Act of Will
Barbara Taylor Bradford

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2

Previously published in paperback by Grafton 1987

First published in Great Britain by Grafton Books 1986

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 1986

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

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.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2010 ISBN: 9780007363728

Version: 2017-10-30

‘Happy Birthday to You’, words and music by Mildred J. Jill and Patty S. Hill.

Copyright © 1935 Birch Tree Group Ltd, Princeton, N.J. Used by permission.

Dedicated with love to the memory of my parents, Winston and Freda Taylor. She gave me the greatest gift a mother can give a child, the desire to excel. He taught me to be strong of heart and to stand tall.

It is also for my husband Bob, whose love and support has equalled theirs, with all of my love.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Audra

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Christina

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Epilogue

About the author

By the same author

Preview

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Audra, Christina and Kyle

1978

Audra Crowther sat on the sofa in the living room of her daughter’s Manhattan penthouse. She held herself tensely and clenched her hands together so hard that the knuckles shone white as she looked from her daughter Christina to her granddaughter Kyle.

The two younger women stood in the middle of the room, their faces pale, their eyes blazing as they glared at each other. Their angry words of a few minutes ago still reverberated on the warm afternoon air.

Audra felt helpless. She knew that to remonstrate with them, to attempt to make them see reason, was a waste of time, at least at this moment. Each was convinced she was right, and no amount of persuasion would make them reverse their positions or endeavour to understand the other’s point of view.

Even their clothes were like uniforms, underscoring their intrinsic differences, further separating them. Blue jeans and sneakers for Kyle, the white Swiss voile shirt her only concession to style, the combination giving her an oddly vulnerable, childlike look, with her scrubbed face and long hair hanging loose. And for Christina, an expensive, beautifully cut dress and tailored jacket of matching raw silk, without doubt bearing her own couture label; the silver-grey of the silk the perfect foil for her chestnut hair shot through with reddish-gold lights, the grey also emphasizing her lovely smoky eyes which had always been her best feature. She was slender, impeccably groomed, and not showing her forty-seven years in the least.

Tycoon versus student…role model versus rebel…mother versus daughter, Audra thought, smothering a sigh. Well, it wasn’t the first time a mother and daughter were at odds with each other; that was an age-old conflict.

Suddenly Kyle broke the protracted silence when she snapped, ‘And there’s another thing, Mother. You had no right to drag poor Grandma into this débâcle, drag her all the way from England, especially since-’

‘I didn’t!’ Christina shot back. ‘It was your father who telephoned my –’

‘Oh yes, go on, blame Dad,’ Kyle cut in, her voice scathing.

‘But it was your father who phoned my mother,’ Christina protested. She appealed to Audra. ‘Isn’t that so, Mummy?’

Audra focused her attention on her granddaughter. ‘That’s quite true, Kyle.’

Kyle tossed back her mane of black hair, then thrust her hands in the pockets of her jeans, her movements brusque, defiant. Her huge brown eyes, usually doe-like and soft, flashed rebelliously. ‘I suppose he thought we needed a mediator. Well, we don’t…there’s nothing to mediate –’ She brought herself up short, swung her long-limbed body towards Audra and gave her a wan half smile. ‘Sorry, Grandma, I don’t mean to be rude to you, but you shouldn’t have been forced to travel half-way around the world just because my parents have discovered they can’t inftuence me, or handle me any more.’ Kyle let out a laugh that was abnormally harsh. ‘You see, the trouble is that my parents treat me like a child, Grandma. Anyone would think I’m nine years old, not nineteen, for God’s sake, the ridiculous way they’re carrying on.’

Before Audra had a chance to comment on these strident assertions, Kyle pivoted to face Christina. Her voice rose shrilly as she rushed on, ‘Nothing will induce me to change my mind, Mother. Nothing. And nobody. Not even Grandma. I’m going to live my life the way I want. It’s my life and no one else’s. You and Dad can cut me off without a nickel. I don’t give a damn. I’ll manage somehow. I’ll get a job to support myself while I’m studying. I don’t need any help from you!’

‘Neither your father nor I have ever said anything about cutting you off,’ Christina exclaimed, furious that Kyle was even suggesting such a thing. ‘Your problem is your inability to discuss this matter intelligently. And calmly. You fly off the handle every time we attempt to have a reasonable conversation with you.’

‘Listen who’s talking! You’re not calm either!’

Christina’s mouth tightened in aggravation, but she strove hard to curb her increasing exasperation with her daughter. ‘That’s not so surprising is it?’ she countered in her coldest tone. ‘I have built an enormous empire, an international fashion business worth millions and millions of dollars, and you’re my only child, my heir. It’s always been understood that you’d succeed me, one day. Understood by all of us. Why, you’re being trained with that in mind…and now, out of the blue, you announce that you don’t want the company. I’m flabber –’

‘No, I don’t!’ Kyle shouted. ‘Can’t you get that through your head yet, Mother? I’ve been saying it for days! I’m not in the least bit interested in your stupid business empire! It can go to hell, collapse, for all I care! It’s your problem, not mine!’

Recoiling, Christina drew in her breath sharply. She was as much stunned by Kyle’s vehemence as by her

words.

Audra, shocked, admonished swiftly, ‘Steady on there, Kyle.’

Immediately, Kyle knew she had gone too far, and she bit her lip in embarrassment. Bright hot colour blotched her neck, sped up into her smooth young cheeks. She glanced at her grandmother, so pale and still on the sofa. She saw the sadness and disappointment reflected in Audra’s candid blue eyes, saw the gentle reproach on her sweet face. Discomfort tinged with shame swept over her. She recognized she had discredited herself with her grandmother, whom she adored, and this she could not bear. She burst into tears and fled before she disgraced herself further, slamming the door behind her.

Christina stared at the door speechlessly.

She was mortified, enraged, and so taut that her shoulder blades protruded through her thin silk jacket. ‘Can you believe it!’ she exploded and took a step forward, obviously intent on following Kyle.

‘No, no, let her go,’ Audra said firmly, pushing herself up, hurrying across the room. She took hold of Christina’s arm and led her back to the sofa.

Gently forcing her daughter down next to her, she went on, ‘There’s no point in continuing this. There’s nothing to be gained. You know very well that the things we say when we’re angry are difficult to retract later, and you must admit you’re both overwrought at the moment.’

‘Yes, I suppose we are.’ Distractedly, Christina ran a hand through her hair, then slumped against the cushions, feeling miserable and frustrated. But after only a moment she jumped up, restlessly began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace.

As she watched her, Audra’s worry intensified. She had never seen Christina quite like this before, so agitated, with her temper so close to the surface and her patience so tightly stretched. Normally she was calm, in control, no matter what the circumstance. But then her world had never been rocked as it was rocked now; and Audra knew, too, that Kyle’s words, thoughtlessly uttered in the heat of the moment and without any real malice, had nevertheless been cruel, hurtful to Christina.

Wishing to assuage that hurt as best she could, Audra said in her most reassuring voice, ‘Kyle didn’t mean it, Christie. You know, about not caring if the business collapsed. Of course she cares, and she does love you, dear.’

‘She has a fine way of showing it,’ Christina grumbled without looking at her mother, continuing to pace, her nervousness unabated, her mind still fogged by the pain her daughter had inflicted.

Audra sighed and, understanding everything, remained silent. She settled back in the corner of the sofa, waiting for Christina to calm herself, relieved that the shouting had stopped. There was hardly any sound in the room now, only the faint murmur of silk against silk as Christina moved, the ticking of the brass carriage clock on a chest between the French windows, the muffled rumble of the traffic on Sutton Place spiralling up through those windows, standing wide open on this balmy day in the middle of May. She glanced towards the terrace, mottled with sunlight, blooming with greenery and flowering plants, absently wondering how well the pink azaleas would do out there.

Then she brought her eyes back to the interior, let them roam around. For a split second her anxiousness was diluted as she absorbed the loveliness of the setting awash with tones of peach and apricot and cream, the beauty surrounding her, enveloping her…the priceless art on the walls, two Cézannes, a Gauguin…the fine English antiques with their dark glossy woods…bronze sculpture by Arp…the profusion of flowers in tall crystal vases…all illuminated by silk-shaded lamps of rare and ancient Chinese porcelains.

What marvellous taste Christina and Alex have, Audra thought, and experienced a burst of motherly pride in her daughter and son-in-law. This was not induced merely by the graciousness they had recently created in this room, but was a genuine pride in what they were as people, for all that they had achieved in their life together. They had a harmonious relationship, and their marriage had only gone from strength to strength over the years, and for that Audra was thankful.

Her thoughts settled on Alex Newman. He was a kind and gentle man, one of the most thoughtful people she had ever met. He had been like a loving son to her. How she wished he were here at this moment. He may not have succeeded in quelling the trouble which had erupted between his wife and daughter, but with his tact and good humour, and worshipping Christina the way he did, he always had a tranquillizing effect on her.

Audra turned her head, looked over at the carriage clock. To her disappointment, it was only ten minutes to five and Alex never got home from work before seven. On the other hand, perhaps he would arrive earlier today, since they were going out to dinner at eight. As she contemplated the evening stretching ahead, her heart sank. Unless there was a radical change in Kyle’s disposition in the next few hours it was going to be an awkward evening.

Now, as though she had homed in on Audra’s thoughts, Christina said, ‘I don’t much relish the idea of going to dinner at Jack and Betsy Morgan’s, nice though they are, and so fond of you, Mummy. No, not with Kyle in this bolshy frame of mind.’

Drawing to a standstill at last, Christina looked directly at her mother and smiled ruefully, her greyish-blue eyes filled with concern. For the first time she noticed the weariness etched on Audra’s face and she bit her lip, frowning.

‘You must be bone tired and terribly jet-lagged, darling, ’ she exclaimed. ‘How selfish we’ve been since you arrived yesterday. We haven’t given you a chance to catch your breath. I’d better pack you off for a rest before we go out to dinner.’

‘No, not just yet, Christie. I’m all right, really I am,’ Audra said.

Christina crossed to the sofa, sat down next to Audra and took her hand. She held it tightly, looked into her mother’s lined face, swamped by the deep and abiding love she felt for her. She shook her head and her smoky gaze was tender as she said, ‘Kyle’s judgement might be cockeyed about some things, but she could easily be right about dragging you all this way, needlessly –’ Abruptly she stopped. Guilt flooded through her. Her mother was seventy years old, almost seventy-one, and should not be exposed to their problems at this time in her life. She and Alex ought to be capable of dealing with their recalcitrant daughter themselves. Irritated at the thought of their ineptitude, Christina cried, ‘We haven’t been fair to you, expecting you to cope with us and our mess when you could be at home with Daddy! You could be pottering around in your garden, or going off on your little day trips to the seaside – certainly leading a tranquil life. You must think Alex and I are a couple of imbeciles!’

‘Don’t be so silly.’ Audra squeezed Christina’s slender hand, so different from hers, gnarled as it was by arthritis. ‘You know what your father always says – that I’d come to you no matter what it entailed if you needed me, and even if I had to walk the three thousand miles to get here. I love you, Christie, and I love that granddaughter of mine, and Alex. I can’t bear to see you all so unhappy.’

Christina confided in a low, tense voice, ‘It’s so wrong of Kyle to abandon her courses at the Fashion Institute and to spurn my business the way she is doing. Having her take over from me one day has always been a cherished dream of mine.’ These last few words caught in her throat and she had to steady herself before she could continue, ‘Oh Mum, what’s it all been about? What’s all my hard work been for, if Kyle walks away?’ Christina’s eyes welled with tears and she averted her head, blinking.

Audra felt a pang of sympathy, and her heart went out to her daughter. In an effort to comfort her, she murmured, ‘But Christie darling, you’ve derived a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction from your designing, and making a name for yourself in the fashion world has always been important to you, as well as a challenge. What you’ve accomplished, your staggering achievements and success – why surely these things must be gratifying to you…’ Audra let her sentence trail off. She was incapable of finishing it. How hollow the words are, she thought.

I, and I alone, know what Christina sacrificed, what it cost her to create the business. She paid a high price, a terrible price, really. That’s why she’s so emotional about it, why she can’t stand Kyle’s rejection of it now.

Having regained her composure, Christina was remarking in a more level voice, ‘The last two weeks have been sheer purgatory with Kyle, Mother. She’s downright stubborn. Her implacability astounds me. Unnerves me, actually. I’ve never met anyone like her.’

Oh, Audra thought, haven’t you? She threw her daughter a startled glance but she wisely said nothing. This was not the time to start delving into ancient events; there was already far too much turbulence and emotional upset in this family as it was. And so adopting a positive manner, Audra said, ‘Kyle and I have always been such good friends since she was a child, and that’s one of the reasons we decided I should come to New York, isn’t it? Anyway, I promised to spend the day with her tomorrow. I’m sure she wants to unburden herself to me, and I am more than ready to listen.’

‘But you will talk to her, won’t you? I mean as well as listen.’ Without waiting for a reply, Christina plunged on, ‘She respects you, pays attention to you, wants to please you. So you will make her see reason, won’t you, Mummy?’

Audra nodded, although she had her misgivings, and managed to say encouragingly, ‘Yes, I will, and somehow we’ll sort this out, Christie.’

For the first time in days Christina felt a little of the heaviness lifting from her and her tired eyes brightened. She leaned into Audra, kissed her wrinkled cheek, very tenderly, then rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Mam. You’re such a comfort, and I know you’ll make everything come out right, as you always have.’

Mam, Audra repeated silently. For years it had been Mummy or Mum or Mother. Mam was the childhood name. Hearing it now, suddenly, after all these years made Audra flinch. It evoked so many memories, not all of them happy ones. Then a rush of warmth and love filled her throat and for a moment she could not speak. Automatically she lifted her hand and stroked Christina’s glossy hair. It’s true, old habits die hard, Audra thought, bending down, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. All that money, all that power, all that fame, but she’s still my little girl. I can’t stand to see her distressed in this way. But then there is also Kyle. My only grandchild, and her unhappiness is insupportable. What a dilemma. Skating on thin ice between the two of them. Oh, dear God, wherever will I find the wisdom and strength to help each one without somehow inflicting hurt on the other.

Growing conscious that her daughter was waiting for a response, Audra clamped down on her worries. ‘I can only try to make things come out right for you, Christie,’ she said softly. ‘I told you, when I arrived, that I’m not going to take sides. Anyway, Kyle is correct about it being her life. And she does have the right to live it the way she sees fit.’

Straightening up, Christina nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ she replied evenly, ‘I know what you mean. But she’s very young and inexperienced, and she can’t possibly know her own mind. Not yet, at any rate.’ Rising, Christina walked over to one of the French windows, stood gazing out at the terrace. Then she swung around and gave Audra a penetrating look. ‘Rejecting my business out of hand is not only foolish but irresponsible of her, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Well, yes,’ Audra felt bound to agree, yet she had the need to defend her granddaughter, and could not help adding, ‘Still, Kyle is intelligent, as well as being a spirited and independent girl. And, you know, I also find her very wise for someone her age.’ Audra paused, thinking: Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, and I might as well say it all. Taking a deep breath, she finished in her firmest manner, ‘I just want you to give some consideration to her needs, her desires, as well as your own. Promise me that you will.’

Christina was startled, and there was a brief silence before she muttered, ‘All right…yes…I promise.’

It struck Audra that there was a lingering reluctance in this promise. Slowly and very carefully, she said, ‘Once, a long time ago, I told you that a child is only lent to you, Christina. Don’t ever forget that.’

Christina stared at Audra and the strangest expression crossed her face. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. She swung away, focusing her eyes on the terrace once more, as she reflected on her mother’s words.

Absently, Audra pushed a strand of silver hair away from her face, and sat back, watching, waiting. She saw her daughter’s shoulders droop in dejection, saw at once the pensive expression settling on her pretty mouth. Yes, she’s remembering, Audra thought. And I’ve said enough for today. Maybe too much, if the truth be known. It would be wiser to let things rest where they are for the present.

Gripping the arm of the sofa, Audra pulled herself to her feet a bit unsteadily, exhaustion finally getting the better of her. ‘I think I will have a rest before dinner, perhaps try to get a little sleep,’ she said.

‘Yes, yes, you should,’ Christina responded swiftly. She went quickly to Audra’s side, put her arm around her shoulders lovingly, and escorted her out of the room.

Half an hour later Audra was still wide awake, much to her own irritation. Try though she might to sleep, she was unable to do so. Christina had accompanied her to the guest suite at the far end of the penthouse, had closed the curtains, plumped up the bed pillows, and generally fussed solicitously until Audra had impatiently waved her out. Glad to be alone at last, Audra had undressed, slipped on a robe and stretched out on the bed. She had done so gratefully. Every bone in her body ached, she was debilitated by jet-lag and her hands and knees throbbed painfully as her arthritis flared. But the moment her head touched the pillow her mind had started to race.

Mostly Audra was worried that she had made a terrible mistake in coming to New York. Might it not have been more prudent to refuse Alex’s request, and leave them alone to battle it out between themselves? she wondered. And it was going to be a battle, Audra was quite positive of that. It would be a trial of strength. Christie would worry it through, refusing to let go, tenacious to the end; Kyle would dig her heels in, equally stubborn and determined to win no matter what the cost to everyone involved. The stakes were so high neither of them could possibly act in any other way. Where was it all going to end? In disaster, she suspected. They couldn’t both win. One of them would have to lose. And the loser would be bitter and resentful.

I have to find a way to help them settle this, Audra told herself, then with a stab of dismay she wondered how. If Alex, who was intelligent, diplomatic and persuasive, had been unable to arbitrate their differences, then surely she would not be able to influence them either. I must find a way, she muttered.

With a sigh of weariness, Audra opened her eyes, acknowledging that sleep was going to evade her. The spacious bedroom looked as tranquil as it always did in the gentle light seeping in through the curtains. Usually the blue-and-white colour scheme, elegant furnishings and opulent comfort engendered a sense of well-being in her, soothed her. But these feelings were sadly absent tonight.

Audra shivered. The early evening breeze blowing in through the window was cool now and there was a sharp tinge of dampness in the air; it seemed to penetrate her joints. Shivering again she drew the quilt up over her body and reached for her pills. Putting one in her mouth, she washed it down with a sip of water, reminding herself that this was her third; the doctor had warned her not to take more than four in one day.

Sometimes she wondered about her arthritis, wondered if her hard life, all the gruelling work, had not contributed to her present condition. Doctor Findlay said it hadn’t, but when she thought of the endless scrubbing and cleaning and washing and ironing, the terrible drudgery that had been her lot for so many years, she could not help pondering. Well, those days had long since gone. In her old age she had a life of ease.

As she put the tumbler back on the bedside table her glance fell on the photograph standing near the cobaltblue glass lamp. Audra turned on her side, rested herself on one elbow and gazed at it thoughtfully.

Three faces stared back at her. Christina’s, Kyle’s and her own.

The picture had been taken last summer, in her rose garden in Yorkshire. What a wonderfully happy day that had been…her seventieth birthday. The weather had been glorious, as the colour photograph attested.

After a little tea party on the terrace, Alex had insisted on taking this picture. In honour of the occasion and for posterity, he had laughingly said, as he had lined them up near the old stone sundial, a few steps to the right of her best hybrid tea roses.

Vincent had stood next to him, smiling benignly, looking inordinately pleased with himself and his family, but most especially with her. She recalled how she had smiled back at him, thinking that he looked handsome and distinguished at seventy-four, and her love for him had swelled in her.

And at that exact moment Alex had snapped his camera and captured that love as it spilled out of her eyes.

They had come a long way together, she and Vincent Crowther.

They had had their struggles and more than their fair share of trouble. And pain and heartbreak, too. But they had survived it all, and their marriage had survived, which was the most important thing. And they were content with each other. At last, in their old age. Over fifty years they had been married. Funny, it didn’t seem that long…how fast the time had slipped by.

Audra focused her attention on the photograph, studying it more intently.

Three generations, she murmured under her breath. But we don’t look as if we’re related. We might easily be strangers, as disparate in appearance as any three women could be. And yet we are very much alike deep down within ourselves.

Almost half a century ago Vincent told me that I had an implacable will. He said I was relentless and propelled by a terrible driving force within myself. He was very angry that day. And I was angry, too. And hurt. But he spoke the truth. And they have inherited those characteristics from me…my daughter, my granddaughter. When Christina was a child I committed an act of will that changed all of our lives irrevocably. And then when she was a young woman Christina repeated the pattern, performed an act of will of her own that was as powerful as mine. Now it is Kyle’s turn…she is on the verge of doing the same. And, as before, our lives won’t ever be the same again.

Audra sat up with a jolt, sudden comprehension flickering on her face. ‘I am to blame,’ she said aloud to the silent room, and then she thought: If I had done things differently, things would be different now. Everything that is happening now harks back to me when I was a young woman. Cause and effect. Every act we commit, trivial or important, has its inevitable consequences. It’s like throwing a pebble into a pool and watching the ripples spread out…farther and farther, ever far reaching.

Audra sank back onto the pillows and lay there, allowed herself to drift with her thoughts. They were centred entirely on Kyle.

Slowly the pain in her hands and knees began to ease and her body grew warmer under the quilt. Audra closed her eyes at last.

Nineteen-twenty-six, she mused drowsily…such a long time ago…but not so long that I can’t remember what I was like then…when I was Kyle’s age.

Audra

1926-1951

CHAPTER 1

Today it was her birthday.

It was the third of June in the year 1926 and she was nineteen years old.

Audra Kenton stood at the window of her room in the Fever Hospital in Ripon, where she worked as a nurse, gazing out at the back garden. She watched the play of light and shadow on the lawn, as the sunlight filtered through the leafy domes of the two great oaks that grew near the old stone wall. There was a gentle breeze and the leaves rustled and trembled under it, and shimmered with green brilliance as they caught the sun. It was radiant and balmy, a pretty day that invited and beckoned.

Matron had given Audra the afternoon off for her birthday. The problem was that she had nowhere to go and no one to spend it with. She was entirely alone in this world.

Audra only had one friend, another nurse at the hospital called Gwen Thornton, but Gwen had been summoned home to Horsforth yesterday. Her mother had been taken ill and she was needed. Weeks ago, Gwen had arranged to exchange her day off with one of the other nurses, so that she could be with Audra, celebrate this important occasion with her, and the two of them had planned a very special day. Now their elaborate plans were laid to waste.

Leaning her head against the window frame, Audra sighed, thinking of the empty hours looming ahead. Unexpectedly her throat tightened and she felt the tears gathering behind her eyes as sadness mingled with bitter disappointment trickled through her. But after only a few seconds she blinked and cleared her throat, managed to take hold of herself. Resolutely she pushed aside the negative emotions momentarily invading her, refusing to feel sorry for herself. Audra despised self-pity in others, considered it to be a sign of weakness. She was strong. Her mother had always told her that she was, and her mother had rarely been wrong about anything.

Turning away from the window, she walked over to the chair and sat down heavily, wondering what to do with herself.

She could read, of course, or do a little embroidery, or even finish the sketch of the blouse she was designing, and which she intended to make-when she could afford to buy the fabric. On the other hand, none of these occupations had any real appeal for her. Not today. Not on her birthday.

She had been so looking forward to the outing with her friend, to enjoying a few carefree hours of pleasure for once in her life. Audra had little to celebrate these days, and festive occasions were a thing of the past, a rarity indeed. In fact, her life had changed so radically, so harshly, in the last few years, she hardly recognized it as her own.

It suddenly struck her that resorting to one of those mundane hobbies, normally used to pass the time when she was off duty, would be infinitely worse than just sitting in this chair, doing nothing. They’re poor substitutes, all of them, for the plans Gwen and I made.

Audra had long since trained herself not to notice this room where she lived in the hospital. But now, seeing it so clearly illuminated in the bright sunshine, she became painfully aware of its ugliness and lack of comfort. Having been born into gentility, albeit somewhat impoverished, Audra was a young woman of breeding and refinement. She possessed taste in abundance, had strong artistic leanings, and the austerity of the spartan furnishings and institutional colour scheme offended her sensibilities, made her wince in dismay.

Confronting her were walls painted a dismal porridge-beige which ran down to a floor covered with dreary grey linoleum that had seen better days. The iron bedstead, rickety night stand and chest of drawers were notable only for their shabbiness and utilitarian design. The room was chillingly bleak, intolerable at any time, but especially on this sunny afternoon. She knew she had to escape its oppressive boundaries for a short while, no matter where she went.

Her gaze fell on the dress lying on the bed, where she had placed it a short time before. It was new. She had saved up for a whole year, putting away a shilling every week, in order to buy herself a present for her birthday.

She and Gwen had gone to Harrogate two Saturdays ago with this in mind. They had wandered around for several hours, mostly window shopping and admiring the beautiful things they saw and which they knew they would never be able to afford. Audra filled with warm and affectionate feelings for Gwen as she thought of that day now.

Gwen was especially attracted to jewellers’ shops, and Audra had found herself constantly cupping her hands and dutifully peering through glass at some bauble that had caught Gwen’s attention. ‘Oh Audra! Just look at that!’ Gwen kept crying, pointing to a brooch or a ring or a pendant. At one moment she had clutched Audra’s arm fiercely and whispered in awed tones, ‘Have you ever seen anything like that gorgeous bangle, Audra! Why, the stones could be real the way they sparkle like diamonds. It would suit you, Audra. Let’s go in…it doesn’t cost anything just to look.’

Audra had half-smiled and shaken her head, not saying a word, and she had thought of her mother’s jewellery, which had been much more beautiful than any of these tawdry imitations of the real thing.

Gwen’s excited exclamations and urgent proddings continued a bit too long for Audra that afternoon, and she had eventually grown exasperated, had silenced her friend with a stern look and a sharp admonition to be quiet. Immediately regretting her shortness, she had apologized to Gwen. And she had gone on to explain to her, for the umpteenth time, that she had no money to spare for frivolous items like brooches and bracelets and nonsensical hats and bottles of Devon Violets scent, which were just a few of the things Gwen constantly craved.

‘You know I only ever buy clothes for myself,’ Audra had said, and had added, with a tiny rueful laugh, ‘and usually the most practical clothes I can find, at that, Gwen. Things I know will last me for a very long time.’

And then, not ten minutes after she had uttered these fateful words, Audra had seen the dress in the window of Madame Stella’s gown shop. She had fallen in love with it instantly. It was a frock destined only to go to parties, a bit of airy, gossamer muslin. Effectively draped on a stand in the centre of the window, it was the one piece of clothing displayed. Next to it, accessories were scattered on the floor; a picture hat of cream leghorn, a parasol of ruffled cream silk, and three long strands of pearls. All had epitomized true elegance to Audra, but most particularly the dress. It was highly impractical, obviously costly and very, very beautiful. She had gazed at it for ages, not knowing when or where she would ever wear it, and yet aching to own it just the same.

Even so she had hung back, would not budge when Gwen, shrewdly observing the expression of longing on her face, had pushed open the door and insisted they go in and ask the price. Despite Audra’s reluctance and her adamant refusal to enter the shop, Gwen had obviously had no intention of being thwarted. She had taken Audra’s arm in a vice-like grip and frogmarched her into Madame Stella’s.

Although both girls had expected the dress to be expensive, the two of them had been stunned, nevertheless, when they had learned that it cost three guineas. Audra had made to leave at once. But the redoubtable Gwen had restrained her, and had somehow managed to manoeuvre her into the fitting room before she could make a graceful escape. Not wanting to create an embarrassing scene in front of the sales lady, Audra had had no option but to try on the dress.

It was the colour that captivated her – a clear bright blue that had reminded her of the delphiniums at High Cleugh. She had not needed Gwen to tell her that it suited her to perfection; she had seen herself in the cheval mirror.

Indeed, Audra had been momentarily taken aback by her own reflection that afternoon. For the first time in some years she had acknowledged to herself that for once she looked quite pretty. Mostly she referred to herself as a ‘Plain Jane’, which she genuinely believed to be the truth. But in this she did herself an injustice.

Audra Kenton was not beautiful in the strictest sense but neither was she plain. She was in a category somewhere in between. There was a certain stubbornness in her well-defined face. This was reflected in the determined set of her chin and in her firm and resolute mouth, which was quite beautiful when she smiled. Her best features were a faultless, creamy complexion, glossy light brown hair glazed with a golden sheen in the summer, and lovely eyes. These were the most spectacular thing about her. They were large, set wide apart, thickly fringed with golden-brown lashes and accentuated by finely arched brows. But it was their colour that was so memorable and caused people to look at her twice. They were of a blue so deep and so vivid it was startling.

As Audra had stared back at herself in the mirror of the fitting room, she had not failed to notice how the blue of the muslin intensified their depth of colour. She also saw that the ‘flapper’ style of the dress was flattering and did wonders for her. Audra was small, only five feet two inches, and her lack of height was a constant source of irritation to her. Yet despite her diminutive size she was nicely proportioned, and the simple cut of the frock emphasized her pretty figure, whilst its short skirt, cut on the cross so that it flared out, drew attention to her shapely legs and slender ankles.

And so in the end, after some indecision on her part because of its price, and worried whisperings with Gwen, she had finally bought the dress. To make up the three pounds three shillings needed, Audra had used her entire savings of two pounds twelve shillings, every other penny in her purse – which was all she had in the world – plus one and six borrowed from Gwen.

‘Don’t look so glum,’ Gwen had whispered, whilst they had been waiting for the sales lady to wrap the dress. ‘It’s worth every penny. Besides, it’s about time you treated yourself to something nice.’

There was no question in Audra’s mind that the dress was the most beautiful thing she had owned since she was a child. And a memory had stirred, a memory of another time when she had come to Harrogate shopping – with her mother and Uncle Peter. It had been 1919, just after he had returned from the Great War. She had been twelve and he had bought her a pink party frock which had entranced her just as much as the blue muslin.

As they left Madame Stella’s, Audra had told Gwen of that particular trip and the pretty pink frock, had confided more about her past life and Gwen had been agog and full of questions. Audra, who was a private person and reserved by nature, had nonetheless answered some of them, not wanting to offend Gwen by appearing secretive. Later, arms linked, they had taken a leisurely stroll along The Stray, the stretch of green common carpeted with lovely flowers which made a natural tapestry of brilliant colour underneath the shady trees. Then Gwen had taken them to Betty’s Café, the posh tea-room on The Parade overlooking The Stray, and had generously paid for them both, since Audra had spent all of her cash. She had also loaned her the money for her ticket back to Ripon, just as she had promised she would when Audra had been wavering in Madame Stella’s. And Audra had reminded herself yet again how lucky she was to have Gwen for her friend.

At the end of their day’s excursion, on the way to the bus stop, they had passed the Arcadian Rooms, where tea dances were held every afternoon in the Palm Court. Everyone knew that this was the place to go, the smart spot in town where the local swells foxtrotted and tangoed to the strains of Stan Stanton and His Syncopated Strollers.

Both young women had been itching to visit the Palm Court for weeks, and Gwen, who had learned the Charleston from her brother, had been teaching it to Audra in their off-duty hours. Audra had been astonished and thrilled when Gwen had announced she was taking them to a tea dance at the Palm Court on her birthday. ‘It’ll be my treat, my birthday present,’ Gwen had said, beaming at her. ‘And you’ll wear your new dress and everyone will admire you in it.’ The two of them had been bursting with excitement and anticipation as they had ridden on the bus back to Ripon, and they had been counting the days ever since.

But there would be no trip to Harrogate after all. No tea dance at the Palm Court of the Arcadian Rooms. No one to admire her or the new dress. Audra sighed. Earlier she had planned to wear it just for her own pleasure, although she had not been quite sure where she would go in it all by herself. But now she changed her mind.

Audra was nothing if not practical, and it struck her that it would be foolish to risk ruining it, or getting it crumpled and soiled. Far wiser to save the frock for another special occasion, she reasoned. And there’s bound to be one in the future, now that I have a friend like Gwen. Perhaps we’ll go to the church Garden Fête in August, and then there’s Gwen’s birthday in September. We must celebrate that. Yes, something’s bound to come up, she reassured herself, her natural optimism surfacing as it invariably did.

Audra was blessed with a sunny disposition and a cheerful personality, and it was these traits, coupled with her strong will and intelligence, which had saved her in the past. They helped her to cope with her problems in the most positive way. She never let her troubles burden her for very long, sought always to solve them with expediency. And if this was not feasible, she tried not to dwell on them unnecessarily.

Now she roused herself, took the blue frock off the bed and returned it to the wardrobe in the corner of the room.

After she had slipped out of her blue-and-white-striped nurse’s uniform and put it away, she peered at the other garments hanging there, wondering what to wear for her walk in the country.

Although she did not have an extensive wardrobe, the clothes she did own were of good quality, and because she was fastidious they were never anything but immaculate. For economic reasons, Audra made all of her summer clothes herself, and these were mostly light-weight dresses in the darker spectrum of colours; to her practical turn of mind these were guaranteed to wear better than the paler shades. Finally her hand came to rest on a navy cotton dress with a dropped waistline and a sailor collar trimmed with white. She pulled it out, found her black leather walking shoes with flat heels, and began to dress.

Suddenly Audra thought of Gwen. How self-centred I’m being, she chastised herself. Here am I, concerned about my birthday, when Gwen has a sick mother to nurse. Audra wished she could go to Horsforth today, to help Gwen, but it was much too far to travel with only an afternoon free. Poor Gwen must be run off her feet, not to mention dreadfully worried, she thought. Then her face brightened as she adjusted the collar of her dress, pivoted to look at herself in the small mirror standing on the chest of drawers. Gwen’s father was a doctor, and her brother Charlie was a medical student at Leeds University. Mrs Thornton was in good hands. She would soon be well again, and Gwen would be returning to the hospital in no time at all.

As she left her room and hurried down the corridor, it struck Audra how truly attached she had become to her friend. Ever since Gwen had come to work at the hospital a year ago, her life had changed for the better and it was much more bearable now. Until then none of the other nurses had ever attempted to be friends with her. Audra knew that this was mainly because of her background, her manners and her cultured way of speaking.

The other nurses thought she was a snob, that she was stuck up and unapproachable. But this was not true at all. It was her shyness that held her somewhat apart, prevented her from making the first gesture.

As if she had instinctively understood this, happy, laughing, gregarious Gwen had paid not the slightest attention to her reserve. Having singled Audra out as the one girl she wanted as her friend, she had persisted, and had broken down the protective walls Audra had built around herself. Within the first week of knowing each other they had become inseparable.

I don’t know what I’d do without Gwen, Audra thought, banging the front door of the hospital behind her. She’s the only person I have in the world.

CHAPTER 2

She had not intended to go to High Cleugh.

But before she realized it she was almost there.

When she had set out from the hospital, Audra had had no particular destination in mind. She had taken the road that led to Sharow and Copt Hewick, both small villages on the outskirts of Ripon.

There was no special reason for her to go there, other than that they were pleasant little spots; also, the route was picturesque, the surrounding landscape pastoral and unusually pretty at this time of year.

Arriving at Copt Hewick, Audra wandered slowly up the cobbled main street, thinking how well-kept everything looked on this hot June afternoon. The dainty gardens in front of the neat cottages were bright with lupins and poppies and delphiniums; lace curtains glowed whitely behind sparkling windows; every doorstep was newly scrubbed, each step outlined with yellow scouring stone.

Glancing up ahead at the Blackamoor Inn, Audra noticed that it, too, was spruced up. Its white walls and black shutters had been treated to fresh coats of paint, and even the sign swinging over the front door appeared to have been artistically embellished with a few colourful daubs from somebody’s paintbox.

Audra hesitated at the Blackamoor Inn, which was the junction of several roads, wondering whether to take the main thoroughfare to Boroughbridge or the secondary side road that led to Newby Hall and Skelton. She chose the latter, although she did not follow the road to its end. Instead she veered off to her right when she was halfway down, favouring a narrow lane flanked on either side by dry stone walls.

After only a few steps along the lane she stopped dead in her tracks, immediately understanding exactly where her feet were leading her. She half turned, wanting to go back the way she had come. She discovered she could not.

High Cleugh drew her towards it like a powerful magnet.

With every step she took Audra Kenton told herself she was making a mistake, exposing herself to heartache, especially today of all days, yet still she continued to walk, almost against her own volition.

By the time she came to the bottom of the long, twisting lane she no longer cared whether she was being foolish or not. She was conscious only of her yearning to see the one place she loved above all others on this earth. She had stayed away far too long.

She climbed over the stile set in the wall, jumped down into the long pasture and ran through the tall grass. It rippled and swayed like an undulating sea of green under the light breeze which had blown up. Unexpectedly, a couple of cows lazily lumbered across her path, and she dodged around them, plunging ahead, her young face taut with anticipation, her long hair flying out behind her as she ran.

Audra did not break her pace until she came to the huge sycamore tree at the end of the pasture. Upon reaching it she stooped down and stepped under its spreading branches which formed a canopy of green, shutting out the sky. She leaned her body against the tree, pressed her face to its trunk and closed her eyes. She was out of breath and panting with exertion.

After only a few moments she began to breathe more evenly. Slowly, she smoothed her hand over the tree, felt the rough texture of the bark under her fingertips, and she smiled to herself. This was her tree. Her place.

She had named it the Memory Place in her mind. For that was exactly what it was – the place to remember them, to relive the past, to recall the happiness and joy that had once been hers and was no more.

Frequently they had come here together. Her mother. Her brothers, Frederick and William. And Uncle Peter. And when she was here at the tree they were with her again, and her misery was vanquished for a brief while.

Audra opened her eyes, blinking in the cool green darkness of the sycamore’s shade, and then she moved out from underneath its branches. Circling the tree, she came to a standstill at the edge of the little slope that fell away to the banks of the River Ure just a few feet below her. Finally she lifted her head and gazed out across that narrow band of swift-running water to the wooded valley on the opposite side of the river. There it was, nestled in the palm of a natural dell set amidst the trees.

High Cleugh: the small but lovely old manor where she had been born nineteen years ago today. The house where she had grown up, had lived for the best part of her life. Her beloved home until five years ago.

She feasted her eyes on it, struck as always by its simplicity and gentleness which, to her, were the things that made it compellingly beautiful.

High Cleugh was an eighteenth-century house, long and low, with a fine symmetry that gave it an incomparable gracefulness. It was built of local grey stone and had many leaded windows that winked and glinted now in the bright sunlight. These faced out onto a terrace made of the same ancient stone; running the length of the house, the terrace was broken in the centre by a very long flight of steps that sliced its way through lawns tilting to the river. Herbaceous borders, wide, rambling, grew beneath the terrace walls, splashed vivid hues against the dark stone and verdant grass.

But it was the massed delphiniums which caught the eye, entranced. These flourished in great abundance at the bottom of the lawns near the river’s edge, their blossoms blanketing the ground with a breathtaking mixture of blues. Cobalt bled into a powder blue so delicate it was almost white, this tint giving way to cornflower, then a luscious violet-blue that in turn brushed up against lavender and the purple tones of belladonna.

Her mother’s delphiniums…planted with such care and nurtured so lovingly by her over the years. Audra’s heart clenched with a bittersweet mixture of pleasure and pain. Oh, how she longed to be in those gardens once again. It would be so easy for her to slip over to the other side of the river. All she had to do was follow the path along the bank until she came to the stepping stones. These giant flat slabs, worn smooth by running water and time, stretched across the shallowest part, led directly to the copse adjoining the manor.

But she could not go to High Cleugh. If she did she would be trespassing. Another family lived there now.

She sat down on the springy grass, pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her chin on them and clasped her arms around her legs.

For the longest time Audra stared at High Cleugh.

There was no sign of life. It appeared to slumber in the brilliant sunshine as if it were not inhabited at all. A peacefulness lay over the motionless gardens. Not a blade of grass, not a single leaf stirred. The wind had dropped and the air was warm and languid. There was no sound except for the faint buzzing of a bee somewhere nearby and the gurgle and splash of water rushing over dappled stones as the Ure wended its way below her.

Audra’s gaze became more intense than ever. She saw beyond the exterior walls to the inner core of the house. She closed her eyes, let herself sink down into her imagination, remembering, remembering…

She was inside the house.

She stood in the hall with its apricot-coloured walls and worn green velvet bench and the palm in the pitted brass pot. All was shadowy, quiescent. She listened for a while to the stillness. Then she stepped forward, her footsteps echoing with a metallic ring against the marble. Slowly she climbed the staircase. It twisted upward in a graceful curve. She paused on the first landing. Her room was here. She went inside, closed the door, sighed with pleasure.

Familiar walls of the palest green surrounded her, reminded her as always of a summer sea on a misty Yorkshire morning. The polished wood floor gleamed like glass under her feet as she stepped up to her four-poster bed. She reached out, touched the tulips printed on the worn coverlet, traced a finger around their once-red petals long since washed-out to the colour of old rust. Burnt sienna it was called in her paintbox. She glided to the window, looked out across the Dales, heard the rustle of the curtains as they flapped about in the breese. The scent of carnations filled the summer air. She turned her head, saw a cloud of pink petals in the blue willow-patterned bowl that stood on the oak chest. Their perfume drifted away, was replaced by a sweeter, headier fragrance. October roses lifted full-blown heads from the bowl, shining yellows against the blue. It was Autumn now. The time of the harvest.

How well she knew the changing seasons of this house.

The air had grown chillier. The fire crackled in the grate. She felt the warmth of the flames on her face. Snowflakes fluttered against the window pane. The gardens were made of white icing sugar.

She was no longer alone in the house.

She caught the sound of her mother’s laughter, the swish of her silk gown as she joined her by the fire. The Beautiful Edith Kenton. That was how they always spoke of her hereabouts.

Sapphires blazed at her throat, on her cool white arms. Blue fire against that translucent skin. Hair the colour of new pennies, an aureole of burnished copper light around the pale heart-shaped face. Warm and loving lips were pressed down to her young cheek. The smell of gardenias and Coty powder enveloped her. A slender, elegant hand took hold of hers, guided her out of the room.

Frederick and William waited in the hall, sang carols as they descended the stairs. Rowdy, loving brothers and devoted sons. Uncle Peter stood behind them in the entrance to the drawing room. He embraced her with his smile and ushered them all into the room.

She stood transfixed.

The room had acquired a magical quality this Christmas night. Its faded elegance had taken on a curious new beauty in the muted, golden light. Candles glowed on a sturdy little fir. Logs hissed and spurted up the chimney. Sprigs of holly decorated the paintings, draped the mantle, hung in great beribboned swags in front of the windows. Mistletoe fell from the cut-glass chandelier. Paper chains were inverted rainbows looped across the ceiling. The air was redolent with new aromas that assailed her senses. She smelled pine cones and wood smoke and eggnog, and succulent goose cooking and chestnuts roasting on the fire.

They crowded around the fireplace.

They sang carols and drank the eggnog from little crystal cups and lifted the steaming chestnuts from their bursting shells. And their laughter reverberated through the house.

Three red felt stockings hung from the mantelpiece. They opened them…she and Frederick and William. In hers there was a treasure trove. An orange, an apple, a bag of nuts and a new penny tied in a scrap of silk; a sachet of potpourri, Pears soap and yards of silk ribbons for her hair plus a box of Egyptian dates, lavender water and a book of verse with the name Edith Kenton written on the flyleaf in her mother’s flowing script. Little things which had cost nothing but whose value was priceless to her.

Snowdrifts were banked outside the house.

Sleet and bitter winds rattled against the window panes and heralded the new year. The Christmas decorations had disappeared. The house was hushed and desolate without her mother’s laughter. It was the time for Uncle Peter to go away again. She saw the sadness on his face, and her mother’s eyes, blue like the sapphires she wore, were filled with tears…

Audra’s face was wet with tears…she had not realized she had begun to cry. She straightened up and brushed her eyes with her fingertips, tearing her gaze away from High Cleugh.

She lay down and buried her face in the cool, sweet-smelling grass, then squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she felt the sharp prick of tears once more. But now she did not bother to suppress them; instead, she allowed herself the luxury of weeping.

And she wept for those she had lost and for the past and for the way things had once been.

Eventually her tears ceased. She lay there quietly, staring up at the china-blue sky, watching the drift of the scudding clouds, ruminating on her beloved family and all of the things which had happened in the last few years.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.