Master of His Fate

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Esther cleared her throat and looked at George, frowning, and then her eyes shifted to Eddie. “Shall we think about dessert? We ordered something special, strawberries Romanov. Before we have the birthday cake.”

  “One of my favorites,” James said, smiling at his grandmother. “I’d love to have that before my cake, and thank you, Grans.”

  There was some discussion at the table about the extra dessert before the cake. Then George said to James, “Interesting, isn’t it, about Victoria? How her progeny sits on the thrones of Europe?”

  “It is. But what has always intrigued me is that two Danish princesses, sisters, married two kings. Alix married the Prince of Wales and one day will be the Queen of England, and her sister, Minnie, married the late Czar of Russia, whose son Nicholas is now the czar.”

  George sipped his wine for a second or two, and then remarked somewhat sarcastically, “And let’s not forget that the queen’s eldest daughter, Vicky, married the Emperor William’s son and heir, Fritz. They’ve had a son who one day will be kaiser himself. And he’s very anti-English, even though he’s the eldest grandson of our queen.”

  “That’s food for thought,” James answered, and changed the subject. He began to speak about the theater and wanting to see Lillie Langtry’s new play.

  * * *

  Everyone present at the dinner knew that they must partake of the strawberries Romanov, so as not to offend Esther and Philip, who had already ordered it. Whilst they waited for it to be served, George excused himself, left the table, and returned a few seconds later with a package in his hand.

  His brother Harry got up when George returned to the table, and it was Harry who spoke. “We wanted to get you a useful birthday present, James. But because you are you, we thought it ought to be something … really nice. And this is our choice.”

  He handed the present to James. He and George then said, “Happy birthday!” in unison.

  James opened the package, still looking somewhat startled, and then exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, a pocket watch! What a marvelous gift.” He was beaming as he held the watch in his hands and showed it to the rest of the family. Rising, he went to his two uncles and hugged them.

  “I’ll help you to put it on later,” Philip said, smiling at his grandson.

  Eddie, never one to be overlooked, announced to the table, “Dad and I gave James two cravats and two silk hankies for his top pocket. You did like them, didn’t you, Jimmy?”

  “I did, very much, and thanks again, Eddie, and you, too, Dad.”

  Rossi exclaimed, “And Mother and I made James two beautiful linen shirts.”

  “Yes, they are very smart, and thank you both,” James said, looking from Rossi to his mother, who was sitting next to him. “I do believe I have been well and truly spoilt. And I shall never forget this birthday.”

  Thirty-four

  Alexis always smiled to herself when she arrived at the boutique and saw the name: Madame Valance: Atelier. It made the designer sound like a middle-aged doyenne, when in fact she was a young woman of about thirty.

  Walking into the boutique, Alexis smiled at the receptionist sitting at the mahogany desk. “Good morning, Lettice, I’m meeting Miss Trevalian.”

  “Good morning, Miss Malvern. Miss Trevalian hasn’t arrived yet. Please take a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Alexis sat down in one of the chairs and continued to think about Jacqueline Valance and her clothes. They were always beautifully handmade, as haute couture had to be, but also creative and youthful. Although she wasn’t trying to compete with Charles Frederick Worth, the great designer of this era, whose creations were favored by society women, she was becoming more and more popular.

  The French designer was making Claudia’s wedding gown, and today was the last fitting. Claudia had asked Alexis to be present, wanting her opinion. After the fitting, Alexis was going to be measured for her own wedding gown, which she had strong opinions about, knew what she wanted.

  The small bell tinkled as the door opened and Claudia came rushing in, looking slightly flushed. “Sorry I’m late,” she exclaimed, and went to kiss Alexis. She then crossed to the desk. “My apologies to Madame Valance, Lettice. Will you please let her know I am now here?”

  “I will indeed, Miss Trevalian,” Lettice said, standing up, retreating into a back room. A moment later, she returned. “Madame wishes you to go upstairs to the main salon, please.”

  “Thank you,” Claudia said, and she and Alexis climbed the wide staircase together. “I don’t know why, but there was such a lot of traffic today. The streets are clogged.”

  “I know. But then it’s Monday, and that’s always a busy day. People coming back from their country homes, deliveries to shops after the weekend.” Alexis reached out and squeezed her hand. “Do relax. Don’t be anxious. I’m sure the gown is beautiful.”

  The two women sat down together on a low seat in the salon where the clothes were fitted. It was a medium-sized room, the walls painted a soft dove gray, and the doors and other woodwork as well. There was a huge crystal chandelier dropping from the ceiling and wall sconces which filled the salon with a bright glow. Madame Valance had invested in electric light, wanting the best possible conditions for her clothes to be viewed. There were four cheval mirrors for the clients to see themselves wearing the latest garments.

  Within a few seconds, Madame Valance arrived, dressed in her usual long black skirt and matching blouse, with a white cotton coat on top.

  Alexis called it the doctor’s coat, because that was what it resembled. In fact, it was worn to protect the delicate fabrics and the light colors which the designer was using for her creations. Most haute couture designers wore them out of necessity, not wishing new pieces to touch their own clothing.

  After Jacqueline Valance had greeted them in her cheerful manner, she said, “If you will come with me, Miss Trevalian, Jeanette and I will help you into your gown.”

  “Of course.” Claudia rose and followed the designer into the adjoining dressing room.

  Alexis glanced around, noting, yet again, how plain and simple this salon was. Not a painting in sight, no bric-a-brac, and no vases of flowers. She understood why. Madame wanted a neutral setting for her designs to be the only thing on view.

  Ten minutes later, Claudia returned to the salon, holding up the sides of her wedding gown. Alexis caught her breath, and exclaimed, “Oh, Claudia, you look beautiful and the gown is … divine.”

  Claudia beamed at her, walked into the middle of the room, where she was helped up onto the large square platform by Jeanette, who began to arrange the skirt of the gown.

  When Queen Victoria married Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha in February of 1840, she had worn a white satin gown with a flounce of Honiton lace. In wearing white, she had started a tradition without knowing it. Forever after, brides would always be married in a white gown.

  White silk had been Claudia’s choice of fabric. Panels of white lace were inserted down the front and the back of the skirt. At the back the panel grew wider as it reached the hem, became a long lace train, eight feet long, stretching out behind the dress. The bodice was made of the white silk, as were the long sleeves, and the trim on the bateau neckline, as Madame called it, was of white lace.

  “Please, Miss Trevalian, will you turn slowly so that I can make sure the hem is correct, completely even.”

  After doing this twice, with Jeanette helping to move the train carefully, Madame Valance announced, “Et voilà! It is finished! I have nothing more to do except try on your veil.” Reaching out, the designer took hold of Claudia’s hand, Jeanette the other. They helped her to step off the platform.

  Jeanette went to retrieve the veil and Madame led Claudia to one of the cheval mirrors. The veil was short. It fell down over the front of her face to meet the bateau neckline, and at the back it stopped at the waist so that it did not hide the lace panel on the back of the skirt, which turned into the long train at the hem.

  “I made thi
s band of roses to hold the veil in place, for the moment,” the designer explained. “I know on the day of your marriage, you will be wearing one of the Trevalian diamond tiaras.”

  “It is rather a simple one, actually,” Claudia said. “It belonged to my grandmother, and I know it will be perfect with the gown.” Smiling, she added with genuine sincerity, “Thank you so much, Madame Valance. You have outdone yourself, created something truly beautiful for my wedding day.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Trevalian. Now, Miss Malvern, let us sit down and talk about the gown you would like for your wedding day. It is in September, is it not?”

  Alexis nodded, her face full of smiles. “That is correct, and I want a gown of cream satin, but very plain and tailored, sleek perhaps is the best word. And no lace trim, only a lace veil, as long as you want.”

  “Cream? Not white? That has become the tradition.”

  “I know. But cream suits me better because of my white complexion. People won’t notice, not really. They’ll think it’s white.”

  “Ah yes. Perhaps you are right. What style do you want? Narrow, full, in between?”

  Madame rose, went to get a sketchbook, and the two of them then sat talking whilst Claudia changed her clothes.

  Madame made several rough sketches quickly, showed them to Alexis. They had their heads together, bent over the sketchpad, until Claudia joined them.

  After a little more discussion about Alexis’s wedding gown, and measurements were taken, the two young women finally took their leave and went downstairs.

  As they went out onto Curzon Street, animatedly chatting to each other, a tall young man, obviously in a hurry, bumped into them, almost knocking Claudia down to the ground. He caught hold of her arm just in time and firmly held her up, apologizing most profusely.

  He was so nice about it, saying he had been clumsy and apologizing again, neither of them were angry. With a small, gracious bow he took his leave and hurried away.

  Once he had gone, Alexis looked at Claudia and asked, “Are you all right? He really did bump into you rather hard in his haste. He was correct; he was awfully clumsy.”

  “I’m fine, truly, Alexis. I must say he was nice about it and rather tall and handsome, don’t you think?”

  Alexis couldn’t help laughing. “I suppose he was, actually. And polite, lovely manners. Now, shall we go for something to eat?”

  “That would be lovely, let’s do that. Oh, but what about your work? Don’t you have to go back to the office?”

  “I went there at seven o’clock this morning and accomplished quite a lot,” Alexis said.

  “You’re just like Papa! You two early risers are made for each other.”

  “And in every way,” Alexis answered.

  Thirty-five

  As a noted journalist of some distinction and a regular at the Restaurant Quadrille, George Falconer was given one of the best tables when he arrived at one o’clock on Monday.

  Longden, the headwaiter, welcomed him warmly. As he led him across the room, he said, “I’m happy and relieved the dinner was such a success last night. I hope everyone enjoyed it.”

  “Indeed they did, Longden. It went without a hitch, couldn’t have been better. The food was delicious, the wine superb. Thank you very much … I know you oversaw everything.”

  “Nothing less for Philip Falconer. Your father is a good friend of mine, and he’s been a good friend to this hotel over the years.”

  Once George was settled on the banquette, facing the room, Longden said, “I know Monday’s your day off, Mr. Falconer, so can I offer you a glass of champagne? Or something else, perhaps?”

  “I won’t have any alcohol, but thank you. Water will be fine. My nephew is joining me. I don’t want to encourage drinking at one in the afternoon.”

  Longden chuckled and inclined his head. “The waiter will come with water and the menu.”

  “Thank you.” George now glanced around the restaurant and his eyes settled on the wall opposite him. He found he couldn’t look away. Two lovely young women were facing him, and one of them was so stunning his heart skipped a beat. She looked right back at him, and quite boldly. Immediately he reached into his pocket, took out his notebook, and opened it. Just to avoid her steady, somewhat curious gaze, he looked down at a page.

  A moment later the waiter arrived, poured him a glass of water, and then handed him the menu. After thanking him, taking a long swallow of the water, George put his notebook back in his pocket.

  Surreptitiously, he glanced across the room, but the stunning woman was turned sideways, talking to her companion. Nonetheless, George picked up the menu and ran his eyes down the page to resist gaping at her.

  He wasn’t really reading; his mind was focused on his nephew. Every adult member of the family thought James looked older. But that wasn’t what was different. His face was exactly the same, hadn’t aged a day. What had changed was his demeanor. There was something about the way he moved and spoke that made him seem more mature. Although he laughed a lot, was happy last night, George had detected a new reflectiveness, a seriousness present in him. It struck George that James now had a lot more knowledge about the real world, in general, and not all of it good.

  A small sigh escaped as he thought of how cossetted James had been by his parents, his grandparents, and even Harry and himself. Just as they had been protected when they were growing up. His parents had made sure he and his brothers had everything they needed or wanted, had been well fed, well clothed, and well loved.

  That was the way the Falconers were … everything was always for the family: giving them the best they could, ready to shield their backs, stand in front of them to take the bullet, if necessary.

  George was certain that it was the assault on James last year that had wrought these changes in him. Out of the blue, real life had hit him hard. It had taught him that wickedness, evil, and cruelty abounded, and pain, suffering, and sorrow were quite the norm.

  George remembered that he had once told his brother Harry that the world was not an easy ride for anyone, more like mounting a wild stallion in a Texas rodeo and endeavoring to stay in the saddle on a bucking horse. And to be aware that danger always lurked round every corner, he had added.

  As a journalist with many connections, George had been involved in the inquiries Scotland Yard had made about the brutal attack on the two boys. Unfortunately, it had never been solved. Everyone had drawn a blank. Their bafflement remained. But there had to have been a reason. George knew that instinctively. One day he hoped he would succeed in finding out why it had happened and who the perpetrators were. Somebody would be made to pay.

  James’s injuries had been considerable. That he had been lucky to heal so well was the understatement of the year. In George’s opinion, his actual survival was something of a miracle. His physical injuries aside, James had been upset and sorrowful about Denny’s death. He had tried hard to comfort Jack Holden and his daughter, Nancy. All in all it had been a traumatic time for him, and it had marked him.

  When George’s mother had come up with the idea of getting James out of Camden Town and taking him to Hull, George had been most approving and encouraged it. Once in Hull, even though he was living and working with relatives, James had been forced to stand on his own two feet. So naturally James Lionel Falconer had changed. He had grown up. And very, very fast. That was the difference in him.

  The arrival of his nephew intruded on George’s meandering thoughts. As James walked across to the table, accompanied by Longden, George noticed how people stared at the handsome young man. Especially the women in the restaurant. Women would fall at his feet, that was a given. But George was certain James would never be distracted from his goal. Ambition and success first. He had his feet on the ground, and his head ruled.

  “Sorry I’m late, Uncle George,” James apologized as he sat down. “I rushed here from Fortnum and Mason and tried a shortcut, but the streets are overcrowded today.”

  “It’s the nice
weather, I think,” George replied. “But you’re not that late, James. Relax, I’ve plenty of time. It’s my day off.”

  “It was nice of you to invite me to lunch, Uncle George. By the way, I love my pocket watch.”

  “Harry gave me the same one a few years ago. Then I gave an identical one to him. It’s just the right size, a nice timepiece. So why were you at the posh shop?”

  “Doing what you call a ‘recce’ … looking around, memorizing things. Then I walked across the road to Burlington Arcade to study the shops there.”

  Staring at him, taken aback, George frowned, asked, “Are you interested in retailing?”

  “Yes … that’s what I want … to own an arcade and a shop like Fortnum’s. I’m going to be a merchant.”

  “Very ambitious—” George paused and said, “Don’t look across the room yet, just keep talking to me. There’s a beautiful woman over there. I think she’s trying to get your attention.”

  “Are you sure, Uncle George?”

  “Positive.”

  “What is she like?”

  “Gorgeous. With raven-black hair.”

  “Oh, it must be Mrs. Ward.” As he said this, James swiveled his head, looked across the room. It was Georgiana Ward, seated with another woman whom James thought might be her sister.

  Giving his uncle a quick glance, James explained, “She is a close friend of Great-Aunt Marina. I met her in Hull. She told me she was moving back to London.”

  “Do all the women in Hull look like that? If so, I might just move there. To hell with Fleet Street,” George replied in an amused tone.

  “I think I ought to go and speak to her. Just to be polite,” James said, and got up. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  Walking sure-footedly, erect and confident, James crossed the restaurant and came to a stop in front of Mrs. Ward’s table. Smiling, stretching out his hand, he said, “How nice to see you, Mrs. Ward.”