“It’s all right, DeLacy, I understand,” Daphne answered gently. “So please do tell us how this tea came about. And give us a picture of Mama, and what’s happening at Charles Street.”
* * *
When DeLacy remained silent, looking around nervously and twisting her hands in her lap, Daphne walked across the room and sat down in a chair near her. DeLacy had always been sensitive and fragile of nature; since the divorce she had become nervous and easily upset.
Reaching out, holding DeLacy’s hand, she said, “Take your time, darling; nobody’s in a hurry or about to leave. Just be relaxed and tell us slowly.”
DeLacy nodded, giving her sister a small smile. She had been close to Daphne since childhood, was devoted to her, and understood how kind and compassionate she was. It was Daphne she trusted wholeheartedly.
Taking a deep breath, DeLacy began, “It all came about like this. A few weeks ago I was feeling lonely, very sad, and I suddenly thought of Mama. I realized that over the years I had missed her from time to time. I know she behaved badly—” DeLacy paused, cleared her throat. “She ran away because of another man, and well, she abandoned her children. All of us. Still, I did have an unexpected longing to see her, to talk to her.”
Then she began to speak again. “At first I thought of phoning her. But I sort of, well, I lost my nerve, I suppose. So I wrote her a letter instead, telling her that I would like to see her, to catch up over tea. The note was brief and simple, but friendly. I didn’t get a reply.”
“Did you go to see her?” Dulcie asked, staring hard at DeLacy, not exactly happy to learn that her sister had weakened in her resolve, had broken the promise they had all made to each other years ago: They would limit their availability to their mother.
DeLacy has seemed bewildered and lost since the breakup of her marriage, Dulcie now thought, and she said quickly, “Please tell us about it, DeLacy. I’m so sorry I interrupted you.”
“Out of the blue, I received a phone call late on Saturday morning,” DeLacy explained. “It was Lawrence, inviting me to tea that day—”
“Lawrence,” Diedre exclaimed. “Do you mean her frightful husband? You call him Lawrence?”
DeLacy simply nodded, withdrawing again, noting the angry tone in Diedre’s voice. She suddenly wished she hadn’t told them.
Daphne was fully aware of this and of DeLacy’s growing nervousness, and she said somewhat sternly, “Please let DeLacy speak without any interruptions. That only makes her more anxious. And it is very important for me to hear what she knows. Come along, darling, do continue.” As she spoke, Daphne reached out again and took DeLacy’s hand in hers, gave her an encouraging smile.
“Lawrence Pierce sounded very cordial on the phone, and said if that afternoon wasn’t convenient, I could go for tea on Sunday. I chose to go on Saturday because I was coming to this supper tonight. And I did try to get hold of you, Daphne, to tell you.”
“I remember the phone was busy a lot today … Hugo was using it, and so was I. But no one is being critical of you, darling.”
“I know. So I went to tea. Mama was lovely. She’s had bronchitis, and she appeared to be somewhat … fragile. That’s the best word. She’s still beautiful, you know. I told her about my divorce and Simon, and she and Lawrence were so nice, and sympathetic. Later they spoke about their holiday in Monte Carlo. That was it, more or less. Mama did ask about everyone, but I didn’t reveal too much. Oh, and she was very nice about your success, Ceci.”
“I bet she didn’t ask about me,” Dulcie exclaimed. “And do tell us, what’s the crazy knife-wielding surgeon really like in the flesh?”
Everyone laughed, DeLacy included, who said, “He’s pleasant, and he does have a certain charm. Very handsome. Nobody’s exaggerated about that. But there was something about him that I couldn’t quite fathom.”
“What do you mean, DeLacy?” Lady Gwendolyn suddenly looked perturbed. “He doesn’t have a very nice reputation. So I’ve been given to understand.” She scrutinized DeLacy intently.
“It’s nothing like that, nothing strange. Or nasty. I suppose he’s distracted; I think that’s the best way of describing his demeanor. It’s as if he’s extremely preoccupied, and that his mind is on other things.”
Diedre remarked, her eyes narrowing, “In my experience, anyone who displays those traits is highly involved in something, is focused on that and nothing else. The body is there, but the mind is absent. Do you understand what I mean, DeLacy?”
“I do. And you’ve described him perfectly. He was absent mentally. That’s it.”
“How did he treat your mother?” Lady Gwendolyn probed.
“He’s nice with her, courteous, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn. But…” DeLacy’s voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.
Leaning into her, Cecily said, “There’s something else, isn’t there, DeLacy? Something you’re not saying.”
DeLacy stared at Cecily, then looked across at Daphne, her face suddenly filling with sadness. “He doesn’t seem interested in her as a woman. She is very affectionate with him, loving actually, but he’s not like that with her.”
Lady Gwendolyn said, “I’m sure Felicity is still romantically involved with him, is still in love with him. However, it is quite possible he does not have those same feelings.”
No one spoke for a moment. Finally Daphne broke the silence. “It sounds as if he’s lost interest in her. Sexually. And perhaps that preoccupation you mentioned, DeLacy, is with another woman.”
“How about women, plural. I’ve heard he’s a real chaser of skirts,” Dulcie exclaimed, and laughed. “You know what they say … revenge is a dish best served cold. And if he’s got another woman and doesn’t love his wife, then this is my moment of revenge. She abandoned me at the age of six, and I’ve waited a long time for this moment. Revenge served cold can also be very sweet.”
Thirty-one
DeLacy sat at the small desk in her bedroom, writing a letter to her father. She missed him, and would be much happier when he returned to England. He had been away far too long for her liking. He was the rock of her life, as he was to all his children. Somehow she felt safer when he was around. More secure.
She sat back in the chair, suddenly thinking of her mother. Felicity had been so warm and loving at tea; DeLacy had been quite startled by her demeanor, but had responded with warmth herself.
She grimaced. Now she was to be the pawn in the plan to get the jewels back, and she dreaded the thought. She would do it, though, because Felicity was in the wrong. And she was on the side of the Ingham Estate; after all, she was an Ingham born and bred, and would protect their interests.
The ringing of the phone brought her up with a start, and she reached for it, saying, “Hello?” in a quiet voice.
“May I speak to Lady DeLacy, please?”
It was a masculine voice, and she knew at once that it was Lawrence Pierce. Whatever could he want? “This is Lady DeLacy,” she said. “It is you, Lawrence, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he replied, sounding pleased that she had recognized his voice.
“How are you?” DeLacy asked politely, and quickly added, “Having tea with Mama and you was so nice.”
“Yes she, we, enjoyed it too. Your mother was thrilled that you reached out to her, DeLacy. The reason I am calling is to do with your mother, actually. I’ve been trying to think of a present for her, something that would be a genuine surprise. And I’ve come up with an idea that is wonderful, in my opinion. But it would involve you.”
“Oh,” she answered, surprised. “What is it?”
“A portrait of you, DeLacy. Which would be painted by Travers Merton. Have you heard of him?”
“He’s very famous. A fantastic artist. But why me? Why not one of my sisters?”
“In many ways you are the closest to her, DeLacy. You must be aware of that.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Diedre is somewhat aloof and always was. Daphne was your father’s … possession, in a c
ertain sense. And always was. And by the time she had Dulcie, she had met me…” He wisely let his voice peter off, said no more.
“Perhaps you’re right, and if you think my mother would want a portrait of me, I would be willing to sit for it.”
“Thank you, DeLacy, I am glad. Obviously, I must now get in touch with Merton, and commission him to do the portrait. I am sure he will be thrilled. He enjoys painting beautiful women. Don’t forget this is a secret, so your mother mustn’t know. Otherwise, it won’t be a surprise.”
“I understand. Just one question, Lawrence. If Mr. Merton agrees to paint me, will it be immediately? Oh, and where would he do it?”
“If he’s available, I will ask him to start as soon as possible, and I imagine you would have to go to his studio to sit. That is the usual procedure.”
“I understand.”
“You are going to be in town for a while, aren’t you, DeLacy?”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s good, and I will be in touch by the end of this week.”
* * *
Dulcie sat in Cecily’s office at the main shop in the Burlington Arcade. “The reason I want to work here for a while is because I want to open my own shop one day.”
She had taken Cecily by surprise, who exclaimed, “Your own shop? Selling what?”
“It would be a gallery, really, and I would be offering paintings, objects of art, and certain pieces of antique furniture.”
“You’re just finishing your art history course. So why do you want to go into commerce?” Cecily asked.
“Because I want to work. I don’t want to lead a life of indolence and social boredom. And I want to make money, to be self-supporting.” Dulcie said this in such a firm voice, and sounded so determined, she had gained Cecily’s entire attention.
“That’s very admirable of you, but what will your father say?”
“I don’t know. When I told Daphne, she was a little shocked; she warned me that Great-Aunt Gwendolyn would be horrified.” Dulcie laughed, and made a face. “I’m not so sure Daphers is right. I think Great-Aunt Gwendolyn might well approve; she’s a good sport.” A little sigh escaped, and Dulcie added, “Cavendon is a thief, you know. It steals the money Hugo makes on the family investments. So I want to help.”
Cecily digested these remarks, and was silent for a moment. She had long known things were not the same at Cavendon Hall, and that money was short. So many different elements had depleted its finances. Finally, she said carefully, “Are you saying that Cavendon is now really in trouble?”
“No, no, I’m not. But there is a big overhead. That’s why Daphne keeps making the cuts. You know, getting rid of the two footmen and the cook here at Grosvenor Square. And she’s forever telling Hanson we’re on a budget. And we’re managing. I just want to be useful, help out if I can.”
“I understand. How will you find your product? The paintings and furniture? That might be difficult, and you do need some sort of inventory,” Cecily said.
Dulcie leaned forward, and explained, “The attics here in London, and at Cavendon Hall, are jammed with paintings, objects, and antiques. I’m going to use those for the gallery, and find other things as I go along.”
“Will your father allow that?”
“I intend to persuade him. And I can be very persuasive.”
Cecily turned and looked at the door as it opened; Dorothy stood there. “You’ll never guess who’s just arrived,” she said, sounding especially pleased.
“Don’t make me guess.”
“It’s Lady Diedre, and she has Paul Drummond in tow. They wish to see you. Shall I send them up?”
“Of course.” Cecily rose and walked into the middle of her office. Glancing at Dulcie, she asked, “Is that relationship serious?”
“Nobody seems to know. Diedre is secretive, and not a bit confiding at all. Perhaps because she doesn’t know herself how she feels.”
A moment later, Diedre and Paul came into the office, and Cecily walked over to greet them, kissing Diedre on the cheek and shaking Paul’s hand.
“How nice to see you,” she said.
Diedre said, “Paul so admires your dresses. He wants to give me one as a present. Can we look at some?”
“How lovely,” Cecily said. “Let’s go down to the next floor, and we’ll show you the Winter Collection. I know there are things you will like, and which will suit you.”
Diedre smiled at her, and then at Paul. “This is such a treat,” she said to him.
Dulcie took hold of Cecily’s arm and whispered, “Can I please work here for a while? Learn the ropes?”
Cecily put an arm around Dulcie’s shoulders, full of affection for her. “You can start right now,” she answered. “Come with me.”
* * *
Travers Merton stood staring at Lawrence Pierce, who had just arrived at his studio in Chelsea. “Obviously, you’re not slicing into someone’s flesh today,” he said, grinning at his closest friend. “So, what brings you over here? Just a social visit, Pierce? Or what? Knowing you as well as I do, I have the distinct feeling it might be about a woman.”
Lawrence Pierce did not respond. He walked across the studio and leaned against the mantelpiece, his expression neutral. The studio was a spacious room with big windows at one end, and filled with perfect light. Just the kind of light a painter required, and couldn’t properly work without.
Finally, Pierce said, “I have a commission for you, Merton. If you’re interested.”
“Depends what it is, old boy. I hope it’s not another nude of one of your women. I’m a bit sick of those, and where the hell do you keep them? I’ve often wondered that.”
Travers Merton said this in such an odd voice Lawrence Pierce couldn’t help but be amused. He smiled. “You’ve made good money with me. And what I do with the paintings is none of your business.”
“How about a spot of bubbly to seal the deal?” Travers said.
“Why not? I don’t have surgery tomorrow. I was thinking of a night out on the town. Are you free? Want to go slumming with me? We might duck into a couple of places we both know well, find a few fancy women to heat up our loins.”
Travers Merton burst out laughing. “You do have the oddest expressions. In the meantime, let me get a bottle of bubbles to cheer us on our way. You know I’ll come with you. I enjoy sharing your escapades.”
There was a small flat attached to the huge studio, and Travers went into the kitchen, opened a bottle of Dom Pérignon, and filled two champagne flutes. Only the best for Lawrence Pierce, he thought, be it wine, women, or song … more like orgies, he added to himself, and chuckled.
A second or two later he was handing a flute of champagne to the famous surgeon, and couldn’t help thinking what beautiful hands he had. He’d noticed them before, but they seemed unusually elegant today. Perfect for wielding a scalpel, and also to be painted. He suddenly had the idea of doing that: pale hands clasped, resting on black velvet. He would do it, and give the painting to his friend. Travers knew it would please Pierce, who had quite an ego.
The two men touched their glasses, said cheers, and took a swallow. Lawrence Pierce had a reflective look on his face when he said, “I do want you to do a painting for me, Merton. Of my wife’s daughter, Lady DeLacy Ingham.”
Travers looked at him swiftly. “Not a nude, then?”
Pierce said nothing, swilled some of the champagne. “No, not a nude,” he answered at last. “A portrait. For Felicity. A surprise gift for Christmas, if you can have it finished by then.”
The painter nodded, intrigued, and asked, “What does Lady DeLacy look like? Does she resemble Felicity?”
“No. None of her daughters do. They’re all Inghams through and through. And DeLacy is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Glorious. Golden hair, the deepest of blue eyes, and a perfect complexion. There’s something about her that is quite … intoxicating. Wait until you set eyes on her, Merton; you’ll be startled. She’ll knock yo
ur socks off.” Lawrence turned to face the artist, and chuckled.
Travers stared at Lawrence. “Does she do that to you, old chap? Knock your socks off? Is that why you’re bringing her here? To me. To soften her up for you? Like I’ve done so many times in the past? Teach a few tricks? Because I’ll be delighted to romp with her. And I’ll paint her as well.”
“Nothing like that, Travers, just paint her portrait. You see, this one is forbidden. She’s my stepdaughter, for God’s sake.”
“Scruples? You? Come off it, my lad. I wouldn’t trust you alone with any woman anywhere. You’re insatiable.”
“Not this one, Travers. Understood?” He stared the artist down, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “But you can court Lucy, if you wish. It’s all over between us, and I know she’s been hot to trot with you for quite a while.”
“How do you know that?”
“She’s told me. Many times.”
“Then why don’t we go to see her later?”
Lawrence Pierce shook his head. “I feel like going out on the town tonight. And if you think about it, you do too.”
“I have to admit you’re right,” Travers Merton said, smiling in anticipation.
Thirty-two
Lady Gwendolyn realized, quite unexpectedly, that she was going to be rather busy today, and it was only Tuesday. Starting in the late afternoon yesterday, she had received phone calls from two of her great-nieces, and Mark Stanton, all of them asking to see her today. And then this morning, quite early, Inspector Pinkerton had phoned to tell her he had information for her. And that he needed to speak to her in person.
Staring at herself in the mirror on her dressing table, Lady Gwendolyn put on pearl earrings, adjusted the pearl brooch on her navy blue jacket, and then nodded to herself. She looked businesslike, yet without being too severe in appearance, and this pleased her.
Rising, she walked out and went into the small parlor where she preferred to receive visitors.
Lady Gwendolyn, nobody’s fool, fully understood that her great-nieces were running to her for advice of some kind because Charles was still in Zurich. Otherwise they would have sought out their father. Nonetheless, it pleased her that they came to her, the matriarch of the family. She was looking forward to seeing them.
The Cavendon Women Page 18
