The Cavendon Women (21 page)

Dulcie looked across at the butler. “I think we should just go in and bash the door down, Eric. Or use a stick of dynamite.”

Daphne burst out laughing, and even Eric couldn't manage to stifle the laugh that rose in his throat. “Too much noise, Lady Dulcie,” he said, swallowing his mirth. “Picking a lock is quieter.”

Daphne nodded. “Only too true. To move on, I like the idea of a cold supper, served buffet style, Eric. And we shall be nine altogether tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, m'lady. And in the meantime, I'll try to find a solution regarding the lock.”

*   *   *

The sisters sat down near the fire, and Dulcie said, “The house is so quiet; where is everyone?”

“Poor Charlie has a bad cold, as you know, and I kept him in bed today. He has to go back to prep school next week. Alicia and the twins went to the zoo with Pettigrew, and Nanny took Annabel out for a walk.” Daphne smiled, thinking of her adorable two-year-old, and amended herself. “Or rather, Nanny took her out in her pushchair. They'll all be back in time for tea.”

Dulcie laughed. “That's grand. I do love them all, you know. And where's Hugo?”

“He went to lunch with Paul Drummond. They're both having second thoughts about an investment they made in America, and Hugo wants to thrash it out with him.”

For a moment Dulcie looked thoughtful, and then she asked, “Do you think Paul is serious about Diedre?”

“I don't know,” Daphne was quick to answer. “His wife died about eight years ago, and whilst there have been a few women in his life, I know he hasn't been serious about any of them.”

“And what about Diedre? She might not want to give up the War Office. She's always been a career girl.”

Daphne nodded. “I've thought of that myself. On the other hand, I think Paul's quite a catch.”

“But he's fifteen years older than her, Daphers! Isn't that too big an age difference?”

“He's very athletic, doesn't look his age, and he's a man who's involved in the world and what's going on around him. I invited him to supper tomorrow evening.”

“I shall concentrate on him, weigh him up, and give you my verdict later,” Dulcie announced.

Daphne laughed. “You're a hoot, Dulcie, darling. You really are.”

“You've not told me about your meeting with Wilson. Is she being a cowardly custard?”

Biting back another smile, Daphne nodded. “She is a bit nervous … of overstepping the mark, I suppose.”

“But you told me she was coming to work for you at Cavendon. I think she should just leave Charles Street and be done with it.”

“I want her to do that, Dulcie. But not until I have the jewels safely back at Cavendon. She's my inside ally.”

“You were asking Eric about picking the lock … don't you think a cat burglar would be a good idea? He could go in through the window at the dead of night, nick the jewels, and be gone.”

“Dulcie, your imagination is priceless. I think Papa is correct. You should really consider being a writer.”

“I might do that on the side, but I've decided I want to deal in art and antiques after I finish my art history course. I might even open a shop.”

Daphne gaped at her. “
A shop
! Goodness me, what will you think of next. And I can just hear Great-Aunt Gwendolyn exclaiming, ‘A shop! We're not tradespeople.' She'll have a fit.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Dulcie said, “It's a new world, Daphers … 1926, not the 1800s. Time moves on, and everything's different these days.”

“You're certainly right about that.”

“Why are you having this supper party tomorrow?” Dulcie now asked, leaning forward, eyeing her sister with interest. “You always say Sunday night is your quiet night with Hugo.”

“It is. But I do want to keep the family together, and having informal suppers now and then is a good way to do it. At the family reunion I realized how much I missed being with my siblings and the aunts. I think it's vital that we stay close, share our lives with each other. Family is extremely important to me.”

“That's a beautiful sentiment,” Dulcie responded, getting up, joining Daphne on the sofa. She took hold of her hand, and added, “You're the best sister in the world, and actually the best and noblest person in this family. None of us would know what to do without you. You're our rock. Oh, and Miles is coming to the supper?”

“I believe so. I'm trying to mother him a bit, Dulcie. He's had such a rough few years.”

“So he is back with Cecily?”

“I'm not sure…” She left her sentence unfinished.

 

Twenty-eight

Diedre was putting the final touches to her hair when the rattling ring of the phone brought her to her feet. She dashed across her bedroom to answer it, breathless as she said, “Hello?”

“Diedre, it's Aunt Gwendolyn. Do you have a moment, my dear?”

“Of course I do, Aunt Gwen. Do you have news for me? I hope so.”

“I do indeed. I saw Howard Pinkerton on Friday evening, and he told me that he has spoken to someone at the War Office. He says the rumor about you leaving, or being pushed out, is a whisper rather than a roar. Good news, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. But I can't help wondering why Alfie Fennell made it sound so …
huge,
as if everyone was gossiping about me.” Diedre sounded baffled.

“I wondered that too, and I came to the conclusion that things tend to grow when they're repeated. The inspector agreed. Most people exaggerate, he pointed out.”

“Do you know whom he spoke to, Aunt?”

“I don't have a name, if that's what you mean. However, he did say that he spoke to someone at the middle level, not one of the bigwigs.”

“Oh, I see. Why didn't he go to the top?” Diedre asked, sounding disappointed.

“Apparently he thought better of it, and decided that it would be wiser not to mention your name at all. I tend to agree with him there.”

“Oh yes, yes, I think he was right, Aunt Gwen. And I'm grateful to you for helping in this way.”

“Inspector Pinkerton is of the opinion that the rumor has been put out by someone in your private life. Does this bring anybody to mind, Diedre?”

“No, it doesn't. What friend would start that kind of nasty rumor about my work at the War Office?”

“Someone who is not a friend, I believe. Someone who wants to hurt you. Or frighten you, perhaps. Give you a scare is the best way I can put it.”

Diedre, grasping the receiver harder, was silent for a moment. And then she said, “I suppose I must have a friend who is really an enemy. But I don't know who that could be.”

“Think about it, my dear; someone may spring to mind. Now I must go. I shall see you later at supper. I thought it better to speak of this matter privately.”

“Thank you, Aunt Gwendolyn. I'll see you at Daphne's.”

Diedre had just returned the receiver to its cradle when the phone began to ring once more. “Hello?” she said as she picked it up.

“Diedre, it's me,” Paul Drummond said. “I was wondering what time I should pick you up?”

“In about twenty minutes, or half an hour. Whichever you prefer.”

“Let's say twenty minutes. I need to speak to you about something.”

“Are you all right? You sound … a bit terse, Paul.”

He laughed. “Never with you. Be there shortly.” He hung up without another word.

That was the way he was; very decisive, businesslike about certain things, precise and practical as well. They were of like minds. She was as efficient as he was.

Returning to her dressing table, Diedre sat down and finished brushing her hair, looking at herself in the mirror. She swept the top wave of her short bob to the left side, then fastened the diamond-and-tortoiseshell clip in place, above her left ear. She liked this new hairdo, thought it cheeky but chic.

Sitting back, she stared at herself, deciding that the thin line of blue pencil on her lids emphasized the blueness of her eyes. And so did the black mascara. She enjoyed using cosmetics, creating a new look for herself.

Ever since they had crept out of the wedding dinner at Cavendon, on the occasion of her father's marriage to Charlotte in July, Paul and she had been seeing each other.

Paul had whispered he wanted to be alone with her, somewhere, anywhere, just to talk, to be together in private. She had refused to stay in the house, knowing only too well that staff were lurking everywhere when there was a big event.

And so she had taken his hand and led him down to the gazebo in the park. It had been a clear, starry night, with a full moon floating over the lake, and he had liked the idea of being outside, away from the others.

Once in the gazebo, they had seated themselves on two wicker chairs, and within minutes he had his arm around her shoulders, and was kissing her. She had kissed him back and they had soon found their passion flaring, their physical attraction to each other obvious.

It was when he reached over, to touch her breast, that her chair rocked and she went down, grabbing his arm as she did. His chair also tipped over, and he fell on top of her. They were a mass of tangled arms and legs, and as they looked at each other in shocked surprise, they began to laugh. She recalled now how they had been almost hysterical with laughter, and, of course, the intensely sexual mood was broken.

But not for long. Later the following week, in London, Paul had invited her to have dinner with him. Being the perfect gentleman, he had arrived to pick her up, but they never left the flat. He canceled the reservation and they ended up making love instead.

He was an ardent lover. Passionate, sensuous, and virile. That evening, here in her flat, their affair had begun. His affection, attention, warmth, and genuine interest in her had helped soothe her troubled spirit. Her sorrow had begun to dissipate.

Now, suddenly, she even felt better about her job at the War Office and the rumor, after Great-Aunt Gwendolyn's call a short while ago. Reaching for the string of pearls Paul had given her, she put them around her neck, and as she did so she glanced at the photograph of him with his half brother Timothy. He had given it to her when she had asked him for one. “This is it, I'm afraid,” he had explained. “Tim helped to bring me up after our father died. It's the only one I have with me.”

She gazed at Paul's image. He was clean-cut, with a chiseled nose, fine features, and a broad brow. He reminded her of the All-American College Boy. Fair hair; clear, light gray eyes; a sincere smile. Even now, at forty-eight, he still had that youthful collegiate look that so appealed to her.

The Drummonds of New York and Connecticut were a banking family, part of the social elite of the city, and traced their ancestry back to England and the
Mayflower.
Paul's mother, Alexandra, was in her early seventies; Timothy, son of their father's first marriage, ran the family bank, and was married with twin sons and a daughter.

Paul had told her about his family over the two months they had known each other, but had never mentioned his wife. And Diedre, being well bred, had never asked him one question. All she knew was that his wife had died.

She tore her eyes away from Paul's photograph and glanced over at the clock. Immediately she jumped up, and went to take her frock off the hanger. He would be arriving any moment, and here she was, daydreaming about him instead of getting dressed. Her dress was by Cecily Swann, and was tailored and elegant, with a full skirt. It showed off her legs and was flattering. Style was her special thing; she thought she looked more streamlined and chic than her siblings. And why not? She was very much a London girl, and with a career.

As she stepped into her shoes, she thought about Paul Drummond, asking herself where it was going, this affair of theirs. She had no idea, but she was enjoying herself these days. Laughing, she went to select an evening bag. She no longer felt like the spinster aunt who did nothing but work.

 

Twenty-nine

Daphne found Hugo in the library, sitting in a chair near the fireplace, looking preoccupied. “Can I come in, darling?” she asked from the doorway. “Or am I intruding?”

A smile flashed across his face when he saw his wife. He jumped up, went to her, took hold of her hand, and brought her into the room. “You've never intruded on me in my life. I fill with joy when I see you, Daphne. You must know that by now.” He laughed. “If I could, I'd take you to the office with me. And everywhere else I went.”

She laughed with him and linked her arm through his as they walked across the room together. They sat down on the sofa and settled back against the cushions.

“I must admit, I was somewhat preoccupied … with thoughts of Paul Drummond, actually.”

Daphne gave him a swift glance, and raised a brow. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No, not between us. Or with his work. He's the best, you know, and a really fine man, has great integrity, extraordinary work ethic, and is as dependable as they come. His half brother Timothy has been on his back lately, because Paul's mother has not been well. He's pushing Paul to return to New York.”

“Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that. What's wrong with her?”

“Apparently she's had a heart problem for the last few years. That was my understanding. But she was leading a fairly normal life.”

“And Paul doesn't want to go at this time? Is that it?”

“He knows he must. But we do have some important work to finish before he goes. Also, he seems to be taken with Diedre.”

“You told me that before. But she keeps very quiet. Doesn't confide. She's secretive.”

“I know he likes her. A lot, Daphne. But I don't have a clue what his intentions are.”

“I personally think he's a real catch,” Daphne said.