“Let’s hope you don’t need the letter, that she gives you the jewels without a murmur.” Cecily turned her head, beckoned to the waiter, then asked Miles, “Would you like something to drink? A glass of champagne?”
He shook his head vehemently. “No, nothing. I have to be alert and on my toes this afternoon, but thanks.”
DeLacy said, “Shall we order? Because I have to get home and change, and then go to Mama’s first, before everyone else arrives.”
“Why is that?” Cecily asked.
“We made a master plan, as you suggested,” Miles answered. “DeLacy goes first, at exactly four o’clock, bearing a gift. At about ten past four, or thereabouts, Daphne will arrive with Annabel and Nanny. They will have tea, it will be cozy, Mama will get to meet her new granddaughter. All lovey-dovey. At around ten to five, which is about the time Annabel will start getting cranky, Nanny will leave with the child, and I shall arrive. And that is when the real business will begin.”
“Will she be expecting you? Or are you surprising her?” Cecily gave Miles a pointed look.
“No surprises, that’s not the right way to do it. Lacy will tell her during tea that I want to pop by, that I’ve something to tell her.”
“And what’s that?” Cecily probed, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“I shall explain to her that I want a divorce, and I’m having trouble with Clarissa, and let her think I’m looking for sympathy. Felicity’s always enjoyed being needed. It was her stock in trade, the sympathy-kindness bit. And she likes getting family news; I’ve long heard on the grapevine that she’s felt very cut off from her children over the years.”
“Not our fault,” DeLacy exclaimed, and picked up the menu, glancing at it quickly.
“I understand, Miles, and it’s a good plan,” Cecily interjected. “And so much better to have Annabel and Nanny gone when you ask for the jewels. Oh, and by the way, I have a bit of other news you can give her … Diedre’s having a baby. She’s coming to see me this afternoon, to order some things. A wedding gown, a trousseau for the winter in New York, and maternity clothes. The baby is due in the spring … late April, I think she said.”
Miles stared at Cecily in surprise. “Gosh, that is a bit of news. Incidentally, I had a phone call from Great-Aunt Gwendolyn.” He looked at his sister, and added, “About Lavinia. Did you?”
“I did. I told her she could count on me. I think Lavinia should be allowed back into the inner circle. She’s very ill.”
“That’s what I said.” Miles also looked at the menu and put it down immediately. “They have fish cakes today, and those are for me.”
“I’m having the same,” Lacy murmured.
“Oh, so will I.” Cecily looked amused as she said this, and added, “We usually ate the same thing when we were growing up, so why not now.” Beckoning to the waiter once again, Cecily, Miles, and DeLacy ordered their food; Cecily and DeLacy both asked for a glass of white wine.
Miles shook his head when the waiter looked at him, and picked up the glass of water. “I mean to be as sober as a judge,” he muttered to the two women, and then asked Cecily, “When is Diedre getting married to Paul? Do we know yet?”
“She said in October when we spoke on the phone, but didn’t say exactly when. I explained I needed a bit of time to make everything and to do proper fittings. She said she was going to speak to your father tonight, call him in Zurich. And that she would let me have the date by tomorrow. I believe it depends on when he and Charlotte are coming home.”
* * *
After lunch, DeLacy rushed back to her flat, and Cecily and Miles walked over to the main Swann shop in the arcade. Suddenly Cecily stopped dead in her tracks, and cried, “Oh my God! I can’t believe it!”
Miles turned to her quickly. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, but isn’t that James Brentwood, the actor, looking in my shop window?”
“It is,” Miles replied, and took hold of her arm. “Come on, let’s go and meet him. I’m a tremendous admirer of his. Nobody does Shakespeare like him, and I’ve read that he’s quite the history buff. Perhaps that’s the reason he understands Shakespeare as well as he does.”
By the time Cecily and Miles reached the shop at the top of the Burlington Arcade, James Brentwood had gone inside. Opening the door, Cecily was highly amused when she saw Dorothy talking to the actor. She was obviously so flustered by this unexpected encounter, and all of a dither, stumbling over her words.
The moment Dorothy spotted Cecily and Miles coming in together, she exclaimed, “Ah, Cecily! I’m so glad you’re back.” A look of relief flooded her face. “This is Mr. Brentwood.”
James swung around, walked over to join Cecily and Miles. Cecily caught her breath when he came to a stop in front of them. He was incredibly handsome, and had enormous presence. It seemed to Cecily that he had sucked all the air out of the room.
“James,” he said, shaking hands with them both.
“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Miles said. “You were spectacular in Henry the Fifth. I went to see it twice.”
“Thank you,” James answered. “I always enjoy doing that play. Agincourt, eh? Quite a battle.”
Cecily said, “How nice of you to come to my shop. How can I help you, Mr. Brentwood?”
“James,” he said. “Please call me James. There are two things, actually. I would like to buy a gift for someone, but mostly I must find Dulcie. Is she here?”
Though she was taken by surprise at this unexpected reference to Dulcie, Cecily managed to conceal it. At the moment she was caught up in his voice; she could listen to it forever, so mesmerizing was it. Pulling herself together, Cecily said, “She must be here somewhere.”
“She’s upstairs in your studio,” Dorothy interjected. “I’ll go and fetch her.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew Dulcie; she’s my sister,” Miles said. He was genuinely as puzzled as Cecily about Brentwood and the baby of the family.
“I’d guessed that,” James said with a faint smile.
Cecily walked across the room to the Art Deco desk, leaned against it, and asked, “What kind of present are you looking for?”
“I was thinking of a handbag, for my manager’s wife. She has a birthday soon, and I’m aware she admires your designs.”
“Do I know her? Does she come here?”
“No, not to my knowledge. Her name is Constance Lambert, and she is very elegant. Your name came up the other evening; she apparently likes your clothes.”
“Most women covet our Golden Box evening bag, so I’m sure she would like it. Obviously it’s not actually real gold, but gold-colored metal, and the front looks like the back of a sealed envelope. We also have a pleated silk evening bag with chains—” Cecily broke off, turned her head at the sudden clatter of heels against wood.
Dulcie was rushing down the stairs at breakneck speed. So hurried was her descent, she almost tripped and fell when she reached the last few steps, but she righted herself at once.
James, swiftly stepping forward, took hold of her arm and steadied her. “Be careful, darling,” he said, and was amazed that he had actually used this term of endearment.
Cecily and Miles exchanged knowing glances, and Cecily raised a brow; Miles half smiled at her, then nodded.
She said, “Miles and I have some business to attend to. So if you’ll excuse us, James, we’ll go upstairs. We can look at the bags later, whenever you wish.”
Once they were alone, Dulcie moved closer to James and touched his arm tentatively. “Why are you here? We’re supposed to meet on Sunday.”
“It suddenly seemed too far off. I wanted to see you now. Today. Isn’t it all right, my coming here?”
Her face dimpled with smiles. “It’s very all right.”
James sat down in one of the chairs, stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles, smiling inwardly. There was something so adorable about her; he found her irresistible.
Dulcie l
owered herself into the other chair, and focused on him. “And it is a long time until Sunday. Three days and three nights … ages away.”
His generous mouth twitched with hidden laughter, but somehow he managed to keep his face straight. He remained silent, gazed back at her, caught up in the amazing vividness of her coloring and extraordinary natural beauty.
Dulcie was studying him intently. She had so many questions on the tip of her tongue, wanted to know everything about him. Yet she would not ask him one thing, sensing that he was a very private person in many ways. She did not wish to intrude on him.
James suddenly said, “Is there something wrong? You have a strange look on your face. What is it?”
“I was just wishing you were standing up. Then I could hold on to you, very tightly, and know that this was real.”
“That’s not a problem.” He instantly rose.
So did Dulcie. She walked across the floor, stood in front of him, and leaned her head against his chest. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, drew her into him, and held her close. She did the same, and put her hands on his back. And they stood together without moving or saying a thing. Words were not necessary with them, and they both knew it.
From the first moment he had seen her he had wanted to touch her, to hold her like this. He was breathing in the fragrance of her skin, the lemony tang in her hair. She was wearing a scent that smelled of tuberoses, and roses would always bring the memory of this moment rushing back to him for the rest of his life.
It was obvious that there was a sexual attraction between them, but James already accepted he was involved on an emotional level. And he was certain she was. But it was enough for now to stand here together, enjoying this first moment of intimacy.
Dulcie unexpectedly leaned back, looking up at him. “I want you to kiss me, James. Will you?”
He did so. She kissed him back, and they went on kissing. Finally, he asked, “So, is it real?”
“Wonderfully real. The most real thing I’ve ever known.” She leaned into him once more, putting her arms around him, and let out a long sigh. “I’ve a confession to make.”
“Do you now? And what is it?”
“I came to the theater last night. I sat in the back and wallowed in you.”
He smiled against her hair. “How was I?”
“Wonderful.”
“You should have come backstage to see me.”
“I would never intrude on you; besides, it was Wednesday. You had a matinee. Two performances in one day is a lot.”
He was silent, his mind focused on her. She was amazing, and unusually wise for a young woman.
“How old are you?” he asked, finally getting the words out.
“Eighteen.”
Oh God, no, he thought. She’s too young.
When he said nothing, she asked, “And how old are you then?”
“Thirty-three. And far too old for you.”
Stepping away, staring at him, biting her lip, and pushing down the laughter bubbling up, she said, “No, you’re not, you’re really not.”
“You want to laugh,” he said. “And I don’t understand why my age amuses you. But go on, laugh. I don’t mind.”
She did laugh, then calmed herself, and said, “My sister Diedre is thirty-three, and she’s about to marry a man who’s forty-eight. A man who has just made her pregnant. And Hugo is forty-five, fifteen years older than Daphne. They were married when she was seventeen, in fact. Younger than I am now.”
James was frowning. “How amazing; Hugo doesn’t look forty-five.”
“No, he doesn’t. Having a young wife keeps him young.”
“Touché,” James said, and began to laugh. “You’re a little minx, do you know that?”
“No, and I don’t like names. Diedre used to call me a little madame. But I suppose you can call me a minx if you want to, because you’re special.”
“But am I real?” he asked, laughter in his dark brown eyes. He was enjoying teasing her.
She merely nodded.
He sat down in the chair, and said, “So go on, tell me why the Ingham girls are obviously attracted to older men.”
“I have a theory. I think it’s because we were brought up by a man. Our father. He took charge of us when we were little, long before his wife ran off with her lover. Papa spent all of his time with us, even when he was hard at it, running the estate. He was a tremendous influence on us, especially us girls. Papa was our moral compass. He taught us the difference between right and wrong, how to be grown-ups. He said we must stand tall, that we shouldn’t weep over anything. He brought us up to be compassionate, kind, and well mannered.”
Shaking her head, she finished. “We got used to being with older people. I don’t think we’d know what to say to a man of our own age.”
Hovering over him, she said softly, “Will you hold me again, quick, before they come downstairs with bucketsful of bags and other stuff to sell you? Dorothy Swann loves to make a sale.”
“I think you must be an original, Dulcie.” Chuckling, he stood up and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her on the mouth for quite a while.
They clung together. He stroked her hair, and as he did so he began to realize that the emptiness he frequently felt inside had fled. It was her presence in his life, he was aware of that. He had never felt like this before about any woman. This one’s a heartbreaker, he thought. Better hang on to her. Make her mine. I can’t let her escape.
Diedre had come into the shop quietly, and was standing staring at a man’s broad back. She didn’t know who he was, but she certainly knew it was her baby sister in the man’s arms.
She cleared her throat.
The two of them drew apart. The man turned around, and smiled when he saw her.
Oh my God, Diedre thought, gaping. It’s James Brentwood. Tall, dark, and handsome, and larger than life. And what was Dulcie doing in his arms?
Dulcie cried, “Oh hello, Diedre! This is my boyfriend, James Brentwood.”
“Boyfriend,” Diedre repeated, truly amazed by this incredible scene she had walked in on.
“Yes, boyfriend,” James repeated, understanding that his little minx needed backup.
Thrusting out her hand, Diedre said, “Hello, Mr. Brentwood. And welcome to this crazy family called Ingham.” Looking across at Dulcie, she went on in a loving tone, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend? And such a glamorous one. You can’t hide him under a bushel, you know? And why would you want to?”
Dulcie and James started to laugh, and so did Diedre, and James said, “What have I unwittingly stumbled into? A lunatic asylum? I’ve never met anyone like you and your sister, Dulcie.”
“Oh I know, we’re unique,” Dulcie replied, and looking at Diedre, she went on, “Will you get married on a Sunday, please?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re planning to have the wedding on a Saturday, and a few days later we’ll take the Aquitania to New York. But why are you asking me to have it on a Sunday?”
“Because I want James to come. And he won’t be able to on a Saturday. He’s working. Please make it Sunday. And I promise I will expunge that last bit of bad stuff about you that’s still lying dormant in my mind.”
“Aha, still my little blackmailer, eh? I paid you three thousand pounds to wipe that slate in your head clean,” Diedre reminded her.
James was staring at Diedre, mystified by this extraordinary conversation.
Diedre noticed his expression, and said, “Pay no attention to this. We joke around a lot, James, and accuse each other of all sorts of things. We stir the pot.”
“So it seems,” he answered pithily, but nonetheless he was amused and entertained by all this banter between the sisters.
Diedre went to Dulcie and hugged her. “I’ll change the day to Sunday so that your boyfriend can attend. To make up for the nasty way I treated you. If he wants to come, that is.”
“I want to,” James answered. “And thank you in advance, Diedre. Yo
u’re very kind.”
And you’re the most gorgeous thing on two male legs I’ve seen in years, Diedre thought, walking toward the staircase. Turning, she said, “I must go up for my fittings.”
“Thank you, Diedre, for being the best big sister in the world.”
Diedre smiled at her, her heart full of love for Dulcie, who had undoubtedly hit the jackpot snagging James Brentwood. Fancy that. Her little madame and the greatest actor in England.
Forty
James Brentwood hailed a cab on Piccadilly and went to the Old Vic, deciding he did not have time to go home. He had been at Cecily Swann’s shop with Dulcie for almost two hours. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was three-thirty already. Anyway, he liked going to the theater early. It gave him time to relax, shed the world, get into his part.
Settling back against the seat, he found himself smiling. Dulcie had that effect on him. Aside from her stunning looks and warm personality, there was something refreshing and unspoiled about her. He enjoyed her colorful expressions, the way she used the language, her forthrightness and intelligence. She was clever. And her sister act with Diedre had been hilarious.
Quite aside from these characteristics, James was relieved that she was not in awe of him, or intimidated by his fame. Some women in the past had been, and it made him feel uncomfortable.
But then Dulcie Ingham knew exactly who she was, where she came from, and where she belonged in the world. She was the daughter of an earl, with a title in her own right, an aristocrat born and bred. And yet there was nothing snobbish or stuck-up about her, and her determination to work was admirable.
After paying off the taxi, James hurried down the alleyway to the stage door. Once inside the theater he ran into Sid in the corridor, and greeted him warmly.
His dresser, who was devoted to James, beamed when he saw him, and followed him into the dressing room.
“Blimey, you’re really early today, Jamie.”
Taking off his jacket as he moved rapidly across the floor, and hanging it on the back of a chair, James explained, “I was out on an errand, finished early, and decided I might as well come in.”
The Cavendon Women Page 24
