Just Rewards. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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so grand after all, perhaps because of the cloud of hair around her face and the simple design. And it did suit her, no two ways about that; much to her surprise, it was also comfortable to wear. For a moment India attempted to visualize herself in her wedding veil and the tiara, and unexpectedly she liked the image floating in her head. She turned around and exclaimed, ‘What do you think, Gran?’
Edwina’s answer was to beam at her. ‘It suits you, India, and it doesn’t look … over the top, as you call it. Your veil will be held in place perfectly. Now, tell me, what is your wedding gown going to be like? You told me Evan was designing it.’
‘Yes, she is, and I’ve only seen the first sketches of it, but I love her design. We’ve chosen the fabric already, a pale-ivory taffeta, light in weight, because when the dress is finished it’s going to be worn over an underskirt of layered net, for a very bouffant effect like an old-fashioned ballgown. The bodice is tightly fitted and there are big, puffy sleeves, slightly off the shoulder. Actually, it’s Victorian in style, Gran, now that I think about it. I’ve asked Evan to keep it plain and understated, no embroidery on it.’
‘It sounds as if it will be lovely, my dear, and I feel sure the tiara will be the perfect adornment since it is Victorian like the gown. So, are you going to wear it on your wedding day to please an old lady?’
India smiled at her grandmother, then turned again to the mirror, gazing at herself for a split second. As she swung around to face Edwina, she exclaimed, ‘Yes, Grandma, I’d love to wear your tiara and thank you for thinking of it.’
Edwina returned India’s smile with one equally as loving. ‘Adele’s tiara, that’s how I regard it. Would you like to take it with you today? Or do you prefer to leave it here for safe-keeping?’
‘I think I’d better do that, actually. You have that enormous safe and I don’t even have a small one in my flat. Besides, it’s only January, Gran, I’m not getting married until June. So yes, it would be much safer here for the next six months, I think.’
‘I understand …’ Edwina sat back in the chair and watched India as she walked over to the dining table, took off the tiara and placed it on the black velvet, thinking what a lovely young woman she had become. She had the finely-drawn aristocratic looks and pale-blonde colouring of Adele Fairley, as did her cousin Tessa Fairley; in fact, the two could easily be mistaken for sisters, and often were by strangers.
‘Shall I put the tiara in its box, Grandma? Or do you want Frome to do it?’
Edwina laughed. ‘You’d better do it, he’s far too slow these days. It’ll take him half an hour to get the tiara in its box, never mind into the safe. Old age creeping up, I’m afraid.’
India’s mouth twitched with laughter. ‘You are funny, Gran, the way you go on about Frome getting old. He can’t be more than fifty if he’s a day.’
‘Fifty’s about right,’ Edwina confirmed, still chuckling to herself. ‘But he’s dreadfully slow lately. You know very well I’m much faster at everything, even though I am ninety-five.’
‘And quite remarkable!’ India exclaimed.
‘Imagine, Emma was only sixteen when I was born. She took me off to her cousin Freda’s in Ripon to be brought up, at least when I was a baby …’ Edwina stopped somewhat abruptly and sat there staring out of the window, as if remembering something from long, long ago, her eyes full of a curious yearning.
After a moment of watching her, India asked softly, ‘Are you all right, Grandmother?’
‘Oh, yes, I am, India, I am. And I hope I remain so. At least until I see you well and truly married to Dusty.’ Pushing herself to her feet, she continued, ‘And shouldn’t we be on our way to have lunch with him at Willows Hall?’
‘Yes, we had better go,’ India agreed, and put the tiara back in the worn, black-leather box where it belonged, then laid the black velvet cover over it. Closing the lid and fastening the small catch, India looked across at her grandmother and said, ‘Shall I put it in the safe?’
‘Absolutely. It’ll be quicker, as I just said, if you do it. Come along, my dear, I’ll take you to the safe. And then we’ll be off. It was nice of you to come and fetch me, India. I could’ve been driven over to Dusty’s by Rupert, you know. He doesn’t have much driving to do, as it is.’
‘Oh that’s all right, Grandma. I wanted to come. To see you and to spend a little extra time with you.’
They crossed the hall together and went down a corridor towards the room where an enormous safe was housed. As she followed Edwina, India went on, ‘I think you’d better wear a warm coat, Grandma, it’s bitterly cold today, and it could snow again.’
‘I will, my dear. I have a lovely quilted coat Paula got for me. From Harte’s, of course.’
‘Mr Rhodes, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a Mrs Roebotham here. With Atlanta,’ Paddy Whitaker said from the doorway of the studio.
Dusty’s head came up with a jerk, surprise flickering in his eyes. ‘Atlanta?’
‘Yes, Mr Rhodes,’ the house manager confirmed. ‘They’re in the kitchen at the moment. Atlanta likes Angelina, as you well know.’
Alarmed though he was by this altogether unexpected news, Russell Rhodes, one of the world’s greatest artists, managed to keep his face neutral. Dusty, as he was commonly known, put the paintbrush down carefully, even though his stomach was churning all of a sudden; he managed somehow to keep his movements deliberate and totally controlled. His mind was racing, trying to fathom what had happened to the child’s grandmother. Obviously something had. That was why Atlanta was here.
Turning away from the easel, Dusty asked, ‘What’s the problem? Did this Mrs Roebotham say?’
‘No, but she has a suitcase. It’s Atlanta’s. And the woman appears to be nervous and obviously quite worried. However, she wouldn’t say a word to me, Mr Rhodes. She just repeated several times that she had to speak to you and only you.’
‘I understand. I’ll come up to the house with you right away, Paddy.’ Moving across the floor of the studio swiftly, Dusty glanced at his watch and asked, ‘Is everything under control for lunch?’
Paddy, still framed in the doorway of the studio, nodded his head. ‘Angelina has finished setting the table in the dining room, and Valetta’s in the middle of cooking lunch. Everything smells delicious, as usual. I have the white wine cooling. Pouilly Fumé. No problems, at least not with lunch, sir.’
‘I’m sure not. Thanks, Paddy. By the way, you’d better make sure the dining room is warm. The countess feels the cold these days, so Lady India tells me.’
‘The fire’s blazing and I turned the central heating on a while ago. Kept it low, though.’
‘That’s fine.’ Dusty paused at the door and, doubting that he would be returning to his studio today, he switched off all the lights. After grabbing his sheepskin coat from the wall peg, he locked the door and walked with Paddy to the beautiful Palladian house set at the top of the hill just a few yards away.
Once inside the house, Dusty murmured, ‘I’d better see Mrs Roebotham first before I greet Atlanta, find out what this is all about. Give me a couple of minutes to freshen up, then bring her to the library.’
‘I’ll do that, sir. And in the meantime, I’ll try to get her to have a cup of tea. She wouldn’t have anything before. But perhaps she will now that she knows you’ll be talking to her in a short while.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Dusty answered, and then he hurried across the marble entrance hall and into the spacious library. The first thing he did was go into the adjoining bathroom where he washed the paint off his hands, splashed cold water on his face, and then ran a comb through his thick black hair.
He stared at himself in the mirror, thinking that he looked tired, drained. And also worried.