Master of His Fate

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  His audience of two looked startled and were staring at the tray, not saying a word.

  James went on, “I must find a good calligrapher who will write those words on a white card. That will then go on the tray.” He glanced at Mrs. Stillman. “Which you must put in the middle of the window.”

  Henry Malvern, taken by surprise for a moment, now exclaimed, “That is rather an extraordinary idea, Falconer, but clever. And I do understand where you’re going. You want to draw instant attention to the pieces in the window.”

  “I do, Mr. Malvern. I can guarantee the whole set will be sold within days … a week at the most. Probably to an American woman. There are a lot of them here in London these days, and they are rich.”

  Margie Stillman was clever enough to understand that this unusual, good-looking young man had come up with a clever idea. But she now said swiftly, “What about the other jewels in the window? The tray will take up quite a bit of space.”

  He agreed with her at once, and said, “But I’ll help you work out a plan, don’t worry about it. Now, can I discuss those tiaras? They make a fabulous collection. Why are they all in the back?”

  “I didn’t know how to place them in the window, and they take up so much room. Anyway, not many women are interested in tiaras these days.”

  James couldn’t help thinking about those American girls whom his uncle had called “buccaneers.” Might they not want to start looking the part before gaining the title? James thought for a moment before saying, “I have to put my thinking cap on.”

  * * *

  Once they had taken their leave of Mrs. Stillman and were moving on down the arcade, Henry Malvern paused at one moment, looked at James. “How do you know so much about jewelry, Falconer? It seems you’re quite the expert.”

  “No, I’m not really. I only know about Cartier because my father could always spot pieces by them at the estate sales he went to. He often took me with him when he hired a horse and cart and went to the country. That’s where he bought the simpler stuff for our stalls. He taught me well.”

  “Well, you certainly impressed me. And Mrs. Stillman, I might add.”

  “I couldn’t tell you who else designs jewelry,” James said with a laugh. “And I do think she will take a bit of guidance from me, by the way.”

  They toured the Malvern arcade, looking at other windows, and Henry Malvern asked James what he thought of them. For the most part he said they were all too crowded with goods. Too many shoes, too many handbags in the leather goods window. All needed to be redone.

  As it happened, the only windows James had been impressed with and which gained his praise were the ones showing women’s clothing.

  It was with some pride that Henry Malvern told him they had been created by his daughter. It was Miss Alexis who had always dressed the fashion windows herself.

  Forty-six

  When he arrived at Uncle George’s flat at five-fifteen on Wednesday afternoon, James found it in total darkness. His uncle was on the late shift at the newspaper this week and wouldn’t get home until after one in the morning, once the newspaper had gone to press.

  After lighting the gas lamps in his bedroom, James quickly took off his jacket, trousers, and waistcoat and went to check his white shirt in the mirror. It was perfectly clean so he kept it on. A moment later he took his only other suit out of the cupboard, dressed quickly, smoothed a comb through his hair, and looked in the mirror. Neat and tidy, he thought, and left the room.

  A few minutes later he was pulling on his overcoat, all set to go to supper with Mrs. Ward. Before leaving he went back and turned off the gaslights in his bedroom. He double-locked the door when he left the flat.

  As he walked down Half Moon Street and entered Curzon Street, his thoughts focused on Mrs. Ward. He had not seen her since May, when he had been in London for his birthday. He was looking forward to this evening, being in her company.

  His mind turned to his grandparents, thinking how generous they were, extremely good to him. His mother had told him that they had saved up for a whole year to pay for his special birthday party and to buy him an evening suit.

  She had gone on to explain that the hotel had given Philip a special price for the dinner, because over the years he had steered so many people in the hotel’s direction. These were the foreign friends who came to visit Lady Agatha in London and needed a hotel room. So his grandfather had guided them to the Bettrage Hotel.

  As for the evening suit, Tony had given his grandfather a decent price for the very same reason. Philip had suggested the Savile Row gentlemen’s establishment where Tony worked to those friends of Lady Agatha looking for impeccable tailoring.

  All this, his mother had told him in confidence. She had added that one good turn deserved another, that friends must always help each other out, and he should never forget that.

  William, his one good friend, was in Hull. The only other friend he had was Mrs. Georgiana Ward. But surely he would get to know other people as the weeks passed. Anyway, he didn’t have much time for leisure. His job was important, and he was focused on it. He would still be working his way through the two London arcades the Malvern company owned next week, never mind going out of town, and as far as Leeds and Harrogate in the north. These trips were planned for January.

  It was a cold night, and already quite dark as he headed up toward South Audley Street. When he came to Shepherd Market, he noticed several ladies of the night huddled together trying to keep warm, hoping to ply their trade. But the street was quiet. Icy winds kept most men in front of their firesides at home with their wives.

  Crossing Curzon Street to avoid the huddle of women, James hurried on, hunched down in his overcoat. It was a good coat, and warm. He did not have many clothes, but the few things he had were well made. Turning up his collar, he wished he had remembered to bring a scarf. He then plunged his hands in his pockets and marched on.

  Five minutes later he was using the brass knocker on the front door of Mrs. Ward’s house, noticed it was in the shape of a hand.

  It was Sonya who opened the door and guided him inside. After greeting him in her usual genial way, she took his overcoat, then led him upstairs to the parlor.

  * * *

  Georgiana Ward was sitting in front of the fireplace when he entered the room, and she immediately rose, glided across the floor to greet him. He thought she looked more beautiful than ever. Her raven-black hair was swept up, with the top of her head crowned with a mass of curls. She was wearing a low-cut purple silk gown which enhanced her dark blue eyes, turned them to violet. Her smile was welcoming.

  She immediately came into his arms, and he held her tightly, then leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  “Your nose is icy cold, James. It must be a bad night.”

  “It is. And very windy.”

  Laughing, moving away, going to a small side table, she said, “You’re nose feels like Polka’s.”

  On hearing her name, the little dog jumped out of her basket by the fireplace and came racing over. James smiled and leaned down, tousled the dog’s head. “Hello, old friend.”

  Georgiana said, “I’ll never forget that storm, James, how you saved us both.”

  “I won’t forget it either,” he murmured, throwing her a flirtatious look.

  “Would you pour us a glass of champagne, please? Or perhaps you’d prefer a glass of whisky? I know you like it.”

  “Not really,” he shot back. “Only on stormy nights, mixed with tea, and only when I’m with you.”

  He stepped up to the table, filled crystal flutes with champagne, and together they walked over to the fireplace. He handed her a glass once she was seated, stood next to her, and they clinked glasses.

  “Here’s to our reunion,” she said, gazing up at him, her eyes telling him she felt exactly the way he did. He knew it was going to be a passionate night.

  Sitting opposite her, he said, “I’m very happy to tell you I have a job.”

  “So soon!” she
exclaimed, a startled expression flitting across her face. “Now why do I say that, knowing you the way I do? Of course you lost no time. Where are you working? What are you doing?”

  Trying to make it short, he told her about his father’s working relationship with Henry Malvern, his father’s stalls at the Malvern Market, and how Mr. Malvern had always liked his father and admired his work ethic.

  “So when Mr. Malvern spotted me at the stalls in May the day I went to help Father, Mr. Malvern came over to speak to me. I told him about working for Great-Uncle Clarence, learning about shipping. After I’d gone back to Hull, my father boasted a bit, I suppose. Eventually he let Mr. Malvern know I would like to have a job at the Malvern company. Once I came back to London.”

  “And so he gave you one. He’s a smart man, James. He spotted talent when he saw it.”

  After a long swallow of champagne, James leaned toward her and said in a quiet voice, “Unfortunately, he really needed me. His daughter, Miss Malvern, had a breakdown … he said he needed to fill a gap. You see, she worked in the company.”

  There was a deep frown on Mrs. Ward’s face when she asked, “A breakdown? Do you mean a nervous breakdown?”

  “I do.” James explained exactly what had happened, that her fiancé had suddenly died. And that in the end Mr. Malvern and the sister of the dead fiancé, Mrs. Dorothea Rayburn, had taken Miss Alexis to Vienna to be treated by Dr. Sigmund Freud. “Have you heard of him?” James finally asked.

  “I certainly have!” she answered, her interest obviously aroused.

  At this moment, Sonya appeared in the doorway and said, “Supper is served, madam.”

  “Thank you, Sonya. Please tell Mrs. Mulvaney we will be down in five minutes.” Sipping her champagne and looking over at James, she said, “Dr. Freud opened his clinic about two years ago and he has been extremely successful. He treats mental disorders … people who have been traumatized, as he calls it.”

  “But what kind of doctor is he? I don’t understand.”

  “He’s a psychiatrist. The simplest way to describe his work is to say he induces his patients to talk about what has made them have this mental breakdown. Somehow he persuades them to do so in great detail. At least that is what my friend the professor tells me.”

  “Like unburdening yourself?” James asked.

  “Exactly. And what a terrible shock for Miss Malvern, hard for her. I remember reading the obituary in The Chronicle. Sebastian Trevalian was a very well-known banker, famous actually, and something of a socialite. How tragic. What a truly sorrowful story.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “Goodness, no, I don’t mix in those circles,” she said with a small laugh. “Although my sister Deanna does. Leonard, her husband, is from a landed gentry family, but not with a title.”

  “Oh, there’s another thing I want to ask you about,” James exclaimed, a sudden eagerness in his bright blue eyes.

  “Then you must ask me over supper. I think we should go down.”

  Together they went downstairs to the dining room, which was medium in size and painted in soft greens, with deeper green moldings and doors. There were marvelous oil paintings of exotic birds, all with vivid and colorful plumages, hanging on the walls. A fire blazed in the hearth and tall wax candles on the dining table and sideboard gave the room a lovely mellow glow.

  “Good evening, Mr. Falconer,” Mrs. Mulvaney said as she showed him to his chair opposite Mrs. Ward at the round table. The polished wood was covered with crystal goblets and silver tableware. There was a bowl of flowers in the center of the table. It all looked elegant and inviting.

  Mrs. Mulvaney disappeared into the kitchen, and James glanced around yet again. “It’s a lovely room, Mrs. Ward. You are so skilled with decor.”

  Shaking her head, half smiling, she said, “I do wish you would stop calling me that, James, and most especially…” She paused, dropped her voice. “When we are in bed making love.”

  “I promise. I’ll start tonight.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. Her unique violet eyes reflected desire and a yearning for him. Nothing had changed.

  A moment later, Mrs. Mulvaney returned with a tray, which she placed on a nearby table. “Hot vegetable soup, madam. For a cold night.”

  “It smells delicious, Mrs. Mulvaney,” Georgiana murmured.

  The soup was hot and tasty and warmed James through and through. He suddenly remembered he had been so busy he had not had time to eat lunch.

  Over soup James related the story about running into the two American women at the Bettrage Hotel and how his uncle had called them “buccaneers.” But he had not really explained what this meant. He added that Uncle George had mentioned they were rich American girls who came over with their mothers, hoping to marry an aristocrat who needed money.

  “I always thought aristocrats were rich, that they owned England,” James finished.

  “Indeed they do,” she answered. “Because they own the land—many of them own thousands and thousands of acres. But they have always depended on agriculture and farming for their fortunes. They usually own the many farms on their estates, which are cultivated for them by the local farmers. However, the crops have been failing for some years now, due to many things.”

  “And so that’s why they need rich American brides.”

  “It is. Amazing really, but the girls are beautiful, dressed in gorgeous clothes from Worth in Paris. They are usually highly educated, better than English girls, in fact. And of course, their fathers are multimillionaires and can afford to give them a large dowry.”

  James nodded. “Is it love? Or a deal?”

  Georgiana Ward chuckled. “Right to the point, James, as usual. Both, I suppose. Some do make genuine love matches, others settle for a deal. But in many instances it appears to work.”

  After the soup, Mrs. Mulvaney served sliced beef with roasted potatoes and fresh vegetables. James enjoyed this special supper and the excellent wine she had chosen.

  * * *

  After supper, Georgiana and James drifted upstairs to the cozy parlor and sat down in front of the fire. James had poured them a cognac each, and he was relaxed, comfortable, and felt content. She had always made him feel that way, since their first sexual encounter during the storm in Hull. He was at ease in her company. There was no pressure.

  They chatted amiably about a few things, and he complimented her again on the charm and beauty of her house. She appeared flattered and smiled at his comments.

  Quite unexpectedly, she changed their idle conversation into one a little more serious, when she said, “I will be in London until Christmas, James. Then I am going to stay in the country for a few months. With Deanna and Leonard. She is not at all well. My other sister, Vanessa, is genuinely worried about her.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” James replied at once, his voice sympathetic. “Does she have an illness that is … well, incurable?”

  “I suppose it is … she has a heart condition.” A long sigh escaped her, and she added, “What I’m saying is that I will be here through December, but in the New Year, I will not be in London for quite a while.”

  This news saddened him, but he pushed a smile onto his face. “I understand you have duties, loyalties. So, Mrs. Ward, we must make the best of the next few weeks. However, I just want you to know I will be eagerly awaiting your return. In the spring? Or will it be the summer?”

  “Somewhere in between, I think.” She looked at him intently, her head on one side, her eyes flirtatious. “Will you really wait for me to come back?”

  “I said I would,” he answered swiftly. “I doubt I could find anyone like you…” He let his sentence slide away, put the brandy balloon on a small table, rose. He strode across the floor, closed the parlor door, and locked it.

  “Why are you doing that, James? We can easily go into the bedroom; it’s right over there. Nobody would come in there.”

  He smiled at her, taking off his jacket, then his wais
tcoat, his tie, and slowly began to unbutton his white shirt, his eyes not leaving her face. “I want to make love to you here, on the big sofa in front of the fire. Then I want to take you to your bed and love you again and again and again. You see, I don’t want you to forget me, Mrs. Ward.”

  Georgiana felt desire rushing through her as she watched him shedding the rest of his clothes. She walked over to him, smoothed her hands over his long body, and then turned her back to him. “Could you please undo my buttons?”

  He was silent as he did as she asked, and was surprised to see that the only garment under her dress was an underskirt. The dress fell to the floor. She took off the skirt, turned to face him, and pressed her naked body close. “Let’s go over to that enticing sofa, Mr. Falconer.”

  “It is you who is enticing. Oh, I do want you so much, Georgiana, my Georgiana. You are mine, aren’t you?”

  “Forever,” she said, and meant it.

  Taking hold of her hand, he led her to the sofa and pressed her down on it. He then knelt on the floor at her side, smoothing his hands over every inch of her. As he did this over and over again, they gazed at each other, captivated, truly entranced.

  He said, “I want to savor you, know every part of you.” A quirky smile played at the edge of his mouth. “You don’t mind if I stroke you, do you, Mrs. Ward? I want to take it slowly tonight.”

  “No,” she whispered as he began to arouse her further. “I love your hands on me … everywhere, Mr. Falconer.”

  They laughed then, because they knew they were intent on teasing each other and the serious lovemaking would begin a little later.

  But it was sooner than he had intended. He leaned over her, kissed her on the mouth, then on her breasts, and finally his hands roamed down to that dark thatch of hair between her legs. Within a few minutes he was on top of her, taking her to him. And she cleaved to him, and cried out, and a second later so did he.