She joined in his laughter, and then said, ‘Once Marie de Burgh dries her tears, I bet you John Norfell goes sniffing around her, don’t you?’
‘He has already, but then Cecil must’ve told you that.’
‘He mentioned it in passing. If John Norfell did get involved with her, as he might now that she’s a widow, can we get rid of him? Can he be dismissed?’
‘Only if the board of directors can prove some kind of wrongdoing against Deravenels on his part, Elizabeth.’
‘Well, we shall have to wait and see, won’t we?’
‘Indeed we will, no alternative …’ He let his sentence drift, smiled at her across the table as the waiter arrived with their first course. ‘I’m glad to see a plate of food in front of you for once. You never seem to eat.’
‘Oh, I do, I do.’ She picked up her spoon, tasted the tomato soup, said quietly, ‘And go ahead and find the right bodyguard for me, Francis. You’re right as usual. I should have proper protection.’
‘I can’t believe we’re actually standing here in Number Ten Downing Street,’ Elizabeth whispered to Robert later that evening. ‘And I was thrilled to meet Tony Blair and Cherie, weren’t you?’
‘As thrilled as you, darling. They’re charm personified, the two of them.’ Robert gave her a fond smile. ‘And I’m happy to see that, despite all of your success, you’re not a bit jaded.’ Taking hold of her arm, he led her down the long reception room upstairs in the Prime Minister’s official residence, where an early Christmas party was being given.
Elizabeth, glancing around, exclaimed, ‘Gosh, there are so many celebrities here tonight … film stars, famous writers, television and media bigwigs. And pop stars. Oh look, Robin: isn’t that Sting with his wife?’
He followed her gaze, nodded. ‘It is, and I just spotted David Hockney, one of my favourite painters, who’s talking to Emma Thompson and Alan Bennett. And over there, near the Christmas tree, is Jenny Seagrove, one of my favourite actresses.’
‘She’s just gorgeous, isn’t she? And who’s the man she’s with?’
‘I’m sure it’s her partner, Bill Kenwright, the theatrical impresario. Come to think of it, there’s someone here from every area of the arts and culture. And plenty of sports stars as well, Elizabeth.
‘I’m so glad we came, I wouldn’t have missed this fabulous party for the world.’
A waiter came up to them carrying a tray of drinks and they both took a flute of champagne. They touched glasses, and Robert said, ‘Here’s to Cool Britannia, as the Prime Minister calls it.’ His face became a little more serious, as he added, ‘There really has been something of a seismic change in British society since New Labour came into power, and the Blairs arrived in Downing Street. The whole country’s been reinvigorated. I for one feel as if anything is possible … that we can rule the world.’
‘I thought we did,’ Elizabeth shot back, and then added in a serious voice, ‘But going back to your last comment, Robin, I think everyone feels it. I know I do. It’s … well … it’s a new order of things.’
‘Yes, I agree,’ Robert answered, and took hold of Elizabeth’s arm, propelled her across the room. ‘Let’s go and talk to Jenny Seagrove.’
THIRTY-NINE
Millennium. Suddenly it was here, upon us, and the year two thousand began with a big bang. At least for Deravenels. I gave a huge party and invited the entire staff, and what’s more they all came, every single one of them. I held it in the ballroom of the Dorchester Hotel … cocktails, dinner and dancing. I spared no expense and it was a great big bunfight of a party that everyone enjoyed. And I did, too. I loved every minute of it.
To be truthful, it wasn’t given only to celebrate the arrival of the millennium and the new year, but rather to celebrate Deravenels, which I had pulled into the twenty-first century. Kicking and screaming maybe, but nevertheless I did it. However, I did not do it alone. I had the best help in the world. And so I should have said that Cecil, Robin and I did it together. The Three Musketeers. Cecil usually corrects me, saying with a wry smile, ‘The triumvirate,’ and I smile back, because I appreciate his scholarly attitude and the way he applies it to most things in life. And backing us up were Francis Walsington, Nicholas Throckman and Ambrose Dunley. Good men all, and we run this vast conglomerate as a team. And together we have made it as great as it ever was under the leadership of Edward Deravenel, and later that of Harry Turner, my father. My half-sister pulled it down; we have managed to raise it up, make it even bigger than ever it was. And the miraculous thing is that my team and I have actually done this in four years. I took over in 1996 and now it’s October of 2000. The City boys admire us; I admire us … I’m proud of us.
Deravenels is once again extremely solid. We’ve built it on steel girders. Every division is in the black. The hotels are flourishing; so are the vineyards and the manor-house boutique hotels; my spas are considered some of the most luxurious and beautiful in the world, and have won numerous awards for the healthy and effective treatments they provide. And because of the success of the Marbella Resort we have started a new division, and are creating similar resorts in some of the great beauty spots of the world.
Ambrose is the mover and shaker behind this new enterprise. He proved himself so clever, efficient and innovative when he was in charge of the Marbella Project it seemed only right that he should head up the new division. Robin’s brother is a marvel. But then so are all of the men and women who make up my winning team.
Well, we did have some trouble last year with John Norfell, who fell under the spell of Marie de Burgh when she came to live in Scotland in 1999. She had had no choice. Francis told me that her mother-in-law had been tough with her in the end, and had forced her to leave Dauphin, and Paris.
Seemingly she has a way with men, but John Norfell learned, much to his chagrin, that she is a user, and was manipulating him for her own ends. It didn’t take him long to realize that she had no intention of sleeping with him, let alone marrying him. That blew away any ideas he might have had about running Scottish Heritage with her.
Norfell admits he never became her lover and claims that when he understood she was devious, and dubious in certain areas, he swiftly fled south to England. All of this information came directly to me from Francis, who advised us, the triumvirate, to turn a blind eye to his escapades. He pointed out that no real damage had been done. We agreed to do that, with the understanding that Cecil and Robin would meet with Norfell to read him the riot act, and caution him to behave himself.
It was Robin who told me that John had admitted to him that Marie de Burgh was most alluring, and as John put it, ‘a delicious bit of crumpet’. On hearing that, I told Robin I felt like vomiting. What a demeaning way to describe a woman. It certainly gave me a new perspective on John Norfell. Warned by Cecil and Robin that he would be thrown out of Deravenels if there were any more transgressions, Norfell has toed the line for the past year. I watch him closely.
I sometimes think of her, this strange cousin of mine who wants to be me, who would like to take all that is mine, longs to be in my place at Deravenels. What cheek, such utter gall. And she is forever wanting something … asking me to meet her, begging to come and stay with me, demanding to be made my heir in my will. That would be signing my own death warrant.
I couldn’t believe it when she actually sent me a photograph of herself. I looked at that picture and acknowledged her beauty, but I knew that in no way did it indicate the true potency of her so-called overwhelming sex appeal. Only Nicholas Throckman has had the nerve to explain that to me. He told me recently that Marie de Burgh, without saying a word, manages to make a man think she could be his. He added that she is a woman of beauty and grace, a potential heartbreaker.
Be sure of one thing, I will not let her break my heart. That’s why I plan to keep her at arm’s length. I consigned the photograph to the fire, and have turned deaf ears to her pleas for a meeting. Francis holds me steady on all of this. He is not a fan of hers, an
d says she is desperately seeking a husband, and he predicts that she’ll come to a bad end. Unlike a lot of men, Francis Walsington has his eyes wide open when it comes to women, and he’s familiar with all of their many wiles. I discovered that his dislike of Marie Stewart de Burgh runs deep. He knows her half-brother, son of her father and his long-time mistress, born before James Stewart married her mother. He is twelve years older than Marie, also called James after his father; although illegitimate, he has been involved in the running of Scottish Heritage since he was old enough to hold a job. Francis likes him, believes he is capable and straight talking. But he has wondered aloud about the feasibility of a partnership in business between these two ‘half-siblings’, as he calls them.
But, all in all, the year 2000 has been good. So far, at any rate. Deravenels is running smoothly. Francis is now more content since he hired his idea of the perfect bodyguard, a really strong, tough man who totally fulfils Francis’s requirements. Certainly Gary Hinton fits the bill for me, because he is quiet, mannerly, and ‘still’ … I cannot stand being with anyone who is a physical and mental fidget, and he is not. He is calm, focused and alert. He makes me feel safe, and I am certain he will keep me safe.
Robin also likes Gary Hinton and recognizes his superior skill, and so he is more relaxed about my safety as well. Everything is good between us, and we’ve managed at last to banish the shadow Amy’s unexpected and tragic death cast over our lives. Thankfully, most of the gossiping has stopped, and the press have found other more interesting stories to cover. Occasionally Robin reminds me teasingly that we are notorious.
Robin and I are in New York. We have come to spend a few weeks at the Manhattan office of Deravenels, and I also have meetings set up with Anka Palitz about the spas … The only problem is that I left London with the most ghastly cold and I wish I could shake it off …
Elizabeth couldn’t stop coughing, and sat down in a chair, covering her mouth with her hand. A moment later Robert came striding into the bedroom, a look of alarm on his handsome face.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, worry suddenly echoing in his voice. ‘You sound terrible, Elizabeth.’
‘I don’t know what happened,’ she managed finally in a low voice. ‘The coughing came over me all of a sudden. But it does that and then goes away. I’m all right, Robin, really I am.’
‘Do you think you have bronchitis?’
‘No, I’m sure I don’t.’ She stood up, straightening the skirt of her red wool dress and walked over to the wardrobe, took out the matching coat. ‘We’re running late, you know. We’re meeting Anka at La Grenouille in half an hour.’ She gave him the brightest smile she could muster, wanting to reassure him.
‘If you’re up to going then come on, darling, I’m ready.’ Picking up her coat, he helped her on with it, and walked with her to the door. ‘Gary’s waiting for us downstairs.’
Anka Palitz, blonde, pretty and very chic, was already at the restaurant, and she smiled warmly as Elizabeth and Robin were shown to the table by Charles, the owner of La Grenouille.
‘It’s lovely to see you both,’ she said as Elizabeth slid onto the banquette next to her and Robert took the chair at the opposite side of the table.
‘Sorry we’re late, we misjudged the traffic,’ Elizabeth explained.
‘There’s no problem. What would you like to drink? Champagne, wine, or a soft drink?’
‘Thank you, water is fine, Anka. I really can’t drink alcohol at lunchtime, it makes me sleepy.’
‘Me, too. Robert, what about you?’
‘Just water, the same as Elizabeth,’ Robert answered.
Anka motioned to the waiter, gave the order, and Robert stared at Elizabeth, realizing that she now looked suddenly positively ill. Her face, was whiter than ever and her eyes were slightly glazed. He decided she had a fever.
He was staring at her so hard, Elizabeth said, ‘I’m fine, Robin.’ She always knew what he was thinking, and his expression left nothing to the imagination.
Anka turned and glanced at her, noticed at once her ghastly pallor. ‘Are you sure? Don’t you feel well?’
‘Oh, it’s just a stupid cold I brought with me from London. I’m fine. By the way, this is for you.’ Elizabeth reached into her large handbag and took out a manila envelope. ‘This is the whole programme I’ve mapped out for the American spas. You can study it and tell me what you think. No hurry at all, but I would like your input whilst we’re in New York. And what I also need to know is whether you want to remain with the spas, after I’ve sold them to Deravenels. Nothing will change, you know, it’s just a paper transaction, and obviously you’ll still be working with me.’
‘I understand that, and I’m pretty certain I will stay, Elizabeth, but I would like to look everything over, and we can talk later in the week, have another lunch or dinner, whichever you prefer.’
‘Of course, and it’s –’ Elizabeth stopped speaking as a fit of coughing overtook her. Pressing her napkin to her mouth, she coughed until she was red in the face. Finally she managed to control the cough, and took a deep breath. As she did she winced, brought a hand to her chest.
‘What is it?’ Robert asked, concerned by her obvious discomfort.
Elizabeth said, ‘It really hurts when I take a deep breath.’ Weakly, she leaned back against the banquette. ‘I feel dizzy, Robin.’
‘I think we ought to get you to a doctor,’ Robin exclaimed in a worried voice, and fixed his gaze on Anka, raising a brow.
‘I agree, and we’d better leave here at once,’ Anka announced briskly, instantly in charge. ‘I have an excellent doctor, Robert, and I feel sure he would see Elizabeth immediately. Let me go and call his office. I know Charles will let me use the phone.’
‘All right, and I’ll come with you. I have to phone Gary, the car’s parked somewhere near here.’ He stood up, helped Anka out from the banquette, and stared at Elizabeth. ‘I won’t be a moment, darling.’
‘I’m fine, I’m not going to die on you, Robin.’
Dr Andrew Smolenski, having been told by Anka Palitz on the phone that Elizabeth Turner was obviously very ill, understood that this was an emergency. The moment they arrived at his office he saw them at once. Even as Anka was making the introductions Elizabeth started to cough, and Dr Smolenski was instantly alarmed.
Once she had calmed herself, he said, ‘How long have you had this cough, Miss Turner?’
‘Since last week …’ She stopped, shaking her head, passed a hand over her face. ‘Sorry, I feel a bit lethargic.’
Robin cut in, swiftly explained, ‘We arrived in New York last Friday, the twentieth, Dr Smolenski. Elizabeth had a really bad cold when we left London. But the cough only developed once we were here, over the weekend actually.’
‘I understand.’ The doctor made a few notations on a pad, and then addressed Elizabeth again. ‘When you take a deep breath do you have a pain in your chest?’
Elizabeth nodded.
‘Do you have sputum?’ Are you spitting anything up?’
‘This morning, rather early, but not much.’
Rising, he walked around his desk. ‘I must examine you, Miss Turner. Please come in here.’ As he spoke he opened the door to an examination room, adding, ‘Please take off your coat and dress. My nurse will come in to help you.’
Elizabeth got up, walked across the floor, and Dr Smolenski ushered her inside, leaving her alone. Then the nurse entered from another door, smiled and said, ‘It’s just a routine examination, Miss Turner, don’t worry. Put on this robe when you’ve undressed.’
A moment or two later the doctor came in and began his examination. He took her temperature, felt her pulse, listening to her chest through his stethoscope, and checked her blood oxygen level. When he had finished, he nodded and said, ‘Please get dressed, Miss Turner, and come back to my office.’ Once he had left, the nurse returned to help her put on her clothes.
When she went into his private office, the doctor was talking to Anka
and Robin, his face serious. ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Turner,’ he said. ‘You have a temperature of 101.2 and a thready, rather rapid pulse. You also have an elevated respiratory rate, and a blood oxygen level of eighty-four per cent. I believe your lungs are not taking in enough oxygen. Mr Dunley just asked me if you had bronchitis, and I told him you don’t. However, I believe you do have pneumonia, and I want you to go to the emergency room at the hospital immediately. For more tests.’
‘Oh,’ she said, staring at him, looking startled.
‘I’ll make all the arrangements,’ the doctor announced in a firm voice, one which forbade argument.
Elizabeth underwent a number of tests in the emergency room of New York Cornell Hospital. A diagnosis was arrived at fairly quickly after a chest x-ray and routine blood work had been done. She had pneumonia and the symptoms were severe.
Dr Melanie Roland, the doctor who had been assigned to do the tests, came into the small examination room where Elizabeth sat with Robert and Anka to explain the situation. ‘We want to admit you to the hospital at once, for twenty-four hours,’ the doctor explained. ‘You’ll be in a non-ICU bed, and we’ll start you on some antibiotics while we await the results of the cultures we’ve taken.’
‘I don’t want to stay in the hospital, not even overnight,’ Elizabeth protested, glancing at Robert.
‘It would be the wisest thing for you to do, Miss Turner,’ Dr Roland told her. ‘Your symptoms are quite severe. You do have pneumonia, you know.’
Robert went to Elizabeth, put his arm around her. ‘It’s just for one night,’ he murmured soothingly. ‘I’ll go to the hotel and get a few things you’ll need, and come back to be with you.’ He glanced at Dr Roland. ‘I can stay with her for a few hours or so, can’t I?’
Being Elizabeth Page 33