Grace Rose nodded. ‘Are you saying Deravenels is going to be safe?’
‘I am indeed. I promise you it will be safe, and that it will be even bigger and better.’
‘Mary made a mess, didn’t she?’
‘She did.’
‘She gave a lot of money to Philip Alvarez.’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said laconically, her annoyance about this suddenly apparent.
‘Deravenel money?’
‘Yes. She invested millions in his Marbella Project. But I can assure you we’re dealing with the matter. We’ll either get our full investment back, or we may take over the project. It doesn’t seem to be going well for Señor Alvarez. We’re currently investigating the situation.’
‘I have faith in you and Cecil.’ Grace Rose gave Elizabeth a shrewd look. ‘Did she give him any of her own money?’
‘Yes, she did. I doubt I can get that back, though.’
‘It doesn’t surprise me that Mary Turner had to pay to get a man to marry her. She was hardly the world’s greatest beauty, nor was she very bright.’
Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing. ‘Oh, Grace Rose, there’s no one like you … you’re quite a card.’
Grace Rose simply smiled. ‘About the board meeting tomorrow … I don’t think you should do anything … rash.’
Surprised, Elizabeth pinned her eyes on her great-aunt, and answered, ‘I’m not one for doing anything rash, and you know that. I am very cautious, and so is Cecil. What are you getting at?’
‘The board is too big. Unwieldly. I know that. But what does it matter? At this precise moment, I mean? I think you should leave the board the way it is. Don’t get rid of anyone, don’t ask anyone to resign. Just leave it the way it is.’
‘Why do you suggest this? What’s the purpose?’
‘Don’t make any enemies, Elizabeth. Not at this moment. Get on with the business of running the company. Making changes to the board can wait … take your time about it … Make friends, not enemies.’
‘You have a point, Grace Rose.’
‘You are the largest single shareholder. You are managing director. You have assembled a good team. Just get on with it. Do the work, get Deravenels back on its feet. Then you’ll be able to do anything you want with the board.’
Elizabeth had listened carefully and Grace Rose’s words were wise, made sense to her. She nodded, asked, ‘Is that why you needed to see me?’
‘Not really. I must discuss something else with you, something which is urgent and which troubles me.’ Grace Rose pushed herself to her feet. ‘Come along, I want to give you something.’
Elizabeth followed her out of the drawing room, her curiosity aroused.
TEN
Elizabeth followed Grace Rose across the small entrance hall and into the red sitting room, one of her favourite spots in her aunt’s flat. She loved the mélange of reds predominant in the room – the crimson silk on the walls and at the windows, the tied-back draperies, the mixture of vivid reds in the carpet, the red velvet on the sofa and armchairs arranged in front of the fireplace.
To her way of thinking, the red colour scheme was a superb backdrop for the Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings which Grace Rose had chosen to place in this elegant room. Yet, to Elizabeth, the elegance was balanced by a sense of welcoming warmth, even a cosiness, and the pink-silk-shaded lamps cast a lovely roseate glow, especially on this wintry afternoon.
‘Sit over there by the fire,’ Grace Rose instructed. As she spoke she went across to the Georgian desk in a corner, retrieved a bulging manila folder, joined Elizabeth.
‘I need to speak to you about the painting,’ Grace Rose began, staring intently at her great-niece. ‘That’s what this is all about. And you know the painting I mean, I’m quite sure of that.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Yes, of course I do. The painting your father bought in about 1918 because it reminded him of Bess and you.’
‘Correct. And I want a promise from you, a promise that you will not sell it. Not unless you have to – in order to save Deravenels. That must be the only reason.’
‘I promise I won’t sell it, Grace Rose. You have my word.’
‘It might be a temptation to auction it off, you know. It must be worth a small fortune today.’
‘Oh, it is, I know that for a fact.’
‘So you had it appraised, did you?’ Grace Rose asked swiftly, giving her a keen look.
‘Not exactly.’ Elizabeth cleared her throat. ‘I need to explain something to you, some decisions I made about the painting a year ago. I did this just after my half-sister told me I was no longer welcome at Deravenels, that I couldn’t work there any more. Since I didn’t know what she had in store for me, what she might do, I went to live at Ravenscar. I was sort of hiding out, if you like.’
‘I remember. You spoke to me from there, wanted me to know where you were, in case I needed you. But please continue about the painting.’
‘The week Mary told me to get out, I drove down to Waverley Court, and had Toby take the painting down off the library wall. We wrapped it carefully in blankets and I brought it back to London. I told him I was having it cleaned and restored. This is what I did. It is now hanging in my dressing room in the Eaton Square flat, where it is absolutely safe.’
Looking suddenly confused, Grace Rose murmured, ‘But Briney Meadows saw the painting only a few weeks ago. Toby had asked him to go over to Waverley Court, to help him fix the security system. There had been some sort of problem with the electrical wiring.’
A wide smile spread across Elizabeth’s face. ‘Briney saw the copy I’d had made, after the painting was cleaned and restored. During the period it was being copied, by the artist I’d hired, I realized that Toby and Myrtle might notice the frame was new, once the painting was back at Waverley Court. Because the original frame was a bit chipped, the gilt worn off in places. I told the artist to put the copy in the old frame, and the original in the new one, so they wouldn’t notice the difference.’
Grace Rose chuckled. ‘Very smart of you, my dear. But, out of curiosity, why did you move it in the first place?’
‘I thought Mary might actually steal it. No one would deny her access to Waverley Court, and certainly I didn’t trust her. Whilst she loathed the painting, she nevertheless knew it was extremely valuable, and she could easily have taken it away. No one would have stopped her. So, very simply, I didn’t want to take any chances with it. She could have sold it, you know, and given the money to Philip Alvarez.’
‘Good thinking, Elizabeth. However –’ Grace Rose cut herself off, then said carefully, ‘It was hers by right, I suppose.’
‘I’m well aware of that. She inherited it from my father through our half-brother Edward. But that particular day I made a judgement call … I decided she didn’t deserve to have it.’
Grace Rose suppressed her mirth, and after a moment she remarked, ‘Elizabeth, I think I would have done exactly the same thing, if I’d been in your position.’
‘Thank you for saying that.’ Leaning closer, Elizabeth confided, ‘It’s worth an enormous amount. A dealer, who’s an old friend of mine, told me that any Renoir is priceless, and especially this one, Les deux soeurs, because of its marvellous quality, and also because Renoir painted it in 1889, when he was in great form. When I spoke to my friend, Julian Everson, last summer, and showed him the Renoir, he was extremely impressed. He put a price on it. He said it was worth six million pounds, at least. He even added that this was a rather low estimate on his part.’
‘That sounds about right. I estimated eight million pounds. Now, this folder is for you. Inside there’s a great deal of documentation about the paintings which belonged to Jane Shaw, my father’s great friend, his mistress, actually. Bess and I inherited her art collection after her death. It was valuable then, therefore it’s very valuable today. I know what’s hanging on my walls. In here –’ She paused, patted the manila folder, and went on, ‘– in here are photographs of th
e paintings your grandmother inherited. When you have a moment, I want you to look for them in the various homes you inherited. Will you do that, Elizabeth? It’s important you know where everything is.’
‘I certainly will. In fact, Kat can start on it straight away. She’s working for me at the moment, checking out similar things.’
‘I’m delighted to hear this. Kat is extremely efficient. I think some of the paintings will be at the Chelsea house, where your father lived after he sold the old house in Berkeley Square. And there’re probably others at Ravenscar and Waverley Court. Well, here’s the folder. Do go through it when you have a moment. You’ll probably recognize some of the paintings yourself.’
Elizabeth had taken the bulging folder over to the desk in the red sitting room, and was examining the documentation about the paintings. Grace Rose had disappeared over twenty minutes ago, to take a phone call from her great-nephew in Ireland, and she was still absent.
Entranced by the photographs of the paintings, Elizabeth knew the moment she started rifling through them that she was looking at some rare treasures. But she had never known they had been part of Jane Shaw’s collection. Some of them she recognized immediately and knew exactly where they were.
She stared at a photograph of a painting by Camille Pissarro, one she had loved for as long as she could remember. It depicted a group of old houses with red roofs situated in a stand of trees which were almost leafless. This hung in the dining room at Waverley Court, and so did an eye-catching snow scene by Armand Guillaumin. She had grown up with these two paintings, and liked how well they worked together in the same room. The red rooftops of Pissarro’s houses blended with the russet leaves of the trees on the snowy hillsides of Guillaumin.
A Claude Monet snow scene, a painting composed entirely of shades of black, white, cream and grey, had been one of her father’s favourites, and this still hung at Ravenscar in the room where he had worked.
There were several more photographs of other paintings, and she recognized the style of Matisse, Van Gogh, Sisley and Manet. These four paintings, which seemed familiar to her, were definitely not at Ravenscar or Waverley Court. Maybe they were hanging in the Chelsea house.
At this moment Grace Rose reappeared, and exclaimed, ‘I’m so sorry, my dear, Patrick doesn’t usually keep me on the phone for such a long time. But he wanted to tell me all about his girlfriend … he’s about to get engaged. He’s bringing her to London later this week to meet me.’
‘Oh, how nice,’ Elizabeth said, looking up, smiling.
‘It is, and he’s thoughtful, he always likes to include me in family affairs whenever he can. Now, about the paintings, you must be familiar with some of them. They should be in one or another of the houses, in fact.’
Putting the photographs back in the folder, Elizabeth got up from behind the desk, and went to join Grace Rose near the fire. ‘They are, and let me show you those which are actually in my possession. I also remember seeing some of the others, but the problem is I’m not sure where … more than likely those are in the Chelsea house. Unless they have been sold.’
‘There’s always that possibility, of course. But I don’t think your father sold any art, and anyway, the paintings are by well-known artists. So I would have known if they had come onto the market. And I’m positive Mary didn’t sell any, for the same reason. I would have known about it.’
Elizabeth said, ‘I am going to ask Kat to go over to the Chelsea house again, to check on the paintings. She was there last week, starting to organize everything, but I never thought to tell her about the paintings in the house.’
‘And what about that house, Elizabeth? Are you going to keep it? Or sell it?’
‘I think I will sell it, Grace Rose. It’s a lovely old place, I know, but, well, it seems rather large for a single woman on her own.’
Grace Rose threw her an appraising look, and exclaimed, ‘But you’re not going to be on your own forever. You’ll get married, have children one day.’
Elizabeth gaped at her, a look of horror crossing her face. ‘I’m never going to get married. Not ever.’
‘Come, come, my dear. Don’t say never like that. One doesn’t know what might happen … all sorts of unexpected things occur in life.’
‘No, I shall never get married. I’m far too independent a woman – and besides, I don’t want a man bossing me around, telling me what to do. I want to be my own … boss. I don’t want to be somebody’s appendage. And I don’t want children, I want a career.’
Grace Rose gave her a long, reflective stare but remained silent.
‘When I was eight,’ Elizabeth suddenly said, ‘I told Robert Dunley I would never get married, and if you ask him, he’ll tell you that I’m speaking the truth.’
Grace Rose bit back a smile, then murmured in a lighter tone, ‘And was that when he first proposed to you, Elizabeth?’
‘Don’t be silly, Grace Rose! He didn’t propose to me then. Nor has he ever, for that matter. Nor will he in the future, I can assure you of that.’
Grace Rose swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue. She was about to tell Elizabeth that she was totally wrong. Robert Dunley had been captivated by Elizabeth Turner’s allure since he had been … yes, an eight-year-old like her. They had spent a lot of time with her at Stonehurst Farm when they were youngsters, and she could easily recall how he had hung on her every word, been utterly entranced with her.
Unable to let the subject go, Elizabeth now announced, ‘Robin’s like family, like my brother. He feels exactly the same way about me.’
‘Does he now?’ Grace Rose murmured. ‘I know he’s become Director of Operations at Deravenels … I hope you’ll bring him over to see me one day soon. He was such a darling boy.’ Not waiting for an answer, moving on swiftly, Grace Rose finished, ‘You must let me know what Kat finds at the Chelsea house, in regard to the paintings. I shall be anxious.’
‘I’ll get her on to it in the morning, so no doubt I’ll be able to give you a few answers tomorrow night. Now, let me show you the paintings I have in my possession.’ Opening the folder, Elizabeth took out the Pissarro first and handed it to her great-aunt.
After she had left Grace Rose and gone home, Elizabeth thought about her great-aunt’s reference to Robin proposing to her. Obviously Grace Rose had forgotten about Robin marrying Amy Robson, about eight years ago now, or thereabouts. Everyone else had because she was nowhere to be seen; it was as if Amy had disappeared into oblivion.
Blanche Parrell had once told her Amy lived in Cirencester and never came up to town, because she and Robin had separated. Robin never mentioned her, and Elizabeth had not thought about her for ages until tonight. Yes, seemingly it had all gone awry, that teenage marriage. Blanche had remarked. ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’ At the time a lot of people had thought it was a shotgun marriage, but apparently not. There were no children of that misguided union.
Robert Dunley lived like a bachelor, was relaxed and fancy-free, seemingly. He lived and worked in London, and never went to Cirencester. Elizabeth thought about Amy. How could any woman let a man like him slip through her fingers?
ELEVEN
‘Diplomacy and dissimulation, those are your best tools. Use them with skill, Elizabeth, and everything will be fine,’ Cecil Williams said.
Elizabeth, staring at him intently across her desk, and listening carefully, responded, ‘I know you’re right, Cecil, and Grace Rose more or less said the same thing yesterday. She said don’t do anything, don’t be rash, don’t make enemies. Make friends.’
‘She’s a wise old lady. And what is there to do? Nothing, in my opinion. You can’t start dismissing board members, or laying down the law, that sort of thing, it will only antagonize the rest of the board. Tread softly, and most definitely very, very slowly.’ Cecil straightened in his chair, and took a sip of coffee. ‘In any case, it’s going to be a very diminished board today.’
Elizabeth looked at him alertly, surprise evident in her
eyes. ‘Oh, and why is that?’
‘Charles Broakes came to see me on Friday afternoon, with a list of those who will be absent.’ Cecil took a small notebook from his pocket, glanced at it. ‘Malcolm Allen has sent in his resignation. He’s going to live in Los Angeles, to be near his daughter and grandchildren. Apparently he was recently widowed. Two members are down with the ’flu, and then there’s Rodney Nethers, who had a stroke in the summer. He’s resigned. And so has Peter Thwaites, who has just become a tax exile in Monaco. So that’s five people less. Mary is dead, and Neil Logan is suffering from dementia and has been retired by you. That means seven people are out. Rushton Douglas dropped dead last August, making eight altogether who will not be present.’
‘That’s amazing!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. Raising an auburn brow, she asked, ‘Are some of them not coming because I’ve taken over, do you think?’
Cecil shook his head vehemently. ‘No, not at all, I’m sure of that.’
‘Well, look, how do we know that two of them are actually down with the ’flu?’
‘We don’t, not really. But Rodney did have a stroke, and certainly Malcolm was widowed, and I’m certain Rushton is extremely dead. His obituary was in The Times.’
Elizabeth bit back a smile. ‘So there’ll be ten board members and me, making eleven.’
‘That’s correct, and it’s a much better number, not so unwieldly. I wouldn’t want the board to become top heavy again.’ Cecil slipped the notebook into his pocket. ‘I think Charles Broakes is in agreement with that. And by the way, he’s delighted you’ve consolidated all of the vineyards, and put him in charge of the entire division.’
‘I’m glad he is, and he’s always done a good job, from what I see.’
‘Charles agreed Robert and I should be present at the board meeting, because we do have our reports to make.’
‘Good. Anyway, he and John Norfell couldn’t really protest your presence, could they?’ Not waiting for his response, she hurried on, ‘I’m going to nominate you and Robin, by the way. I want you both on the board. There won’t be any objections, will there?’
Being Elizabeth Page 9