Being Elizabeth

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Staring at the list, she put a tick against the National Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Children. If there was one thing she couldn’t stomach it was cruelty to children. And cruelty to animals. She saw that Merry had included the Royal Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and she put a tick against this one as well.

  Whenever she thought of a defenceless child or animal being deliberately hurt Elizabeth cringed, and she did so now, pushing away her dire thoughts. These two good causes would benefit from the sale of the possessions she had inherited, an incredible number of possessions and most of them no longer viable in this day and age.

  She was happy she had auctioned them off; certainly the money she had made was much more useful in a variety of ways. And some of it she would give away. Oddly enough, no one had ever thought to tell her it was right to give back, to give to others less privileged than she. She had come to that conclusion by herself when she was much younger. She had wanted to be of help to a deserving charity for a long time and now she could be, and she would.

  Her mind swung to the Deravenels and the Turners who had gone before her, and in a sudden impulse she jumped up, left her office and hurried down the corridor to the board room. Opening the heavy mahogany doors, she went inside, turned on the lights.

  What a wonderfully handsome room it was, with its rich, mellow antiques, glittering crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling above the board-room table, and the magnificent oil paintings on the walls.

  They’re all my ancestors, she thought, as she walked slowly down one side of the room, not really understanding who they all were until she read their names engraved on the small metal plates attached to the ornate gilt frames.

  Moving to the other side of the room, she came to three faces she knew well: her grandfather Henry Turner, the first Turner to run Deravenels, her father Harry Turner, the second Turner to take the reins of the company, and her half-sister. After studying them for a moment, she moved on, came to a stop when she stood in front of the most extraordinary portrait of her great-grandfather, Edward Deravenel.

  ‘God, he was gorgeous. Very dishy!’ she said out loud, and then quickly glanced around, relieved to see that she had closed the door behind her. And it was true; he was the most handsome of men, and the life-size portrait of him was masterful. I look like him, she thought, I really do.

  Stepping back, she gazed at those three imposing paintings of her father, her grandfather and her great-grandfather, and she couldn’t help wondering what they would think of her latest venture … selling off their possessions, so blithely, as if she didn’t care about their things. She did; but she had no use for them. Making sure Deravenels would always have a war chest had motivated her. Surely they would understand that. And she had succeeded in a most powerful way; they would admire her achievement, wouldn’t they? She smiled to herself. They had been dyed-in-the-wool businessmen, and what she was doing was to simply follow in their footsteps. And that was the truth of it. She was managing director now and fully intended to be the best there had ever been.

  Moving even farther back, scanning the three paintings from a distance, she exclaimed aloud, ‘None of you is angry with me, I know you’re not. I’m one of you. I’m cut from the same cloth even though I am a woman.’ Elizabeth began to laugh. If anyone heard her they would think she was a mad woman, talking to portraits of three dead men.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘So, to cut to the chase,’ Nicholas Throckman finished, ‘I’m pleased with the way things have turned out at the Paris office. The staff is smaller, but it’s extremely efficient. We’ve got a good crew now.’

  ‘I know Sidney Payne has been very effective in his efforts to find the right people, and actually we’ve never had anyone quite as good with personnel as he is.’ Elizabeth sat back in the chair, smiling at Nicholas. ‘As for you, old friend, I don’t know what we’d do without you.’

  Robert came striding into her office from his own and took the chair next to Nicholas. ‘We were sorry you couldn’t come to our birthday dinner, Nicholas.’

  ‘I was, too, but you know I had to be in Paris.’ He threw Robert an intent look, then his eyes went to Elizabeth. ‘There’s a certain amount of –’ He paused when the door opened and Francis Walsington walked in with Cecil Williams.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, but we had to finish up with Charles Broakes and Norfell,’ Cecil said, then gestured to the seating arrangement. ‘Maybe we’d be better sitting over there.’

  Standing up, crossing the room, Elizabeth asked, ‘Is everything all right between those two? No more problems and disagreements, I hope.’

  ‘They’re fine,’ Cecil reassured her, sitting down next to her on the sofa. ‘Now that the manor houses at some of the vineyards have become really successful as small boutique hotels, and their spas are in the black, they’re at ease with each other, more or less. But there’s always been a bit of an undercurrent there, you know. I think Charles isn’t much of a fan when it comes to John Norfell.’

  ‘I doubt that he has any fans,’ Robert muttered as he joined them, followed by Francis and Nicholas.

  ‘I’m afraid we interrupted you mid-sentence when we came in, Nicholas,’ Cecil said. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘It’s all right, and I’m glad you and Francis are here. I was about to tell Elizabeth and Robert that there is a certain amount of gossip in Paris about François de Burgh. There are rumours that his health is not at all good.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Elizabeth asked, her curiosity aroused.

  ‘I’ve heard that he has a virulent type of leukaemia, and that his mother is frantic with worry,’ Nicholas explained. ‘And so is Marie de Burgh apparently.’

  ‘Well, yes, she would be,’ Francis interjected. ‘If he kicks the bucket she’s going to be out in the cold. His mother will take over Dauphin and groom one of the other sons to be the new head of the company. Catherine de Burgh is a pretty smart woman, and she has been involved in the running of the conglomerate for years. Henri de Burgh relied on her heavily when he was alive, and her son does, too.’

  ‘If François de Burgh does die, and Marie Stewart is no longer with the conglomerate, which she won’t be, does that mean she will go to Scotland to run Scottish Heritage?’ Elizabeth asked, her mind racing as usual. ‘Aside from the fact that it is her company, she is consumed with overweening ambition and loves power.’

  ‘That is exactly what she would do, I’m certain.’ Francis exchanged a knowing look with Elizabeth. ‘Then she would really be breathing down our necks.’

  ‘Why is it that we pay so much attention to this woman?’ Nicholas asked, a hint of sudden irritability in his voice. ‘She’s of no consequence to us, and we all know that. So let’s not whip up a big dose of paranoia here.’

  At this moment the phone on Robert’s desk began to ring and he jumped up, went into his adjoining office to answer it.

  ‘None of us is being paranoid,’ Cecil said, addressing Nicholas. ‘And in many ways you are correct. She can’t actually do anything. But she can certainly make herself a bloody nuisance –’

  Cecil instantly stopped talking when Robert appeared in the doorway, saw at once that he looked stunned.

  From the peculiar expression on Robert’s face Elizabeth knew something serious had happened to cause his obvious distress. ‘What is it, Robin?’ she asked anxiously, jumping up, hurrying across the floor. ‘What’s wrong?’ she probed.

  ‘Amy’s dead,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘There’s been an accident.’

  ‘What kind of accident?’ she cried, her voice rising, and as she spoke she took hold of his arm.

  ‘She apparently fell down a flight of stairs. She broke her neck.’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend this.

  A horrified expression settled on Elizabeth’s face; she drew him over to the sofa, made him sit down, realized he was not only shaken up but probably in shock.

  She glanced at the other men, who were a
ghast and as startled as she was, and said to Francis, ‘I think there’s a bottle of brandy in the credenza in Robin’s office. Could you pour a glass for him, please?’

  ‘Right away.’ Francis pushed himself to his feet and hurried out.

  ‘Who phoned you?’ Cecil leaned towards Robert. ‘Was it the police?’

  ‘No, it was Anthony Forrest,’ Robert answered, now managing to pull himself together, sitting up straighter, focusing on Cecil. ‘You’ve met him. He’s an old associate of mine, takes care of personal business for me. Actually, he also handles financial matters with Amy for me. He lives in Cirencester also.’

  ‘So the Gloucestershire police got in touch with him, is that it?’ Cecil asked swiftly, frowning. Worry had already settled over him.

  ‘No, they didn’t, at least they hadn’t when he spoke to me. But I’m sure they will, and they’ll no doubt be phoning me any minute.’ Robert took several deep breaths to steady himself, and explained, ‘It was Amy’s housekeeper, Connie Mellor, who rang Anthony after she’d called the ambulance service and the police. She came back from the market around two o’clock this afternoon and found … Amy’s body.’ Robert turned to Elizabeth. ‘I just can’t believe this.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ she answered in a sombre voice.

  Francis brought the glass of brandy to Robert, who thanked him, and gulped some of it down, then glanced at his watch. ‘It’s five-thirty. I’d better phone Connie. And also Anthony, let him know I’m coming to Cirencester tonight.’

  Elizabeth said swiftly, ‘I think Ambrose ought to go with you.’ She crossed her office, picked up the phone and spoke to Merry, told her to find Ambrose, explained that she needed to see them both urgently, that there was an unexpected problem.

  Then she sat down at her desk, her face paler than ever, and troubled. She fully understood why Amy’s death was incomprehensible to Robert. It was to her; she was just as shocked and taken by surprise as he was. Well aware that Robert had seen Amy in August, Elizabeth also knew that he had recently spoken to her several times on the phone about the divorce, and matters pertaining to it.

  Dropping her eyes, Elizabeth stared at the small desk calendar in front of her. It was Tuesday September the eighth, just one day after their joint birthday, which they had celebrated with a hundred friends and family at a big splashy party this past weekend.

  She sat back in the chair, saying nothing. Nor did any of the men in the room. Everyone was quiet, lost momentarily in their own thoughts.

  A moment later the door flew open and Ambrose and Merry hurried into her office; both looked concerned. Taking charge of the situation at once, Elizabeth stood up behind her desk, said, ‘I’m afraid we’ve had rather upsetting news. Robin has just heard from Anthony Forrest in Cirencester … Amy has died in a dreadful accident. She fell down a flight of stairs at her home.’

  Merry gasped, stood staring at Elizabeth as if she couldn’t believe her words.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Ambrose moved forward at once, hurried over to Robert, sat down next to him, grasping his arm. Their sister Merry followed suit, looking as stunned as her brother Ambrose.

  ‘I must leave for Circencester as soon as possible,’ Robert explained to Ambrose. ‘Will you come with me?’

  ‘You know I will. I wouldn’t let you make a trip like that alone, for God’s sake!’

  When the phone began to ring on Elizabeth’s desk she immediately picked it up. ‘Elizabeth Turner here.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Turner. This is Inspector Colin Lawson of the Gloucestershire Police. I’m trying to reach Mr Robert Dunley.’

  ‘He’s still here at the office, Inspector Lawson. I’ll get him for you. Just a moment please.’ She pressed the hold button and stepped away from her desk. ‘It’s an inspector from the Gloucestershire police,’ she said to Robert. ‘Lawson,’ she added, repeating his name.

  Picking up the receiver, Robert said, ‘Good afternoon, Inspector Lawson. I was expecting to hear from you, or rather someone from the police in Cirencester. I have learned from my associate Anthony Forrest, just a few minutes ago, that my wife met with a tragic and fatal accident earlier today. He gave me the details, said she fell down the stairs at her home.’

  ‘That is correct, Mr Dunley,’ the inspector answered. ‘We do need to speak to you, sir. We have a number of questions we need answering.’

  ‘My brother and I are about to leave for Circencester. We’re going to drive down. Would you like us to come directly to the police station? Or do you wish to meet us at Mr Forrest’s house?’

  ‘The latter will be fine, Mr Dunley. We have to talk to Mr Forrest anyway, and we can do the two interviews at the same time.’

  ‘That sounds practical, Inspector. If I might ask, where is my wife’s body at this moment? Is it at the hospital or at the morgue?’

  Robert caught the hesitation on the inspector’s part before he answered. Lawson cleared his throat, finally said, ‘I believe Mrs Dunley’s body went to the medical examiner … to be autopsied. But I will have the proper information for you by the time you arrive.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector Lawson. We should be there in about three hours, depending on the traffic.’

  After saying goodbye and hanging up, Robert stared at the others, and explained, ‘The police inspector has a number of questions for me, and for Anthony.’ He frowned, and addressed Francis. ‘When I asked him where Amy’s body was he seemed to hesitate, was evasive. Don’t you think that’s odd?’

  ‘Not really,’ Francis responded. ‘He probably didn’t know where Amy’s body actually was at this precise moment. It was most likely taken to the local hospital by the ambulance crew and then went to the medical examiner’s office for autopsy. It might still be in transit even. I don’t read anything sinister into what he said, Robert, honestly I don’t.’

  ‘Why would the inspector want to talk to you?’ Merry turned to her brother. ‘I mean, how can you throw any light on the accident? You were here at the office all day.’

  Robert shrugged, and then reassured her, ‘It’s just routine, I’m sure, Merry. After all, I am still her husband, her next of kin.’

  Francis said, ‘Robert’s correct, it is routine, Merry. The police go right to the spouse of the deceased, most especially if that person has died in an accident, one that could be questionable.’

  ‘Why do you use that word?’ Elizabeth stared at Francis. ‘What’s questionable about Amy’s fall?’

  ‘A lot of things in the minds of the police, I can assure you of that, Elizabeth. How did she fall exactly? Was she alone in the house at the time? Could she have been pushed? Might there have been an unwanted intruder? What was the state of her mind? Was it an accident really? Could it have been murder? Or suicide? Was she depressed about anything? Was she ill mentally? Or physically? Was she on any medication? Did she take drugs? Was she a drinker? I can offer you plenty of questions the police will come up with,’ he finished flatly.

  Everyone remained silent. All had been struck by Francis Walsington’s words, and they sat digesting them, analysing them.

  It was Elizabeth who spoke first. She gave Francis a long, knowing look, the kind of conspiratorial look they often exchanged, and murmured, ‘Perhaps you should go with Robert and Ambrose, be present at the meeting with this Inspector Lawson at Anthony’s house tonight.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Francis answered immediately, shaking his head vehemently.

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘Because it could smack of … paranoia, my being protective of Robert, something like that. I’m head of security at Deravenels, and also a lawyer, please don’t forget those things. I assure you the police won’t, and –’

  ‘But he hasn’t done anything!’ Elizabeth’s voice had risen the way it did when she became alarmed or upset. ‘And you know it.’

  ‘But the police don’t know that. And yes, Robert was here at the office today, and we’ve all been with him since your birthday party on
Saturday and the lunch on Sunday. But that doesn’t mean he is innocent as far as the police are concerned. He’s still a suspect … if they think there’s been foul play of some kind. And why is he a suspect? Because he’s the husband. I just explained about spouses being under a microscope in a questionable death.’

  ‘You perceive this as a questionable death, Francis?’

  ‘I don’t, Elizabeth, but the police will.’

  ‘I could have hired someone to commit a murder, Elizabeth,’ Robert remarked, going over to her, wanting to calm her.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so daft!’ she cried. ‘Nobody would think that.’

  ‘They just might,’ he answered. And he was right.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Alicia Forrest, Anthony’s wife, met them at the door of Gosling’s End, the Queen Anne house that had been in her husband’s family for several centuries.

  ‘You got here sooner than we expected,’ she murmured softly after she had greeted them warmly and hugged them both. They were very old family friends, and close.

  ‘The traffic was light,’ Robert explained. ‘Thanks for having us for the night, Alicia. You’re very kind to put us up like this on such short notice.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly, darling. As if we’d let you stay in a hotel. Come on, Anthony’s waiting in the library with the inspector and … a sidekick.’ Turning to Ambrose, she asked, ‘How’s Anne?’

  ‘She’s well, Alicia, and she sends her love. Now, what’s this chap like, the inspector, I mean?’

  ‘Seems rather nice, actually, low-key, well spoken, polite. Probably Eton or Harrow, in my opinion, for what it’s worth. He’s a gentleman, that’s obvious.’

  ‘One of the new breed of cops, I’ve no doubt,’ Ambrose volunteered.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Alicia said, and a moment later opened the door to the panelled library, saying as she did, ‘Here are Robert and Ambrose, sooner than we expected, Anthony.’

  Robert and Anthony had been close friends for many years and greeted each other warmly with a big bear hug, and then Anthony shook hands with Ambrose. ‘Nice to see you again,’ Anthony said to Robert’s older brother. ‘Sorry it’s not under happier circumstances, old chap. Now, come and meet Inspector Lawson and Sergeant Fuller of the Gloucestershire police.’