Being Elizabeth. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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estate schemes in Spain. And without a second thought, led by something other than her brain. That urgent itch between her legs … driving sexual desire … how it blinded a woman.
Well, she knew all about that, didn’t she? The image of that hunk of a man Tom Selmere was still there somewhere in her head even after ten years. Another man on the make, lusting after his new wife’s stepdaughter, and a fifteen-year-old at that. Married to Harry’s widow Catherine before Harry was barely cold in his grave. And wanting to get Harry’s daughter into his bed as well. Hadn’t the widow woman been enough to satisfy the randy Tom? She had often wondered about that over the years.
Philip Alvarez was cut from the same cloth.
What the hell had Philip done with all that money? Seventy-five million. Oh God, so much money lost … our money … Deravenels’ money. He had seemingly never really accounted for it. Would he ever? Could he?
We will make him do so. We have to do so. Surely there was documentation? Somewhere. Mary wouldn’t have been that stupid. Or would she?
My sister’s management of Deravenels has been abysmal. I have long known that from my close friends inside the company, and Cecil had his own network, his own spies. He knows a lot more than he’s telling me; trying to protect me, as always. I trust my Cecil, I trust him implicitly. He’s devoted, and an honourable man. True Blue. So quiet and unassuming, steady as a rock, and the most honest man I know. Together we’ll run Deravenels. And we’ll run it into the black.
Rising, Elizabeth left the dressing table, moved towards the door. As she did so her eyes fell on the photograph on the chest. It was a photograph of her and Mary on the terrace here at Ravenscar. She’d forgotten it was there. Picking it up, she gazed at it. Two decades fell away, and she was on that terrace again … five years old, so young, so innocent, so unsuspecting of her treacherous half-sister.
‘Go on, Elizabeth, go to him. Father’s been asking for you,’ Mary said, pushing her forward.
Elizabeth looked up at the twenty-two-year-old, and asked, ‘Are you sure he wants to see me?’
Mary looked down at the red-headed child who irritated her. ‘Yes, he does. Go on, go on.’
Elizabeth ran forward down the terrace, ‘Here I am, Father,’ she called as she drew nearer to the table where he was sitting reading the morning papers.
He lifted his head swiftly, and jumped up. ‘What are you doing here? Making all this noise? Disturbing me?’
Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks, gaping at him. She began to tremble.
He took a step towards her, his anger apparent. He stared down at her, and his eyes turned to blue ice. ‘You shouldn’t be on this terrace, in fact you shouldn’t be here at all.’
‘But Mary told me to come,’ she whispered, her lower lip trembling.
‘To hell with Mary and what she said, and I’m not your father, do you hear? Since your mother is dead, you are … nobody’s child. You are nobody.’ He stepped closer, shooing her away with his big hands.
Elizabeth turned and ran, fleeing down the terrace.
Harry Turner strode on behind her, followed her into the Long Hall, shouting, ‘Nanny! Nanny! Where are you?’
Avis Paisley appeared as if from nowhere, her face turning white when she saw the bewildered and terrified child running towards her, tears streaming down her face. Hurrying forward, Avis grabbed her tightly, held her close to her body protectively.
‘Pack up and go to Kent, Nanny. Today,’ Harry Turner told her in a fierce voice, glaring at her.
‘To Waverley Court, Mr Turner?’
‘No, to Stonehurst Farm. I shall telephone my aunt, Mrs Grace Rose Morran, and tell her you are arriving tonight.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Without another word Avis led Elizabeth towards the staircase, cursing Harry Turner under her breath. What a monster he was. He punished the child because of the mother. She loathed him.
Elizabeth looked at the photograph again, and then threw it into the wastepaper basket. Good riddance to bad rubbish, she thought, as she left the bedroom.
THREE
Elizabeth ran down the wide staircase and crossed the Long Hall, then she paused, listening. She could hear male voices in the nearby library, and hurried there at once. She pushed open the door and went in, and immediately came to a stop, taken by surprise.
Having expected to see Nicholas Throckman, she was startled by the sight of Robert Dunley. Her childhood friend, whom she had known since they were both eight years old, was standing with Cecil near the window. The two men were deep in conversation and oblivious to her arrival.
But as if he sensed her sudden presence, Robert unexpectedly swung around. Instantly his face lit up. ‘Good morning, Elizabeth!’ he said, as he strode towards her.
‘Robin! I didn’t expect to see you here!’
‘You know I always turn up like the proverbial bad penny.’ He grinned as he swept her into his arms and hugged her to him. He released her, kissed her cheek, and explained, ‘When I spoke to Cecil earlier, I asked him not to tell you I was coming. I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Well, you certainly did that,’ she exclaimed, laughing with him. Tucking her arm through his, the two of them joined Cecil.
Elizabeth was glad Robin was here; he had always been her devoted friend, and she still remembered the nice things he had done for her when she was in disfavour with her sister. She never forgot that kind of gesture. Dear Robin, so special to her.
Cecil, staring at her through those clear, light-grey eyes of his, said in a quiet voice, ‘Only a bit of minor deception on my part, Elizabeth.’
‘I know,’ she answered, smiling at him.
‘Would you like a glass of champagne? Or something else perhaps?’ Cecil asked, walking over to the drinks cart.
‘The champagne, please.’ Letting go of Robert’s arm, Elizabeth stationed herself in front of the window, gazing out at the panoramic view of the North Sea and the cream-coloured cliffs that stretched endlessly for miles, all the way to Robin Hood’s Bay and beyond.
What a breathtaking view it was, and most especially today. The sun was brilliant, the sky the perfect blue of a glorious summer’s day, and, in turn, the sea itself looked less threatening and grim, reflecting the sky the way it did. This view had always thrilled her.
‘It looks like a pretty spring day out there,’ Robert murmured, coming to stand next to her. ‘But it’s an illusion.’
‘Oh, I know that.’ She eyed him knowingly. ‘Like so much else in life …’
He made no response, and a moment later Cecil handed her the flute of champagne. She thanked him, sat down, and looking at both men, said, ‘I wonder what has happened to Nicholas? Shouldn’t he be here by now? It’s almost one.’
‘I feel certain he’ll arrive at any moment,’ Cecil reassured her. He glanced at Robert, raised a brow and asked, ‘How was the traffic?’
‘Not too bad. But Nicholas might be a bit more cautious than I am. I’m lucky I didn’t get stopped by a traffic cop. I drove like a fiend.’
‘Nicholas is bringing me the black box,’ Elizabeth announced, looking at Robert. But before he could respond, she changed the subject abruptly. ‘If I’m not mistaken, you were rather friendly with Philip Alvarez, weren’t you? Didn’t you go to Spain with him a while ago?’
Robert