“This is the thing, Constance. Sid told me that the name of Helen’s lover was never actually known by any of her friends, which I find unlikely, but he says it’s true. According to Sid, he’s been outed, as Sid calls it. His name’s out on the street. According to Sid, there’s going to be trouble. I believe he was actually trying to warn me.”
Constance sat up straight in her chair, looking aghast. “Do you mean we could be involved, because we managed her?”
“No, no, I’m putting it badly, darling. I think Sid was alerting me, making me aware there could be some sort of trouble. He just wanted us to know.”
“Could there be a police investigation?” Constance asked, giving Felix a questioning look.
“I doubt it. Pierce is an eminent surgeon, and a brilliant one, an important man, married to an heiress. The police won’t touch this with a barge pole. Sid’s thinking of Helen’s family. They may be out for blood.” Felix paused, stubbed out his cigarette. “Have you forgotten how Helen became our client?”
Constance stared at him, nodded. “No, I haven’t. It was James who discovered her, in that amateur theatrical company. He brought her to us. Helen’s brothers knew the Woods; they were friends of James’s father. They are dockers in the East End.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t think her brothers would blame James, do you? For bringing her into the professional theater?”
“No, never. James Brentwood is so ethical, has such integrity and decency no one would harm a hair on his head. He’s an icon, Connie, you know that. Much beloved by thousands, as well as you, Ruby, Dulcie, and me.” He took another cigarette from the Cartier case, lit it, and smoked for a moment, his face reflective. “This is something else not to be repeated. I’ve been told, and by a very good source, that James will be knighted before he’s forty.”
For a moment Constance looked stunned, and then she gave her husband a warm smile. “I knew it would happen one day. He has to be honored in that way by the king.”
“Sid is certain there’s going to be some sort of bad trouble, that Helen’s brothers might go on the warpath. Retribution.”
“I hope not, and I’m awfully glad James is on his honeymoon. I know he would be very upset by all this.”
“I agree. However, he has Dulcie; he found her at last, the woman he had been seeking for years. She’ll look after him. She’s another Ruby for him. In fact, Dulcie’s protective of him already, has been since the day she met him. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
* * *
“Cecily, you look stunning!” Felix said, standing to greet her and Miles as they arrived at the table in Rules on Maiden Lane. “And you don’t look half bad yourself, Miles,” he added, shaking Miles’s hand.
They both thanked him, and Cecily went over to Constance, and kissed her cheek, then sat down in the chair the waiter was pulling out for her. Miles did the same, kissed Constance, and then took a seat himself. Within minutes they were sipping pink champagne and toasting Cecily.
Miles, wondering what this was about, looked at her. A brow lifted and then he gave her one of his puzzled frowns.
Cecily laughed, and said to him, “I’m being toasted because something lovely has happened—”
“Oh dear, doesn’t Miles know?” Constance cut in peremptorily, looking at Cecily. “Haven’t you told him yet?”
“I haven’t had a chance, Connie.”
“So I shall tell him,” Felix announced, and turning to Miles he explained, “We represent a famous theatrical producer, Michael Alexander, who is putting on a new musical in the West End. He wants Cecily to design the clothes for the show. And guess what: We got her for him. The contracts will be drawn within the next few weeks. So we thought it would be nice to have you both to dinner to celebrate.”
Miles beamed at Felix and then at Connie, pushed back his chair, and went to kiss Cecily on her cheek. “You’re a naughty girl, keeping me in the dark,” he said, but he was thrilled for her, and almost bursting with pride. “What lovely news, darling, you’re right about that, Ceci. Gosh, you’re going into a whole new world … into show business.”
Squeezing her shoulder he returned to his seat, and lifting his glass he toasted her. “To my talented and very dearest Ceci!” After swallowing some of the champagne, Miles added, “It looks like February is your lucky month. Have you told Connie and Felix about your new boutique?”
“I have, and you’re right, Miles. I’ve been most fortunate. I’m a lucky girl.” As she said this she couldn’t help thinking it was marriage to Miles she wanted, not a contract for a musical.
“You deserve it, darling,” Constance said. “I’ve never seen anyone work like you do, except for James. He’s a glutton for punishment, I always tell him. And he just laughs like you do.”
“I had a letter from Dulcie this morning,” Cecily said. “The newlyweds are enjoying New York. And by the way, Diedre’s health has improved, and the baby is all right. So it’s been good news all around lately.”
Felix said, “I heard from James last week, and it looks like he and Dulcie will probably take a trip out to the Wild West, as he calls it. To California, a place called Hollywood, where they’ve been making those moving pictures for a few years now. It looks like sound is the coming thing. Voices are going to be very important, and who has a voice like James?”
“No one,” Miles answered. “I can listen to him forever.”
“So when will they be coming back?” Cecily asked. She missed Dulcie and Diedre, and now that DeLacy was courting, she was spending more time with Travers Merton. Their little band of Cavendon women was scattered. For the moment, at least.
“I don’t think James will want to stay longer than a week in Hollywood,” Felix answered. “I sent a telegram to him a few days ago. I’ve had an offer for him to do a limited engagement of Henry V, here in London. He cabled back he wants to do it. So he’ll have to return by the end of this month or early March to go into rehearsals.”
“Oh how wonderful,” Cecily said. “He’s such a thrilling actor.”
“And a lovely man,” Miles remarked, looked across the table at Cecily, and grinned. “Our little madame has been very lucky, hasn’t she?”
Cecily grinned, and noticing the strange look on Felix’s face, she felt she had to explain. “Dulcie was very much like she is today, when she was a child,” Cecily explained. “Very outspoken, mischievous, and a bit cheeky. Diedre used to call her a little madame, and she wasn’t very nice to her either. Dulcie was a bit afraid of her. Hence the successful blackmailing of last year.”
“Blackmailing? What was that all about?” Felix asked.
Miles said, “Well, that’s what Diedre called it, but I think Dulcie was being rather clever myself. She asked Diedre to put up some money for her art gallery. Her ploy was to tell Diedre that if she did, the bad memories of her, which Dulcie still harbored in her head, would disappear.”
Constance and Felix looked at each other and burst out laughing. “I can just hear her saying it,” Constance said through her laughter. “How very clever she is.”
“And very beautiful,” Felix added, hoping and praying that no one would want her to be in moving pictures out there in the Wild West. James would never allow it. He wanted a wife, not an actress. He’d had enough of those hanging on his arm over the years. Besides which, Dulcie was his new Ruby … the woman he’d been looking for all of his adult life.
Focusing on Miles, Felix now asked, “Do you still invest in stocks on Wall Street?”
Miles shook his head vehemently. “Not on your life, Felix. We had rather a bad experience. It’s righted itself, thankfully, through some good help from Hugo and Paul. But we’re out of the American stock market. Paul thinks bad times are coming. He’s already starting to unload some of his own investments, and selling real estate. Hugo is thinking about doing the same thing. He has rather a lot of investments from the years he lived there.”
“I’m glad I brought it up,”
Felix said. “I will avoid Wall Street.” The two men sat chatting for a while, about the money markets, investing money, the good and the bad of it all.
Constance and Cecily spoke about clothes and Cecily’s new boutique at Harte’s. They all drank more champagne; finally, they stopped their chatter and ordered dinner.
Once they had selected their food, and Felix had chosen the wines, the talk went back to the theater, and the new shows which were being planned for the summer season.
At one moment, Felix and Constance froze in their chairs when Miles mentioned the death of Helen Malone. “I was awfully sad to read of her death in the newspapers. I thought she was a most marvelous Ophelia, and James and she played well together,” Miles remarked. “I know she was a client of yours; it must have been quite a blow.”
“Yes, it was,” Constance said immediately, her expression neutral, her voice even. “We will miss her. She was talented, and a truly nice person.”
“What did she die of? I didn’t quite understand that,” Miles said, probing a little. “From the stories in the papers.”
Before Constance could say another thing, Felix jumped in swiftly. “It was some sort of blood poisoning, that’s all we were told. She has a family, you know, and they have been dealing with everything, as families usually do.”
Constance, noticing the waiter coming across the room, exclaimed, “How lovely! The oysters are on their way.” She had managed to change the subject, and continuing to do so, suddenly started talking about pearls to the three of them, and especially Cecily. “They’re my favorite jewelry. Pearls of any kind, and I love those you’re wearing, Cecily. You should market them, don’t you think?”
“I’ve just designed various pearl necklaces, and long ropes of pearls, Connie. I’ll send you a long string tomorrow as a gift.”
“Why thank you, darling, how sweet of you.”
* * *
It was only when they arrived back at Cecily’s flat that she pounced on Miles. “I couldn’t believe it when you mentioned Helen Malone. I almost fainted to distract them. I thought you were going to give them all the gossip on the family grapevine, about Helen Malone and Lawrence Pierce. And I didn’t know how to change the subject.”
“But Connie did. I noticed how she suddenly mentioned the oysters and then pearls. She thought she was distracting me. And I let her do it, because I think they know about Pierce and Helen. And I didn’t want them to feel obliged to tell me that my mother’s husband had been messing around with their client.”
“I noticed something, Miles. They became awfully silent when you asked how she died.”
“How did she? Do you know? I’ve been puzzled about that.”
“I’m not sure,” Cecily said as she went into the bedroom, taking off her jacket, stepping out of her shoes.
Miles, following her, was removing his tie. “Come on, you’re a Swann; the Swanns know everything. What else did Eric tell you?”
“He doesn’t know as much as you think. It’s only gossip from his show business mates. But the suggestion is that she did have some sort of blood poisoning. The other story trickling out onto the street is that she had an abortion, that it went wrong. Also, Eric did mention that Lawrence Pierce’s name is out there.”
Miles sat down in a chair to take off his shoes. Looking across at her, frowning, he said, “Could my mother possibly know about Helen Malone?”
“I just don’t know. How could she?”
“Oh well, I don’t care really whether she knows or not. He’s her problem, not mine or yours. Come on, Ceci, hurry up. Let’s go to bed, and cuddle up together. I haven’t seen you all week.”
When she remained silent, Miles got up and walked over to her, took hold of her, and brought her into his arms. “I love you, Ceci, and so very much. I know you cried at Dulcie’s wedding, and I understand why. I noticed, even if you think I didn’t. I will work it out, I promise. You will be my wife.”
Cecily had loved him since childhood, and she knew he meant every word. But she also knew the situation was not in his control. Clarissa, his estranged wife, held those strings. And very tightly.
Taking a deep breath, Cecily looked into his eyes. “I have you, Miles. You’re my whole life, all that matters to me. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that you love me, I know you do. Come on, let’s go to bed and make love.” And they did.
Fifty-two
DeLacy and Travers were so drunk they barely made it back to his studio in Chelsea. They had been guests at a big society wedding, extremely lavish, where wine and champagne flowed like rivers, and the food had been perfection. What else to expect at the Ritz Hotel.
Many of their friends had been present, and Travers had enjoyed himself immensely, mixing with old school pals from Eton, as well as celebrities and socialites he had painted, others he hoped to paint. DeLacy had also enjoyed herself, because Travers kept her close to him, included her at all times, never left her standing alone.
The doorman at the Ritz had helped them into a taxi cab later, and now they were staggering into the bedroom of his studio, supporting each other the best they could. Somehow they managed to get undressed, fell onto the bed in a stupor, and immediately passed out.
It was midnight when the man arrived at the front door of the studio and tried the knob. Instantly it opened, and he stepped inside, smiling to himself. Merton had been so drunk he had forgotten to lock the door. But the man had a copy of the key anyway, so what did it matter?
With great stealth, the man crept across the studio and into the kitchen, where he put on a small light. He took a bottle and a syringe out of his jacket pocket; after filling the syringe, he put the bottle back in one pocket, the syringe in the other.
He did not have to go into the bedroom to see that they had passed out. The lights were still on, and they lay sprawled across the sheets, lost to the world. She was breathing heavily; he was snoring loudly, which told the man his sleep potions from the Chinese herbalist, Fu Yung-Yen, in Chinatown, had worked. He had dropped a pellet in each of their drinks at the wedding, when neither of them was looking.
Gliding into the bedroom, bending over Travers, the man took out the syringe and lifted Travers’s arm, injected the potassium chloride into the fleshy part under his arm covered in hair; he pulled the syringe out when it was empty, slipped it into his pocket.
The man glanced at DeLacy. A sneer crossed his face. He didn’t want her anymore. She was Merton’s leavings, anyway. A whore, a bitch, a drunk. Worthless. Damaged goods.
He crept away on silent feet, turned out the light in the kitchen, and left the studio. He walked through the streets, breathing in the fresh air, not minding the cold wind. It was refreshing.
By the time he had made it to the King’s Road he felt much better. He had accomplished what he had decided to do months ago. Merton deserved it. That bastard had taken DeLacy for himself, before he had made her his own. That had spoiled his well-made plans: get rid of the mother, install the daughter, live happily ever after on Mama’s money. After all, she had made him her heir. Now he was stuck with the mother.
A sudden thought struck him. Maybe in a few months he could start an affair with DeLacy. She would be over Merton by then. He could clean her up, get her into shape, dress her up, just to undress her, and take her into his bed. And give her what she really wanted. Him. The very thought of this aroused him, gave him an erection.
Stepping to the edge of the pavement he hailed a cab, told the cabbie to take him to Charles Street, and got in.
Felicity was in luck tonight, he decided. The aroused state he was in ensured that she could romp with him to her heart’s delight, the way she liked, and with a little bit of the rough stuff thrown in.
* * *
DeLacy was so nauseous it awakened her. She pushed herself out of bed, half stumbled to the bathroom, fell onto her knees, and vomited in the toilet. She lay on the cold tiled floor for a long time, until she eventually began to feel a bit better.
The chair was facing the bedroom and all of a sudden DeLacy sat up with a start. She could just see Travers, and realized he was slumped over to one side, half hanging out of the bed. He looked strange.
Pushing herself to her feet, she stumbled toward the doorway, drew closer, peering at him. Then she took a step back. A scream rose in her throat, and she started to shake. Fear was edging into her mind.
His eyes were wide open. And blank. She didn’t know what was wrong with him. And then it came to her. He was drunk, wasn’t he? Or was he dead? But how could that be? Rushing out of the room, shock beginning to set in, she went to the phone on his desk in the studio, and dialed Cecily. She couldn’t stop shaking.
It rang and rang, and she was about to hang up when she heard her saying, “Hello?” in a muffled tone.
“Ceci, it’s me,” DeLacy said in a halting voice that quavered. “Something’s wrong … with Travers. Please come. Come and help me.”
“Where are you?” Cecily asked in an urgent voice, now wide awake.
“His studio.”
“Are you dressed?”
“No.”
“Get dressed. Make sure you’ve got all of your things: jewelry, bag. I’ll be there shortly. With Eric.”
“Why? Why Eric?”
“I feel better having him with us. Eric’s a man. We might need a man. Get dressed, sit down, and wait for us. All right?”
“Yes,” DeLacy said, and hung up. Then she began to sob, shock completely taking over.
* * *
By the time Cecily arrived with her cousin, Eric Swann, DeLacy had managed to put on her clothes and find all of her things. Her shoes, stockings, handbag, and the pieces of expensive jewelry she had been wearing for the formal wedding.
The light tapping on the front door made DeLacy hurry over to open it. The moment Cecily walked in, she took DeLacy in her arms, and held her close, soothing her.
The Cavendon Women Page 33