Being Elizabeth (36 page)

‘Look how beautiful this dining room is,' Francis said twenty minutes later, glancing around the Ritz restaurant. ‘Aren't you glad you agreed to have lunch with me, Elizabeth? Just to enjoy this quite extraordinary place. And the food's not bad either,' he finished, smiling at her. Apart from admiring her tremendously, Francis Walsington cared about Elizabeth Turner, had a need to protect her at all times. He was devoted and concerned about her and her safety.

‘I'm always happy to be with you, Francis, you know you're one of my favourites. And the room
is
lovely. So is the view of Green Park. Oh, look, it's snowing. Maybe we'll have a white Christmas this year.'

He followed her glance, looked out of the window, saw that it was a snow storm, in fact. ‘Where are you and Robert going for Christmas?' he asked, eyeing her. ‘Not abroad?'

‘No, don't worry about that. Actually we're going to
Stonehurst Farm with Grace Rose. We promised her ages ago, and well –' Elizabeth paused, shook her head. ‘She's old, and Robin and I decided we must go and stay with her this year. Who knows how long she'll live? Such a great age, ninety-eight, isn't it?'

‘It is, and it'll do you good to have a rest in the country for a few days. You're a genuine workaholic, Elizabeth.'

‘But I enjoy it, you know that, Francis, and we do have some fun as well, Robin and I.'

‘I'm glad you're going out and about again, not hiding behind closed doors. You've nothing to be ashamed of, and the two of you haven't done anything wrong. You should have a good time together.'

‘But there are still those ghastly Chinese whispers, and I suppose there always will be. Some people want to believe we're responsible for Amy's death.'

‘It doesn't matter, and the people that count don't blame you and Robert, honestly they don't. Besides which, scandals have been known to float around the best of families, not to mention your own.' He began to laugh. ‘And that doesn't matter.'

She joined in his laughter, and then said, ‘Once Marie de Burgh dries her tears, I bet you John Norfell goes sniffing around her, don't you?'

‘He has already, but then Cecil must've told you that.'

‘He mentioned it in passing. If John Norfell did get involved with her, as he might now that she's a widow, can we get rid of him? Can he be dismissed?'

‘Only if the board of directors can prove some kind of wrongdoing against Deravenels on his part, Elizabeth.'

‘Well, we shall have to wait and see, won't we?'

‘Indeed we will, no alternative …' He let his sentence drift, smiled at her across the table as the waiter arrived with their first course. ‘I'm glad to see a plate of food in front of you for once. You never seem to eat.'

‘Oh, I do, I do.' She picked up her spoon, tasted the tomato
soup, said quietly, ‘And go ahead and find the right bodyguard for me, Francis. You're right as usual. I should have proper protection.'

‘I can't believe we're actually standing here in Number Ten Downing Street,' Elizabeth whispered to Robert later that evening. ‘And I was thrilled to meet Tony Blair and Cherie, weren't you?'

‘As thrilled as you, darling. They're charm personified, the two of them.' Robert gave her a fond smile. ‘And I'm happy to see that, despite all of
your
success, you're not a bit jaded.' Taking hold of her arm, he led her down the long reception room upstairs in the Prime Minister's official residence, where an early Christmas party was being given.

Elizabeth, glancing around, exclaimed, ‘Gosh, there are so many celebrities here tonight … film stars, famous writers, television and media bigwigs. And pop stars. Oh look, Robin: isn't that Sting with his wife?'

He followed her gaze, nodded. ‘It is, and I just spotted David Hockney, one of my favourite painters, who's talking to Emma Thompson and Alan Bennett. And over there, near the Christmas tree, is Jenny Seagrove, one of my favourite actresses.'

‘She's just gorgeous, isn't she? And who's the man she's with?'

‘I'm sure it's her partner, Bill Kenwright, the theatrical impresario. Come to think of it, there's someone here from every area of the arts and culture. And plenty of sports stars as well, Elizabeth.

‘I'm so glad we came, I wouldn't have missed this fabulous party for the world.'

A waiter came up to them carrying a tray of drinks and they both took a flute of champagne. They touched glasses, and Robert said, ‘Here's to Cool Britannia, as the Prime Minister calls it.'
His face became a little more serious, as he added, ‘There really has been something of a seismic change in British society since New Labour came into power, and the Blairs arrived in Downing Street. The whole country's been reinvigorated. I for one feel as if anything is possible … that we can rule the world.'

‘I thought
we
did,' Elizabeth shot back, and then added in a serious voice, ‘But going back to your last comment, Robin, I think everyone feels it. I know I do. It's … well … it's a new order of things.'

‘Yes, I agree,' Robert answered, and took hold of Elizabeth's arm, propelled her across the room. ‘Let's go and talk to Jenny Seagrove.'

M
illennium. Suddenly it was here, upon us, and the year
two thousand began with a big bang. At least for
Deravenels. I gave a huge party and invited the entire
staff, and what's more they all came, every single one of them.
I held it in the ballroom of the Dorchester Hotel … cocktails,
dinner and dancing. I spared no expense and it was a great big
bunfight of a party that everyone enjoyed. And I did, too. I
loved every minute of it
.

To be truthful, it wasn't given only to celebrate the arrival of
the millennium and the new year, but rather to celebrate
Deravenels, which I had pulled into the twenty-first century.
Kicking and screaming maybe, but nevertheless I did it. However,
I did not do it alone. I had the best help in the world. And
so I should have said that Cecil, Robin and I did it together. The
Three Musketeers. Cecil usually corrects me, saying with a wry
smile, ‘The triumvirate,' and I smile back, because I appreciate
his scholarly attitude and the way he applies it to most things
in life. And backing us up were Francis Walsington, Nicholas
Throckman and Ambrose Dunley. Good men all, and we run
this vast conglomerate as a team. And together we have made
it as great as it ever was under the leadership of Edward
Deravenel, and later that of Harry Turner, my father. My half-
sister pulled it down; we have managed to raise it up, make it
even bigger than ever it was. And the miraculous thing is that
my team and I have actually done this in four years. I took over
in 1996
and now it's October of 2000. The City boys admire
us; I admire us … I'm proud of us
.

Deravenels is once again extremely solid. We've built it on steel
girders. Every division is in the black. The hotels are flourishing;
so are the vineyards and the manor-house boutique hotels; my spas
are considered some of the most luxurious and beautiful in the
world, and have won numerous awards for the healthy and effective
treatments they provide. And because of the success of the
Marbella Resort we have started a new division, and are creating
similar resorts in some of the great beauty spots of the world
.

Ambrose is the mover and shaker behind this new enterprise.
He proved himself so clever, efficient and innovative when he
was in charge of the Marbella Project it seemed only right that
he should head up the new division. Robin's brother is a marvel.
But then so are all of the men and women who make up my
winning team
.

Well, we did have some trouble last year with John Norfell,
who fell under the spell of Marie de Burgh when she came to
live in Scotland in 1999. She had had no choice. Francis told
me that her mother
-
in
-
law had been tough with her in the end,
and had forced her to leave Dauphin, and Paris
.

Seemingly she has a way with men, but John Norfell learned,
much to his chagrin, that she is a user, and was manipulating
him for her own ends. It didn't take him long to realize that she
had no intention of sleeping with him, let alone marrying him.
That blew away any ideas he might have had about running
Scottish Heritage with her
.

Norfell admits he never became her lover and claims that
when he understood she was devious, and dubious in certain
areas, he swiftly fled south to England. All of this information
came directly to me from Francis, who advised us, the triumvirate,
to turn a blind eye to his escapades. He pointed out that
no real damage had been done. We agreed to do that, with the
understanding that Cecil and Robin would meet with Norfell to
read him the riot act, and caution him to behave himself
.

It was Robin who told me that John had admitted to him
that Marie de Burgh was most alluring, and as John put it, ‘a
delicious bit of crumpet'. On hearing that, I told Robin I felt
like vomiting. What a demeaning way to describe a woman. It
certainly gave me a new perspective on John Norfell. Warned
by Cecil and Robin that he would be thrown out of Deravenels
if there were any more transgressions, Norfell has toed the line
for the past year. I watch him closely
.

I sometimes think of her, this strange cousin of mine who
wants to be me, who would like to take all that is mine, longs
to be in my place at Deravenels. What cheek, such utter gall.
And she is forever wanting something … asking me to meet her,
begging to come and stay with me, demanding to be made my
heir in my will. That would be signing my own death warrant
.

I couldn't believe it when she actually sent me a photograph
of herself. I looked at that picture and acknowledged her
beauty, but I knew that in no way did it indicate the true
potency of her so-called overwhelming sex appeal. Only Nicholas
Throckman has had the nerve to explain that to me. He told
me recently that Marie de Burgh, without saying a word, manages
to make a man think she could be his. He added that she is a
woman of beauty and grace, a potential heartbreaker
.

Be sure of one thing, I will not let her break my heart. That's
why I plan to keep her at arm's length. I consigned the photograph
to the fire, and have turned deaf ears to her pleas for a
meeting. Francis holds me steady on all of this. He is not a fan
of hers, and says she is desperately seeking a husband, and he
predicts that she'll come to a bad end. Unlike a lot of men
,
Francis Walsington has his eyes wide open when it comes to
women, and he's familiar with all of their many wiles. I discovered
that his dislike of Marie Stewart de Burgh runs deep. He
knows her half-brother, son of her father and his long-time
mistress, born before James Stewart married her mother. He is
twelve years older than Marie, also called James after his father;
although illegitimate, he has been involved in the running of
Scottish Heritage since he was old enough to hold a job. Francis
likes him, believes he is capable and straight talking. But he has
wondered aloud about the feasibility of a partnership in business
between these two ‘half-siblings', as he calls them
.

But, all in all, the year 2000 has been good. So far, at any rate.
Deravenels is running smoothly. Francis is now more content since
he hired his idea of the perfect bodyguard, a really strong, tough
man who totally fulfils Francis's requirements. Certainly Gary
Hinton fits the bill for me, because he is quiet, mannerly, and
‘still' … I cannot stand being with anyone who is a physical
and mental fidget, and he is not. He is calm, focused and alert.
He makes me feel safe, and I am certain he will keep me safe
.

Robin also likes Gary Hinton and recognizes his superior skill,
and so he is more relaxed about my safety as well. Everything
is good between us, and we've managed at last to banish the
shadow Amy's unexpected and tragic death cast over our lives.
Thankfully, most of the gossiping has stopped, and the press
have found other more interesting stories to cover. Occasionally
Robin reminds me teasingly that we are notorious
.

Robin and I are in New York. We have come to spend a few
weeks at the Manhattan office of Deravenels, and I also have
meetings set up with Anka Palitz about the spas … The only
problem is that I left London with the most ghastly cold and I
wish I could shake it off
…

Elizabeth couldn't stop coughing, and sat down in a chair, covering her mouth with her hand. A moment later Robert came striding into the bedroom, a look of alarm on his handsome face.

‘Are you all right?' he asked, worry suddenly echoing in his voice. ‘You sound terrible, Elizabeth.'

‘I don't know what happened,' she managed finally in a low voice. ‘The coughing came over me all of a sudden. But it does that and then goes away. I'm all right, Robin, really I am.'

‘Do you think you have bronchitis?'

‘No, I'm sure I don't.' She stood up, straightening the skirt of her red wool dress and walked over to the wardrobe, took out the matching coat. ‘We're running late, you know. We're meeting Anka at La Grenouille in half an hour.' She gave him the brightest smile she could muster, wanting to reassure him.

‘If you're up to going then come on, darling, I'm ready.' Picking up her coat, he helped her on with it, and walked with her to the door. ‘Gary's waiting for us downstairs.'

Anka Palitz, blonde, pretty and very chic, was already at the restaurant, and she smiled warmly as Elizabeth and Robin were shown to the table by Charles, the owner of La Grenouille.

‘It's lovely to see you both,' she said as Elizabeth slid onto the banquette next to her and Robert took the chair at the opposite side of the table.

‘Sorry we're late, we misjudged the traffic,' Elizabeth explained.

‘There's no problem. What would you like to drink? Champagne, wine, or a soft drink?'

‘Thank you, water is fine, Anka. I really can't drink alcohol at lunchtime, it makes me sleepy.'

‘Me, too. Robert, what about you?'

‘Just water, the same as Elizabeth,' Robert answered.

Anka motioned to the waiter, gave the order, and Robert stared at Elizabeth, realizing that she now looked suddenly positively ill. Her face, was whiter than ever and her eyes were slightly glazed. He decided she had a fever.

He was staring at her so hard, Elizabeth said, ‘I'm fine, Robin.' She always knew what he was thinking, and his expression left nothing to the imagination.

Anka turned and glanced at her, noticed at once her ghastly pallor. ‘Are you sure? Don't you feel well?'

‘Oh, it's just a stupid cold I brought with me from London. I'm fine. By the way, this is for you.' Elizabeth reached into her large handbag and took out a manila envelope. ‘This is the whole programme I've mapped out for the American spas. You can study it and tell me what you think. No hurry at all, but I would like your input whilst we're in New York. And what I also need to know is whether you want to remain with the spas, after I've sold them to Deravenels. Nothing will change, you know, it's just a paper transaction, and obviously you'll still be working with me.'

‘I understand that, and I'm pretty certain I will stay, Elizabeth, but I would like to look everything over, and we can talk later in the week, have another lunch or dinner, whichever you prefer.'

‘Of course, and it's –' Elizabeth stopped speaking as a fit of coughing overtook her. Pressing her napkin to her mouth, she coughed until she was red in the face. Finally she managed to control the cough, and took a deep breath. As she did she winced, brought a hand to her chest.

‘What is it?' Robert asked, concerned by her obvious discomfort.

Elizabeth said, ‘It really hurts when I take a deep breath.' Weakly, she leaned back against the banquette. ‘I feel dizzy, Robin.'

‘I think we ought to get you to a doctor,' Robin exclaimed in a worried voice, and fixed his gaze on Anka, raising a brow.

‘I agree, and we'd better leave here at once,' Anka announced briskly, instantly in charge. ‘I have an excellent doctor, Robert, and I feel sure he would see Elizabeth immediately. Let me go and call his office. I know Charles will let me use the phone.'