Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2018

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018 Cover photographs © Elizabeth Ansley/Trevillion Images (woman), Shutterstock.com (gate and leaves on back cover) and Ivan Vdovin/Getty Images (house back cover)

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780007503353

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780007503377

Version: 2018-07-06

Dedication

For Bob, with all my love always

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Characters

PART ONE

A Rip in the Fabric 1949

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

PART TWO Les Girls

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

PART THREE Magic and Make-Believe

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

PART FOUR Stepping into Reality

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

PART FIVE Different Perceptions 1950

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford

About the Publisher

CHARACTERS
ABOVE THE STAIRS
THE INGHAMS IN 1949

Miles Ingham, 7th Earl of Mowbray, aged 50. Owner and custodian of Cavendon Hall. Referred to as Lord Mowbray. He is married to Cecily Swann, 48, who is the 7th Countess of Mowbray.

THE CHILDREN OF THE EARL AND COUNTESS

David Ingham, heir to the earldom, aged 20. He is known as the Honourable David Ingham. Walter, 18; Venetia, 16; and Gwen, 8.

Lady Diedre Ingham Lawson, sister of the Earl, aged 56. She is married to William Lawson, 56, and lives in London with him and her son, Robin Drummond, 22. She works at the War Office. They come to Cavendon at weekends where they have their own house, Little Skell Manor.

Lady Daphne Ingham, sister of the Earl, aged 53. She remains married to Hugo Ingham Stanton, 68. They live permanently at Cavendon Hall, in the South Wing. They have five children who live in London and visit at weekends. They are Alicia, 35; Charles, 31; the twins Thomas and Andrew, 28; and Annabel, 25.

Lady Dulcie Ingham, youngest sister of the Earl, aged 41. She lives in London and at Skelldale Manor at Cavendon. She is married to Sir James Brentwood, 56, one of England’s greatest actors, who was knighted by King George VI. They have three children: twins Rosalind and Juliet, 20, and a son, Henry, 17.

The three sisters of the Earl are now referred to affectionately as the Three Dees by the staff.

BETWEEN STAIRS
THE SECOND FAMILY: THE SWANNS

The Swann family has been in service to the Ingham family for almost two hundred years. Consequently, their lives have been intertwined in many different ways. Generations of Swanns have lived in Little Skell village, adjoining Cavendon Park, and still do. The present-day Swanns are as devoted and loyal to the Inghams as their forebears were, and would defend any member of the family with their lives. The Inghams trust them implicitly, and vice versa.

THE SWANNS IN 1949

Walter Swann, aged 71; father of Cecily and Harry. Head of the Swann family, and in charge of security at Cavendon Hall.

Alice Swann, his wife, aged 68, the mother of Cecily and Harry. Alice runs most of the village events and helps to run the Women’s Institute alongside the Dowager Countess.

Harry, son, aged 51, a former apprentice landscape gardener at Cavendon Hall. He is now running the estate. He has also created beautiful gardens which draw the public.

Cecily, daughter, aged 48. She is married to Miles and is a world-renowned fashion designer.

Paloma Swann, 38, wife of Harry, and mother of their children: Edward, 10; Patricia, 8; and Charles, 6. She is a well-known photographer.

OTHER SWANNS

Percy, younger brother of Walter, aged 68. Head gamekeeper at Cavendon.

Edna, wife of Percy, aged 69. Does occasional work at Cavendon.

Joe, their son, aged 48. Works with his father as assistant head gamekeeper.

Bill, first cousin of Walter, aged 63. Head landscape gardener at Cavendon. He is widowed.

Ted, first cousin of Walter, aged 74. Head of interior maintenance and carpentry at Cavendon. Widowed.

Paul, son of Ted, aged 50, working with his father as an interior designer and carpenter at Cavendon. Single.

Eric, brother of Ted, first cousin of Walter, aged 69. Head butler at Cavendon Hall. Single.

Charlotte, aunt of Walter and Percy, aged 81. Now Dowager Countess of Mowbray. Charlotte is the matriarch of the Swann and Ingham families. She is treated with great love and respect by everyone. Charlotte was the secretary and personal assistant to David Ingham, the 5th Earl, until his death. She married the 6th Earl in 1926, who predeceased her during World War II.

Dorothy Pinkerton, née Swann, aged 66, cousin of Charlotte. She lives in London and is married to Howard Pinkerton, 66, a Scotland Yard detective. She works with Cecily at Cecily Swann Couture in London.

CHARACTERS BELOW STAIRS

Mr Eric Swann, Head butler

Mrs Peggy Swift Lane, Housekeeper

Mrs Lois Waters, Cook

Miss Mary Lowden, Head housemaid

Miss Vera Gower, Second housemaid

Mr Philip Carlton, Chauffeur

OTHER EMPLOYEES

Miss Angela Chambers, nanny for Cecily’s daughter Gwen, addressed as Nanny or Nan.

THE OUTDOOR WORKERS

A stately home such as Cavendon Hall, with thousands of acres of land, and a huge grouse moor, employs local people. This is its purpose for being, as well as providing a private home for a great family. It offers employment to the local villagers, and also land for local tenant farmers. The villages surrounding Cavendon were built by various earls of Mowbray to provide housing for their workers; churches and schools were also built, as well as post offices and small shops at later dates. The villages around Cavendon are Little Skell, Mowbray and High Clough.

There are a number of outside workers: a head gamekeeper and five additional gamekeepers; beaters and flankers who work when the grouse season starts and the Guns arrive at Cavendon to shoot. Other outdoor workers include woodsmen, who take care of the surrounding woods for shooting in the lowlands at certain times of the year. The gardens are cared for by a head landscape gardener, and five other gardeners working under him.

The grouse season starts in August, on the Glorious Twelfth, as it is called. It finishes in December. The partridge season begins in September. Duck and wild fowl are shot at this time. Pheasant shooting starts on the 1 November and goes on until December. The men who come to shoot, usually aristocrats, are always referred to as the Guns, i.e., the men using the gun.

PART ONE
A Rip in the Fabric 1949

Yesterday’s weaving is as irrevocable

as yesterday.

I may not draw out the threads, but I

may change my shuttle.

Muriel Strode-Lieberman,

My Little Book of Life

ONE

Cecily Swann Ingham, the 7th Countess of Mowbray, was on the steps of the office annexe, looking out across the stable block, her eyes focused on Cavendon Hall perched high on the hill in front of her.

It was a lovely June morning, and the luminous light particular to the north of England cast a sheen across the soaring roof and chimney tops, which appeared to shimmer under the clear, bright sky.

How glorious the house looks today, she thought: stately, grand, strong and safe. She smiled wryly to herself. It wasn’t safe at all, in her opinion. Not in reality.

Sadly, as grand as the house looked this morning, it was facing serious trouble once more in its long life, and she was genuinely worried about its future, the future of the entire estate, including the grouse moor, as well as the Ingham family itself.

Cecily sighed, closed her eyes, shutting out the view. Cavendon had bled them dry for years, and taken an enormous amount of their time. They had each made huge sacrifices for it, and all of them had at one time or another poured money into the bottomless pit it had become, particularly Cecily herself.

Opening her eyes, straightening, she wondered how on earth they would manage to stave off the encroaching trouble, which was slowly but steadily moving forward to engulf them. If she was truthful with herself, she had to admit she had no idea. For once in her life she felt entirely helpless, unable to create a foolproof plan of action.

The clatter of hooves cut into her worrisome thoughts, and she opened her eyes. Her brother, Harry, was crossing the cobbled stable yard, accompanied by Miles, who walked alongside the horse.

Her husband spotted her, raised his hand in greeting, smiled at her – that special smile reserved for her alone. Her heart tightened at the delighted look that crossed his face, because he had seen her unexpectedly.

Harry waved; she waved back, and watched her brother leave the yard. He was off on his Saturday morning rounds of the entire estate. Harry revelled in his job as the estate manager and had made such a huge difference in numerous ways. The new gardens he had created after he had been invalided out of the Air Force were startlingly beautiful and had drawn many visitors.

Miles joined her on the steps, putting his arm around her. ‘I missed you at breakfast. As adorable and entertaining as our children are, they can hardly take your place, my love.’

‘I needed to get to my desk, go over the latest figures Aunt Dottie sent up from London. Before going to the meeting.’

‘Bloody hell! I’d forgotten about the Saturday morning meeting,’ Miles exclaimed, sounding annoyed.

Cecily gave him a nod and grimaced.

Miles said, ‘Come on then, madam, buck up at once! Gird on your sword and prepare to do battle. You have no alternative, you know. The die is cast!’

‘Indeed it is.’ She laughed. ‘I’m off,’ she added, ‘there won’t be a battle, maybe a bit of grumbling, and whining, but that’s all.’ She blew him a kiss.

‘I know that. Still, just think, next week we’ll be all alone with our little brood and Aunt Charlotte. The rest of the family will have gone off on their holidays, thank God.’

‘Like you, I can’t wait,’ she replied, and left him standing on the steps of the annexe. She made her way across the stable yard, heading for the terrace which ran along the back of the house, facing Cavendon Park.

When she stepped onto the terrace a few seconds later, her three sisters-in-law and aunt had not yet arrived for their regular weekly catch-up. She sat down in a wicker chair, her gaze resting on the lush park which flowed to the edge of Little Skell village.

On the left side of the park was the lake where the two white swans floated, a matched pair, bonded for life, as were all swans. It had been the first Earl, Humphrey Ingham, who had decreed there must always be swans at Cavendon to honour his liegeman, James Swann.

The spectacular view had not changed over the many years, not since the 1700s, in fact, when the house had first been built. But everything else had. Things were different now … nothing was the same any more. Anywhere.

Cecily sat drifting with her thoughts, thinking of the last four years. In 1945, when the war had ended in victory, the euphoria of the public had been high. Unfortunately, that sense of pride, triumph and relief had soon drifted off, and the rot had set in. The country was broke, the Great British Empire was creeping away, disappearing into nothingness, and everyone grumbled, complained and couldn’t wait for things to get better. They didn’t. The worst thing of it was that Churchill was out of office; the Labour Party had won the election and Clement Attlee had been made Prime Minister.

City councils without funds were unable to function properly. Bomb sites, great gaping holes in the ground, eyesores in every big city, had been left untouched for lack of money and materials. It was the same with ruined buildings; there were piles of rubble everywhere, making everyone miserable because they were constant reminders of the war. And the country was still suffering rationing on much of the food and day-to-day goods they needed.

It seemed to Cecily that Britain had just stood still. Now, in 1949, she hoped things were improving: people were becoming more optimistic once more and there was a sense of cheerfulness in the air. Princess Elizabeth’s wedding eighteen months earlier had helped lift the country’s spirits.

On the other hand, Britain was still a country mostly made up of old men, women and children. Hundreds of thousands of young men had not returned from battle, had died in foreign lands. She knew how much this had affected Cavendon. They were a large estate and had lost many of their young men from the tenant farms and the villages, the families devastated by loss for the second time in a generation. And Cavendon was an agricultural estate that needed sturdy men to till the land, harvest the crops, tend the cattle and sheep.

Miles said they were lucky that two of the Land Army girls had stayed on, and were running several of the tenant farms; by advertising in local newspapers, Harry had managed to hire three families to move into tenant farms in the nearby villages of Mowbray and High Clough.

Hearing voices, Cecily swung around and immediately stood up. Through the French doors she saw Aunt Charlotte, who was talking to Eric Swann, head butler at Cavendon.

Cecily went into the library to greet her aunt, exclaiming, ‘Good morning, I didn’t expect you to come today, Aunt Charlotte.’ Like her, her great-aunt was a Swann who’d married an Ingham – though in Charlotte’s case not until later in life. Now the Dowager Countess of Mowbray, the older woman retained the poise and upright bearing she’d had from girlhood. Her face was lined with her years now, and her hair white.

‘Hello, Ceci – and why not? It’s the last of the meetings for the summer. I should be here.’

Looking across at Eric, Cecily said, ‘I see you’ve brought in coffee, Eric. I’d love a cup, please. And what about you, Aunt Charlotte?’

‘Yes, of course, I’ll join you. We can have a chat before the others get here.’

‘Right away, my lady,’ Eric said, and turned to the tray on the table.

Charlotte walked over to the fireplace and sat down, and beckoned for Cecily to join her. ‘There is something I must tell you … privately.’

But before she could say anything else, the door of the library opened and Lady Diedre came in. The eldest of the Ingham sisters, she was an elegant woman of fifty-six, her blonde hair now streaked with grey, but dressed as usual in the most up-to-date fashions. Today she wore the chic, wide-leg trousers she adored, teamed with a relaxed silk blouse.

Cecily raised her eyebrows at Charlotte. Their private conversation would have to wait. She stood up to welcome her sister-in-law. Diedre was widely regarded as the brains of the siblings, having worked for years at the War Office. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, but her razor-sharp intelligence always livened up any gathering. Cecily gave her an affectionate kiss and pointed her towards the coffee.

She was followed by Lady Dulcie, the youngest Ingham sister, now in her early forties. Dulcie might be slightly plumper and a mother of three, but she was still the baby of the family in all of their eyes. As they got themselves settled, Diedre leaned across to Cecily and said, ‘I just want to congratulate you on the success of the gift shop. You’ve done a marvellous job, and certainly the income from it is proving very useful.’

‘Thank you,’ Cecily answered, and smiled gratefully at her. It was Diedre who was usually the peacemaker when any problems arose and squabbles started. ‘I honestly had no idea people would be interested in so many small things related to Cavendon.’

As Dulcie sat down, Cecily turned towards her.

‘How long will you be away in Hollywood?’ she asked. ‘Miles said James has two films to make for MGM under his old contract.’

‘Yes, that’s correct, but I think we’ll be back in time for Christmas. At least that’s what we’re planning. Also, James wants to do a play in the West End next year.’

‘That’s good to know,’ Cecily said. ‘Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you.’ She adored her glamorous sister-in-law, who remained as funny and down-to-earth as she’d always been, despite her husband’s Hollywood success.

At this moment the door opened and Daphne, the last of the Ingham sisters, stepped into the room. Cecily blinked with surprise. It was obvious that her sister-in-law was dressed for travelling rather than the weekend at Cavendon.

Walking forward, Daphne greeted them coolly. ‘I just came to say goodbye. I’m not staying for the meeting.’ She looked around at the other women, her face set. ‘Nobody listens to me anyway.’

Cecily recoiled in shock. Daphne was, to all intents and purposes, the chatelaine of Cavendon. Ever since her mother had left them, she’d run the place; she’d lived here all her life.

A wry smile twisted Daphne’s mouth briefly, and she went on. ‘Hugo and I are leaving very shortly. We wish to have supper with the children in London this evening. Then we are off to Zurich tomorrow, as you know. What I want to tell you now is that we won’t be coming back for a long time. Perhaps not for another year.’

Diedre looked startled. ‘Goodness me, Daphne, a whole year!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why ever would you, of all people, stay away from Cavendon for so long?’ Her face betrayed her bemusement.

‘Because I can’t really bear it here any more,’ Daphne answered. Her voice was level, steady, ‘I can’t live here with the public milling around the house and gardens any longer. They seem to be everywhere. I keep stumbling over them. It’s perfectly ghastly.’

Daphne paused and stared at Cecily for a prolonged moment. ‘It’s become far too commercial for me, Ceci. Almost like a giant store, an extension of Harte’s, what with the shops, the café, and the art gallery. I’m afraid you’ve turned it into a rather horrid tourist attraction.’ She shook her head, her beautiful face suddenly grim, and without uttering another word she left the library, closing the door quietly behind her.

There was a stunned silence.

Diedre and Dulcie looked at each other. The amazement on both sisters’ faces proclaimed that this was as much of a surprise to them as it was to Cecily.

Aunt Charlotte spoke first, her voice quiet. ‘I think we must excuse Daphne and what she’s just said. She’s been exhausted for a long time and has put a lot into Cavendon. I do believe a few weeks of quiet and tranquillity in Zurich will help her feel better.’

‘She blames me,’ Cecily said in a low tone. ‘Ever since the end of the war she has been saying I have been making Cavendon too commercial. She and Hugo have never stopped grumbling – about the house tours, in particular. She’s been very off with me lately.’

‘But it’s the money we make from the public that keeps us going!’ Dulcie cried, her voice rising slightly. ‘And she blames me too, because you let me create my little art gallery. But all of the profits go to Cavendon, not to me.’

In a soothing voice, Diedre interjected, ‘Don’t let’s get excited about this. Frankly, I agree with Aunt Charlotte. Daphne’s been bone tired for years and I think she deserves a long rest. She loves the villa and Switzerland. She’ll get her strength back, soon be her old self again.’

Dulcie, looking from Diedre to Aunt Charlotte, asked, ‘What do you mean, bone tired? Do you both think Daphne has some kind of illness?’

Aunt Charlotte shook her head. ‘Not really, but she has put so much of herself into the house, she’s sort of, well …’ Charlotte paused before finishing, ‘A little possessive of it, should we say?’

Diedre nodded in agreement. ‘The public does get on her nerves, but if we didn’t have the house and garden tours, and the shops …’ She broke off, her hands raised in a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t know where we’d be.’

‘Broke,’ Cecily said. ‘Well, not quite, but almost.’

‘And aren’t we lucky the public are so terribly fascinated by Cavendon Hall and the gardens,’ Dulcie remarked. ‘Especially since they pay through the nose for the privilege of touring them.’

She laughed, and so did the others, breaking the dour mood.

‘Perhaps we should just skip the meeting, go on about our own business,’ Diedre suggested.

‘If there’s nothing else to discuss, I think I’ll go and finish packing,’ Dulcie announced, rising. ‘There are lots of my clothes here which I want to take with me to Beverly Hills.’

Diedre remarked, ‘Talking of packing, I’d better go and do the same thing. Will and I leave for Beaulieu-sur-Mer early next week.’ Glancing at Cecily she went on, ‘Will’s brother Ambrose is letting us have his house in the south of France for six weeks, and we’d love you and Miles to come down and stay, Cecily. And why don’t you come along as well, Aunt Charlotte?’

‘That’s a lovely invitation, Diedre, and I just might do that, providing Cecily and Miles are coming. You see, I do prefer to travel with someone these days. I’m getting to be an old lady, you know.’

‘Nonsense!’ Diedre exclaimed. ‘You don’t look or act your age, and you’re as fit as a fiddle. But I know what you mean about travelling alone. Just let us know when you can come.’

Cecily gave a distracted smile. Her emotions were running high. She said nothing until her sisters-in-law had left the room, then walked to the window, looking out at the grounds.

‘What do you wish to tell me, discuss with me?’ Cecily asked her great-aunt, keeping her voice calm.

‘The estate,’ Charlotte answered. ‘As you are aware, I was the personal assistant to David Ingham, the Fifth Earl.’ She glanced at her. ‘And, as such, I know more about the entire estate than anybody else, even Miles. It struck me about ten days ago that Great-Aunt Gwen had no right to leave Little Skell Manor to Diedre, because she didn’t actually own it. Neither did her sister, who had left it to Great-Aunt Gwen. You see Cavendon Hall, all of the buildings on the estate, the thousands of acres of land, the grouse moor and the park belong to whomever is the earl. However, for the past fifty-five years or so, the last few earls have allowed family members to live at the two houses rent free.’

Cecily looked at her great-aunt. ‘Do you mean that James and Dulcie should be paying rent, because they live at Skelldale House, and so should Diedre and Will, because they are occupying Little Skell Manor?’

‘That’s correct,’ Charlotte replied. ‘To be absolutely sure, I checked in the files I created years ago and came across the relevant documents, which confirmed what I’ve just said.’

‘It will, but we must convince Miles to accept the idea. He might not want to do it.’

‘There are the papers I found to prove my point,’ Charlotte reminded Cecily. ‘I know they were overlooked by the Fifth Earl, because I worked with him, and obviously the Sixth Earl did the same thing. Now the Seventh Earl can put it all straight.’

Cecily wasn’t so sure. She knew her husband would loathe the idea – especially as his sisters believed the houses had been given to them. And it was going to seem, once again, that the Swanns were meddling with the Ingham ways.

She stood up wearily and excused herself.

TWO

In moments of sorrow, or when she was troubled, Cecily went to a special place at Cavendon to be alone and calm herself.

It was no longer the rose garden, which she had used as a sanctuary for years, although she did still visit it occasionally. These days she usually went down to DeLacy’s grave, where she would sit and talk to her dearest friend. DeLacy Ingham had been tragically killed in the war, when the South Street house had been struck by a flying bomb, and Cecily continued to miss her childhood companion, the missing sister of the ‘Four Dees’, as they’d been known.

Leaving the house, Cecily walked to the cemetery, located across the park near the woods. When she arrived she saw at once that someone else had been there before her. The vase on the grave was filled with late-blooming pink roses.

Instantly, she choked up, touched that another member of the family had also recently felt the need to visit DeLacy. That was the way she always thought of these visits – going to see DeLacy, never going to DeLacy’s grave. Because she couldn’t bear that thought. Cecily sat down on the grass and leaned against the headstone. In her mind’s eye she could see her friend as clearly as if she were standing there, could hear the lilting voice telling her something special, their laughter echoing in the air …

She missed Lacy so much it was a physical pain, an ache inside, a terrible longing for someone she had loved and lost, whom she would never embrace or laugh with ever again. DeLacy’s untimely death in the Second World War had been the biggest loss of her life.

Cecily thought now of the years they had grown up together, here at Cavendon, always close, never far away from each other. They were the same age, with the same needs. While DeLacy was an Ingham, one of the Earl’s four daughters, and Cecily a Swann, who served the aristocratic family, the social divide had meant nothing to them. We were like one person, Cecily suddenly thought, all twined up together, interwoven like a fine fabric, thinking and saying the same things.

A small sigh escaped her and she closed her eyes, unexpectedly remembering their terrible quarrel. They had not spoken for several years. It was Miles who had been able to bring about a reconciliation, which Lacy had begged for, and Cecily had agreed to forgive and forget, and she had done that with all her heart. When they had come back together, were friends again, it was so easy, so natural, as if they had never been apart. In an instant, they had become one again.

To Cecily, DeLacy had always been the most beautiful of the four Ingham sisters, even though Lady Daphne had been singled out as the beauty of the family by their father.

Her husband’s sisters were all blonde with sky-blue eyes. Diedre, Daphne, DeLacy and Dulcie, each with their own honorary title of Lady, as the daughters of an earl. Her sisters-in-law, her friends. Daphne’s words earlier had hurt Cecily very deeply.

There had never been a serious rift between the Inghams and the Swanns until after the war. It was then that the fabric of the family had suddenly and unexpectedly been ripped. All because of the need for money for new government taxes and the proper running of the estate. Miles fully understood he was the guardian of an ancient line, one of the most important earldoms in England. Still, his birthright was a heavy burden to carry, Cecily knew that. Many of the ancient estates had been put up for sale over the years since the First World War, and now the Second World War had made it harder still. An old world order had ended for ever: a world in which the big houses were full of servants and the money flowed had disappeared.

Aunt Charlotte had told her as they had parted earlier that it was the first time in living memory there had been issues between the two families. And she ought to know. Aunt Charlotte had been the keeper of the Swann record books all of her adult life. They had been written since Cavendon was built, started at the time of the 1st Earl by James Swann. In those books were all the secrets of the Swanns and the Inghams; they were absolutely private and for Swann eyes only.

The Inghams had never been allowed to read those books. Now they were in her hands, and Cecily would keep the records, write in them, and they would not pass to another Swann until the day she died.

Cecily focused on Aunt Charlotte. She held a unique position in the two families, as the matriarch of the Swanns and, as the Dowager Countess of Mowbray, matriarch of the Inghams. Aunt Charlotte’s work for Miles’s grandfather, David Ingham, the 5th Earl, long before she married the 6th Earl, Charles, late in her life, meant there wasn’t much she didn’t know about the two families. How lucky for them that she had now remembered that the two houses, Little Skell Manor and Skelldale House, belonged to the 7th Earl, and not the different women who had lived in them over the years.

She hoped Miles wouldn’t be silly and get on his high horse, and say his sisters must continue to live rent free.

Daphne lived rent free, come to think of it. She and Hugo and their children had occupied the South Wing of Cavendon for all of their married lives. Did they pay rent? Had they ever? Should they now start? She had no answer to that.

Cecily felt a sudden rush of resentment. Daphne blamed her for the visitors who intruded on Daphne’s private haven, and she had to admit she was hurt, considering the efforts she had made over these many years. She had saved Cavendon from disaster time and again, shoring it up with money from her own fashion business.

Unexpectedly, tears again began to leak out of the corner of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She was weeping for the loss of her darling DeLacy, but also because of the accusations Daphne had levelled at her, words that had been most unfair.

She remained seated by the grave for a short while longer, pulling herself together, taking control of her emotions. On her way back to the house Cecily saw her mother hurrying along the path from Little Skell village. They spotted each other at the same moment, waving. A few seconds later they were embracing. Alice Swann said, ‘I was coming to look for you, Ceci. Your father told me that Lady Daphne and Mr Hugo have gone off to Zurich, and that she didn’t even attend the family meeting.’

‘Oh gosh, the Swann network does move fast,’ Cecily shot back, but there was humour in her tone. ‘I suppose you also know that she blames me for the commercialization of Cavendon, opening it to the public and all that stuff.’

‘I do,’ Alice replied. ‘When I think of all the money you have given to the family to maintain Cavendon, my blood boils. Thousands. Even when Swann Couture was starting to take off you chipped in, and later you bought that pile of Ingham jewellery and then gave to the Earl annual cheques from your collection of copies.’ Alice shook her head and let out a long sigh. ‘Poor Daphne, she’s not well, in my opinion. Or perhaps she’s just overtired. I know deep down she loves you dearly, Cecily. You look as if you’ve been crying. Not about Daphne, I hope?’

‘No. Missing DeLacy. Anyway, I’m a bit hurt at the moment, but it will pass.’ Quickly she changed the subject and said, ‘Aunt Dottie is looking forward to seeing you and Dad, Mam.’

Alice smiled. ‘And I can’t wait. She’s always so cheerful and loving.’

Miles swung around and jumped up when he saw Cecily coming into his study. ‘There you are, darling!’ he exclaimed, his engaging smile filling his face with love. ‘I’ve been wondering where you were.’

Taking hold of her, he led her over to the sofa.

‘There was no meeting,’ she began. ‘Daphne—’

‘Daphne’s been here to see me,’ he cut in. ‘With Hugo in tow. He indicated they would be living in Zurich for quite a few months. A short while later, Aunt Charlotte showed up and told me all about her little scheme. Not so little, actually.’ He paused, reached out and gently wiped a damp cheek with his fingertips. ‘You’ve been crying. Not about Daphne, I hope?’

‘No. I went to sit with Lacy for a few minutes. Missing her.’ As she spoke, Cecily swept both hands across her face, sat up and offered her husband her brightest smile.

Miles studied her. She was forty-eight and still beautiful, with her luxuriant, russet-brown hair, those unusual lavender-tinted eyes and a clear complexion. If there were a few wrinkles around her eyes, he hardly noticed them, and neither did anyone else. She was his woman, his wife, his partner, his soulmate, and his saviour in so many ways. Without her he would be lost.

He was fifty, but he had worn quite well. There were many grey hairs now, and frequently bags under his eyes, and sometimes he was ready to collapse from exhaustion. On the other hand, fifty was fifty, after all. Certainly he made sure nobody knew how tired he felt half the time, although he suspected this woman he had loved all his life knew this. Cecily Swann. The girl he had loved from childhood. Now Cecily Ingham. His. There had only ever been her. His brief marriage to Clarissa, a forced marriage at that, had been a sham. Thank God he had his Cecily by his side, loving and loyal.

Miles leaned closer and kissed her forehead. ‘I won’t permit anyone to blame you for turning Cavendon into a commercial enterprise. We all supported that. And we had to do it in order to survive, to save all this.’ He paused, waved his hand towards the window, indicating the entire estate.

‘Did Aunt Charlotte tell you Daphne does blame me?’

‘She did. And Daphne more than likely blames Dulcie for opening her art gallery; Harry for creating gorgeous gardens that lure the public here; her son Charlie for writing a bestselling history about us that titillates everyone and brings more visitors; Paloma for producing a coffee-table book about Harry’s gardens that sells so well for us. And I am positive that the greatest blame goes to me. Her brother, the Seventh Earl, who has allowed all this horrific stuff to happen.’ He smiled gently, shaking his head. ‘Please don’t take her words to heart. You’ve saved us, not ruined us. And we’ve all aided and abetted you.’

‘Oh Miles, you do make me feel better. I was a bit down in the dumps earlier. I’m afraid Daphne’s attitude has been troubling me for the past year. She and Hugo have been … well, grumblers, to say the least. So, are you going to do what Aunt Charlotte suggests? Charge rent for Little Skell Manor and Skelldale House?’

‘She persuaded me I should think about it.’ Miles wasn’t giving much away.

Cecily nodded. ‘They can both afford it. James and Will are wealthy men, and Diedre still works.’

‘She’s always been keen to help out, and actually those two houses they live in are taxed by the government as part of the estate taxes.’

‘Then you have no choice,’ Cecily answered emphatically.

Miles stood, walked over to the window and looked out at the moors. There was a prolonged silence before he finally returned and sat down with Cecily. Taking hold of her hand, he said, ‘Daphne’s departure is going to be a burden for you in some ways. I think we must discuss the problems now, get them dealt with.’

‘I have to be at Cavendon all the time, to run it myself now, don’t I?’ Cecily replied, detecting the seriousness in his voice.

‘You do, darling. You must take on the full responsibilities as chatelaine. After all, you are the Seventh Countess. And you must manage all the village events and be part of village life. The three villages.’

‘I have been doing quite a lot of that over these many years,’ Cecily protested, her voice rising slightly. ‘I realize Daphne always had a hand in supervising Cavendon Hall, especially when it came to keeping the room décor up to par, checking for leaks, making lists of any other tasks that needed doing. And keeping Ted and Paul Swann informed, showing them any damage.’

‘That’s not a difficult task, Ceci. We will ask every family member to keep an eye open for such things. I’m afraid Daphne could be overzealous about upkeep in a sense; she was always on top of the carpentry shop, pushing Paul in particular.’

‘I know that,’ Cecily replied. ‘Let’s not forget that Eric and Peggy haven’t left with her for Zurich.’ There was a sarcastic edge to her voice when she added, ‘They run the domestic side of Cavendon. Daphne didn’t do that any more, and hasn’t for years. Eric inherited Hanson’s mantle well. He’s a wonderful head butler, and Peggy Swift is an amazing housekeeper. I don’t think they need my hovering around them.’

‘That’s true. But you have spent a lot of time in London, and when it comes down to it, the Countess should be here on a regular basis.’

‘I’ve been in London for my business, not having a good time!’

He took her hand in his again, squeezed it. ‘Let’s not bicker. What we have to do is make a plan, work out how you can do both—’

Cecily interrupted him peremptorily and said in a brisk, business-like tone, ‘I shall have to learn to delegate, since I will have to run my business from here. I’ll promote Aunt Dottie and Greta Chalmers. They can do it, I’m sure. They’ll both handle more responsibility for the business well.’

‘And you won’t mind that?’

‘Of course not. I have to do what’s practical.’

His pleasure showed on his face. He was beaming at her, and his eyes held the sparkle that had been missing for so long.

Cecily’s heart sank. Her being here full time as Countess was what Miles wanted – and needed. But as she considered the serious problems she had with her business, the debts, the lack of money, she knew that spending less time on it could be disastrous. She was almost on the point of confiding in him, but changed her mind.

She would not be able to give him any money for Cavendon this year. Her business was in the red. But would Cavendon survive without her contribution? She was not sure.

Now she thought: Why spoil the weekend? I’ll talk to him on Monday, give him the bad news then.

‘We’d better go to lunch,’ she said, standing up, offering him a loving smile. But her heart was heavy with worry, disguise it though she did, knowing that Cavendon could go down.

THREE

Alicia Ingham Stanton, eldest child of Lady Daphne and Hugo Stanton, stood staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, startled by her appearance. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed, there were dark shadows underneath, and her delicate pink and white complexion had a strange greyish tint to it today.

But she was not really surprised she looked so awful. She and Charlie had drunk far too many cognacs last night, and later sleep had eluded her. Now, at six o’clock in the morning, she felt totally exhausted.

A small shiver ran through her as she thought of the evening she had spent with her parents and her siblings. The farewell supper at the Savoy Hotel had started out well enough, but had almost disintegrated into a huge quarrel. Knowing she was the only one who could prevent this from happening, she jumped up and threatened to leave immediately. Knowing that she always meant what she said, Charlie had backed off and their mother had instantly shut up.

After that their father had managed to quell the imminent storm, and had reintroduced a measure of peace around them. But, for Alicia, the dinner before their parents’ departure for Zurich had been a disaster, ruined by her mother’s bitterness about Cavendon.

Peering at her face once more, Alicia reached for a face cloth, ran ice-cold water on it, then pressed it against her cheeks. She did this several times, patted herself dry and slapped on layers of Pond’s cream.

She was not particularly vain about her looks, but she knew she must take care of them, since she was an actress who worked in films. The camera could perform magic but it also highlighted flaws. In two weeks she was starting a new film and must look her best, be in good form.

Once she was back in bed, she pulled the covers over her, determined to get a few hours of sleep. She was having lunch with Charlie later and knew she must be rested and alert before meeting him.

Alicia did not blame her brother for last night’s debacle. Rather, it was her mother’s fault. Everyone had been shocked to hear Daphne’s critical comments about Cecily, including their father. Of course Charlie, as usual, had been unable to hold back, had spontaneously blurted out a heated defence of Cecily before she could stop him. As always, this verbal fight-back was like a red rag to a bull as far as her mother was concerned. He had been doing it since childhood.

Though it was justified, Alicia now thought. Charlie was correct to defend a woman who had saved their family from catastrophe more than once. Their mother had been wrong, the attack misguided. Why on earth had Daphne spoken like that?

Although she had not said anything to a single soul, Alicia was worried her mother was ill. She had noticed certain little things lately. A tremor in her hands at times, a hesitation when trying to remember something, an irritability Alicia had never seen displayed before.

Did her father know the truth? Was he keeping something from them? Maybe. Hugo would never reveal a thing to his children about his wife. He loved them, she knew that, but his main priority in his life was his beautiful Daphne. He had always been her knight in shining armour. That was the way it had begun – love at first sight for him – and ever since he had been mesmerized by her beauty and charm, devoted and supportive.

It suddenly struck Alicia that she ought to confide in Charlie, pass on her worries about their mother. She knew she must also exonerate him for speaking out; she needed to reassure him he had been correct. At the back of her mind, she was positive her brother was still harbouring that anger from last night.

At thirty-five, Alicia was four years older than Charlie, and had been his protector since childhood, forever looking out for him. They were joined at the hip, more like twins than their siblings, Andrew and Thomas, who were twins.

The shrill of the phone cut into her thoughts, and she reached for it. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me,’ a gruff male voice growled at the other end.

‘Brin? Is that you?’ she exclaimed.

‘Who else would ring you at this ungodly hour?’

‘What’s wrong? You sound strange.’

‘I’ve been up all night. I’m about to collapse, drop dead perhaps. I’m coming over. Okay?’

‘You sound bad. I’ll come and get you. Where are you?’ she cried, her alarm spiralling.

‘Just left Albany, Jake Stafford’s place. I’m in Piccadilly, in a phone box.’

‘That I realize—’

‘Say you’ll let me in … Do you want me to be arrested for loitering with intent?’

‘Get into a taxi at once. Oh, do you have money?’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ll be waiting.’

‘I bloody well hope so.’

The phone went dead. She stared at it for a long moment, then put it back in the cradle. In the year they had been involved in an intense and passionate love affair, nothing like this had ever happened before. He did like to drink, that was true, but he could hold his liquor, was always in control. Now he sounded out of control, weird. She couldn’t help wondering if he was still drunk?

Alicia leapt out of bed, went to the kitchen, and put on a pot of coffee. She then hurried into her bedroom, pulled on a silk dressing gown, continued into the bathroom, removed the cream, washed her face, cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair. Ready for anything, she muttered.

Returning to the kitchen, Alicia set a tray, but was interrupted by the doorbell. Bracing herself, she went to let him in, not quite knowing what to expect.

She called him Brin, an invention based on a favourite toy from her childhood. His real name was Bryan MacKenzie Mellor, born thirty-one years ago, in Edinburgh of a Scottish mother and an English father. A fellow actor, he was tall, handsome, dashing, and considered to be the second best-looking man on the West End stage. The first was her uncle, James Brentwood, still thought of as the greatest matinee idol of all time.

Brin coveted his Savile Row clothes, was proud of his stylish appearance and looks, and did not usually have a hair out of place.

Not this morning, she thought, shocked by what she saw standing before her. He looked like a tramp who lived permanently on the streets; someone who had just risen up from the gutter.

His navy blue pinstriped suit, a piece of perfect Savile Row engineering, was crumpled and his jacket was stained. A blue silk tie dangled out of a side pocket; his white shirt had dark bloodstains on the front and the collar was torn. Then she noticed the cut above his right eye and bruises on one cheek, just visible under his growth of stubble. He lolled against the door-jamb and it seemed as if he was about to slide down onto the floor. He almost did.

Reaching out with both hands, she grabbed his arms and pulled him inside the flat. He tripped and almost fell, but managed to somehow stay upright. Then he staggered towards the bedroom, muttering, ‘Bathroom.’

Alicia followed him, stood waiting for him. Once he came into the bedroom, she took hold of his arm and said firmly, ‘Come on, darling, let’s get you comfortable.’

He didn’t protest as she led him into the living room, just allowed himself to be propelled over to the sofa. He flopped down, a look of relief crossing his face as he sank into the soft cushions.

‘Do you want a glass of water? Coffee might be better.’

‘Whisky.’

‘No way. You smell like a brewery.’

‘Hair of the dog,’ he muttered, and tried to smile, but winced, and a small shiver ran through him.

‘Have you been in a fight, Brin?’ she asked, leaning forward, peering at the cut above his eyebrow and the puffiness on one side of his face, her puzzlement apparent.

He shook his head, then closed his eyes, a deep sigh running through him.

Alicia went to the kitchen and prepared the coffee. She then took a fresh loaf of bread out of the bread-bin. After cutting a thick slice, she spread on butter, then peeled a banana and cut this into rounds, laying them on top of the bread. Taking the tray into the living room, she put it on a low table, bent over Bryan and shook him lightly.

‘Drink this coffee. It’ll help a lot, and so will the slice of bread.’

With a bit of an effort he roused himself, and sat up straighter, took several long swallows of the coffee. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said, ‘I don’t remember having dinner.’ As he spoke, he reached for the slice of bread.

‘What happened to you last night?’ she asked, sitting down in a chair.

‘Nothing. Lads’ night out – a pub crawl. Too many pubs, I suppose.’ He then ate the remainder of the bread.

She asked, ‘How did you end up at Jake Stafford’s?’

‘Tony Flint and I took him there. He was more the worse for wear than we were. Very drunk. We ended up sleeping on the sofas in his posh drawing room, too tired to drag ourselves home.’

She nodded. ‘Are they both all right?’

‘Dead to the world when I left, but alive.’ A faint smile formed on his mouth, and there was a sudden amused look in his deep green eyes, which, she noticed, were also bloodshot.

‘Sorry … to come here like this, Alsi. But then where else could I go?’

She went over to the sofa and sat down next to him. ‘You did exactly the right thing. I’m not angry, just worried about you.’

‘I’m okay, the coffee helped and the bread.’ He put an arm around her shoulders, drew her closer.

Instantly she pulled away, grimacing. ‘You stink, Brin. Of stale beer, whisky, smoke and sweat. It’s into the shower for you.’

She jumped up and took hold of his arm firmly. Once again he didn’t resist, just let her manoeuvre him into the bedroom, where she helped him out of his clothes.

When he was finally standing under the shower, she sighed with relief. She had come to realize he wasn’t drunk, just hungover. That in itself was reassuring, but it was out of character for him to be in this kind of dishevelled state. He was so finicky about his appearance and proud of his sartorial elegance. Once the water stopped running, she picked up a large towel and handed it to him as he stepped out of the bath.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, ‘I do feel better.’

She nodded and went into the bedroom, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost eight. No point in her going back to bed now. Last night she had promised to go over to Charlie’s around eleven o’clock today to read some chapters of his new book, and she wasn’t going to disappoint him.

When she realized Brin was standing behind her, she turned and looked up at him. Alicia was tall at five feet ten, but he was six feet one, broad of chest, a big man, but without an ounce of fat on him. The sunlight now coming in through the window gave a hint of radiance to his blond-reddish hair, and as he drew her towards him his eyes were full of tenderness. She realized the cut over his eyebrow was nothing serious.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said softly against her hair.

‘I can’t,’ she murmured. ‘I promised Charlie I’d help him with a couple of chapters this morning.’

Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed Brin’s cheek. ‘But you ought to get some sleep. Right over there.’ She waved a hand at the bed. ‘You did say you were spending the weekend with me.’

He grinned. ‘You owe me for last night … you skipped out on me, to see your parents for dinner instead of eating with me.’

‘A big mistake.’

His eyes narrowed. He glanced at her swiftly. ‘Problems? Not with Charlie, I hope.’

‘How well you know us. But it wasn’t Charlie’s fault.’ She took hold of Brin’s hand, led him to the bed. ‘Get in, get some sleep, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

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