“No, and you sound good, Harry. You must be enjoying London. And Paloma.”
He chuckled. “Mam’s been talking to you, hasn’t she?”
“A little bit, but she tends to be discreet. However, I gather that you and Miss Glendenning have hit it off well.”
“A little bit more than that, Ceci. I’m rather smitten with her, as she is with me.”
“That’s wonderful news. You see, you never know what’s going to happen in life, do you?”
“Only too true. I’ve managed to erase Pauline Mallard from my mind. She’s gone for good.”
“Have you heard from her at all?”
“Not a word, and I’m rather glad about that. Quite by accident I’ve met a really lovely, straightforward young woman who attracts me, and who likes me in return. There’s a future for us, I think.”
“I’m sure there is, Harry. When are you coming back to Yorkshire?”
“I told Miles I’d like to have the rest of this week off, and he agreed. And that’s really the reason I’m phoning you, Ceci. Are you going to be in London?”
“I don’t think so. I have rather a lot of work here, and having been away myself I want to be with the children, spend time with them and see our parents. Why do you ask?”
“I want you and Miles to meet Paloma. And she wants to meet you, and Mam and Dad as well,” Harry explained, sounding disappointed.
“I’d love that but I’m fairly certain we won’t be up in town. Why doesn’t she come to Yorkshire?” Cecily suggested.
There was a silence, and Harry then murmured, “But where would she stay?”
Cecily didn’t answer immediately. After a moment, she exclaimed, “She can stay with her aunt, Mrs. Jollion, and come over and be with you and all of us during the day. Burnside Manor isn’t so far away.”
“I’ll think about it,” Harry answered, then added a little sheepishly, “I’d like her to see my house. She told me she enjoys decorating.”
“And she can take photographs of the gardens as well,” Cecily pointed out, laughing as she spoke. “Wasn’t that her ploy to see you again?”
* * *
“She can see us now,” Charlotte said from the doorway.
Startled, Cecily sat up with a jerk and exclaimed, “Gosh, you made me jump, Aunt Charlotte.”
“Sorry, Ceci. I didn’t mean to creep up on you like this. Can you come with me, to talk to Great-Aunt Gwen?”
“No problem,” Cecily answered. She stood up and went on, “Let me put these contracts in my desk. Then I’m all yours.”
Several seconds later the two women were walking across the stable yard, heading toward Cavendon Park, going in the direction of Little Skell Manor. It was a sunny morning with a few puffy white clouds skimming across the blue sky in the wind. But despite the sun there was a chill in the air. August was almost over; the autumn would soon be here.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Cecily remarked, as they walked. “But then Aunt Gwen’s always been an early riser. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
Charlotte nodded. “She was having her tea and toast when I phoned her at eight. I said we’d be there about nine. I explained that we had something special to tell her, and after that we wanted to take her out to lunch at the Spa Hotel in Harrogate. To celebrate.”
This surprised Cecily, and she said, “Why did you say that … something to celebrate?”
“Because that’s what I want to do, celebrate with her. I thought we would tell her about Margaret as soon as we get there, and then we can drive over to Harrogate. I think Great-Aunt Gwen should know about her daughter now. Not tomorrow, not next week. She’s old, Ceci.”
“I suppose you’re right. But won’t she be upset because I’m there? After all, she confided a secret to you.”
“You convinced me otherwise. Anyway, you’re a Swann, and she loves you, is proud of your success. And delighted that Miles was finally able to marry you. Can’t you come to Harrogate with me? Are you too busy today?” Charlotte sounded worried. “I do need you with me, you know.”
“There’s nothing that can’t wait, Aunt Charlotte. I’ve signed the contracts for the five factories. That was the most important thing I had to do today. And you’re right, let’s do it.”
Mrs. Jasper, the housekeeper, greeted them at the front door of Little Skell Manor, and then asked, “Is her ladyship going out to lunch with you today, Lady Mowbray?”
“Yes, she is, Mrs. Jasper. I know it’s your afternoon off. Lady Gwendolyn already told me. So you’ve nothing to worry about. We’ll look after her for the whole day. And she told me Sarah, the parlor maid, will be on duty until you return tonight.”
“That’s correct, Lady Mowbray.”
Charlotte nodded. “However, her ladyship will have dinner with us this evening.”
“Thank you, m’lady.”
A moment later they were hurrying into the sitting room overlooking the garden, where Lady Gwendolyn was waiting for them.
“How smart you both look … lovely, the two of you,” she remarked after they had both kissed her.
“So do you, Great-Aunt,” Cecily replied. “And I’m glad I altered that blue suit for you. It looks very chic on you, and the delphinium-blue blouse matches your eyes.”
Lady Gwendolyn laughed. “Oh I know what you’re thinking, Ceci. I do tease the Ingham girls about wearing clothes to match their eyes…” She shook her head. “But you know very well I’ve always done that myself. Can’t help it.”
Charlotte and Cecily laughed.
Eyeing them both somewhat suspiciously, Lady Gwendolyn went on warily, “There are no flies on me, you know, and I believe you’re up to something. And why are we having a celebration? Is it something new and special which you’ve created, Ceci? That’s it, isn’t it?”
Cecily shook her head, and lowered herself into a chair, facing Lady Gwendolyn; Charlotte joined Lady Gwen on the sofa.
“Here’s the thing,” Cecily said. “Quite by accident, something that was obviously meant to be finally happened the other day.”
“And what was that?” Lady Gwendolyn asked, leaning forward, her face riddled with sudden curiosity, but a flicker of something else showing.
“Your wish has come true. Charlotte went on an errand for the Women’s Institute, and she has something to tell you.”
Charlotte took the older woman’s hand. “Do you recall when you confided your greatest secret in me? About the child, the daughter you had to give up?” She paused. “I think I might have found her.”
Lady Gwendolyn was so taken aback she gaped at them, frowning. Then she repeated wonderingly, “You have found my daughter?” Turning to Charlotte, she asked in a tremulous voice, “Is it true? Did you find … Margaret? It cannot be true. How can it be true after all these years?” She sounded puzzled.
“But it is, Great-Aunt Gwen,” Charlotte replied, her voice firm. She took hold of her hand. “And her name is Margaret. I asked Cecily to meet her, and she agrees with me that she’s the genuine thing. She really and truly is your daughter. I have all the proof you’ll ever need.”
Lady Gwendolyn felt herself filling up with tears. Her eyes were moist and she was so choked with emotion she couldn’t say a word. Many questions were running through her head. She wanted to know everything, to ask questions. But she still didn’t speak. She couldn’t.
Cecily and Charlotte waited patiently, giving her time, knowing she was shocked by their news.
Eventually, she said softly, “They kept my name for her … her adoptive parents called her Margaret.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto her hands clasped in her lap. “Can you tell me about all this, please, Charlotte?”
“Yes, of course I will.” As she spoke, Charlotte gave Lady Gwen a handkerchief to dry her eyes. And then she began, explaining about needing the canning machine for the jam making, and going to meet Mrs. Margaret Howell Johnson, who looked so like Diedre, and how, during their meeting, Mrs. Johnson had confid
ed to Charlotte that she was adopted. Charlotte continued the story, told her about the other visits and why she had gone back to see Margaret.
Once she had finished, Charlotte added, “Mrs. Johnson was very moved when I told her that I thought I knew her birth mother. She wept, and she was sincere when she asked if I could arrange for you both to meet.”
Lady Gwendolyn sat there staring at Charlotte, shaking her head, a look of disbelief lingering on her face. “Is it true? Is it really true?”
“I promise you it is, Great-Aunt. Can Ceci and I take you to meet her?”
“When?”
“Now. Today. If you’re sure, and it isn’t too much of a shock.”
“Let us go,” Lady Gwendolyn answered. “At once.”
* * *
An hour later Cecily and Charlotte were escorting Lady Gwendolyn into Margaret Howell Johnson’s jewelry shop on the Parade in Harrogate.
On the drive over from Cavendon, Lady Gwendolyn had been very quiet, lost in her thoughts and her memories. But she had managed to regain her composure, and was fully prepared to meet the daughter she had had to give up fifty years before.
Margaret was waiting in her office for them, having followed Cecily’s suggestion, given over the phone, that their first sight of each other should be strictly private. Certainly away from the eyes of the salesladies.
Although she was ninety-eight, Lady Gwendolyn had good posture, and was well balanced. However, she walked slowly, and felt more secure when she was able to hold on to Charlotte’s arm.
Margaret was standing near the fireplace. When she saw the regal and elegant old lady walking into the room, her eyes brimmed. And she couldn’t help herself, she rushed over to meet her, anxious to know if this woman really was her mother.
They stood staring at each other for a split second, each one seeing a reflection of herself in the other. And then Margaret stepped closer and so did Lady Gwendolyn, and they embraced, held each other tightly; they were both crying. And they knew.
After a few seconds, Margaret stood slightly away, unable to take her eyes off Lady Gwendolyn. “I’m Margaret,” she said in a low voice, and then she took an envelope out of her pocket.
It was yellowed with age around the edges, and as she handed it to Lady Gwendolyn, she said, “They kept this … it was in with the christening robe and the beautiful clothes. They gave it to me when I was ten. When they told me I was adopted.”
Lady Gwendolyn opened it, took out the piece of paper inside, and recognized it from long ago. On it she had written: Her name is Margaret.
Tears trickled down Lady Gwen’s wrinkled cheeks and she sighed deeply, remembering so much, and then she said, “I’ve thought of you every day of my life. And prayed you were safe, that they had been good to you.”
“And I always knew there was something missing in my life … and it was you.”
Stepping forward, Charlotte said, “Margaret, I would like to introduce you to your mother, Lady Gwendolyn Ingham Baildon, the matriarch of the Ingham family and the aunt of the Sixth Earl of Mowbray.”
Margaret, now paler than ever, and obviously affected by the meeting, merely nodded. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she smiled and reached out to Lady Gwendolyn, took hold of her arm. “Please, come and sit down.” Her voice was warm and filled with love.
Charlotte and Cecily followed the two women, and once they were settled, Lady Gwendolyn handed the piece of paper to Charlotte. “I wrote these words fifty years ago, and I believe I told you I had done this.”
Taking it from her, Charlotte glanced at it, and nodded. “You did, Great-Aunt Gwen. And that’s more proof for you. The final proof.”
With a small smile, Lady Gwendolyn said, “I don’t really need any proof.” Studying Margaret, she murmured, “You look a little like I did when I was your age, and you have the Swann eyes … bluish-gray-lavender, just like your father had.”
Margaret tried to return the smile, but she was still a little stunned by the grandeur and presence of this extraordinary woman who was still beautiful. And she was also so moved by the occasion her emotions were running high.
Understanding this, Lady Gwendolyn took Margaret’s hand in hers. “I’m glad we’re finally reunited … I could have been dead.”
“Oh please don’t say that, m’lady.”
Lady Gwendolyn stared at her. “I am your mother, Margaret, and that is how I would like you to address me.”
Margaret nodded, and unexpectedly began to talk, and Lady Gwendolyn listened and responded.
Charlotte and Cecily slipped out, leaving them alone, as they had prearranged to do. They walked through the town to give mother and daughter a chance to get to know each other. When they returned, to red eyes and faces lit by a new happiness, the four women went to lunch at the Spa Hotel and toasted each other with champagne. It was a grand day.
Thirty-five
Diedre sat at her desk at the War Office, staring at the small carriage clock facing her. It was almost twelve-thirty here in London. One-thirty in Paris. To her, the hands seemed to be moving slowly on this Wednesday morning. But it was always like that when you were waiting for an important phone call. Somehow the phone never rang when it was supposed to.
To distract herself, she clamped down on her worries about Tony and the Steinbrenners, and took out two folders containing information about the agents whom Will had recently taken on.
Opening the top folder, she began to scan it. As if on cue, the phone started to ring. She picked it up instantly. “Hello? Who is this?”
“It’s me,” Tony said.
“I’ve been on pins and needles, waiting for your call,” she answered.
“Sorry. I’m afraid there was a delay—”
“Where are you?” she cut in peremptorily. “Your voice sounds strange, like you’re in a tunnel.”
“Actually, I’m standing in a telephone booth in the lobby of the Plaza Athénée on the Avenue Montaigne in Paris.”
“Wow, very posh! And why there?” she asked, obviously surprised.
“I’m staying here. We all are, courtesy of Alexander Dubé.”
“Good heavens, what next! How did that come about?”
“None of us slept very well on the train, which was jam-packed, by the way. When we arrived in Paris this morning Mr. Dubé decided we all needed some sleep. He was right.”
“Am I to understand that Alexander Dubé is paying the hotel bills?” Puzzlement echoed in her voice. “You did say courtesy of Mr. Dubé, didn’t you?”
“I did. He’s not paying mine. I’ve already straightened that out. The professor has also insisted on paying his own bill. What I meant is that we went to the Plaza Athénée because Mr. Dubé has connections there, plus an old friend who is head of reservations. That’s how we managed to get five rooms straightaway. It was obviously better to go to a hotel Mr. Dubé uses, than trying to find one.”
“I understand. It was a good idea. What about the visas?”
“I’ve been to the British embassy with their passports. I can collect the documents at four today,” Tony replied.
Diedre sat back in her chair, relaxing, filling with relief. “Thank goodness everything has gone without a hitch, now—”
“Well, not exactly,” Tony interrupted, his voice suddenly tense. “We’ve got a problem, boss.”
“What kind of problem?” Diedre asked, sitting up in her chair, gripping the receiver tighter. “Not with Mrs. Steinbrenner? Oh God, I hope not!”
“I’m afraid it is. She’s disappeared.”
Diedre felt a cold chill sweep through her, and she held herself still, focused on what he had just said. “What do you mean by disappeared, Tony? As in vanished?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.” As she spoke she pulled a notebook toward her.
“She was last seen in their bedroom,” Tony began. “Apparently the professor went down to have breakfast with Elise and Kurt. When they returned to the suite an hour later she was gone.”
“But she must be somewhere in the hotel,” Diedre muttered, alarmed by this news, wondering how they would handle it.
“She’s not in the hotel. The manager had some of the staff do a full search.” Tony sighed heavily. “She’s bloody well scarpered and I don’t know what to do, Diedre. Tell me what to do.”
“Tony, I honestly don’t know. Actually, there isn’t anything you can do … where would you go? Where would you look? Wait a minute, does she know Paris? Does she have friends there?”
“Not to my knowledge. The professor says she’s never been to Paris before.”
“So she’s not gone to a favorite store, or to see friends?”
“I’m sure she hasn’t, Diedre. Believe me, the professor is as baffled as I am. And so is Alexander.”
“This is the most preposterous behavior!” Diedre exclaimed, sounding even more exasperated. “A disappearing act like this is unconscionable. After everything that’s been done to get them out of Berlin, the people involved, who were committed to help them.” Diedre took a deep breath, endeavoring to curb her rising anger. “Doesn’t she have any sense?”
“Listen, I agree with you. It’s unbelievable. I was flabbergasted. As for sense, I don’t know.”
“What’s she really like?” Diedre asked. “Tell me about her.”
“Nervous disposition, very taut, I would say. Introverted, wrapped up in herself. She’s hard to explain, Diedre. However, I don’t like her. And Alexander Dubé has some reservations about her as well.”
“She was odd before they left, let’s not forget that,” Diedre pointed out. “She didn’t want to leave. Anyway, what you’re saying is she just left the suite, walked out of the hotel, and disappeared into thin air. And nobody knows anything. Is that it?” Diedre was fuming inside.
“You’ve got it,” Tony replied. “Look, she could be anywhere … even on her way to another city, for instance. Fortunately, not to another country. Her passport is at the British embassy.”
Diedre, listening carefully, suddenly exclaimed, “Tony, you’re suggesting she’s run away … do you really think that?”
“Not sure. But why did she leave the hotel? Where the hell is this woman? She knew all of the plans we’d made.”
The Cavendon Luck Page 24