If only they had confided in me then, perhaps I might have been able to help them straighten it out, whatever IT was. Certainly I would have perhaps been able to prevent all these problems now.
I always thought it was rather sudden, the way Lenore married Malcolm Armstrong. He’s never been a favorite of mine, and I’ve never grown to like him, not one iota, even though I’ve known him and his family for donkey’s years. Too cocksure, arrogant, and tough, to my way of thinking.
I’ve often thought that part of Malcolm’s attraction for Lenore at that time was his age. At twenty-five, he must have appeared more sophisticated and grown-up than Gideon, who was only seventeen, two years younger than Lenore. Yes, the older man would seem much more desirable, that’s quite obvious to me now.
I don’t dare write here that she was too young to get married at nineteen; after all, I was much younger when I married Ralph.
Stephen, my godson and namesake, was born a scant eight months later. A premature baby, Lenore said. But I’ve always had my doubts about that. Still do. If Malcolm got her pregnant, this might explain the suddenness of that unfortunate marriage. I think of it as unfortunate, because Lenore and Malcolm are as different as chalk and cheese, and ill suited.
Pansy was born a year after Stephen, and then came Thomas, Gideon’s godson, just eighteen months after that. Three children one after the other in just under four years. But who am I to talk? I had three myself in a short span of time before I was even twenty.
I hope these children don’t become pawns in this breakup of a marriage and the ensuing divorce. All are under ten. They will be Gideon’s charges one day if he gets his way and weds Lenore. Quite a responsibility, taking on a ready-made family. Is he up to it? I don’t even have to think twice about that. I know he is. Gideon has a great sense of responsibility.
And Lenore is strong, and in many ways she is like me. She’s very down-to-earth, practical, and independent by nature. Thankfully, she didn’t lose her wonderful sense of independence after her marriage.
As I think of that now, I realize it must have been quite a battle for her. Malcolm is a male chauvinist. Obviously, though, she really made her mind up not to become an appendage, a “yes” wife walking three steps behind her husband.
As I look back, Lenore was determined to be her own woman even when she was a young girl. And I know she always considered herself to be Malcolm’s equal, which, of course, she is. How fortunate it is now that she went ahead and carved out her own life and her own career.
To me she has always been a clever girl; I think it is very clever of her, using her knowledge of old paintings, art objects, and furniture to her advantage the way she has, opening her own arts and antiques consultancy firm when she did.
I remember now how we used to laugh years ago, when she would take me on guided tours of Lindenhill, where her family has lived for centuries…one of the great stately homes of England.
Lindenhill is full of priceless objects that she knows everything about, right down to the last detail. All of this information, this knowledge, was force-fed into her by Allan, her father, before he died.
Lenore is twenty-nine now, and it has taken her ten years to come back to Gideon. Oh, dear, the trouble they are about to have. I can hardly bear to think about it. Derek was so right tonight when he said we’re in for a bumpy ride. We are.
Whatever my son says, I know that Malcolm Armstrong is going to be a problem. I doubt very much that he wants a divorce. It would be inconvenient for him; in a sense, he would lose face. Lenore’s aristocratic lineage was always of enormous importance to him. She was born Lady Eleanor Elizabeth Jane Philips, and her brother is the Marquess of Linden, and that is most meaningful to Malcolm, such a silly snob.
I suppose he thinks their impeccable background gives him stature, but he’s wrong. He’s an insignificant man and he will never be anything else. Anyway, I know he won’t want to let go of her because of who she is.
Gideon asked me if I’m happy for him, for them, and I am. They are so right for each other, I know that. But I don’t envy them the battle they will have to wage. I wonder how I can best help them. Just be here, I suppose, be a friend, help them however I can.
Well, looking back over this rather long day, I realize it was a day of confidences. Tamara drew me to one side after our long lunch and told me that she and Nigel are trying to have another baby. I hope it happens; she’s so keen to have a third child. They want a big family, at least six, so she told me. Sweet Tamara, a mother-in-law’s dream and so dear to me. I’m glad Nigel’s made her happy, and vice versa; he’s such a difficult man. Before he met Tamara, I thought he would never find a girl that pleased him. He’s so critical.
He was much nicer to me today. That startled me, too. Tamara softens him. He worships her, that’s evident, and he adores the children. I’m thankful they’re such a happy little family.
Everyone was so generous to me this Christmas. Bruce gave me a beautiful Nécessaire, a vanity case, made by Louis Cartier in the 1930s. It’s a gorgeous little thing: black enamel decorated with tiny diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. He knows I love collecting these old signed pieces by well-known jewelers, and apparently he went to a great deal of trouble to find me a Cartier piece. This one he found in Rome, of all places. At least, someone found it for him.
My mother and Derek gave me a shagreen box; the shagreen is a lovely greenish gray color. My mother said she thought it was meant for me, since an S made of gold decorates the lid. It will make a nice box for stationery on my desk. Chloe presented me with a lavender-colored cashmere shawl that’s perfectly beautiful, and the twins gave me peridot earrings designed and made by Gideon, and paid for by the two of them. Their note said they chose peridots because they matched the color of my green eyes. They’re all so loving. I’m a lucky woman.
The gift from Nigel and Tamara took me by surprise, because it’s so obviously valuable, and not the kind of thing they usually give me. It’s an icon, Russian of course, and exquisitely painted and intricately decorated with gold and semiprecious stones, and it’s old. Very old. I’m quite certain it was Tamara’s idea to get me the icon, and that she was the one who found it. But the note was loving, and Nigel seemed eager to know if I really liked it.
My adorable grandchildren gave me presents they had made themselves. Arnaud painted a picture of Natalie, not at all like her, naturally, but the intention was there. She gave me a small, fancy paper bag full of kisses, awkwardly drawn on a long sheet of paper, folded and tied with ribbon by Tamara.
All in all, it was a happy time, and there were no quarrels or disagreements for once. Everyone enjoyed the day, even Nigel, who was very amicable with us all. I hope his behavior today bodes well for the future.
On the way home from Regent’s Park, Chloe started to talk about coming back to London for Easter. It’s true that Brearley breaks for almost three weeks in March, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t come. I’m just reluctant to let her visit here on her own, and I don’t really understand myself. After all, she is eighteen, and she would be staying with my mother and Derek. But something’s holding me back from saying yes to her.
I’m so happy that Chloe has remained contented since Thanksgiving, that she hasn’t gone on about working at Jardine’s. She’s sensible in that way. Having broached the idea to me, she’s now waiting for me to make a decision.
She’s so special, and in so many ways. She always was, too, from being a little girl. I’m blessed really. My lovely daughter has never given me any trouble.
Gideon didn’t say too much when she said she wanted to have the Easter break in London, and spend time at Jardine’s with him. His response was, “It’s up to Ma.” But he does love her, and he seems willing to take her under his wing. Well, we’ll see. Tomorrow I’ll talk to Gideon….
Gideon…Lenore…I understand only too well the pull between them, the overwhelming attraction that draws them back to each other. That kind of feeling is so hard to
fight. I know.
On the other hand, it’s wrong to build one’s happiness on someone else’s unhappiness. Doing that somehow always comes back to haunt you. It’s like throwing out a boomerang that returns to hit you in the face.
It was a long time ago that I was faced with a similar kind of decision, and I knew I had to walk away, not look back. And, for the most part, I never have. There have been moments when a yearning for him has surfaced, the desire to see him blinding me to reason. But it was only ever for a moment or two. Sanity prevails. It always will. But how I’ve longed for him.
Stevie put down the pen, closed her journal, and returned it to the drawer. She had written enough.
Later, when she went to bed, she found it hard to fall asleep, she had so much on her mind. She tossed and turned for almost an hour until she finally dozed off.
And she dreamed of him.
It was a dream so vivid, it remained with her long after she awakened the next morning. As she lay in bed in her charming blue and white bedroom, watching the early light seep in through the curtained windows, she struggled through the residue of the dream. It still clung to her, enveloped her.
Stevie found it hard to shake off, so real had it been. It was as if he had actually been there with her in the room all night. She could feel his dominating presence surrounding her, could smell his cologne. Closing her eyes, she saw him again…saw the dark, passionate eyes, the sensitive mouth, the wide and generous smile, the even teeth so white against the tan of his skin.
And she heard his voice, heard him telling her how much he loved her, and for a while she was transported back into the dream. For in it they had made love to each other, had been joined together in the perfect harmony that had once been theirs, and she longed to recapture it, just as she yearned for him at this moment.
Against her own volition she began to weep. Tears slid out from under her lids, trickled down her cheeks. She pushed her face into the pillow and she wept for the loss of him, for the life they could have had together, for all that might have been.
Eventually, when her tears had abated, Stevie got up, and after pulling on her dressing gown she went into the kitchen. As she pushed open the door, Chloe exclaimed, “Good morning, Mommy. I’ve made the coffee; do you want a cup? I’ll—”
Chloe broke off, stared at her, then asked with a frown, “Are you all right, Mom?”
Stevie nodded. “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”
“You’re so white, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Stevie shook her head, thinking her daughter’s choice of words was unfortunate. “I didn’t sleep well; I’m a little tired, I guess. Too much on my mind,” she improvised.
“I’m sorry. And you work too hard, Mom.” Chloe stepped over to her mother, put her hand on her arm, and continued. “Sit down here, and I’ll bring you a mug of coffee. Would you like some toast? I’ll make it for you.”
“Thanks, darling.” Stevie smiled at her wanly.
Impulsively, Chloe grabbed hold of Stevie and wrapped her arms around her. “I love you, Mom.” The girl hugged her tightly, clinging to her for a long moment.
“And I love you, too, darling.”
They finally drew apart, and Stevie, staring into her daughter’s face, thought how much she resembled her father in coloring. She had his dark eyes, his hair. She was his child, even though she had a strong look of Blair.
“Let me get the coffee for you.” Chloe hurried across the kitchen, suddenly filled with worry about her mother. She had dark rings under her eyes and she looked so sad this morning. Chloe wondered why, what had upset her.
A moment later, walking back to the kitchen table with the coffee, Chloe exclaimed, “I’m going to start really looking after you. That’s going to be my New Year’s resolution!”
Stevie laughed. “I’m perfectly all right, truly I am. As I said, I seem to have so many things on my mind right now. But you don’t have to worry about me, Chloe. I’ll be fine.”
Chloe merely nodded and went back to make the toast. When it was ready, she brought it to the table along with her own mug of coffee. Sitting down opposite her mother she murmured, “You’re not still angry with me, are you? I mean about wanting to work at Jardine’s.”
“I was never angry, Chloe. Just concerned about your education. I spoke to Bruce about it the other day, and he seemed quite tickled at the idea of you working in the company.”
“He did?”
“Yes.” Stevie saw the sudden excitement flashing on her daughter’s face, the hope in her eyes, and on the spur of the moment she said, “You can spend the Easter break here, Chloe, if you like. It seems to mean so much to you.”
“Oh, Mom, can I? Thank you, oh, thank you so much!” She jumped up and hugged Stevie, and showered her with kisses.
“But you have to stay with your grandmother and gramps in Regent’s Park. You can’t live here in this flat alone, you know,” Stevie pointed out quickly.
“That’s fine. Oh, I’m so excited, I can hardly wait.”
Stevie took a sip of coffee, looking at her eighteen-year-old daughter over the rim. It gave her pleasure to see Chloe so happy. It had taken so little to bring that enthusiasm back. She fell down into herself for a few moments, her mind focusing on him. She had not dreamed about him for several years now, nor did her thoughts often dwell on him. But there had been so much talk about him since Thanksgiving, no wonder he was on her mind once more. The memories of him were painful. Long ago she had vowed to herself that she would not fall into the trap of wishful thinking, of dwelling on the past. And so she pushed aside thoughts of him. They were futile anyway.
Rising, walking to the door, Stevie said, “I’m going to get ready for work. Do you want to come to the store with me today, Chloe? You can spend some time with Gideon in the workshops if you want.”
Chloe nodded and jumped up. “I’d love to come with you, Mom. I’ll get ready, too.”
20
“AND WHAT EXACTLY DID THE SULTAN TELL YOU when you went to see him?” Bruce asked, leaning forward slightly, pinning his eyes on her.
Stevie was seated behind her desk in her office above the Bond Street store, and returning his steady gaze, she answered, “He said he thought I did not wish personally to handle his business anymore and that I was passing it on to my son. He had been wondering why this was so, why it had happened. He even wondered if he had offended me in some way, and this had worried him considerably. Mind you, Bruce, he couched all this in a most diplomatic way.”
“I understand. How did he get this impression? Did he tell you?”
Stevie nodded. “Yes, he said his executive assistant, Gareth James, phoned me here at the beginning of December. The switchboard put him through to Nigel without any explanation. When Gareth asked for me again, Nigel told him I wasn’t available, that I was abroad. Nigel then intimated he was now handling all of my clients for me. Gareth asked if I was in New York, and Nigel confirmed this. Once more he reiterated that he was looking after my clients, and he asked how he could be of assistance to the sultan. Gareth said the sultan was interested in seeing some of our newest designs. They made a date for Nigel to go over to Claridge’s later in the week, to meet with the sultan. However, the next day Gareth called back and explained that the sultan had to leave unexpectedly for America. That’s when Nigel suggested he could meet with the sultan in New York, at the sultan’s convenience. And so they made a date.”
“I see.” Bruce steepled his fingers, sat staring into space, a reflective look on his face.
“It was for December the tenth,” Stevie clarified.
Bruce sighed. “Nigel’s being rather stupid, wouldn’t you say? Playing these games. We could have lost a major client because of his manipulations.”
“A mega client, as we say in New York.”
“Well, we know what he’s up to, don’t we? First Gilbert told him he was courting your clients, and now we actually have it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. The
sultan has given you all the ammunition you need. By the way, how did you straighten it out with the sultan? I’m presuming you did, since you sold him the yellow diamonds.”
“I told him I’d taken some time off to recuperate from bronchitis, which, as you know, is partially true. I did take things a bit easier in late October and November, because I’d been so sick in September. I was very diplomatic. I explained that Nigel had been looking after things for me. Temporarily. You see, I didn’t want him to think there was any problem within the family.”
“Quite right, too. The sultan wasn’t insulted, was he? These chaps easily take offense, you know, especially if they think they’re being slighted.”
“No, no, he believed me. Why wouldn’t he? And I told him I was now available again, and whenever he needed me. I gave him my private number in New York, and I told Gareth James to call me there if I wasn’t at the London store.”
“That was a wise move.”
“You don’t have to worry, Bruce; the sultan understands. I think mostly he was terribly baffled, and whilst not slighted, perhaps he was a bit hurt.”
“I’m relieved you’ve cleared it up, Stevie. When are you going to deal with Nigel?”
“I told you I would talk to him after the holidays, and since it’s now the third of January, I’ll have a word with him today. I have to, because I’m leaving for New York on Monday morning.”
“I’m glad you’re not wasting any time.” Bruce rose. “I’ve got to go, I’m afraid. I have an appointment with my nutritionist.” He paused at the door. “I wish you luck with Nigel, and don’t be too soft with him, Stevie; he deserves to be on the mat for this. If he’s difficult, unrepentant, do what you have to do.”
Stevie got up, went around the desk, and embraced her father-in-law. “I’ll phone you later.”
Power of a Woman Page 18