The garden of the house on the Heath had been another oasis for her, particularly in the spring and summer months. In spring it was a bower of leafy trees, green and restful; in summer the herbaceous borders and many rosebushes were riotous rafts of bright color against the smooth green lawn, and they filled the air with fragrance.
Several old apple trees created a canopy of shade on sunny days, and it was there that they had so frequently picnicked. Recalling those picnics now, her mouth suddenly began to water at the thought of the delicious tiny tea sandwiches filled with smoked salmon, egg salad, sliced cucumber, and watercress and cheddar. And there were always homemade scones slathered with Devonshire cream and strawberry jam, all washed down with scalding hot tea laced with lemon and poured from the big brown teapot Derek swore by.
196 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
It had been a rather sad day for her when Derek and her mother had sold Briar Lodge seventeen years ago and moved to the apartment overlooking Regent’s Park, where they still lived. She had understood the move. Even though the flat was very large with many large rooms, it was, nevertheless, easier to run than the big old house.
There were other corners of London that she treasured in her heart. Cavendish Square was one, because it was there that she had first stumbled, and quite by accident, on Jacob Epstein’s extraordinary sculpture,
Madonna and Child
. She hadn’t known its name then, nor had she known the name of the sculptor, but she had made a point of finding out later, and she had become a devotee of his.
She had first noticed the sculpture one spring afternoon not long after Ralph’s death, when she had been walking through the square, heading in the direction of Oxford Street. It had suddenly started to rain, and pausing, she had groped around in her handbag for her scarf. As she had tied it over her head she had happened to half turn around, and it was then that she had seen the sculpture; she had caught her breath, stunned by its beauty. It was set on the wall above an archway in Deans Mews, which opened off the square. Mounted in such a way that it stood slightly away from the wall, it appeared to be levitating, actually floating upward of its own accord.
The sculpture was life-size and towered Power of a Woman / 197
toward the sky, and she had walked over to it fascinated, gazing up at it in the pale spring light.
Because of the manner in which it was sited on the wall of the arch, and its slight tilt forward, the rain struck the eyes of the sculpture. It seemed to her that the Madonna was crying real tears. They were trickling down her cheeks, dripping onto the head of the child Jesus, who stood immediately in front of the Virgin, also levitating.
Now Stevie saw the sculpture in her mind’s eye, the image of it crystal clear. She recalled how she had been quite oblivious to the rain that afternoon, had been awed by the sculpture, had stood trans-fixed in front of it for ages. Only her dripping head scarf and soaking wet coat had forced her finally to hurry away, looking for a taxi. Its poignancy had touched her deeply, and she had made a point of going back to Deans Mews for many years after-ward, in order to look at Sir Jacob’s remarkable sculpture.
I’ll go and see it this trip, she thought, before I go back to New York in January. And then she suddenly wondered why it was that she was so deeply engrossed in the past that morning.
Perhaps it was because she did not want to deal with the present. With Nigel, to be precise. After all, it was Monday, December the twenty-third, just two days before Christmas, and the last thing she wanted was to cause family discord at this time.
In any case, he was noticeably absent from the Bond Street showrooms that day; his secretary 198 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
Angela had told her he had gone to Amsterdam with Gilbert Drexel, who was one of the diamond experts at Jardine’s. She could not help wondering if they were off hunting stones for the Sultan of Kandrea.
After Christmas, Stevie thought, I’ll tackle Nigel after the holidays.
The antique French striking clock by Le Roy et Fils of Paris, which stood on the William and Mary inlaid chest at the other side of the room, suddenly struck the hour. Stevie glanced up, peered at it, saw that it was noon. She had a luncheon appointment with Derek in half an hour. Rising, she crossed the floor to her small bathroom to freshen up before leaving to meet him at Harry’s Bar.
When she first went downstairs, Stevie stood on the doorstep of Jardine’s for a moment or two, debating whether to walk or take a taxi. It was a very cold day, but the sky was blue and the sun was shining, so she decided, in the end, to brave the cold wind and walk to South Audley Street where Harry’s Bar, a private club, was located.
Wrapping her heavy red-wool cape closer around her, she set off at a brisk pace down Bond Street.
Within minutes she was turning onto Grosvenor Street; she continued at the same rapid speed, heading up toward Grosvenor Square which would lead her into South Audley.
Stevie enjoyed walking in cities she liked, and Power of a Woman / 199
because of the length of time she had lived in London, she knew it well, better than any other place.
In particular, she enjoyed walking through Mayfair with its grand old mansions and stately hotels, cobbled mews with quaint little houses and tree-lined squares.
When she pushed open the door of Harry’s Bar some ten minutes later and went inside, she saw Derek leaning against the bar, drinking a glass of water. Instantly he put it down, came forward to greet her, and helped her off with her cape.
“And don’t you look smashing today, Stevie,” he exclaimed, staring across at her and smiling, once they were seated at a corner table. “Positively blooming. Very bonny indeed.”
She laughed and thanked him. “You don’t look so bad either, Derek.”
“I’m feeling pretty terrific.” Leaning closer, her stepfather confided, “I’ve decided to do the play—
The Lion in Winter
. It’s not going on until next autumn, and we won’t start rehearsals until late spring, so I’ll be well rested and ready to plunge into a new project by then.”
“I’m delighted. I know how easily you get bored.
What does my mother think about it?”
“She wants me to do it. She’s been worried that I was overtired and run-down after
Becket
and the film, but I’m feeling great and she knows it.” Derek paused as the waiter came to the table to take their drink order. “What would you like, Stevie? A Bellini perhaps?” Derek suggested.
200 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
“Thanks, that’s fine.”
Once the waiter had disappeared, Derek continued. “If it’s a success in the West End, I think the producers will take it to Broadway eventually.”
“I’m glad it’s opening here, that you’re going to be in London for a while. I think my mother really misses it when she’s away.”
“I agree with you, and speaking of your mother, tell me about the brooch you mentioned on the phone.”
“It’s a lovely old piece and it was designed by Jeanne Boivin, probably in the 1930s, thereabouts anyway. I thought it would suit my mother because it’s stylish without being overpowering. It’s made of clusters of small diamonds set in platinum, and it’s two stems of Queen Anne’s lace, and it
is
very
lacy
, rather delicate-looking. Of course, it’s a signed piece and quite valuable. André found it by chance.”
“So you said. Is that the feather pin André gave you for your birthday?” There was an admiring look on Derek’s face as he eyed the lapel of her tulip-red wool suit.
“Yes, and I’ve never stopped wearing it since he gave it to me. It’s the kind of pin that seems to go with everything. Night or day. The Boivin brooch is the same, actually, Derek, in that it can be worn at any time and with almost everything.”
“I’d like to see it. From what you say, I think it’ll make a wonderful Christmas gift for Blair.
Power of a Woman / 201
Actually, I was going to walk back to Jardine’s with you later. After lunch.”
“Great minds think alike. The same thing crossed my mind on my way here to meet you.”
He nodded and asked, “Did you like your birthday present from Miles?”
Stevie glanced at her stepfather alertly. “Oh, so you knew about it, did you?”
Derek grinned. “We did indeed, but Miles swore us to secrecy.”
“It’s a beautiful portrait of Chloe. And apparently he painted it rather quickly. Just dashed it off, he said. He’s a really good painter, isn’t he? I sometimes wonder why he settled for designing stage sets, even though he is brilliant at it.”
“His painting of Chloe is spectacular in my opinion, Stevie, and why he prefers to design sets I will never know either. The main thing, though, is that he’s happy doing what he’s doing. And happy with his life, it seems to me.” Derek peered at her closely.
“Have you seen Gideon since you arrived on Friday?”
“Ah, the other side of the coin, so to speak. Yes, we had—” She cut herself off.
The waiter had arrived with their Bellinis.
After toasting each other, Stevie went on. “Chloe and I had lunch with Gideon yesterday. I’m afraid he was morose, down in the dumps. Just as Miles said he was when he last saw him.”
“Did Gideon mention anything? Confide in you?
Tell you what’s ailing him?”
202 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
“Oh, no, Derek, and with Chloe present I didn’t want to question him. After all, he
is
twenty-seven.
A grown man capable of taking care of himself. And whatever it is that’s troubling him, he’ll snap out of it, I’m sure. The young are very resilient.”
“True,” Derek agreed, and deeming it wise to move on, he changed the subject, said, “I think we’d better look at the menu, order lunch, darling.”
“I know what I’m having…the same thing I always have when I lunch here. A mixed salad, then risotto primavera.”
“And I’m going to have fish and a small portion of pasta. One can’t come to Harry’s Bar without having a bit of pasta, now, can one?” Derek flashed her a smile and then turned his attention to the menu, concentrating on it.
When he finally looked up, Stevie said, “It’s not Gideon I’m worried about, but Bruce.”
“
Bruce?
” Derek threw her a questioning look, and he was unable to conceal his surprise. “What’s wrong with Bruce?”
“I’m not really sure, to be honest. I spent some time with Gilbert Drexel at the showroom on Saturday; we’d quite a lot of business to go over. And he made a point of telling me that he was very worried about Bruce, and he did stress
very
. Gilbert thought he seemed frail, not agile anymore, although that could be his gout acting up again. He said Bruce kept going into the show-Power of a Woman / 203
room, more than ever lately, which has surprised Gilbert, since Bruce had said he wouldn’t be making many appearances.”
“Interesting,” Derek murmured. He wondered if Bruce Jardine harbored any suspicions about Nigel, but he did not say this. He asked, “Did Gilbert tell you anything else, Stevie?”
“Just that Bruce seemed very
preoccupied
.” Stevie shook her head. “He was rather emphatic about that, mentioned it several times. I asked him if he meant that Bruce was senile, and Gilbert said no, not at all. He actually added that Bruce had all his marbles, and that was his exact expression.”
“Mmmm.” Derek looked thoughtful as he murmured, “He is in his eighties, of course. I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to see him yet, have you?”
“No, but I’m lunching with him tomorrow, as I have for years on Christmas Eve. It’s a tradition with us.”
“Bruce has always seemed so…
indestructible
; I think that’s the best word,” Derek mused out loud.
“It just goes to show, none of us is that. Nor are we immortal, as we’re often prone to think, as much as we’d like to be.”
He sounded so rueful when he said this, Stevie couldn’t help smiling, and she said, “If anybody’s going to be immortal, it’s you, Derek. After all, you’re the one who’s captured on film. You’ll live forever, in a sense.”
204 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
Derek smiled back at her but made no comment.
Stevie went on. “When I said I was worried about Bruce, I really wasn’t referring to his health, but rather to his demeanor. I can’t imagine why he continues to trail into Jardine’s; there seems to be no purpose to it.”
“I’m sure he’ll tell you when you see him tomorrow.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“I think perhaps we ought to order lunch, don’t you?” Derek said, picked up his Bellini, and took a sip. He couldn’t help wondering about Bruce’s behavior himself. Did that wily old bird know something no one else did?
“I
KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME TO MIND MY
own business, but I’m going to say this anyway.”
Miles paused, gave Gideon a hard stare, and added,
“So please hear me out.”
Gideon returned his brother’s stare but made no response. Instead, he studied him for a moment.
What he saw was a reflection of himself; dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, pleasant, well-defined face. A good-looking chap, Miles was. And very personable.
Women went for him. Didn’t he just know it. They shared the same problem. After all, he and Miles were identical twins. As their mother used to say to them, they were like two peas in a pod.
“Come on, Gideon, say something!” Miles exclaimed, leaning across the table. They were at Mark’s Club in Charles Street, where they were having lunch, their first in a long time. It was obvious they were happy to be together.
206 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
Gideon permitted a small smile to slide briefly across his mouth, then he said, “I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s bothering
you
. Spit it out. I won’t bite your head off. Nor will I tell you to mind your own business.”
“Right! It’s
you
, Gideon;
you’re
bothering me.
Or, rather, your behavior is, and it has for the past few months. You’re either morose or melancholic.
Or worse, depressed and unapproachable. It’s obvious you’re disturbed about something. Ma’s noticed it, Gid, and once she really gets on your case she’s not going to give you a moment’s peace. You know she can be like a dog with a bone when she gets her teeth into something.”