Being Elizabeth (42 page)

One morning towards the end of June, Robert bent over Elizabeth and touched her shoulder gently. ‘Wake up,' he said against her ear. ‘Darling, wake up.'

Elizabeth roused herself immediately, and looked up at him, saw the face she loved the most in this world. ‘Robin, what is it? Oh, heavens, have I overslept?'

‘No, but I have some news for you. From Francis. He just called on my mobile.'

‘At this hour?'

‘It's eight o'clock, and it's Saturday.'

‘I must have been dead on my feet last night.' She struggled up into a sitting position, and threw her legs out of bed. ‘Oh, we're at Stonehurst. I'd forgotten we drove down last night.'

‘Come on, darling, let's have coffee.'

‘What did Francis have to say? Bad news, no doubt.'

Together they went downstairs, but he didn't answer her. With his arm around her they went into the breakfast room; Robert poured two mugs of coffee and carried them over to the table.

After taking a good swallow he volunteered, ‘Francis phoned because he wanted us to know that Marie Stewart has just been arrested by the Edinburgh police. She's in jail, pending her trial for fraud. There are other charges which Francis says he'll tell us later.'

Elizabeth shivered, despite the warmth in the breakfast room, and goose flesh speckled her arms. Somebody walked over my grave, she thought, and began to shudder.

‘Are you all right?' Robert asked in concern.

‘Yes. What about Bothwith? He's been arrested with her, hasn't he?'

‘No. Francis told me he fled some days ago. To Denmark of all places.'

‘Why Denmark? How weird.' Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, lost in thought, her eyes staring off into the distance. Unexpectedly she felt a tightening in her chest and a strange aching sadness flowed through her. Tears came into her eyes, and she found a tissue in the pocket of her robe, wiped her eyes.

‘What is it? What's wrong?' Robert asked, his concern spiralling. He noticed that her face was the colour of bleached bone.

‘I felt terribly sad … How awful to be left alone like that … how can she bear it, Robin? I don't think I could.'

Wanting to change the subject he said, ‘Come on, let's go out onto the terrace. It's a beautiful morning.' As he spoke he picked up their mugs of coffee, and walked out to the terrace.

Elizabeth followed him slowly, understanding how lucky she was to be with this most extraordinary man.

They stood together, looked out at the glorious gardens created
so long ago by loving, caring hands. At one moment Elizabeth turned to Robert, touched his cheek. ‘I love you … and I thank you for this life you have given me.'

He looked deeply into her face, the face he had loved since childhood, and put his arm around her. ‘To love you is all I could ever need in this world … and to be loved by you is all I could ever want,' he said.

W
hen Elizabeth walked into her office at Deravenels, she automatically looked at the door leading into Robert's, but it was closed, not for the first time lately. Frowning to herself, she went over to her desk and sat down behind it.

She had been at the hairdressers for several hours, because tonight was a big night for her … She was to receive the Woman of the Year Award from the International Association of Business Executives, and it was considered something of a big deal by everyone.

Pulling her engagement book towards her, she opened it and looked down at the page. It was the nineteenth of May in 2006, and she was in her thirty-fifth year. My God, I'll be thirty-five in September, and so will Robert. I can hardly believe it, she thought.

May the nineteenth
… last year at this time Marie Stewart had been up to her crazy tricks with Jimmy Bothwith, and the towering edifice of her supposedly grand life had come tumbling down like the proverbial house of cards. Elizabeth sighed to herself, thinking of that misguided woman, one so foolish and impulsive she had
been led by her heart and not her head. For there were those in Scotland who now said that the marriage to Henry Darlay had not been good, and that Marie Stewart had fallen head over heels in love with Jimmy Bothwith. ‘Who deserted her and left her in the lurch in her time of trouble,' Elizabeth muttered out loud.

What a bastard he was to do that, and after he had manipulated her, gained control of Scottish Heritage, pillaged her company, committed bank fraud in her name, and made dubious deals with dubious men, most of them with criminal minds … like him. He had been her final downfall.

And so now Marie Stewart de Burgh Darlay Bothwith languished in one of the new open prisons for white-collar crimes where conditions were not as arduous as most other standard jails were. And her little boy was being brought up by relatives, one of her illegitimate half-siblings.

‘If you're not careful, that kid will end up being your heir one day,' Francis had warned her at the time of the kilt's staggering downfall, giving her one of his odd looks. She had not answered him.

Elizabeth was grateful to Francis because he had saved her from making a terrible business mistake. Through his own not always legal means, he had averted catastrophe for her. How ever he had come across his knowledge about Belvedere and Castleton she did not care, but those companies
had
been owned by Jimmy Bothwith through others. If she had gone ahead and bought Norseco Oil he and Marie Stewart, by then his wife, would have insisted on being on the board, would have had a big say in the running of the oil company.

Bothwith had owned so many shares he was almost at the same level as the chairman, Jake Sorrenson, the founder. Also jailed by now for mismanagement, misappropriation of company funds, tax fraud, bank fraud, and other criminal misdeeds. And she would have been stuck with the mess if she had gone ahead and taken over Norseco.

A narrow escape, she said to herself. I just missed a bullet, thanks to Francis Walsington … Her devoted colleague and friend had only had
her
welfare at heart. She was convinced deep inside herself that more than likely he had managed to set Marie Stewart up, trap her. But she did not care if he had, or how he had done it.

Staring at the page in her engagement book, she made a note that she had to leave early for the cocktail reception before the award dinner. Then she closed the book. Now she must work on her speech for tonight, that was imperative.

Picking up her pen, pulling a pad towards her, she soon discovered she could not concentrate. Robin was on her mind. Pushing back her chair, she got up, opened the door to his office and looked in. He was not there. Not only that, the lights were out. This was unusual. He generally left them on.

Elizabeth sighed. She had run out early this morning, gone to have her hair done. It was long now, and took some time to set and dry. Robin had been in the shower and she had left him a note. She had hardly spoken to him today; where was he?

She went back to her desk, and fell down into her thoughts.

Robin hasn't been the same for a long time now. As I sit here
thinking about him I realize he has been … quieter, more passive,
accepting of things … not so argumentative with me when he
disagreed with me. He just let it go. I think, as I look back, that
it began last year at this time … when we were all so consumed
with Mary Stewart and her shenanigans. I have a horrible feeling
that he identified with her in one thing … the strange and questionable
death of Darlay. His wife had died in odd circumstances,
too, and her demise had been questioned, at least the cause of
it had. And some people blamed him; as others had blamed
Marie for Darlay's death. Snap
.

But Robin Dunley and Marie Stewart are as different as chalk
and cheese. She is wilful, and careless in her dealings with others:
my darling Robin is thoughtful, considerate and caring, and he
never makes rash decisions. Not any more.

It's funny, thinking about it, but he doesn't do a lot these days.
Not so much riding, or exercise, and his hours practising dressage
in the indoor ring have lessened. Why? Is he tired? Or not well?
Neither. I know that. He may not be twenty any more and at the
height of his physical power and strength, but he is only thirty-five,
or he will be in a few months. He's slowed down … he's not so
interested in certain things … I sense a … disappointment in him
.

I wonder if it's something to do with Deravenels? Perhaps I
should tell him to start a new division, head it up, like his brother
heads up our Resorts Division. But Robin has so much power,
masses of it. He runs the company with me and Cecil. No, it
can't be that, it can't be work. But something is wrong … he's
been out of sorts for a long time … almost a whole year …
My gut instinct tells me that
…

The ringing phone brought her upright in the chair, and she automatically reached for it. ‘Hello?'

‘It's me,' Robert said.

‘Where are you?' Elizabeth asked, relieved to hear his voice.

‘I had some things to do, and decided today was the best time to run around doing them.'

‘What things?'

‘My tailor. Needed a haircut, the usual …'

‘What time are you coming in?'

‘I'm not sure, darling. Maybe I won't. You know how long my tailor takes, and I've two suits to fit. Also, it's a short day in a sense. I'll have to get back to the flat by four-thirty to change. And you will, too, Elizabeth.'

‘Yes, I know.'

‘All right then. I'll see you later at the flat, darling.' he said and hung up.

She stared at the receiver in her hand, frowning at it, puzzled.

Elizabeth stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room, studying herself for a moment. She was wearing a deep purple silk Valentino gown, cut straight in the skirt that fell to the floor in soft folds. It had a plain, round neckline and long sleeves, and with it she wore purple high-heeled silk shoes.

Satisfied with the gown, she put on Edward Deravenel's magnificent gold chain and medallion, added gold-and-diamond hoop earrings and a gold bracelet. Then she picked up a purple silk evening bag and went into the living room, seeking Robert's approval as usual.

Robert was standing near the fireplace, drinking a glass of water, and he put it down, came towards her as she appeared in the doorway.

‘You look absolutely beautiful, Elizabeth! Ravishing.'

‘So do you,' she replied. ‘A new dinner jacket, I see. It fits you perfectly. You're just impeccable, too gorgeous.'

‘I picked it up this afternoon,' he murmured and reached into his pocket. ‘I also picked up something for you.'

‘You did?'

‘I did indeed.' He kissed her on the cheek, opened the small leather box in his hand and took out a ring. ‘Here, this is for you,' he said and, smiling, he reached for her left hand, slipped the ring on her third finger. ‘There! How do you like that?'

Elizabeth gasped when she saw the large solitaire diamond, forty carats at least, glittering on her finger. ‘Robin! Darling! It's just magnificent. Thank you, oh thank you so much. I never
expected anything like this.' She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

He grinned at her wickedly. ‘And now we're engaged.
Finally
.'

Elizabeth, caught unawares, pushed down her astonishment and exclaimed, ‘I see we are. How about that!'

Everyone stared at them as they walked through the lobby of the Savoy Hotel. The beautiful redhead, so striking in purple, and the incredibly handsome man in the impeccably tailored Savile Row dinner jacket, tall and dark and exuding panache.

They had the same effect on everyone else as they entered the reception room where cocktails were being served. Heads turned as they strolled through the room saying hello to friends and greeting associates. Colleagues from Deravenels were out in full force; Cecil had bought six tables seating ten people each. Elizabeth moved through the crowd, talking to many of them … Francis, Cecil, Nicholas and Ambrose, who were happy, and congratulated her warmly. She spotted Spencer Thomas, and went to have a word with him, and tried not to miss anyone out.

Champagne flowed and canapés were served, and the cocktail hour flew by. It seemed to Elizabeth that they had only just arrived when they were being called into the ballroom for the award ceremony and dinner.