House in the Hills

by House in the Hills (retail) (epub)

  House in the Hills

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Copyright

  To my dear friends, Mike and Sally Hadley and their warm welcome in Nazare, Portugal. Fond memories.

  One

  William Shellard raised his glass. ‘To my brother, Walter. And Ellen, his lovely bride. To the bride and groom!’ Four hundred guests rose to their feet and responded. ‘To the bride and groom!’

  The mirrors in the banqueting suite of the Royal Hotel reflected the gathering of well-heeled men and women. Silk dresses made a hushing sound as the ladies sat back down, gathering their skirts beneath them. Once they were seated, a hum of conversation resumed against a background of tinkling glassware.

  Walter Shellard inclined his head towards his younger brother in a barely perceptible manner; a mark of approval. His smile was unusually wide. William gave him a brief nod in response, noting that his brother’s smile was of the kind he used on having made yet another enormous amount of money. In a way, he had.

  His bride Ellen was all pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. William raised his glass to her and smiled. She smiled back. In fact he was sure she hadn’t stopped smiling all day.

  She’s happy and amazingly innocent, thought William and wondered how long it would last.

  The assemblage was a who’s who of the British Isles elite; there were bankers from London, landowners from Lincolnshire, shipping magnates from Liverpool and titled lairds from Scotland. All had gathered to celebrate the wedding of Walter Shellard of the famed Shellard Wine and Port Company, and Ellen Parker, daughter of an equally wealthy man. She was also his second wife.

  The wedding guests chatted, laughed, made subtle comments and some not so subtle, remarking on the enormous success of the old and much respected company. Walter, they all agreed, had injected the firm with a dynamic modernism. Unlike some companies that had failed to adapt to the new world following the Armistice in 1918, Shellards – more specifically Walter – had grasped new opportunities with open arms. The new bride had bagged herself a winner!

  Ellen Parker, who had now become Ellen Shellard, glowed with happiness. She was twenty-eight years old and considered herself lucky. The battles of the Somme and Ypres and all those others of the Great War had taken the flower of British manhood. Marriageable women far outnumbered marriageable men, though it was not out of a sense of time running out that she’d married a man almost twice her age. Walter was successful, wealthy and still a fine-looking man. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance and although she would have delayed marrying, her parents urged her to accept when he offered.

  ‘Better than being an old maid,’ her mother had said through rigidly smiling lips. ‘And there are going to be plenty of them, my darling.’

  Ellen had taken the hint and so far there were no regrets.

  This was a grand day, as grand as their surroundings. The Royal Hotel was a splendid building that boasted playing host to heads of state and kings of England. Wood panelling and brass banisters graced its thickly carpeted stairs. Gilt-edged mirrors lent light to its sumptuous, red-carpeted staterooms. This room, named the Rose of Denmark after Queen Alexandra, consort of King Edward VII, was by far the most luxurious.

  Ellen Parker had been swept off her feet by Walter Shellard. She didn’t mind admitting it.

  ‘I couldn’t resist,’ she’d exclaimed to anyone who’d pointed out that he was approaching fifty.

  There was general agreement that she’d made a good match. She was from a wealthy family with a bottling plant and banking interests, and Walter Shellard was one of the wealthiest wine producers in the city of Bristol, if not the whole of the British Isles. On top of that he’d bought into shipping and transport interests. Despite the age difference, it was a good match. The courtship had been short; four months from start to finish.

  ‘I love you,’ said a radiant and romantically inclined Ellen and kissed her husband on the lips.

  A muted cheer ran among the guests. Walter Shellard touched his wife’s cheek. ‘You’re very pink, my love.’

  ‘It’s the champagne,’ she murmured, and tried not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t reciprocated and told her that he loved her. But in time he would, she told herself and for the moment believed it.

  The band they’d hired for the occasion began to play Ellen’s choice, ‘Let me Call You Sweetheart’.

  The guests began to clap. All eyes were turned towards the top table where the bride had half risen and the bridegroom had not.

  ‘Walter. They’re waiting for us to dance,’ said Ellen, imploring him with her eyes to get up and do what was required of him.

  She tried not to get upset at the sight of that strained, impatient look she was only just beginning to get used to. Strangely enough, she couldn’t remember him ever looking like that in their courtship. It’s the strain of the wedding, she told herself. There’d been so much to organize, and then there were the rehearsals. At her mother’s insistence she’d had six bridesmaids. They were all dressed in deep turquoise and wore little caps of crocheted silk and carried bunches of violets. She herself wore a straight dress of shantung silk with an overdress of Nottingham lace. Her veil fell flat and long from a circlet of white roses interspersed with lilies of the valley. Here and there was the odd violet to match those her bridesmaids were carrying.

  Walter hated dancing, but counselled himself that this would be the first and the last time he would have to put himself out. On this occasion they were the centre of attention so dereliction of duty would be inexcusable. But he didn’t like having to do things he disliked. It felt as though he were being ordered, and Walter George Sebastian Shellard did not take orders; he only gave them.

  He smiled at her as he began to rise. ‘Best not keep them waiting,’ he said, taking hold of her hand.

  They waltzed to the music, circling the floor three or four times before others joined them.

  Comments about how handsome they looked together abounded. One or two dancing matrons wiped a stray tear from a misted eye.

  ‘So romantic.’

  ‘Made for each other.’

  Her eyes were still sparkling and her cheeks were pastel pink when Ellen Shellard made her way to the powder room, beset on all sides by yet more congratulations.

  ‘Welcome to the Shellard family.’

  The husky voice belonged to Diana, William’s wife. She was waving her champagne glass around like a flag. Her face was far more flushed than Ellen’s and she owed her sparkling eyes to champagne rather than excitement.

  Ellen thanked her and they shook hands. So formal, thought Ellen, but that was the way it was. No one in the family
demonstrated any great degree of affection. Ellen had told herself it was because no one knew her that well yet.

  ‘It’s early days,’ retorted Ellen, disarmed by Diana’s sickly sweet smile and wondering what thoughts lay behind it.

  ‘Of course,’ said Diana, her smile turning from sweet to salacious. ‘And there’s tonight of course when all will be revealed.’ Her thickly made-up lashes fluttered into a wink that was as salacious as her smile.

  Ellen felt her cheeks burning. ‘Well… yes…’

  Diana flashed her ever-so-white teeth, took her cigarette from her mouth and leaned close so that her full red lips brushed Ellen’s ear. ‘And that will be only his body, darling. This family is riddled with secrets.’

  ‘One of them drinks too much,’ said Ellen, throwing Diana an accusing look.

  Ellen had always prided herself on being able to get on with anybody, but she wasn’t quite sure of Diana, her brother-in-law’s wife. She could never tell when she was telling the truth and when she was lying. On top of that it wasn’t the first time she’d seen her drunk. Her Methodist father had instilled in Ellen his own dislike for drink, and although they both sipped on special occasions, such as her wedding, Ellen found people who drank too much quite objectionable.

  Diana didn’t appear to notice her comment. Her gaze had already moved on, her hazel eyes fixed on the two brothers. Ellen followed her gaze.

  William Shellard was eyeing his drink, swirling the amber liquid around his glass. Walter was talking avidly, his drink gripped in his right hand, his words falling into the ears of Seth Armitage who was standing between the two brothers.

  ‘Look at them,’ said Diana, a hint of a smile twitching her crimson mouth. ‘My dear husband’s afraid of his brother. Did you know that?’

  Ellen was taken off guard. This was not the sort of blatant truth she expected to hear on her wedding day. She dithered. ‘Well, I don’t really…’

  ‘It’s quite true,’ Diana interjected. ‘William’s a darling; good at what he does within Shellard Wines – though not ruthless like his brother.’

  Diana’s velvet-brown eyes narrowed as she scrutinized her brother-in-law. ‘What Walter wants, Walter gets, and woe betide anyone who gets in his way.’

  ‘You make him sound unscrupulous.’

  Diana turned to her. Her eyes glittered with a look Ellen could not quite fathom. Her mouth and her jaw tightened before she spoke.

  ‘If you think you married Prince Charming, darling, you really are a sleeping beauty. I suggest you wake up before a hundred days are up, let alone a hundred years.’

  * * *

  Although Walter Shellard continued to talk business with Seth Armitage, his financial director, his eyes missed nothing. He’d known Ellen for barely four months, yet already he could read her expression; knew when she was happy, sad or plain disconcerted as she seemed now. The reason was standing right next to her.

  ‘William,’ he said, interrupting old Seth’s run of words. ‘Your wife is upsetting my bride. Deal with her.’

  One glance and William was shamed. Diana held a cigarette holder in one hand and a glass in the other. She was swaying in a strange, abstract way as though listening to a slow serenade no one else could hear.

  ‘Christ!’

  A sense of deja vu and blood-red anger surged through William Shellard’s brain. He slammed his drink down on a passing tray held high by a waiter and strode across the banqueting hall. His mouth was set in a grim line. His dark eyes turned from steel grey to slate. Bloody Diana! Today of all days!

  Throwing an apologetic smile at his sister-in-law, he grabbed his wife’s arm. ‘Come along, darling. I think it’s time you went home.’

  Diana looked surprised to see him, almost as though she couldn’t quite remember him being invited. Realization eventually cleared something foggy from lustrous eyes, eyes that belied Mediterranean parentage, though the majority of Diana’s family hailed from Shropshire.

  ‘Darling Willy. It’s you! Are you taking me home to beddy byes?’

  William looked furious. Again he apologized to Ellen before turning his attention back to his wife. ‘You’re going home, Diana. And don’t call me Willy,’ he growled through gritted teeth.

  ‘I don’t want to go home. I’m thirsty.’

  William grappled the champagne glass from her unwilling fingers. ‘Yes, my darling. You are.’

  Nodding a last acknowledgement to Ellen, William guided his errant wife out of the banqueting hall. The reception area was cooler than the room he’d left behind. The grand entrance doors were opened and shut by a grey-haired concierge wearing a black top hat and a pinstriped tailcoat. As William approached, he lifted his hat and opened the door.

  ‘Get my wife a cab, my good man,’ ordered William.

  He barely noticed the man’s nod of approbation or the flash of contempt in his eyes.

  ‘There’s one already here, sir,’ said the man.

  Just as the concierge had guessed, William had wanted to leave Diana with him, closing the door on her yet again. Time and time again he’d asked himself why he’d married her. The answer was always the same; she owned a vague resemblance to someone he’d once loved, someone who’d been cruelly taken from him.

  Once the cab door was safely closed and the driver given instructions plus a crisp pound note to see her safely in the hands of their servants, William retraced his steps.

  He saw that his brother and Seth Armitage were still talking, but he had no inclination to rejoin them. Walter, his brother, was the true heir to the Shellard business if aptitude alone were anything to go by. He was just the spare, a secondary son to be held in reserve in case of accident; a bit like a lifeboat.

  He danced with one of the bridesmaids, aimlessly guiding her around the dance floor. His thoughts were back when Walter had told him he was marrying Ellen. He ground his teeth as he relived the emotion and heard his own words echoing in his head.

  ‘You’re deserting Leonora? Surely you owe her more than that, Walter. The woman’s lived with you for years.’

  Walter had been unmoved. ‘I know Leonora better than you do. Everything will be all right. I shall offer her everything I can; a nice little place in Lisbon; an income; and once the honeymoon is over, so to speak, I can call in and see her from time to time.’

  ‘Not everything. You’re not offering her what she really deserves,’ William had snapped, his fists clenched as though he were ready to smash his brother’s face to pulp. But he wasn’t ready to do that and anyway, Walter had the knack of taking the wind from his sails.

  His brother had smiled disarmingly. ‘Come on, William. I can’t marry her. What would W.W. Shellard and Company Limited have gained from marrying her? Nothing. Think what Ellen’s bringing to this marriage.’

  ‘A business,’ William had growled.

  Walter had shaken his head and used that all-knowing, all-conquering smile. Sometimes William felt as though he were once again standing before his father; the two of them were so alike, giant egos that smothered everything in their path. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Walter intended bypassing his father’s achievements, growing what had started as a humble wine shop into a worldwide empire.

  ‘Ouch! We’re doing a waltz, not a foxtrot.’

  The hurt voice of his dancing partner brought him back to the present.

  ‘Sorry,’ said William. ‘Do excuse me. I think I need a drink.’

  He left the bespectacled bridesmaid rubbing her toes and returned to his drink, tipping champagne into his throat. He looked at the drained glass, just a film of clear liquid coating its bottom. Perhaps if he stopped drinking, Diana might do so. The idea had his merits. In effect he’d be supporting his wife. He wondered if Diana would see it that way.

  He sighed. It was all a pipe dream. Diana did as she pleased. He grimaced at what was left of the champagne. ‘Bloody bubbly,’ he muttered and turned to a passing waiter. ‘Fetch me a whisky, please.’

  ‘Certa
inly, sir.’

  As he awaited his drink, William watched his brother and his new sister-in-law waltzing around the dance floor. His expression was grim on account of his thoughts.

  ‘A penny for them,’ said someone at his elbow.

  He looked down into the face of Seth Armitage. He had been their father’s compatriot, helpful in making the company what it was today and was an extremely useful financial director.

  William set his sights back on his brother. ‘She’s pretty,’ he said.

  ‘Pretty rich,’ said Seth, his face masked with cigar smoke. ‘That was your brother’s main criteria for marrying her.’

  William gave a cursory nod. His eyes stayed fixed on the happy couple.

  Seth Armitage watched him with one cocked eyebrow. William was the more likeable of the two Shellard sons, but Walter was the one likely to go places. Seth had hitched his wagon to Walter’s coat tails and hoped to gain from his action. If pressed, he couldn’t say that he liked Walter, more so that he respected him. Walter sometimes shocked him, sometimes surprised him, and sometimes he heartily disliked him. Yes, William was easier to read and therefore easier to deal with.

  ‘You’re thinking of the Portuguese girl,’ said Seth.

  ‘He should have married her,’ growled William, barely able to control his anger at the thought of what his brother had done.

  The waiter came back with his drink.

  Seth raised one snowy-white eyebrow and eyed William with a single narrowed eye. ‘And that was all she had. Ellen came with a bottling plant. Old man Parker’s got no sons and Walter will be calling the shots. Ellen Parker was too good an opportunity to be missed.’

  ‘And my brother never misses a good opportunity,’ said William, the whisky tasting like ash on his tongue. Never mind. He threw back his head and downed what remained in one gulp. Tasting bitterness on his tongue, his hard stare returned to Walter and his new bride. What would Leonora do now? he wondered. Walter had said that she would be taken care of, but William thought he knew Leonora better than that. Memories of her dark eyes and beautiful face sometimes haunted his daytime moments as well as his dreams. He’d fallen in love with her at first sight, but Walter, his elder brother, had seen her too. As usual, it was Walter who had won and he, William, had ended up with second best. With Diana.