Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Victoria nodded. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. But you can’t repeat our conversation to Aunt Alice.”

  Alicia stared at her aghast, exclaimed, “Good God, I’d never do that! She’d be furious with me if she knew we were having such a conversation. And the same rule applies to you. Never give her an inkling that you’ve spoken about such a personal matter with me. Or anyone else for that matter.”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions. You can just say yes or no, if you prefer.”

  “That’s all right, I don’t mind explaining something if you don’t understand.”

  Alicia nodded and went on. “Are you a virgin?”

  “No.”

  “But you’d indicated you’d not made love with a man, when I asked you on the moors.”

  “I said not exactly, because it got botched up the first time. Martin Peek, the brother of my friend Christine, fancied me and I liked him a lot. We started having dates. It was when I was at Harrogate College. One night we went to a wood near Harewood and parked. We tried to make love in the back of his car. Then it all went wrong because … the … thing came off, and we stopped. Later he worried he’d made me pregnant.”

  “He hadn’t, had he?” Alicia looked at her keenly.

  “No. But the frock might have been,” Victoria murmured, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

  Alicia burst out laughing, and so did Victoria. Alicia then said, “At least you’ve got a good sense of humor. Did you see Martin again?”

  “Yes, when he was home from Cambridge. The thing was safe that time. But it was all over so quickly, and I didn’t feel anything much. Maybe because I didn’t love him?” These last few words sounded like a question.

  “Maybe you’re correct. On the other hand, I think he sounds awfully inept. How old were you?”

  “I was almost eighteen, and Martin twenty-one. I never saw him again.”

  “Is Martin the only man you’ve … known in that sense?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s talk about Christopher Longdon and your feelings for him. Oh, and by the way, how old is he? Thirty or thereabouts?”

  “He’s twenty-eight,” Victoria answered.

  “From the way you looked on the moors, and how you spoke about him, I am certain you have fallen very hard for him. And I know that feeling only too well,” Alicia said. “There’s nothing like true sexual attraction. It is a mighty powerful emotion, that pull toward each other. The desire, the lust, the wanting. It overrides everything. Nothing else matters in the world but being with that special person.”

  Alicia paused, shaking her head, and finished, “It’s ruined the lives of many a man, and woman, too. Mainly because it obliterates reason. Sexual fulfillment is all that matters. Actually, I think that kind of desire is … blinding.”

  “That’s how I feel about Christopher.” Victoria leaned closer to Alicia. “I want to be with him all the time, close to him. I want to hold him, and, well, I want everything with him.”

  Alicia was quiet for a moment, thinking hard, and then she said, slowly and with care, “I think we must discuss what it would mean if you became involved with him on every level. There would be great responsibility on your part, Victoria.”

  For a split second Victoria looked puzzled. She frowned and asked, “What do you mean exactly?”

  “You are basically the one in control in this situation. You must think very, very carefully before starting a physical and emotional relationship with Christopher. He’s a paraplegic, but we’ll get to that shortly, and also an extremely honorable man, a decent man. The whole world knows how brave he was in the war years—”

  Alicia paused, and took hold of Victoria’s hand. “You must take this situation extremely seriously. You can’t get involved with him and then just dump him, walk away if you discover the situation’s not to your liking.”

  “I understand that very well, Alicia, I truly do. If I do get involved with Christopher, it would be forever. I would want to marry him, look after him, have his children.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Eventually Alicia spoke. “If he can have children. If he can have a sexual relationship with you. Can he? Has he ever discussed it?”

  “Of course not!” Victoria exclaimed somewhat heatedly.

  “How does he feel about you? Obviously the same, I’m quite certain of that.”

  “I believe he’s smitten with me, yes.”

  “Has he ever touched you—” Alicia broke off, shaking her head. “I sound like a member of the Spanish Inquisition, don’t I?”

  “No, you’re trying to help me. Christopher has never laid a finger on me. He’s kissed my cheek, held my hand, that’s all,” Victoria said. “I think his personal assistant, Rory, is aware of Christopher’s feelings for me, though.”

  “What makes you say that?” Alicia asked alertly, staring at Victoria.

  “The first day I met Christopher, at the beginning of this month, I left his house in Hampstead just after tea. It was growing dark. Rory went with me to find a taxi. When I was getting in, he gave me a warning. He said something like … just don’t mess with him, don’t mess him up. And I was startled, to tell you the truth.”

  “That’s what I’m also saying.” Alicia threw her a pointed look.

  “Rory also told me that night that Christopher had taken to me, and in a way he hadn’t seen before. Rory seemed to think Christopher’s reaction to me was unusual.”

  “So we know he shares your feelings. But what about the partial paraplegia? I’m not understanding that.”

  “Neither am I really. When I heard Rory mention crutches at Biggin Hill, I asked Rory if Christopher could use them. He said he could. What I gathered was that Christopher has an incomplete injury at a low level of his spinal cord. That’s what Rory meant when he said ‘partially paraplegic.’ I just wish I knew a little more.”

  “I agree.” Alicia sat back, swallowed the last of her cognac, her mind racing. Suddenly, she sat up straighter in the armchair and looked across at Victoria. “I’ve just remembered something. I have a girlfriend who’s married to an expert on paraplegia. His name’s Abel Palmerston. I could ask Violet to help us understand better.”

  Victoria immediately reacted to the name Palmerston. “Is your friend’s husband a doctor?”

  “He is a specialist. A neurologist and very famous. Perhaps one of the best in the world. Why?”

  “Because last Saturday, a week ago today actually, I was photographing Christopher in his study. And in between my shots I heard him tell Rory not to forget to phone Mr. Palmerston on Monday, to confirm his appointment. And now I’ve just remembered, a specialist is always called ‘mister’ rather than ‘doctor,’ isn’t he?”

  “Correct. Do you want me to phone Violet next week?”

  “I’m not sure. And would she tell you anything about Christopher, if she finds out? I think doctors can’t do that.”

  “No, they mustn’t reveal a thing. I was simply going to ask her about paraplegics, without mentioning any names.”

  “Up on the moors I was contemplating asking Christopher myself. What do you think?”

  “I would applaud that, and it’s certainly a way to let him know you are serious about him.”

  “I agree,” Victoria said. “I want him to understand I am a serious person, an adult.”

  “When are you seeing him again?” Alicia asked.

  “Sunday evening. You are still driving back tomorrow morning, aren’t you, Alicia?”

  “Yes, I am. I need to prepare for work on Monday. I’m filming every day next week. And I’d love your company. Charlie isn’t coming back to London tomorrow. He’s got his proofs to read.”

  “There’s something else I want to tell you,” Victoria said. “I went to have supper with Christopher last Tuesday, before coming up to see Aunt Alice and Uncle Walter on Wednesday. At one moment Christopher asked me what I was doing the coming weeken
d, meaning next weekend. He asked if I was free. I said I was. He told me he wanted to show me a place he loved, because he believed I would like it, too.”

  “Where is this place?” Alicia asked.

  “It’s a house in Kent. Where he grew up, near Romney Marsh. Shall I go?”

  “Yes, you must, Victoria. It’s a marvelous chance to get to know him better. Anyway, who knows what might happen. You may very well get all the answers you need.”

  Twenty-nine

  He had returned in secret. Only his household staff knew he was back in London. That was the way Adam Fennell wanted it. He needed to be alone, to calm himself, and recover from the damaging effects of his trip to New York.

  Not even Alicia Stanton was aware he was here. He groaned to himself as he remembered how ill-tempered he had been with her on the phone. He could kick himself for that bit of stupidity.

  For over two years he had planned to make her his own, even displacing Bryan Mellor in the process, and ruining their affair. He had manipulated people, bought others, pulled all kinds of strings, and had eventually cast her in his current movie. That had been his aim. Marriage to her was the next step. He had no doubt he would soon make her his wife.

  He had her in the palm of his hand, was in control of her, and could basically do anything he wanted with her. It gave him a thrill to know that he could use her in all of his films, that he could make her, break her, and take her whenever he wanted.

  A small smug smile slipped onto his face as he looked at the framed photograph of her on his desk in the library of his flat.

  There she was, the aristocrat, the granddaughter of a premier earl of England, impeccable lineage, impeccable manners. Yet he could turn her into a trembling mass of sexual desire and need.

  His sexual prowess in bed was another way he bound her to him. She was always willing, very willing indeed.

  Now he had some mending to do, having been irritable and accusatory on the phone from New York last week. And all because of Vince Ramsay. Vince was one of his backers who had unexpectedly turned him down when he had asked him to invest in Dangerous, an Alfred Hitchcock–type thriller.

  And Rick Carrier had also declined. Their decisions had blown his plans out of the window.

  In essence, they both disliked the script. Perhaps they were right. Maybe it did need more work. He would give it to Felix Lambert, ask for his opinion.

  Adam trusted Felix; he was one of the old-timers he genuinely respected, and Felix had great judgment. He was also Alicia’s agent. James Brentwood was a client as well. He had his eyes on Sir James, hoped to snag him for another movie of his called Revenge. Hitchcock style once again, and Hitch was definitely “in” at the moment. And to Adam he was the greatest.

  In the end, Adam had managed to raise the money for Dangerous from Catherine Marron, a Broadway producer who had invested with him in the past. She fancied herself as a movie producer, and she fancied him. Bedding her was part of the deal. That was a small price to pay for her rather large investment in Dangerous.

  A bit of an opportunist by nature, he knew his charm carried him a long way, as well as his plausibility and looks.

  He brought his thoughts back to Alicia. With Catherine Marron in the bag as his main investor, he could concentrate on his future wife.

  First, he had to apologize to her and be contrite, and once he had her in his bed she would immediately forget about his anger.

  When he had not been able to reach her one night, he had accused her of being with another man.

  Dumb. He had been truly dumb. Alicia was his main chance. Through her he could infiltrate himself into the British aristocracy, become one of them.

  He had planned to rise to the top ever since his childhood. It was within his reach. He would grab it. To do that he must take control of himself.

  He had returned last night. Today was Monday, and Alicia was filming; he was well aware of her schedule. For her it would be a busy week. He would not go out to Shepperton Studios until Thursday. His plan was to surprise her, to surprise everyone, including Mario. And he would charm them all. He never failed.

  Adam was not in good shape. His legs were bothering him again. He had bad cramping in his calves, and often felt crippled when he walked. This condition had started in his twenties, came and went.

  The trouble had started again a few months ago. At the time he had remembered his father, as he now did at this moment. That drunken lout had told everyone he suffered from rheumatism. Adam had not believed him, had blamed drink for his father’s problems. Lately, he had wondered if his father had spoken the truth. Max, his masseur, had tried to convince Adam he did not have rheumatism. Max was proven right after he had been examined by a specialist, who told him he must walk more and take potassium.

  Adam got up and went to his bedroom across the foyer. Opening a chest of drawers, he took out two boxes. Placing them on the bed, he looked inside them and nodded. A smile spread across his face. Some of Catherine’s money had come in useful and she had also given him pleasure in her bed.

  Wilson knocked on the door, came in, announcing that Max had arrived, that he had sent him to the massage room. “He said to take your time, sir. He has put the table up and prepared the room.”

  “Thank you, Wilson. And don’t forget, if there are any telephone calls, I am still in America.”

  * * *

  The clatter of the newsroom had always been music to Elise’s ears, and she was truly happy whenever she was there. This morning was no exception. She was busy with a story about the Royal Command Film Performance, due to be held in early November.

  The king and queen and the two princesses were going to be present as well. No news about their gowns yet, but she would now phone Constance Lambert.

  After they had greeted each other cordially, Constance said, “How can I help you, Elise?”

  “I’m doing a story on the Royal Command Film Performance, and I know it’s rather in advance, but I wondered if you could talk to me about it for a few minutes, please?”

  “You probably know this, but it’s at the Empire Theater in Leicester Square on November third. The royal family are coming, but not Prince Philip, as he is stationed in Malta with the Royal Navy at the moment.”

  “I have most of that. But since you’re on the charity committee I hoped you’d know which stars are planning to attend,” Elise answered.

  “Well, of course, the dashing Errol Flynn, since he’s the male lead in That Forsyte Woman, and I’ve been assured that Greer Garson will be there as well. She has the female lead. I think Errol will set a lot of hearts aflutter.” Constance chuckled. “He’s a handsome devil, if ever there was one. Anyway, I have a list here, just a minute.”

  “Take your time,” Elise replied. “I have my pencil and pad at the ready.”

  A moment later, Constance said, “All right, Elise, here we go. The names of the British stars I know are going to be there are Margaret Lockwood, Ann Todd, James Mason, Phyllis Calvert, John Mills and his wife, Mary Hayley Bell. They usually attend because they are huge boosters of the Royal Variety Charity, which benefits financially from the big premiere.”

  “I think it’s probably too early to ask about gowns the female stars will be wearing, isn’t it, Constance?”

  “I think so. Oh, by the way, Alicia Stanton is coming with her producer Adam Fennell. You can say Alicia will be wearing her favorite color blue, will be in a ball gown made of tulle, designed by her aunt, Cecily Swann.”

  “Oh gosh! I am stupid. I should have asked my sister, instead of bothering you. Do you think Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret will be in Norman Hartnell gowns?”

  “More than likely. He’s their favorite, and he does design the kind of glamorous gowns Princess Elizabeth, in particular, loves. Why not give Mr. Hartnell’s showroom a call?”

  “I will, thanks for that tip, Constance. What about the other Hollywood stars?”

  “Walter Pidgeon, Janet Leigh, and Robert Young, b
ecause they’re all in That Forsyte Woman. It is a few weeks away, so why don’t you give me a ring nearer the date? For any new information I might have.”

  “I will, and thank you so much for all this. I can now write a good introductory piece.”

  “My pleasure, Elise.”

  * * *

  Elise spent the entire morning working on the story, focusing on the glamour of the big event, the presence of the royal family and the top Hollywood stars that would be there on opening night. She was editing the piece when her phone began to ring. Picking it up, her eyes still on the story on her desk, she said absently, “Hello? Elise Steinbrenner here.”

  “Hello, Elise, how are you?”

  “Alistair!” she exclaimed, recognizing his voice, suddenly totally focused as she sat up straighter in her chair. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you,” he answered, happy he was getting such a warm response.

  “Where are you? Still with your parents in Surrey?”

  “I’m back in good old London town because I am really that much better. Well again. Almost my old self. Whoever would have thought that appendicitis could cause such havoc?”

  “It can be very serious, you know,” Elise replied. “Especially if peritonitis sets in. People have died from having their appendix removed. But this is good news. Hey, back at work for you, I hope.” Elise was genuinely happy to hear his voice. She thought about him all the time.

  “I’m taking another week off, and then it’s on to the old grindstone,” he answered.

  There was a momentary pause before Alistair said, “First, I want to thank you for coming to the hospital and cheering me up. And secondly, I want to make good on my promise to take you out to supper. If you still want to come out with me, that is.”

  “You know I do, Alistair. We sort of clicked when we met at my sister’s house, that’s what I thought, anyway.”

  “We did. Then I had to go and collapse a few days later at work, and get rushed into Emergency. Listen, are you free tonight by any chance?”

  “I am. As it happens, I finish early. Around five-thirty.”