Secret Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “You are leaving now, Robbie?”

  “I am afraid so. As a matter of fact I have someone to meet who is taking the two pictures to Paris for me and I have promised to go racing with His Royal Highness.”

  He gave a deep sigh before he added,

  “I am only so grateful that I can leave everything in your capable hands, my dearest sister, when I was afraid I would have to stay myself and oversee it all.”

  “I will do my very best, but you do realise, Robbie, it is not going to be easy to get everything done in time.”

  “However difficult it is, it has to be done,” he said firmly.

  Wenda glanced at the grandfather clock which was standing inside the front door.

  “It is almost luncheon time and Mrs. Banks will, I know, have been cooking you a meal. After all the horses must have a rest and I suggest that the groom who came with you will be hungry too.”

  Robbie laughed.

  “You are right, Wenda, I am over-anxious and of course feeling nervous. So much depends on this party that naturally I am afraid things may go wrong.”

  “That is not the way to look at it, remember Mama always said, ‘believe things will be right and they come right’.”

  “They are already coming right because it is you who is helping me, Wenda.”

  She was so touched at his reply that she felt tears coming into her eyes.

  “I love you, Robbie,” she sighed, “and I have been very lonely while you were away for so long.”

  “I feel ashamed of myself, but I have been growing up and finding the world a very different place from what I expected.”

  He looked down at the two pictures.

  “I would not have dared a year ago to do what I am doing now. But I suppose being with the Prince has made me give myself airs!”

  “I think they are very becoming, but don’t let them blow away in a hostile wind!”

  Her brother kissed her cheek.

  “You are a brick, Wenda, now run and fetch me something to pack these pictures in so that no one can see them and by tomorrow morning they will be in France.”

  “I think you have changed, Robbie. You are far more of a man than when you left home. In fact I can quite understand why you are such a success in London and you must find us very dull here at The Court.”

  “I admit that I have neglected you disgracefully, but it will not happen again. I will somehow make enough money, however crooked it may be, to give you what you are entitled to – a Season in London. And I will expect you to marry, if not the Prince of Wales, as he is already married, then someone equally important!”

  Wenda laughed.

  “‘If wishes were horses, beggars might ride’,” she quoted, “and that is something we all have to remember.”

  “If I have anything to do with it, I have no intention of being a beggar any longer. It gives one an inferiority complex and that I have vowed to myself never to have again.”

  “I will find you a cover for the pictures and I will pray that they arrive safely in Paris and no one notices the two gaps on the walls in the galleries.”

  “The only people likely to notice it are the ghosts of our ancestors and if they are angry with us, then I will just have to placate them by starting a new collection of my own. Who knows, I may uncover something the Creswells have not discovered before?”

  By the time he had finished speaking Wenda had run up the stairs and in the linen cupboard she found some dark silk bedspreads. She realised that if the pictures were wrapped in them, the package would not arouse suspicion as to what it might contain.

  Only as she carried them down to her brother did she realise what a task he had set her and she wondered if she would be able to carry it through.

  Then she told herself if their ancestors had played brave parts in a thousand different ways in the history of England, she and Robbie must be brave too – even though at the moment it was not all plain sailing.

  ‘But we have the Prince of Wales coming to stay,’ she told herself, ‘and who can ask more of fate than that?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Once luncheon was finished Robbie drove quickly back to London.

  The horses were rather tired and he did not make such good time as on the outward journey. He had hired the Hackney carriage, but as the coachman knew he was a good driver, he was allowed to take the reins himself.

  He could not help thinking as he drove that as soon as he could afford it he would buy some decent horses and a new carriage.

  When Robbie arrived in London he went straight to the house of his friend, Mr. Hudson.

  And it was he who had given him the name of the painter in Paris whose studio he had visited with His Royal Highness and Robbie had met him at Marlborough House.

  When he realised that Robbie had one of the finest collections in England, he had become very friendly and asked him to dinner.

  His house was exactly what Robbie expected and it was filled with pictures like his own.

  As they became friends, it was impossible for Mr. Hudson not to learn how hard-up Robbie was and just how difficult it was for him to keep the house and the estate going with practically no income.

  It was then that Mr. Hudson had told him about the artist in Paris.

  He had not actually advised Robbie to use him – he just hinted that if things were desperate Robbie could have one or two of his pictures copied and done so well that the Trustees would have no idea they were not the originals.

  It was therefore to Mr. Hudson that he had turned and confided in him that his affairs were indeed desperate and he would be in terrible trouble if he could not afford to pay his debts.

  And what was more he would lose his friendship with the Prince of Wales.

  Mr. Hudson had perused with him the catalogue of the pictures at Creswell Court and chosen two pictures.

  As a first attempt it would be wise to choose those pictures that were not so outstanding and did not instantly catch the eye of anyone entering the picture galleries.

  When Robbie drew up at his house, Mr. Hudson himself came out and helped him carry in the two precious pictures and they put them down in the sitting room.

  Mr. Hudson then carefully started to remove the silk bedspread covering the pictures.

  “So you have done it, my boy!” he said to Robbie, “and I hope that no one at your house will talk.”

  “The only person who has the slightest idea of what we are doing is my sister, Wenda, and I would trust her with my life.”

  “Of course you can,” Mr. Hudson said reassuringly, “and you can be quite certain that these pictures will make you a lot of money.”

  He was standing beside Delacroix’s ‘Still Life withLobster’ and went on,

  “Just look at this! Have you ever seen such superb painting?”

  Robbie did not speak, but started to undo the other picture and he had been rather surprised that Mr. Hudson had asked him to bring ‘Le Dessert Gaufrettes’ when he had seen it in the catalogue. He agreed with Wenda that it was a rather dull picture.

  As if he had spoken aloud Mr. Hudson told him,

  “In the last Exhibition of Baugin’s pictures in Paris, the prices soared up to the sky. I will be very surprised if this does not fetch more than your Delacroix.”

  “I am only too willing to believe you – ”

  Mr. Hudson looked at the time.

  “I am expecting a yacht to arrive from France at about six o’clock. I suggest you and I have a drink, then we will take these pictures to the river and speed them on their way as soon as possible.”

  Robbie agreed happily and they drank champagne before Mr. Hudson’s carriage appreared. It was closed and the two pictures were quickly carried in and put on the seat opposite where they would sit.

  And then they set off and Robbie thought excitedly that, as he had told Wenda, the pictures would be in France by the morning.

  They drove some way along the Embankment until they were almost at the To
wer of London and then the carriage came to a standstill at a deserted spot.

  Mr. Hudson climbed out and stood looking up and down the Thames and then called over to Robbie,

  “We are early and of course the crossing may have been rough, which always delays even the most expensive yacht.”

  As he finished speaking, Mr. Hudson gave a cry,

  “Here he comes! I can see the yacht rounding the far bend of the river. You will have to admit it’s a smart little number.”

  Robbie climbed out of the carriage and they both walked to the edge of the river.

  Now Robbie saw that coming towards them was a small but well-proportioned yacht that he would love to own himself.

  He had accompanied the Prince of Wales when he had visited Cowes last year and had been entranced by the fine yachts assembled there and because he was with His Royal Highness he was able to go aboard most of them.

  This was another toy he longed to be rich enough to possess.

  It took a little time for the French yacht to reach them on the river’s edge and as soon as the gangway was slid down, Mr. Hudson and Robbie went aboard.

  A short middle-aged Frenchman was there waiting to meet them and Mr. Hudson introduced him as the Comte de Laufé, who piped up at once,

  “We have had an excellent crossing. In fact I think I have broken my own record by about twenty minutes!”

  Mr. Hudson laughed.

  “You will surely infuriate the owners of the English yachts which I can assure you take longer than yours! I am delighted to see you again, Jacques.”

  “As I am delighted to see you,” the Comte replied. “I suppose as usual you expect me to do some of your dirty work for you. I told Sula before we left I was bringing him something to warm his heart.”

  “That is true enough, Jacques.”

  As they were talking the Comte was leading them into the Saloon, where there was a bottle of champagne already opened and a plate of pâté sandwiches.

  “Sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” the Comte ordered, “while my men bring your pictures aboard and stow them safely.”

  Mr. Hudson and Robbie obeyed him with alacrity.

  “If they are as good as you usually give me,” the Comte continued, “they will have a cabin to themselves and every attention until they are in Sula’s hands.”

  “You know how grateful I am to you for all you have done for me,” said Mr. Hudson, “and Lord Creswell will, I know, be more delighted than he can express once Sula has finished his work in his usual exquisite fashion.”

  “You can be quite sure of that,” the Comte agreed. “But now I have done something for you, I want you to do something for me.”

  Mr. Hudson spread out his hands.

  “All I have is yours,” he said mimicking the Arabs.

  “I was just about to leave Ostend when a charming married lady begged my help. She was in a hurry to reach London and the very least I could do in the circumstances was to offer to bring her here in my yacht.”

  Mr. Hudson raised his eyebrows.

  “I thought you disliked passengers, Jacques.”

  “It’s true but I could not be unkind to this particular lady and I feel, having done my best to help her, I can now leave her in your hands.”

  “Of course, I will take her wherever she wishes to go,” Mr. Hudson agreed.

  As he spoke a Steward entered to fill their glasses and the Comte said to him in French,

  “Ask Madame Frazer to join us.”

  The Steward nodded and they heard him go below.

  “Have you any idea who this lady is?” Mr. Hudson enquired.

  “She is not at all talkative and I never press people to confide in me. I invariably find it is either an expensive action or a tiresome one!”

  They laughed at his remark and then the Steward opened the door of the Saloon and a woman entered.

  From the way the Comte had spoken, Robbie was expecting to see someone getting on towards middle age, yet doubtless smart and voluble as all Frenchwomen were.

  At the first glance the woman coming somewhat shyly in to join them seemed to be little more than a girl.

  She was absolutely one of the prettiest girls Robbie had ever seen.

  She had dark hair and large surprisingly blue eyes and instead of the darker hue of most Frenchwomen, a pale pink and white skin.

  As she came into the Saloon there was a moment’s pause before the three gentlemen rose to their feet.

  “Now, Madame Frazer,” the Comte began, “I am anxious for you to meet Mr. Hudson and Lord Creswell.”

  The two of them shook hands with Madame Frazer who gave them each a small nervous smile.

  Robbie felt that she was either extremely shy or, for some reason he could not ascertain, frightened.

  “Now that I have brought you here quite safely,” the Comte was saying, “you only have to tell Mr. Hudson where you would like to go and his carriage is waiting to take you there.”

  It was quite obvious the Comte did not wish them to stay any longer so Mr. Hudson held out his hand.

  “Thank you, Jacques, for being so helpful as you always are. I am very grateful and I know my friend Lord Creswell feels the same.”

  “I do indeed,” agreed Robbie. “And I know what has been brought aboard will be safe with you.”

  “You can be sure of that,” came in the Comte, “and I am returning immediately. In fact I have an appointment tomorrow evening in Paris that I have no wish to miss.”

  “Then we must not keep you,” Mr. Hudson added, “and thank you again a thousand times.”

  He walked out of the Saloon with the Comte as he was speaking and Robbie turned to Madame Frazer.

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked her.

  “I don’t – know,” she replied in a small voice.

  It was the first time she had spoken.

  Robbie looked at her with surprise.

  “You mean you are not staying with friends?”

  “I have never been to London before, but perhaps you can find me a nice quiet hotel.”

  Robbie was astonished.

  Looking at Madame Frazer, she appeared to be very young and certainly not at all sure of herself and he did notice a gold wedding ring on her left hand. It seemed so extraordinary that she should arrive in London without knowing where she was to stay or having friends to meet her.

  Of course there were a number of hotels to which he could take her, but she was entirely alone and the very best hotels did not encourage single ladies, especially when they were young and attractive.

  There were many other hotels of which Robbie had very little knowledge, but she might find the other visitors there unpleasant or seeing how she looked, too familiar.

  By this time they had reached the carriage and Mr. Hudson was once again thanking the Comte for his help.

  They climbed in and as the carriage moved off and they waved goodbye to the Comte, Mr. Hudson declared,

  “I have told my coachman to drop me at my Club. Then, Robbie, I would suggest you take Madame Frazer to wherever she wishes to go and then the carriage is yours.”

  “That is very kind of you.”

  Robbie guessed that Mr. Hudson thought he would be going to a smart party, as he usually did, perhaps one at Marlborough House.

  There was in fact seldom an evening when Robbie did not have an invitation to a dinner party or a ball.

  As it happened, before he left London, because he was in such a hurry to reach The Court, he had made no arrangements and he was not even sure without returning to his lodging if he had an invitation for tonight.

  When they drove off he turned to Madame Frazer,

  “Now we have to tell the driver where to go and I am rather worried as to where I can advise you to stay.”

  “Please will you find me – somewhere quiet – and respectable,” replied Madame Frazer.

  Robbie smiled at her.

  “Strangely enough that is a difficult problem.�
�

  “There must be – somewhere.”

  She was now looking distinctly worried and Robbie thought it would only make matters worse if he explained to her she looked too young and too pretty to stay alone in most London hotels.

  She might easily get into trouble if the hotel catered for a certain type of man such as commercial travellers or ne’er-do-wells who would look on a pretty woman alone as ‘fair game’.

  “Is this really the first time you have ever been to London?” Robbie asked her tentatively.

  “I have been living in France – and I have therefore never had the opportunity before.”

  “And your husband is not travelling with you?”

  There was a moment’s pause as she looked away from him and then she said,

  “My h-husband is – dead.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  He realised as she spoke that she had stumbled over the word ‘husband’ and it suddenly occurred to him that she did not look in the least like a married woman – nor in fact did she seem old enough to be one.

  The carriage was moving on and Robbie knew that soon they would be nearing Mayfair, so he suggested,

  “It will be very difficult at this time of night to find you somewhere where you will be both comfortable and safe. As it happens, in the house where I lodge a friend of mine has left today for the country. I suggest that you stay for tonight in my flat, where you will be quite comfortable, while I can use my friend’s without any problems.”

  Madame Frazer’s eyes lit up.

  “Do you really mean it?” she asked. “You are very kind – I came to London in a great hurry and did not make any plans – but it seems so much bigger than I expected.”

  Robbie laughed.

  “I can understand you feeling like that, especially at this time of the evening. Tomorrow you may find you have friends you forgot about and who you can stay with.”

  She replied to him in her soft voice,

  “I would be very grateful – to stay somewhere near you tonight.

  Robbie thought it was a strange thing to say, but did not comment on it. He knocked on the little glass door so that he could speak to the coachman.

  “Take me to number 10 Mount Street,” he ordered.