Heirs of Ravenscar

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘You’re right, actually, I should think about myself, and you. But it might be easier, I think, if we lived in Paris. I wouldn’t be – well, throwing it in their faces …’ She paused, realising, suddenly, she had started to compromise.

  ‘Paris! That sounds like a grand idea!’ he cried, seizing on this. ‘I bet you anything I can find us a perfect place in the seventh arrondissement, your favourite spot here.’ He beamed at her, and added, ‘And we’ll also have a home in London. Say yes, Anne, please say yes.’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured in a low, shaky voice, sounding slightly hesitant.

  Immediately, he realized she was reluctant, and he squeezed her hand. ‘Trust me, it’s going to be all right. We’ll have two comfortable homes together, and I will protect you in every way. Legally and financially, so that you are always safe, no matter what. Now let’s go back to your flat. I want to be with you, to hold you in my arms. Rather urgently, actually.’

  The minute they entered her flat, Harry began to kiss her passionately, and he did not stop as they moved across the floor entwined in each other’s arms. When they went into the bedroom he finally drew to a standstill, and held her away from him, looking into her face intently, his expression serous.

  ‘I want you, Anne, and only you, and for the rest of my life. You are my life, if the truth be known.’

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ she said, moving closer to him, taking hold of his arm, burying her head against his chest. ‘Oh, darling.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said against her hair.

  ‘I love you,’ she responded, her voice muffled.

  He stepped away once more, began to unbuckle her belt, let it fall to the floor; a moment later, her white silk dress followed, pooled around her feet. She stepped over it, began to unfasten his tie.

  Swiftly, he threw off his jacket, and within seconds they were both undressed and stretched out on her bed. He held her close in his arms, gathering her to him, murmuring her name softly, and then he lifted a handful of dark hair to his lips and kissed it. Leaning over her, he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her neck, her breasts, and between the kisses he was whispering to her what he was going to do to her, and she to him. Stroking her, easing his hands over her, he caressed her body and the very core of her until she began to quiver, her desire for him rampant, her breathing excited, rasping.

  As she always was, Anne felt overpowered by Harry, by the sheer physical beauty of him. More than any other man she had known he had enormous sexual magnetism, and he was a potent and experienced lover. She trembled under his touch; he was making her feel weak with longing.

  It was mutual, this aching desire to be together, to be joined physically. They both knew they wanted to become one entity, become, in a sense, each other.

  Now Harry kissed her with such sudden fierceness his teeth grazed hers. He pushed his hands under her body and lifted her towards him, crushed her to his chest, groaning against her hair, wanting her so much. Yet he also needed to savour her, enjoy her, and give her pleasure, bring her to ecstasy once more. He lowered her onto the pillows and told her, ‘I want our child. I do, oh, I do, Anne.’

  She reached out, touched his cheek, let her fingers gently trail down onto his neck; her eyes did not leave his. ‘I do, too.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper; she urged him, ‘Let’s do it now, let’s make our baby, Harry. I love you, I love you so much.’

  He could not resist her any longer, and he slid onto her body, took her to him expertly; he moved against her, staring down into her face and she opened her eyes, looked up at him. He could not help but see her love for him reflected in her eyes and on her face, and he experienced an enormous rush of happiness and joy in her.

  Anne began to move under him, her hips thrusting up. He responded to her at once, and they found their own rhythm. At one moment he gripped her tightly, roughly, thrusting forward, taking her harder, thrusting deeper and deeper. He was loving her with more fervour and excitement than he had ever felt with those other women who had gone before her. None of them had been like her, none so exciting, demanding, and sensual. Her legs went up and around him, and her small hands tightened on the small of his back. And he understood he was loving her more thoroughly and with all of himself like he never had before.

  As if from a long distance Harry heard her calling his name; as she began to spasm uncontrollably he held her closer. He came into her, a great shudder rippling through him, and he cried out to her, saying her name over and over, telling her that she was his, and he was hers. And much later, when they lay entwined, breathless, he finally murmured against her neck, ‘That was a son we just made, sweetheart. My heir. I know it in my bones.’

  SIXTY

  New York 1971

  Charles Brandt sat in the board room of TexMax Oil on Fifth Avenue, talking to the three most important members of the board of the Texas oil company. It was a medium-sized but successful company based in Midland, which Deravco was taking over.

  Mostly, Charles was answering questions about Deravco, founded by Edward Deravenel in the 1920s, and giving them a run-down on its current management team. But suddenly the conversation had turned to Harry Turner.

  ‘You’ve carried the ball all this way, Charles,’ Peter Proctor, the president of the oil company, said, ‘And a darn good job you’ve done. We’re very satisfied with the way the negotiations have gone, and we’re certain the company is going to go from strength to strength.’ He eyed Charles appraisingly, and added, ‘But the three of us are mighty curious about our new owner … Harry Turner.’

  Charles looked from Peter Proctor, a man he had grown to like and admire, to Max Nolan, the chairman of the board of TexMax Oil, and Tony Nolan, Max’s son, who, along with his father, was a majority stockholder in the Texas company.

  ‘You’ll be meeting him very shortly,’ Charles said, leaning forward slightly, his façade of immense charm in place, a friendly smile on his face. ‘He’s only been delayed because his wife is pregnant, and he’s on the phone to London.’

  ‘I hope everything’s all right,’ Max Nolan said, sounding genuinely concerned. ‘I’m a father and a grandfather, and I’ve been there, and then some, I can tell you. My daughter, Kathy Sue, just had another baby and it was tough going for a time. But she made it okay, I’m happy to say.’ A white brow lifted. ‘Is Mrs Turner having a hard time?’

  ‘No, no, not at all. And there’s basically no problem,’ Charles now felt bound to explain. ‘It’s Anne’s first child and she had a fall yesterday, but thankfully no damage has been done.’

  ‘Good news,’ Max said, and probed. ‘Tell us about Harry Turner. He has something of a reputation on Wall Street these days. So what’s he really like?’

  Laughing, Charles answered, ‘Yes, he has gained a bit of a reputation lately, but he’s not quite the wild man, the ruthless asset-stripper some journalists like to make out. Actually, you’ll find him calm, self-contained, courteous, and extremely practical. I feel quite positive you’re going to like him.’

  ‘He’s been highly successful this past year, taking over a huge food chain and supermarkets in Britain, those other liquor companies in the Netherlands. And buying us out, of course. So what’s he all about? What’s the secret of his success?’

  ‘I would say he’s a financial genius,’ Charles answered. ‘He inherited Deravenels from his father Henry Turner, who had kept it on a steady course for many years. It was always highly profitable, but there was no more innovation at Deravenels. That had come in his grandfather’s time. After he took over, Harry did the same thing his father had done. He kept it safe. And then slowly he started to make medium acquisitions. He took over a number of small companies that blended in well with Deravenels. Then last summer, to be exact in late June of 1970, he decided to forge ahead, throw in his hat alongside those of the big boys.’

  ‘Such as Goldsmith and Hanson?’ Tony Nolan asserted.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Those two Englishmen are real buccaneering
tycoons,’ Tony announced.

  Charles grinned. ‘They are indeed! But actually, Jimmy Goldsmith is half French, you know.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Tony replied. ‘So give us a bit more on Harry Turner before he arrives.’

  ‘I would say the secret of his success is his eye for a deal, plus his extraordinary ability to read a balance sheet. He sees things others don’t,’ Charles explained. ‘For example, he can look at a company, spot that its stock is undervalued, pinpoint its real assets, which are frequently undervalued also, and he creates a plan. He makes a bid for the company, buying up the ordinary stock, as much as he can, and goes to the board to make a deal. Once he owns the company he puts it in the hands of truly professional managers from Deravenels. He makes it work. As I said, he’s immensely practical, and he’s certainly not out to strip a company down and then abandon it. Quite the contrary.’

  At this moment the door opened, and Harry Turner came striding into the board room.

  As he closed the door behind him, and walked towards the long mahogany conference table, he said, ‘Good morning, gentlemen. I apologize for being late. My wife had a fall. I was worried about her, since she’s pregnant.’

  ‘Charles filled us in,’ Max Nolan said, rising, and shaking hands with Harry, as did the other two men.

  Harry seated himself next to Charles, who looked worried, turned to him and explained. ‘Everything’s all right, no problems. Anne and the baby are not in any way affected by the fall.’

  Charles nodded, finally relaxing after a rather bumpy morning with Harry on the phone to London and having to come here without him.

  Harry glanced at the three men from TexMax, and said in his quiet, rather understated way, ‘I also apologize for not being here during the many negotiations over the last seven months. I know Charles has done an excellent job, and has carried the deal forward on my behalf, and in the most admirable way. I also know you are well and truly satisfied. I simply wanted to explain that my absence did not signify lack of interest in the deal, on my part. It was unavoidable, mainly because I had my hands full with several rather tricky and difficult acquisitions in Europe, especially in Holland.’

  ‘We understand,’ Max Nolan said, and turned to Peter Proctor. ‘I think you have a few questions, don’t you, Peter? Why don’t we get everything out on the table, settle things before we go to lunch?’

  Harry said, ‘Yes, I agree. Let’s do that now, tie up all the loose ends. I prefer that myself.’

  Peter Proctor nodded, pulled a manila folder towards him, and opened it. ‘There are a few points I want to clarify,’ he said, and took over the meeting.

  Later that night, Harry and Charles sat at a corner table in the Bemelmans bar of the Carlyle Hotel, where they always stayed when they were in New York.

  Charles, savouring a cognac, put the balloon down, and said, ‘You must feel gratified, don’t you, Harry? Now that you own TexMax Oil. It’s a big deal, and it was a master stroke on your part to go after it.’

  Harry turned to his brother-in-law. ‘I do feel good. It’s a terrific acquisition for Deravco. It makes our oil company a lot safer.’ He took a long swallow of his sparkling water and sighed. ‘I owe you an apology, Charles. I’m sorry I was so snotty and bad-tempered this morning, especially when you were trying to organize yourself for the meeting at TexMax. But Anne … well, she just got my goat.’

  ‘I’ve know you since you were seven years old, Harry, and if I don’t know you inside out, I can’t imagine who does. No offence was taken, I can assure you of that. I’m only sorry you had to cope with Anne’s hysteria at that moment, when we were about to leave.’

  ‘It was tough going for a while.’ Harry shook his head, stared at Charles, a look of puzzlement settling in his eyes. ‘I don’t know why she is always rushing around, doing so many things at this stage of her pregnancy. It’s early August and the baby’s due at the beginning of September. I’m always aghast, she takes such chances. Falling like that in the street … my God, she could have lost the baby.’

  ‘And hurt herself,’ Charles pointed out. ‘But that’s Anne, she’s a risk-taker. And by the way –’ Charles stopped abruptly, sipped the cognac.

  ‘By the way what?’ Harry asked, frowning. ‘What were you going to say?’

  Charles shook his head, and gave a short laugh. ‘I was going to ask you how you settled the matter of Catherine’s jewellery? You never did tell me.’

  Harry let out a guffaw. ‘After I’d given certain pieces to my sister, your wife, as you know, and some other heirloom pieces to my daughter Mary, I put the rest in the safe at the Berkeley Square house.’

  ‘You didn’t give Anne anything? And after all the fuss she made when you purchased the jewels from Catherine?’ Charles sounded astonished, and he threw Harry a quizzical look.

  ‘I gave her a diamond necklace and bracelet, and left it at that. I felt a bit odd about it actually. After all, I’d only just purchased the jewellery from Catherine in February when she had that sudden heart attack and died, and so unexpectedly. No one was more surprised than I.’ And guilty, he thought to himself.

  ‘Yes, her death was very sudden. I’m glad you allowed Mary to stay with us, Harry. It helped her, I know that.’

  ‘Yes, it did, and you helped me. Mary didn’t want to come to the Berkeley Square house, so it was the best solution all around.’ Harry looked off into the distance, thinking about Catherine’s sudden heart attack, she who had always been so healthy.

  He had quickly married Anne at Caxton Hall in March, and she had been relieved that the baby she was carrying would not be illegitimate. He, too, was happy about that, but it had never caused him much worry. He knew he could easily legitimize a child of his simply by adopting it, naming the boy his heir in his will.

  The two old friends and colleagues talked for another half hour about business, then finished their drinks, and went upstairs to their suites which adjoined.

  ‘Now that everything’s settled with TexMax are we still going back to London at the end of the week?’ Charles asked, as he stood at the door to his bedroom.

  ‘I think we might as well stay on schedule,’ Harry answered. ‘And again, thanks for everything, Charles, and especially for carrying the ball with TexMax.’

  Harry found it difficult to fall asleep. Although his bedroom was air-conditioned, he found it stifling on this hot August night. The summer weather in New York always got to him. It was the humidity.

  After a while he got up, went and poured himself a glass of water and sat down in the living room of his suite, turned on the television set. An old movie was running, something from the 1930s, a gangster movie with Jimmy Cagney, and he watched it for a while, then turned it off, sat thinking about Anne.

  He loved her: she was his wife now, and she was carrying his child. His son and heir. But she was turning out to be an extremely difficult woman. She was tremendously independent, and unusually stubborn, and he had decided she was reckless in the way she insisted on rushing around, going to the shop, seeing clients. The baby was almost about to pop out, and she didn’t seem to care. Certainly he felt she didn’t look after herself properly.

  At least she had stopped rushing over to Paris. He had told her to sell the shop there, but she hadn’t paid any attention. He sighed and got up. Once the baby was born he would insist she get rid of her business. It was her duty to be a good mother to their child. His son and heir. He was going to call him Edward, after the great Edward Deravenel. He smiled as he walked back to bed, thinking of the son he had so yearned for, and for so long. He couldn’t wait to hold him in his arms.

  SIXTY-ONE

  London

  Harry Turner left his office at Deravenels in the Strand in great haste, immediately after lunch on September the seventh. His wife had just gone into labour and he was on his way to the Westminster Hospital. His driver made it in record time, and once he was finally in the maternity ward he felt a degree of relief.

  Anne wa
s still in labour, but at least he was seconds away from her if she needed him. He paced up and down restlessly outside her private room, moving along the corridor and back impatiently. And he paced for several hours, filled with anxiety, his nerves fraying and raw.

  Charles had wanted to come with him, and he had turned the offer down, and suddenly he wished he had not. The one person he needed was Charles Brandt, who could always keep him calm no matter what the problem was.

  He was on the verge of phoning his brother-in-law at Deravenels when Anne’s doctor came out, a huge smile on his face.

  Harry rushed over to him, glad to see that the doctor looked happy, that he was smiling. ‘How is she? How’s Anne, Dr Hargrove?’ he asked, already knowing that she was fine.

  ‘Your wife came through very well, Mr Turner. Really well, and you’ll be happy to know you have a beautiful baby daughter. She’s perfect.’

  ‘Thank God!’ Harry exclaimed, meaning it, and smiled back at the doctor, not wanting him to think he was disappointed. But he was. Anne had not given him a son after all; he was still without an heir. A daughter, he thought, with a little stab of dismay. Another girl. However, aware of the doctor’s eyes on him, he asked swiftly, ‘When can I see them?’

  ‘Very shortly, Mr Turner. The nurse will come and get you. It won’t be too long a wait. And very many congratulations!’

  ‘Thank you. And thank you, Dr Hargrove, for looking after Anne so well.’

  The doctor nodded, smiled again and was gone.

  Harry sat down on a chair and closed his eyes. He had longed for a son, and for such a long time that his disappointment was most acute. But he must now make the best of it. There was another thing also: he must not, under any circumstances, allow Anne to think he was disappointed. That would hurt her dreadfully.