The Ravenscar Dynasty. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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Will nodded.
‘I don’t have a job myself, not yet at any rate. So I can’t very well give you one, old chap.’
‘The day will come when you can. I’m prepared to wait,’ Will responded. ‘If I know you and Neville Watkins as well as I think I do, I won’t have to wait very long.’
‘You sound positive about our success,’ Ned muttered.
‘I don’t doubt it for one moment.’
Ned now said, ‘I have to present myself there next week, and, frankly, I quite dread it. I know the top brass will simply greet me, give me an office and let me rot, doing nothing, twiddling my thumbs. That’s their modus operandi. But I have other ideas, and, for one thing, I’m certainly going to demand my father’s office. I’m not going to let them stick me in a poky little room in the back.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ Will exclaimed. ‘You must have your father’s old office. Start the way you mean to go on, that’s my advice.’
‘I most certainly will do that.’
‘Is it agreed then?’ Will asked. ‘About me working with you?’
‘If you wish to work at Deravenels it would certainly please me, but I can’t tell you exactly when that would be.’
‘As I said, I’ll wait.’
‘Why?’ Ned asked a short while later, as they started walking up the path, going back to the farmhouse. ‘Why are you so keen on Deravenels?’
‘Because I believe I can be of use to you, and because I want to be with you, Ned, working with you. Now, to change the subject, what are you going to do about Lily?’
‘Why nothing,’ Ned answered swiftly, pausing, turning to Will, staring at him in the moonlight. ‘I’m going to walk back into the farmhouse and be as cordial and nice as I possibly can be. After all, there’s no point in flogging a dead horse, is there? Anyway, knowing Vicky, she probably put Lily straight, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would indeed,’ Will answered, pleased that Ned had decided to be his old charming self. His charm had somehow disappeared of late. Perhaps things would become normal again. He felt a ripple of worry then, wondering why he would think things were going to be normal. They weren’t. Not at all. Their world was about to go mad.
Neville Watkins was about to meet three men, each one of them very different. As he walked back and forth along the back portico of his Chelsea house he thought about them. He was well aware that each would bring something unique to the meeting; what they said, and what was ultimately agreed upon, would change many lives, some for the worse, others for the better.
As Neville turned and headed back along the paving stones a door suddenly flew open and a child stepped out. It was his small daughter Anne, and as soon as she saw him she ran towards him, her little feet flying down the walkway. She was waving and crying out, ‘Papa! Papa! Here I am!’
Laughing, he hurried forward, caught her in his arms and swung her up, held her close to his chest. ‘Hello, my little sweetheart,’ he said against her glossy light brown hair. ‘You should be wearing a coat, you know, my pet. You’ll catch a chill in this cold weather.’
‘But the sun is shining, Papa,’ she answered, staring into his eyes.
‘It’s still February, Anne.’
‘The flowers are coming out,’ she countered, pointing to the snowdrops and purple and yellow crocuses peeping up out of the dark earth of the borders set around the lawn. ‘Spring flowers Mama says.’
‘They are indeed. However, we must go inside, where it’s warmer. And you and I, well, we shall see each other later.’
‘Mama says Ned is coming. Will he bring Richard with him?’
‘I don’t think so, sweetheart, not this morning. We are having a business meeting.’
‘Today is Saturday, Papa,’ she said, sounding reproachful.
He grinned at her. ‘I know,’ he answered, and suddenly recognized the disappointment in her eyes. Her face had changed, become sad, he thought.
‘You like your cousin, don’t you?’
She nodded.
By this time Neville had reached the door, and putting her down he ushered her into the house, stepped inside after her. Before they had even moved across the central gallery he heard his wife’s footsteps on the polished wood floor. He always recognized them: only she in the household walked with such determination. Slap, slap, slap, her feet went, coming down hard on the wood, and a moment later she was entering the gallery. ‘Ah, there you are my little one,’ Anne Watkins exclaimed when she spotted her namesake. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’
‘She came out in search of me,’ Neville remarked, walking across the gallery to his wife, putting his hand on her shoulder affectionately. ‘She was really looking for young Dick, though, I do believe.’ He smiled at her, his eyes full of love. ‘You know how attached she is to him, Nan, she’s his shadow whenever he’s staying at Thorpe Manor with us.’
Anne Watkins, known as Nan all of her life, nodded and reached out, took hold of her daughter’s hand. ‘She’s been attached to him since she took her first steps, and stumbled into his arms…arms that were certainly on the ready to catch her.’
Neville was silent for a moment, looking intently at his wife, his face suddenly growing thoughtful, his eyes narrowing. ‘A good thing it is Richard she has adopted, taken into her heart and not the other one. I never quite know about him…the middle one, that is.’
‘What do you mean?’ Nan asked. She looked slightly puzzled, as if she were unsure of his question, its meaning.
‘The breeding is there, but not the stamina.’
‘You sound as if you’re talking about horseflesh.’
Neville threw back his head and laughed uproariously, highly amused by his wife’s comment. But then she frequently amused him with her remarks, brought laughter to his eyes. Shaking his head, he said at last, ‘Touché, my dear.’
Nan glanced at him sideways, smiling, flirting with him, and then, looking down at her youngest daughter, she murmured, ‘Come along, Anne, it’s back to the nursery for you. Miss Deidre is waiting to give you and Isabel a painting lesson.’
‘I am here,’ a small voice said, and another pretty child came dancing into the gallery, her fair hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering in through the many leaded windows. She moved towards her father, pirouetting, showing off her skills as a budding dancer. ‘Good morning, Papa,’ she said as she finally came to a standstill.
Bending down, Neville kissed her cheek, hugged her to him, then, holding her away, he gave her a warm smile and told her, ‘Aren’t you the graceful one, Isabel. I am very impressed with your talent.’
She smiled and bobbed her head prettily, and asked, ‘Is Georgie coming with Ned, Papa? Mama told me Ned would be here for lunch today.’
‘That’s true, darling, Ned is coming to have lunch with me. However, it is actually about business. And no, Georgie isn’t going to be here, and neither is Dick. You’ll have to see your little gentlemen friends another day.’
‘Oh.’ She pouted a little and shook her curls. ‘I thought we could play