Being Elizabeth

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘I wish this new problem hadn’t come up. We need it like holes in our heads. By the way, I’ve changed the meeting with Spencer Thomas, made it next week. He was a bit startled, and actually rather anxious, but I stonewalled him like Francis told me to, and just re-set it.’

  ‘That’s fine. Have you told Cecil?’

  ‘No, I will tomorrow. In the meantime, when are we going to Paris again?’

  ‘After we’ve dealt with our current problem.’

  ‘That sounds like very soon then,’ she murmured, smiling at him, and inclined her head as a couple walked past their table at Harry’s Bar, another of their favourite Mayfair restaurants.

  ‘Who was that?’ Robert asked. ‘I didn’t recognize them.’

  ‘No, you haven’t met them, and she’s the person I know, not her husband. I just met her, in fact. She has a beauty line that I’m hoping to buy … the company, I mean. For the spas.’

  The champagne arrived, and they touched glasses, and then Elizabeth said, ‘I do make you happy, don’t I, Robin Dunley?’

  ‘Yes, you do, my darling girl. Do you realize we’ve been together for nine years now?’

  ‘As grown-ups, you mean. If I remember correctly, you first kissed me when I was eight years old, under that big oak at Waverley Court.’

  ‘No, you kissed me first, you little minx!’

  ‘It was you who made the first move, Robin Dunley.’

  ‘No, no, I did not. You were rather a fresh little thing, as I recall. All over me like chickenpox, you were.’

  They laughed together then, for the first time in several days. Elizabeth drew closer and murmured, ‘Can you imagine … the kilt said all those nasty things about me years ago. Castigated me for having a scandalous affair with a married man. And now she’s doing exactly the same thing with James Bothwith.’

  ‘Francis was always right about her … he detected something strange in her, the first time he met her in Paris when she was married to François de Burgh.’

  ‘Do you think she was involved … in Darlay’s death, I mean?’

  ‘It’s hard to know, but to be truthful I’m a bit dubious about that accusation by the gossips.’ He stared at her. ‘After all, let’s not forget that there were those who pointed a finger at me, said that I murdered my wife. And you know I didn’t, so maybe Marie Stewart is innocent of that particular crime, too.’

  Elizabeth walked along the corridor to the boardroom at Deravenels, her face unreadable as she opened the door and went inside.

  Cecil was sitting at the table with Robert, and Spencer Thomas, the head of Deravco, their oil company. The three men stopped talking as she entered and stood up; Spencer hurried to greet her in the doorway. After kissing her on the cheek, he led her into the room.

  Elizabeth sat down and placed the folders she was carrying on the table, and said, ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I was delayed by a phone call from New York.’

  ‘No problems,’ Spencer responded, beaming at her. ‘Imagine, you’ll soon be the proud owner of Norseco Oil, one of the biggest oil companies in Europe. Congratulations!’

  ‘Oh, no, no, not so fast, Spencer! I’m superstitious, I’m afraid, and I don’t congratulate myself until a deal is signed, sealed and delivered.’ She patted the pile of folders in front of her. ‘And I’ve been going through everything again. All these are documents pertaining to Norseco, and there are a number of things that have come up.’

  Spencer’s face fell. ‘Oh. But last week you were gung-ho. Is there something wrong?’

  ‘I wouldn’t use that word.’ She shook her head. ‘Not wrong, Spencer, but maybe not right. For us that is, for Deravenels.’

  Spencer Thomas, in his early fifties, was a boyish-looking man whose unlined face, blue eyes and blond hair belied his age. A Texan, genial and outgoing, he was a long-time veteran of the oil business and had been at Deravenels for eighteen years. Elizabeth liked him, and she trusted him, but not quite enough to share her secrets with him. Always wary, cautious, even cagey, she now dissembled.

  ‘I’m sorry, Spencer, but I’m afraid Deravenels will have to pass. We can’t go forward here.’

  He frowned, appeared totally bewildered. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’ He was almost stammering in his confusion.

  ‘I’ll put it in the simplest terms. We are not going to buy Norseco Oil,’ Elizabeth announced, her voice neutral.

  Spencer sat back in his chair, so startled he had lost all power of speech. Eventually he asked in a voice suddenly scratchy, even hoarse, ‘But why ever not? It was a great deal, you said so yourself.’

  ‘A lot of reasons. The company’s not right for us. It’s basically too big, and I’ve suddenly grown worried again about terrorist attacks. Also, I’ve had word, a very confidential commu¬ nication, from a government terrorist expert who says that various extremist groups are planning new attacks on tankers. Most especially British and US tankers. They will be major attacks. Several well-known groups want to create ecological disasters, quite aside from damaging the oil business in general – dis asters costing us billions, by the way. I’ve been advised by an unimpeachable source to cancel this deal. And that is what I’m doing. Now.’

  ‘Good God! This is terrible. What am I going to tell Jake Sorrenson?’

  ‘Exactly what I’ve told you, Spencer. Because it’s the truth. And naturally I shall write a letter to Sorrenson, apologizing.’

  It was a warm day in May when Francis Walsington walked into Elizabeth’s office, closed the door behind him, and said, ‘She’s married him.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Elizabeth responded in the same neutral tone Francis had used. ‘You always said she wasn’t very bright.’

  ‘Apparently not. She keeps compounding mistake after mistake. Anyway, they tied the knot this morning, and no doubt there will be repercussions. She’s ousted her brother, who’s up in arms about everything, and Jimmy Bothwith rules the roost.’

  Elizabeth grinned at him. ‘Cock of the muck heap, eh?’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it. But she’s made a lot of enemies, Elizabeth, and that’s understandable. She’s from a notable family in Scotland … and she eventually comes back from France, manages to create havoc. Widowed, she’s soon married to her second husband, who dies in a weird explosion. Or fire – you name it, it’s mysterious to say the least. He’s hardly been put to rest when she’s seen gallivanting around with a local, so-called tycoon, who gets an instant and questionable divorce and marries her. Today. Before she even gets married to Jimmy Bothwith she installs him in the ancient family business, getting rid of her brother in the process, who’s actually been cast aside without a second glance.’

  ‘While she’s busy making mayhem in Edinburgh she’s leaving me alone,’ Elizabeth felt compelled to point out.

  ‘I always said she’d come to a sticky end, and she will,’ Francis remarked, ignoring her comment. ‘There’s no doubt about that. I understand Jimmy’s been interfering in Scottish Heritage for months now, and there’s been a lot of double-dealing. Some very questionable deals have been made, and I’ve even been informed that some of them may well be considered criminal acts. Those two could easily be prosecuted.’

  Elizabeth sat up straighter in her chair and leaned across her desk. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘I have a lot of information on her, on them, and what they’ve been doing with Scottish Heritage.’

  ‘How did you manage to get that? From her half-brother?’

  ‘You’ve asked me such questions for years, and I keep telling you I cannot talk about my methods. I’m your head of security, and I will not permit you to know anything. That way you can never be blamed. Or take responsibility for anything I do. Understood?’

  ‘Yes. You don’t have to say another word. But I’m not stupid by any means. The kind of information you usually get has to come from inside the company. And if her brother’s not your source then obviously you have somebody embedded who’s doing
your bidding, and that’s perfectly all right by me.’ Elizabeth took a sip of water, and finished, ‘How do you like them apples?’

  ‘They’re very good for cooking,’ Francis said, and finally chuckled.

  ‘I just need to know one thing,’ Elizabeth began, and took a deep breath. ‘What are you going to do with the information you have on Jimmy Bothwith?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I do believe I have to report it. I had a drink with a friend of mine who’s with the Fraud Squad. He used to be an inspector with Scotland Yard, then moved on to handle white-collar crime. He told me this afternoon that I must speak to his equivalent with the Scottish police. That it is my duty to do so. Nobody can withhold that kind of information.’

  ‘Are you going to do that, Francis?’

  ‘What choice do I have?’

  ‘What will happen to Jimmy Bothwith?’

  ‘I suppose he will be arrested, sent to trial. Finally. He’s always been two steps ahead of the sheriff.’

  ‘And Marie Stewart?’

  ‘The same. She’s been hand-in-glove with him all along, and she’s possibly an accessory to murder. But certainly she’s been his partner in business … in her family business, which they’ve ruined, brought to its knees in the last few months. Ransacked is the word most often used.’

  ‘So they’ll be prosecuted and sent to jail? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is.’ He stared at her. ‘Why do you look like that?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘As if you’re suddenly feeling sorry for her … stricken. And don’t start saying she’s your cousin. She’s your enemy, Elizabeth.’

  ‘I don’t feel sorry for her,’ Elizabeth protested.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. She deserves what she’s going to get.’

  One morning towards the end of June, Robert bent over Elizabeth and touched her shoulder gently. ‘Wake up,’ he said against her ear. ‘Darling, wake up.’

  Elizabeth roused herself immediately, and looked up at him, saw the face she loved the most in this world. ‘Robin, what is it? Oh, heavens, have I overslept?’

  ‘No, but I have some news for you. From Francis. He just called on my mobile.’

  ‘At this hour?’

  ‘It’s eight o’clock, and it’s Saturday.’

  ‘I must have been dead on my feet last night.’ She struggled up into a sitting position, and threw her legs out of bed. ‘Oh, we’re at Stonehurst. I’d forgotten we drove down last night.’

  ‘Come on, darling, let’s have coffee.’

  ‘What did Francis have to say? Bad news, no doubt.’

  Together they went downstairs, but he didn’t answer her. With his arm around her they went into the breakfast room; Robert poured two mugs of coffee and carried them over to the table.

  After taking a good swallow he volunteered, ‘Francis phoned because he wanted us to know that Marie Stewart has just been arrested by the Edinburgh police. She’s in jail, pending her trial for fraud. There are other charges which Francis says he’ll tell us later.’

  Elizabeth shivered, despite the warmth in the breakfast room, and goose flesh speckled her arms. Somebody walked over my grave, she thought, and began to shudder.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Robert asked in concern.

  ‘Yes. What about Bothwith? He’s been arrested with her, hasn’t he?’

  ‘No. Francis told me he fled some days ago. To Denmark of all places.’

  ‘Why Denmark? How weird.’ Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, lost in thought, her eyes staring off into the distance. Unexpectedly she felt a tightening in her chest and a strange aching sadness flowed through her. Tears came into her eyes, and she found a tissue in the pocket of her robe, wiped her eyes.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Robert asked, his concern spiralling. He noticed that her face was the colour of bleached bone.

  ‘I felt terribly sad … How awful to be left alone like that … how can she bear it, Robin? I don’t think I could.’

  Wanting to change the subject he said, ‘Come on, let’s go out onto the terrace. It’s a beautiful morning.’ As he spoke he picked up their mugs of coffee, and walked out to the terrace.

  Elizabeth followed him slowly, understanding how lucky she was to be with this most extraordinary man.

  They stood together, looked out at the glorious gardens created so long ago by loving, caring hands. At one moment Elizabeth turned to Robert, touched his cheek. ‘I love you … and I thank you for this life you have given me.’

  He looked deeply into her face, the face he had loved since childhood, and put his arm around her. ‘To love you is all I could ever need in this world … and to be loved by you is all I could ever want,’ he said.

  EPILOGUE

  Woman of the Year

  ‘… so he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same …’

  Emily Brontë: Wuthering Heights

  ‘My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears.

  And true plain hearts do in the faces rest,

  Where can we find two better hemispheres.

  Without sharp North, without declining West.

  John Donne

  ‘Tis time this heart should be unmoved,

  Since others it hath ceased to move;

  Yet though I cannot be beloved,

  Still let me love!’

  George Gordon, Lord Byron

  EPILOGUE

  When Elizabeth walked into her office at Deravenels, she automatically looked at the door leading into Robert’s, but it was closed, not for the first time lately. Frowning to herself, she went over to her desk and sat down behind it.

  She had been at the hairdressers for several hours, because tonight was a big night for her … She was to receive the Woman of the Year Award from the International Association of Business Executives, and it was considered something of a big deal by everyone.

  Pulling her engagement book towards her, she opened it and looked down at the page. It was the nineteenth of May in 2006, and she was in her thirty-fifth year. My God, I’ll be thirty-five in September, and so will Robert. I can hardly believe it, she thought.

  May the nineteenth … last year at this time Marie Stewart had been up to her crazy tricks with Jimmy Bothwith, and the towering edifice of her supposedly grand life had come tumbling down like the proverbial house of cards. Elizabeth sighed to herself, thinking of that misguided woman, one so foolish and impulsive she had been led by her heart and not her head. For there were those in Scotland who now said that the marriage to Henry Darlay had not been good, and that Marie Stewart had fallen head over heels in love with Jimmy Bothwith. ‘Who deserted her and left her in the lurch in her time of trouble,’ Elizabeth muttered out loud.

  What a bastard he was to do that, and after he had manipulated her, gained control of Scottish Heritage, pillaged her company, committed bank fraud in her name, and made dubious deals with dubious men, most of them with criminal minds … like him. He had been her final downfall.

  And so now Marie Stewart de Burgh Darlay Bothwith languished in one of the new open prisons for white-collar crimes where conditions were not as arduous as most other standard jails were. And her little boy was being brought up by relatives, one of her illegitimate half-siblings.

  ‘If you’re not careful, that kid will end up being your heir one day,’ Francis had warned her at the time of the kilt’s staggering downfall, giving her one of his odd looks. She had not answered him.

  Elizabeth was grateful to Francis because he had saved her from making a terrible business mistake. Through his own not always legal means, he had averted catastrophe for her. How ever he had come across his knowledge about Belvedere and Castleton she did not care, but those companies had been owned by Jimmy Bothwith through others. If she had gone ahead and bought Norseco Oil he and Marie Stewart, by then his wife, would have ins
isted on being on the board, would have had a big say in the running of the oil company.

  Bothwith had owned so many shares he was almost at the same level as the chairman, Jake Sorrenson, the founder. Also jailed by now for mismanagement, misappropriation of company funds, tax fraud, bank fraud, and other criminal misdeeds. And she would have been stuck with the mess if she had gone ahead and taken over Norseco.

  A narrow escape, she said to herself. I just missed a bullet, thanks to Francis Walsington … Her devoted colleague and friend had only had her welfare at heart. She was convinced deep inside herself that more than likely he had managed to set Marie Stewart up, trap her. But she did not care if he had, or how he had done it.

  Staring at the page in her engagement book, she made a note that she had to leave early for the cocktail reception before the award dinner. Then she closed the book. Now she must work on her speech for tonight, that was imperative.

  Picking up her pen, pulling a pad towards her, she soon discovered she could not concentrate. Robin was on her mind. Pushing back her chair, she got up, opened the door to his office and looked in. He was not there. Not only that, the lights were out. This was unusual. He generally left them on.

  Elizabeth sighed. She had run out early this morning, gone to have her hair done. It was long now, and took some time to set and dry. Robin had been in the shower and she had left him a note. She had hardly spoken to him today; where was he?

  She went back to her desk, and fell down into her thoughts.

  Robin hasn’t been the same for a long time now. As I sit here thinking about him I realize he has been … quieter, more passive, accepting of things … not so argumentative with me when he disagreed with me. He just let it go. I think, as I look back, that it began last year at this time … when we were all so consumed with Mary Stewart and her shenanigans. I have a horrible feeling that he identified with her in one thing … the strange and questionable death of Darlay. His wife had died in odd circumstances, too, and her demise had been questioned, at least the cause of it had. And some people blamed him; as others had blamed Marie for Darlay’s death. Snap.