, vowed that he would never know the truth and would never regret marrying her. For a time she had succeeded, they had been happy. But even during the bad times of their marriage, she had always persuaded herself it was never so bad for him. She was the one who suffered, not Nicholas. If anyone had prophesied that a day would come when Nicholas would have to pay the price of her deception, Liana knew she would never have believed them. Now that day had come. But, of course, I should have known, I should have guessed! The thought filled her with misery. Why hadn’t she foreseen the obvious? All her life fate had twisted events in unexpected directions, always with the same end result, unhappiness.

  ‘Liana?’ Nicholas said again.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.

  ‘Liana, why not give dinner tonight a miss? Eleanora will be here for the whole weekend. So we can always have another dinner party tomorrow. Meg would love the excuse to plan two on the trot, you know she would. I’ll explain to everyone that you have been overdoing things and are tired, and you go up and go to bed and rest.’ It was unlikely that she would listen, Nicholas knew that. But it was worth a try. He watched her face thoughtfully, tightly closed and shuttered now, devoid of emotion. He knew Liana had had a shock, and that in some way Raul Levi was connected with it. Momentarily, he wondered if Levi was tied up with the story he had read in her office but then almost immediately dismissed the idea. That was impossible, the man had only just arrived. Besides he was a famous man of the theatre. What connection could he have with the two impoverished young girls who had lived years ago?

  ‘No!’ The word rapped out, sharp and emphatic. Donald Ramsay looked at Liana curiously. Was it his imagination, or did she sound desperate?

  He probed gently. ‘Why not, my dear? A dinner party is not so important, is it?’

  His voice seemed to have a calming effect, for she turned to him and forced a smile. ‘No, it’s not so important.’ Then turning back to Nicholas, she apologized. ‘I’m sorry, Nicholas, I don’t know why I snapped so bad-temperedly. I shouldn’t have. I do understand that your only concern is for me but you know how I hate fuss. I am all right. Really I am.’ She held out her arm towards Donald. ‘Take my pulse, please, and tell Nicholas that I’m all right.’

  Obediently Donald took her pulse. There was not much point in saying that her pulse was racing like a mad thing because he knew she had every intention of going in to dinner. Nothing that he could say would stop her. So he said, ‘Don’t worry, Nicholas. The pulse is perfectly normal and Liana is the best judge of how she feels.’

  ‘Which is like my pulse, perfectly normal,’ Liana said firmly, getting up and smoothing down her dress. ‘I’ll tell you why I fainted. I’ve just remembered, I’ve had nothing to eat since my coffee and croissants in Lyons this morning. I’m absolutely starving.’ A quick glance at her appearance in the gilded mirror above the fireplace to tuck a few stray wisps of hair back into the upswept french pleat of her coiffure, and she was ready. Turning back towards the two men, she smiled enchantingly, as only Liana knew how, and held out her arms. ‘Come, my dears, I shall have two escorts into dinner.’

  Involuntarily both Nicholas and Donald smiled back at her, reacting as usual to the mysterious magic of her dark eyes. Then they looked at each other; Donald raised his eyebrows, and Nicholas gave a faint, helpless smile. Liana was a stubborn woman, there was nothing they could do that would make her change her mind. There was no point in arguing any longer. So together, the three walked to the Waterford Room to join the rest of the company for dinner. But as they walked, with Liana talking in her usual knowledgeable way about this year’s good harvest, as if that were the only thing in her thoughts, both men knew that her mind was not on her inconsequential chatter. Nor had she fainted through hunger. Something was very wrong. They both felt an ominous sense of unease and, unbeknown to each other, they had each drawn the same conclusion. The unease stemmed from the arrival of Raul Levi, the man Eleanora had brought with her from Italy.

  Donald, of course, knew nothing of the story lying on the desk in Liana’s office. He also knew nothing of a Raul in her past, the lost cousin and the search for him that had eventually led to her meeting with Nicholas. His feelings were based not on knowledge but on sheer gut reaction. He had seen the multitude of conflicting expressions in Liana’s eyes when she had first turned towards Raul Levi. He was certain that she knew him. If he had been a betting man he would have put money on it. But more than that, he could not imagine what significance he held for her.

  Nicholas, however, was like a dog worrying at a bone. Reluctant, but unable to prevent himself, he was slowly fitting the pieces together. The story on her desk. His first meeting with Liana. Then the second, when she had been searching for her cousin, Raul Carducci. Raul Levi and Raul Carducci. Was it possible that they could be one and the same person? Was that why she had fainted? And if so, who was she, this woman walking so sedately at his side, the woman who had been his wife for nearly twenty-three years? He glanced down at her. She hid her distress well; she was distressed, he was positive of that. Her head was held high, the familiar classical features were to all intents and purposes serene and untroubled. The years had been kind to Liana. At the age of forty-one, she could easily have passed for thirty-one. Her skin was unlined and her hair as luxuriant and dark as ever, not a grey hair in sight. The slender, feminine elegance of her figure was the envy of many, much younger women.

  On reaching the door, Nicholas and Donald stood back, allowing Liana to precede them into the Waterford Room. She walked before them, beautiful and regal. Every inch a countess, thought Nicholas, feeling the familiar surge of pride he always felt at her appearance on grand occasions. What rubbish he had been guilty of thinking! There was no way she could be the girl Liana in the story, no way she could have been a common prostitute. There was an answer to the mysterious story, and he was sure Raul Levi had something to do with it, and after dinner, he would damn well make it his business to find out. But not now, not in front of the Ramsays and his sister and brother-in-law. No, it would have to wait. He hoped that dinner would not be too prolonged an affair.

  It was a hope shared by more than one person at the dinner table that night.

  *

  The polished mahogany of the long rectangular dining table gleamed a warm red in the light shed by the three elaborate silver candelabra spaced at intervals down the centre. The fine points of the crystal glasses and the overhead crystal chandeliers for which the room was famous caught the light from the candles and, acting like prisms, cast a rainbow glow on the mass of silver cutlery placed with infinite precision at the place settings. Meg and Alice moved amongst the diners with polished efficiency, serving the first course, a Broadacres home-produced pâté with melba toast. Meg had set out the food on the plates with exquisite artistry, decorating the slivers of pâté and toast with parsley leaves and wedges of lemon.

  ‘Very pretty, my dear,’ whispered Dorothy as Meg paused by her place.

  ‘Thank you.’

  But Meg was disappointed. She had a horrible feeling that all her hard work was going to be wasted. First Lady Liana had fainted, an unheard of phenomenon, and now the atmosphere at the dining table was so tense that Meg felt as if she were physically battling her way through it. What was going on? She mentioned nothing to her mother who was in the kitchen rushing around, red in the face, making certain everything was ready to be conveyed upstairs the moment it was needed. Her mother was busy enough, and anyway, Meg knew she would tell her to stop imagining things. But she knew it was not her imagination.

  Even Alice mentioned it as they were loading the dumb waiter with the first pile of used plates and cutlery. ‘Funny sort o
f feeling in there tonight, Mum. They all seem kind of uptight and on edge. They’re not really talking properly. Have you noticed?’

  Meg closed the doors, gave the pulley a hefty yank and the dumb waiter trundled down the shaft into the kitchen where Mary Pragnell was waiting to remove the dirty plates and load on the soup tureen of fish bisque.

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed,’ said Meg. ‘Perhaps none of them like that Italian chap Miss Eleanora has brought home with her.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Alice with the uncompromising positiveness of the very young. ‘I think he’s a horrible old man. What can she see in him? I wouldn’t have anything to do with him.’

  The bell rang signalling the dumb waiter was on its way up. ‘That’s as may be. But just you keep your thoughts to yourself. It is none of our business,’ said Meg severely, thinking at the same time how right the child was. What on earth must Lord Nicholas and Lady Liana have thought when they first saw him?

  Raul was confused, uncomfortable and apprehensive. He was not sure what his initial emotions had been when he had first seen Liana. The shock of meeting her face to face was still reeling through his brain. That it had been a shock to her as well as himself was not in doubt. He knew very well, even if no-one else in the room did, why she had fainted. Like him, she could never have expected their paths to cross again after all these years, especially as she had moved away from Italy and into a completely different world.

  Her eyes flickered across to him now, haughty, imperious and cold as death. Words were not necessary. Raul shivered and looked away, knowing that she was blaming him for the manner in which he had left her alone as a young girl. The sparkling lights of the room dimmed momentarily as he remembered her worried young face peering at him through the murky gloom of the falling ash on that March day. Then his black eyes hardened with self-justification and he looked back at her defiantly. What had she got to look so bloody superior about? Christ, he thought viciously, not only is she still bloody well alive, but she is also an English countess.