‘Oh, but in a velvet glove,’ he shot back, and smiled at her in return. It was his lopsided, boyish smile that turned most women’s heads.
At this moment, the door of the suite opened and Will Hasling stood there with his wife Kathleen. She was the sister of the late Neville and Johnny Watkins, and also Cecily Deravenel’s niece. She looked very much like a younger version of her aunt, with the Watkins’s good looks and dark hair. Her features were fine, well sculpted, similar to her aunt’s, and it was easy to see they were closely related.
Edward went over to Will and Kathleen, greeted them affectionately, and then escorted them into the room. Once Will and Kathleen had gone around, saying hello to everyone, and had accepted glasses of the Krug, Ned brought Kathleen to sit with his mother.
After she was settled, he and Will moved away, stepped closer to the window, and stood alone, quietly talking for a moment. ‘It’s as you thought, Ned,’ Will murmured, his tone low, confiding. ‘Our old adversary Louis Charpentier was very much in favour of his niece marrying into the Deravenel family – an old story, eh? I understand he’s been after Meg to help him for some time. Fortunately, your sister finally had the good sense to discourage such a union. I think she suddenly realized that Louis, the old fox, might eventually try to do you harm, grab the company somehow. You were more important to her than George in the end. So I do believe you’ve managed to nip something in the bud by talking to Meg. Your sister truly is loyal to you, and also your intervention was brilliant.’
Edward sighed. ‘George is such a fool, always after power, thinking he can beat me, do me ill.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Isabel’s only been dead six months and here he is already looking for another bride.’
‘Not any bride, though, remember that, Ned. A bride of great wealth is what he seeks so assiduously. The Charpentier heiress was perfect. And that is exactly what Louise now is. After Blanche’s death in childbirth, along with the baby, Louis was compelled to name his only brother’s only child. Louise has become it.’
‘Oh, believe me I haven’t forgotten that, or anything else. Now what about the other matter? Did you find out anything else … regarding Henry Turner?’
‘Yes, I did, I’m happy to report. Jean-Paul was very helpful, and I’m relieved he is now running the Paris office of Deravenels. He’s turned out to be a damned good executive. Jean-Paul used some extremely well-qualified private investigators. Listen to this! Henry Turner is about to go back to work for Louis Charpentier. He has now been given a bigger position in the company, although it’s not yet been announced. Apparently he’s a very good businessman. Cautious, wary, tight with money, even a bit parsimonious, shall we say? Dull chap, seemingly, according to the private investigators. No scandal attached to him, no gossip either. It looks to me as if Louis is grooming him for even bigger things.’
‘Marriage to Louise?’
‘Apparently not. Louis Charpentier is very strict about inter-marriage within a family. Doesn’t approve.’
‘I see.’ Edward nodded, added, ‘So we have all of our ducks in a row … and we know exactly what’s what. But we must keep an eye on Turner, don’t you think, Will?’
‘Absolutely. He could prove to be very dangerous in the long run.’
Half an hour later, after everyone had consumed lots of champagne and white wine, and sampled the best Beluga caviare, Ned asked his guests to come into the adjoining room. This was another sitting room in the double suite which had been turned into a dining room for the evening.
The doors were thrown open by two of the waiters, and everyone trooped in. The long table covered in a white linen cloth, had been set for sixteen, and there were perfect arrangements of white roses lined up the centre; white candles in tall silver candlesticks were interspersed between the silver bowls of roses. The candlelight reflected on the silver and crystal so that the table sparkled, and there were flowers and candles throughout the room. A very festive feeling prevailed.
As he glanced around the table, observing everyone, Ned was pleased to see that each one of his guests appeared happy to be here tonight. He knew they all loved and admired Grace Rose, and were delighted to celebrate her birthday.
His guests were relaxed, chatting to each other, and enjoying themselves thoroughly. It was a warm, happy group of old friends. At one moment, just before the first course was served, Ned tapped his glass with his fork, and said, ‘I would like to propose a toast to Grace Rose on her twentieth birthday.’ He raised his crystal flute of champagne, and so did everyone else; in unison they cried, ‘Happy birthday, Grace Rose.’
Ned said to the table at large, ‘I know there are those who wish to say something, to make a little speech, to honour Grace Rose, and that will be lovely. But I do think we’re all very hungry by now. So let’s have dinner, and then we can continue to toast Grace Rose afterward, and later she will open her presents.’
As Edward was speaking the white-gloved waiters carried large platters of smoked Scotch salmon and smoked trout around the table, serving everyone, and offering brown bread and butter, the bowl of lemon wedges, and creamy horseradish sauce for the trout from Scotland.
Ned leaned closer to his mother on his right and told her, ‘There are two courses to choose from next … roast duck with cherry sauce, or, if you prefer, you can have leg of lamb. Spring lamb from the Yorkshire Dales. With all the trimmings, I might add.’
‘I think I shall have the latter, even though I do love duck.’ Looking at Ned through the corner of her eye, Cecily now said, ‘Will’s just come back from Paris, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes. And we’ve nothing to worry about. Meg has done her duty to the Deravenels. She is no longer encouraging Charpentier in his schemes. The proposition, such as it was, has been nipped in the bud. That was the way Will put it anyway.’
‘What a relief,’ was Cecily’s only comment.
Ned himself was greatly relieved. The last thing he needed was his newly-widowed brother George marrying the Charpentier heiress. Louis, the old fox as Will called him, still appeared to have designs on Deravenels, he was positive of that. The big grab, that’s what George thought he could do. His brother had become a menace. And was behaving worse than ever since Isabel’s untimely death. She had died in childbirth some months ago, and after a brief period of mourning it was business as usual. He was getting greedier than ever, discontented and wicked. Ned expected George to create more trouble any day now, that was George’s nature. And he was prepared, well armed, so to speak.
But finally he pushed this troubling thought to one side. Tonight was a happy occasion, and especially for Grace Rose. He wanted her to enjoy it, as he planned to do himself.
PART TWO
Ned
Truth & Love
Truth is truth and love is love, Give us grace to taste thereof; But if truth offend my sweet, Then I will have none of it.
Alfred Edgar Coppard
Preserve, within a wild sanctuary, an inaccessible valley of reveries.
Ellen Glasgow
A Certain Measure
He who knows others is wise; He who knows himself is enlightened.
Lao Tzu
THIRTY-ONE
Constantinople 1921
Oil. Black, stinking, greasy, sulphurous oil. Black gold. His long-held dream of discovering oil had come true. At last.
Edward Deravenel sat on the terrace of a stunning yali on the banks of the Bosphorus. It was a lovely sunny morning in July, and he was sipping a glass of hot mint tea, eating an almond biscuit and thinking about his oil.
Deravco oil. It had happened. He now had an oilfield in Southern Persia, thanks to the vision, endurance, and skill of Jarvis Merson, in whom he had always believed, and Merson’s partner, Herb Lipson. And his money, of course. He had financed the whole kit and caboodle.
The two men had done what they had promised. They had discovered a vast and rich oilfield in the long Persian valley where they had bought an oil concession from the Shah. Their geology
samples, instinct, and nose for oil had told them that this most valuable commodity did exist there. They had chosen to drill in the valley in the summer of 1918, after persuading Edward to go along with their scheme, to back them financially, in essence to become their full partner. Deciding to take a chance on them, he had jumped in with both feet and a lavish chequebook, and hoped and prayed the two men would succeed.
Their venture had begun in May of 1918. Taking him by surprise, they had arrived in London at that time, en route to Persia to investigate the situation. He had gone to lunch with them at Rules, and over lunch they had convinced him to become their partner. Their enthusiasm, belief in themselves, and the fact that they were two well-proven oilmen had engendered great enthusiasm in him. Also, he trusted them.
Alfredo Oliveri and Will Hasling had been present at the lunch, and both had cast doubts on the whole scheme initially. It was Oliveri who had pointed out that buying the concession and then drilling were only the first steps. ‘Let’s say you do actually find oil,’ Oliveri had said, ‘you’re going to need tons of money to continue … money for collecting it, piping it, refining it, shipping it. Yes, you’re going to need an enormous cash flow to get underway.’ He had looked pointedly at Edward and finished, ‘What could it be? A million pounds? Perhaps even a couple of million pounds? Are you prepared to risk all that?’
Now Edward remembered how he had inwardly flinched but managed to keep a smile on his face, and then he made a snap decision based on his gut instinct alone. He had always had faith in Merson, and he had taken a shine to Lipson as well, and so he said, ‘Point well taken, Oliveri, but I think I’m going with these two wildcatters. However, I won’t use Deravenels’ money … you’re more than likely quite correct about it being risky. Indeed it is a risky business, oil. But I believe in these two chaps, so I am going to back them. But with my own money. If they don’t find oil, then it will be my own personal loss. If they do succeed, then Deravenels can pay me back, and Deravco will then belong to the company. How does that sound?’
Oliveri had nodded, having no alternative, and Will had laughed. ‘You’ve just given our American friends your stamp of approval, and since you’ve always had that golden touch they’re bound to succeed. So – here’s to the oil business!’
The five of them had lifted their glasses and drunk to the success of the Persian venture.
Once they had arrived in Southern Persia, and having swiftly acquired the concession they wanted from the Shah, Merson and Lipson had soon put together two teams. They were made up of wildcatters from America, oilmen from England, and from Baku in Azerbaijan, the biggest port in Russia and also the centre of the Russian oil business. In 1918 the Russian Revolution was in the process of winding down to a certain extent; even so, many oilmen had fled from Baku to Persia, where foreign oil companies, mostly American and British, were hiring. And drilling. It was the place to be if you were looking for oil.
Merson and Lipson had also managed to persuade local tribesmen in the area to work alongside them, in a variety of different capacities. The promise of black gold had been an enormous incentive to all.
Every week the two oil men wrote a report for Edward and sent it to London, and they were scrupulous in everything they told him.
There had been, over the next two years, many disappointments and dreadful failures after months upon months of backbreaking toil; heartbreak as well because of accidents, some of which were fatal. And yet the two Americans had never given up hope of finding oil, even in their worst times and after numerous unexpected disasters.
Impressed by their dogged determination, total commitment and a genuine belief that there was oil deep under the earth on their concession, Edward had kept the money flowing to his partners, to pay wages, buy food and additional equipment as it was required, along with other supplies.
But at the end of two and a half years of grim struggle, and often joyless toil, Merson and Lipson knew that they must find oil soon or quit. It had become an extremely expensive venture and they had the sense to realize that Edward Deravenel was not going to back them indefinitely. They loathed the idea of leaving in total defeat, yet they accepted that they would have to close the camp in the Valley of Stone, as they had come to calling it, if their third well did not produce oil. The first and second wells they had drilled were dry. The only thing the Mother Hubbard drill bit had hit so far was solid rock.
They were very much aware that everything now depended on their third well. If it came up dry they would have no option but to conclude the whole operation. They had already drilled to two thousand two hundred feet, but with no success; still, they wanted to give it another shot. ‘Let’s call it one last fling,’ Merson had said to Lipson, grinning. ‘Let’s take it down to three thousand five hundred feet and see what happens.’ Yet again, they had written their report and sent it off, explaining to Edward that this was their final drilling effort.
It was just after they had hit three thousand two hundred feet that their luck changed. There was an extraordinary rumbling noise, like an earthquake starting, followed by a series of booms. And then it came – a gusher of oil the likes of which none of them had ever seen. Glorious black oil, spurting up in the air at least eighty feet, and it did not stop. It just went on gushing upward.
They were in business. The oil business.
Covered in grime and thick black oil the two Americans and their crews laughed, shouted, and danced around like whirling dervishes. The next day they sent one of the English oilmen down to Abadan to telegraph Edward, announcing their stupendous news.
When he had received the telegram Edward had initially found it hard to take in. After these difficult and disappointing years in Persia, Merson and Lipson had finally done it. Discovered oil. And in a big way. He was staggered; there was great jubilation throughout Deravenels that day. Edward had immediately cabled back his congratulations, promising to come out to see them in July.
And three weeks ago he had finally been able to leave London. He had travelled to Marseilles and from there had taken a ship to Abadan. Alfredo Oliveri and Will Hasling had gone with him, and from Abadan the three of them were taken overland to the oilfield, escorted by Merson, who had come to meet them.
What a wonderful sight it had been to see all of those derricks rising up to touch the pale blue Persian sky. His derricks. Deravco’s derricks. His dream of owning an oil company had come true. Edward had been thrilled.
Edward, Will and Alfredo had been given the grand tour of the oilfield by Merson and Lipson, and had met every single one of the crew members. Each night they had listened to amazing stories – many of them rather tall stories – until dawn broke; there had been much celebrating throughout their visit, and a lot of beer, Scotch and Russian vodka consumed.
After four days they had left the valley, still called the Valley of Stone, but with knowing winks these days. Turkey had been their destination, and once again they had gone overland – to Constantinople. The three of them had journeyed there to meet Ismet Bozbeyli, the charming and anglicized Turk, an Oxford graduate who ran their Turkish operation, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather before him.
It had gone without saying that they would stay at the lovely old yali belonging to Ismet Bozbeyli. This extraordinary villa was situated in the most glorious gardens on the banks of the Bosphorus.
After resting for several days, Alfredo and Will had gone off with Ahmet Hanum, who also worked for Deravenels in Turkey, to visit the marble quarries. Some of these were located on the islands of the Sea of Marmara which flowed into the Bosphorus. Alfredo was looking to buy new quarries for Deravenels.
Edward had not accompanied them because he had caught a chill in Persia, and, fearing a bout of bronchitis, to which he was prone, he had remained at the yali.
And now, as he glanced around, he was delighted that he had. The villa was luxurious, the servants polite, kind and instantly on hand to be of service, and the food delicious. He had rec
uperated in this opulent villa, surrounded by flowers, green lawns sloping down to the water and shady trees. It was an idyllic place, soothing to his soul. He had been able to relax here alone, and he had enjoyed his solitude during the day when Ismet was at the Deravenel offices in the central part of the city.
Deravenels had done business in Turkey for several hundred years, mostly importing carpets from Hereke and Canakkale, kilims from Denizil, and carpets and kilims from Konya. Fabrics and silks were another import, along with every kind of spice, Turkish Delight, the jelly-like sweet candy so beloved by the English, and pure Bulgarian rose oil. This was used in the making of perfume, and was also an oil for the body.
The Deravenel Company exported many goods to Turkey, exceptional cloths from their Bradford woollen mills, ready-made clothing from their factories in Leeds, and wine from their French vineyards. Trading between them had always been excellent, and profitable, and Deravenels was a company completely trusted by the Turkish importers and vendors.
Rising, Edward walked down the path that cut between the sloping green lawns, heading in the direction of the long lower terrace overlooking the Bosphorus. When he came to a low wall he opened the small gate set in it, went out onto the terrace itself. There was another low wall which fronted the large body of water, and he sat down on it. As he glanced around, he couldn’t help marvelling. What a tremendous waterway this was – a link between the west and the east.
The Bosphorus Straits flowed down from the Dardanelle Straits, and into the Golden Horn, an inlet that created a natural harbour in Constantinople. And beyond was the Black Sea … and Russia.
Lifting his eyes, Edward now looked across the Bosphorus to the other shoreline, and there was Asia Minor. How amazing it was, the way the city straddled Europe and Asia.
Just below him, underneath the terrace, was the caique-house, where the caiques were housed for sailing up and down the Bosphorus and for going across to Asia Minor. Straight ahead of him was a long jetty where the boats dropped off guests coming to and from the villa.
The Heir Page 24