Being Elizabeth (30 page)

‘You must believe it because it's true.'

Elizabeth went back to her chair, and sat back, trying to calm herself. She was flooded with many mixed emotions and close to tears, so touched was she by this most extraordinary gift.

Grace Rose sat studying her, loving this young woman whom she had known all of her life. She had attended Elizabeth's christening and watched her grow, often appalled and angered by the way she had been treated by Harry Turner … the child she had given her heart to so long ago, and whom she had loved as if that little girl had been her own.

Unexpectedly, Grace Rose experienced a marvellous sense of peace, of true fulfilment. She had forever tried to make amends for Harry Turner's despicable behaviour, and she had often succeeded but perhaps never more fully than she had today.

What a wonder Elizabeth had become … strong and brave and full of confidence.

Reaching out, Grace Rose took hold of Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it. ‘Everything I have came from my father, Edward Deravenel, and it is only right that it should go back to a Deravenel. That is
you
, Elizabeth.
You
are the last of the line. And you are my heir.'

L
uck is running with me. And seemingly all the way. At
least, so far this year
.

First and foremost, and of the greatest importance to
me, is my relationship with Robin Dunley. It has never been
better in my entire time with him, even going back to our childhood.
We are completely in step and in tune. And we have never
been more in love. I absolutely adore him, and he feels the same.
I know that very well. It is a meeting of the minds; we think
alike, speak alike, and, in fact, sometimes he takes the words
right out of my mouth, or we say something in unison. It is so
uncanny, and so pronounced some people think we have
rehearsed beforehand. How silly that is, yet I understand why
they do think that
.

He has my best interests at heart, just as his are foremost in
my mind and heart. There are secret moments, when I am alone,
or he is sleeping and I am awake, that I wonder what it would
be like to have his child … a small adorable Robin to love, to
care for and cherish and watch growing up to become the man
his father is
…

There is no man like my dearest Robin, not in my estimation
.
He has the kindest heart, a most loving nature, and his thoughtfulness
knows no bounds. And yet he is strong-willed,
impetuous, sometimes temperamental and often bossy. A tough
negotiator when it comes to business, he always says that when
he's doing business, it's my business he's doing. All he wants
is to make the best deals for me and to protect me in every
way he can
.

He makes me laugh, and occasionally he makes me cry. Only
he can calm me down when I am angry, or upset, and I suppose,
now that I think about it. I run the gamut of emotions with
Robin. We are sexually attuned, have the same desires and needs
and appetites, and being with him is sheer bliss
.

He is the centre of my existence, just as I am the centre of
his, and if ever there was a marriage made in heaven this is it.
Because I do think of our relationship as a marriage. What else
can one call it? We are partners in every way. No piece of paper
do we need. He does not mention the legality of our union any
more. Nor do I. He's as happy as I am, just the way it is
.

I am happy on another level because of Grace Rose. Ever
since she told me last September that I am her heir, I have been
walking on clouds. She has left me the one thing I want most
of all – additional shares in Deravenels
.

It never occurred to me that she would do such a thing,
because she has a great-nephew. Nor did I realize she owned
ten per cent of Deravenel shares. That afternoon she explained
everything to me. Her first shares were given to her by Edward
Deravenel; these were boosted by shares from her special friend,
Amos Finnister, who worked for Edward. He was the man who
found Grace Rose in a cart in the East End when she was a
child of four, and he had remained devoted to her all his life.
After the death of Vicky and Stephen Forth, who brought her
up, she inherited another two and a half per cent which created
a grand total of ten per cent altogether
.

Grace Rose went on to further explain that she had made
various other bequests in her will, to charities and staff, and
including paintings and jewellery to her great-nephew, Patrick.
He was the grandson of Maisie Morran, Charlie's sister, who
had married an Irish aristocrat when she was a star on Broadway.
They had had one son who had died in his early forties, and
Patrick was the only child, and sole heir to the title, the lands,
and considerable money. In Grace Rose's opinion, Patrick had
everything he could ever want or need, but she had left him the
two Post-Impressionist paintings he had always admired, along
with a few pieces of Cartier jewellery for his wife
-
to
-
be. ‘The
rest is yours, Elizabeth,' she had finished that day and had immediately
changed the subject
.

Many of our business ventures have come to a happy conclusion,
and this has made Cecil, Robin and myself feel a degree
of satisfaction that our considerable efforts have proved
successful. I should include Ambrose here, because it is Robin's
brother who has created our most beautiful resort. In Marbella.
It was opened in March and we went to Spain for this important
event. And even though I say so myself, success is stamped
all over it. We know we have a winner
.

Another thrill was the opening of my spas in April … in
London. Paris and New York. I have Ambrose's wife Anne
Dunley to thank for that. She is in charge in London and Paris;
Anka Palitz in New York. Because of Anne, who helped with
the negotiations, Anka runs our spas across America. Six of them
used to be hers. We bought her company in December, with the
understanding that she would remain with Elizabeth Turner Spas
for five years. She agreed and sold us her spas, and now she is
my American partner
.

At the beginning of May I met with a Russian, Alexander
Maslenikoff. He was one of five people interested in buying the
house in Chelsea. I knew he was a tough cookie, but he seemed
the most likely candidate to pay what I wanted, and so I persisted
with him. I won in the end. I asked for eighty million pounds
;
he offered fifty-five; I said thank you, but no thanks. And I
walked away. I was confident that he wanted my beautiful house
so badly he would increase his offer. He did. A day later he
came back and said his final price was seventy million pounds
sterling. Not a penny more, he added. I took it. Once we had
agreed on the price, he was easy to do business with. After an
immediate inspection by his surveyors and engineers, he signed
on the dotted line, and handed me a cashier's check for seventy
million. It cleared immediately. Now my beautiful house of bad
memories is his and the money is mine … money to keep
Deravenels safe, if needs be
.

Robin keeps saying that I can't put a foot wrong, that 1998
is my year. Let's hope that he's right, let's hope that Lady Luck
keeps running with me
…

It was Tuesday May twenty-sixth, and tonight would be the first of the Sotheby's auctions … The Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings of the Deravenel–Turner Collections were going on the block. Robin had gone to fetch Grace Rose, and Elizabeth knew she must finish dressing. She was wearing a purple silk cocktail dress by Chanel and the gold medallion which had belonged to Edward Deravenel which she had inherited. As she stared at herself in the mirrored closet door in her dressing room, she realized how wonderful it looked against the purple silk.

As she turned around, the sculpture which Robin had given her for Christmas caught her eye and as always it brought a smile to her face. It was placed on a table against a back wall, where it was shown off to perfection, and it depicted a bed split down the middle diagonally. One half of the bed was made of bright-red silk roses, the other was composed of nails, nail heads down, sharp tips pointing up.

It was by the sculptor and painter Edwina Sandys, Winston
Churchill's granddaughter, and a friend of Robin's. Most appropriately, it was called
The Marriage Bed
, and it appealed to Elizabeth's sense of humour just as much as it had to Robin's when he had first seen it.

‘Here they are, Elizabeth,' Blanche Parrell said, hurrying into the dressing room. ‘They were in the shoe closet in the bedroom. The evening bag must be in here though.'

‘Oh, thanks, Blanche dear, and yes it is. I just saw it a moment ago.' After stepping into the high-heeled silk pumps, dyed purple to match the dress, Elizabeth went on, ‘What time is Thomas picking you up?'

‘He'll be here in a few minutes, with Kat. He went to fetch her first. I told him to wait downstairs in the car. You don't have time to be socializing right now.' Stepping away, Blanche now eyed Elizabeth appraisingly.

‘Do I pass muster?' Elizabeth asked, smiling at this warm and loving Welshwoman who had been part of her life since her childhood. ‘Obviously not. Why are you frowning, Blanche?'

‘Earrings,' Blanche answered. ‘That's what you need. Those gold hoops set with diamonds. I'll go and get them. Back in a jiffy.'

Elizabeth found the purple silk evening bag by Prada, put in a lipstick, tissues, then went to take out the purple silk stole which matched the dress. When Blanche returned with the hoop earrings she took them from her and put them on and said, ‘I'm ready, and so are you, I see. You look lovely, Blanche, I've always liked you in navy blue.'

Blanche beamed at her. ‘Thank you. I bet you're excited, aren't you? Tonight's the big night. On tenterhooks too, I suppose?'

‘You're correct, Blanche, I'm excited, nervous, apprehensive and shaking inside, actually.'

‘Well, if it helps you, you look as cool as the proverbial cucumber. No sign of nerves, or any other emotion for that matter.' Blanche laughed. ‘You always were an actress, even when
you were little. I often used to say to Thomas, “Let's not forget she's an actress, and she's a good one.” You could have been on the stage, you know.'

They laughed together like the conspirators they'd always been as they went out of the dressing room, and Elizabeth suddenly said, ‘Certain people think Sotheby's won't get the high prices tonight, and that some of the paintings might not even sell. The art business suffered at the beginning of the 1990s. There was a bit of a chill in the air because of the recession. Which everyone had predicted, of course. However, Cecil Williams believes that it's levelled off and the art market is now back to normal. He's very confident the prices are going to go high tonight.'

‘Cecil knows what he's talking about,' Blanche remarked. ‘But then you know that without me having to tell you.'

The intercom buzzed and Elizabeth went to answer it.

Robert said, ‘I'm here, darling, with Grace Rose. And Thomas has just arrived to pick up Blanche.'

‘We'll be right down,' she answered.