Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford

      The disaster at the castle had precipitated yet another discussion about money that particular Thursday evening, after Kim had gone off to meet Katharine at her flat, armed with the Fortnum’s hamper laden with the food Francesca had prepared for them. She had finally plucked up her courage and suggested to her father that she look for a job, perhaps in a reputable Mayfair gallery dealing in antiques or art, in order to help with their heavy expenses. He had refused to countenance the idea and had been horrified at first, later somewhat amused. Laughingly, he had pointed out that she couldn’t possibly earn more than a pittance, which would hardly solve their grave problems. But the Earl had been touched by Francesca’s generous offer, especially unselfish in view of her dedication to her writing. Subsequently she had poured all of her energies into the book on Chinese Gordon. But she continued to fret about the situation in general, and one night, when Katharine came to supper at the Chesterfield Street house, she had confided her worries about money. Carefully, Francesca had enumerated some of the facts, endeavouring to explain in the simplest terms such things as entailment and trusts, and her great-grandfather’s curious will. This had actually been dictated by her great-grandmother, in much the same way that this redoubtable lady had conceived, structured and dictated the various family trusts. The Ninth Countess of Langley, aware of ‘Spendthrift Teddy’s’ proclivity for extravagant living and young mistresses, had been determined to protect her children, her grandchildren and their progeny from any foolishness on his part. To this end she had bullied her husband into acceding to her wishes, and the family’s solicitors had been obliged to create a number of iron-clad trusts which could not be invaded or broken. Everything was neatly and very tightly sewn up for ever, making it virtually impossible to sell anything. Whilst successfully tying her husband’s hands, the Ninth Countess had also hamstrung future generations. ‘We’re rich in land, paintings, and possessions, but cash poor,’ Francesca had pointed out gloomily, adding, with a surge of youthful optimism, ‘At least until the Home Farm starts making a profit, which won’t be long, now that Daddy has modernized the operation. It’ll soon be on a paying basis.’

      Katharine had been understanding, but she had categorically taken the Earl’s side. She had advised Francesca, rather vociferously, to double her efforts on the biography, in the hope that it would be a commercial success and earn her a bushel of money. Katharine had continued to be supportive, and a receptive and patient listener whenever Francesca wanted to discuss the book, for which Francesca was grateful.

      Suddenly Francesca felt a light tap on her shoulder, and she swung her head to face Nicholas Latimer, who was leaning forward. It was almost as if he had been plugged into her mind like an amp, for he said, ‘Did you take my advice about bridging and spanning time, the early years of Gordon’s life?’

      She smiled. ‘Yes, I did, Nicky. Thanks so much.’

      ‘Keep at it, kid. You’ll write that last page one day.’

      ‘I hope so. Incidentally, what’s this delay about?’

      Nick grinned. ‘We’re waiting for God. We can’t possibly begin until he arrives.’

      ‘God?’

      ‘Yes. The guy from Monarch Pictures. He now holds our fate in his hands, since they’re going to be distributing Wuthering Heights and, more importantly, financing it. Mind you, they’re not making a problem about who plays the female lead. All they’re really interested in is getting one of Victor’s pictures. It’ll give them the prestige they need, and it’s quite a coup that he signed with them. Metro really wanted the film too. Anyway, Vic thought Hilly Street ought to see Katharine’s test. A courtesy gesture.’

      ‘Hilly Street? That’s not really his name, is it?’ Francesca giggled, eyeing Nick doubtfully, aware of his penchant for teasing her unmercifully. ‘I don’t believe you. I think you just invented it.’

      Nick laughed. ‘Sure I did. But years ago. And the nickname stuck.’

      ‘But why such a peculiar nickname?’

      ‘It’s appropriate. Doing business with him is like riding a bike up a very hilly street. Excessively bumpy. His real name’s Hillard Steed, which prompted my play on words, I guess, and he’s not such a bad guy. Congenitally late though.’

      Victor, who had overheard their conversation, straightened up and glanced at Nick. ‘I’ll give Hilly about ten more minutes and then I’ll tell the projectionist to roll it.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s almost eleven. As usual, Hilly’s going to be half an hour late. I told him ten-thirty.’ Victor stood up, dwarfing them with his great bulk. ‘I’m going into the projection room, Nick. Excuse me.’ He nodded rather curtly to Francesca, who managed a bleak little smile in return before he disappeared.

      A knowing glint flicked into Nick’s eyes as he observed this cool and perfunctory exchange. Francesca had become something of a permanent fixture in their lives, and Vic’s behaviour when she was around was causing Nick considerable amusement. Ever since meeting Victor, Katharine Tempest had spent a great deal of her free time with him, especially when Kim was in Yorkshire, introducing him into the smartest social circles and to the crème de la crème of London society. This had not changed, except that now she had her new bosom chum trailing along in her wake. Wherever Katharine went Francesca’s presence was sure to follow, like the proverbial little lamb. Nick felt Francesca’s presence as acutely as Victor did. She was astonishingly bright and gay, articulate to the point of being rather outspoken at times, unusually self-assured for her age, and yes, enormously pretty. Quite beautiful, really, in that understated English way that was dewdrop fresh and reminiscent of a spring garden. No, it wasn’t easy to ignore the Lady Francesca, as Nick had quickly come to understand.

      Victor always seemed delighted at the prospect of their company, until the girls arrived, and then his demeanour instantly changed, and radically, in relation to Francesca. He was either remote and vague and retreated into protracted silences, or became excessively jolly and avuncular, alien postures which did not sit well on him. To Nick, Vic appeared curiously transparent and out of sync when Francesca was in the same room. For a quintessential actor he was doing a pretty lousy job of concealing his feelings. In fact, his abnormal behaviour only confirmed his immense attraction to Francesca more forcibly than ever. For her part, she was completely natural, her comportment relaxed and pleasant, and she was apparently oblivious to Victor’s indisputable interest in her. Maybe I’m the only one who’s aware of it, because I know him so well, Nick thought, and another possibility quickly insinuated itself into his mind. Could it be that Victor did not comprehend his feelings for the girl? Hardly likely, Nick answered himself. Still, Vic might have buried his emotions so deep he was able to ignore them, and therefore did not have to confront or deal with them. If that’s the case, he’s being very foolish, Nick decided.

      Nicholas Latimer was the first to admit he was very taken with Francesca. In the short time he had known her he had grown extremely fond of her in a brotherly fashion, and in some respects she reminded him of his sister Marcia. She took his banter exceptionally well, in the spirit it was given. Francesca was a good sport. Unlike Katharine, he commented inwardly, and smiled with acerbity. His wit and irreverent joshing fell on stony ground when directed at her. Oh she smiled, even laughed occasionally, but the eyes were so glacial he thought he would get frostbite from them one day. Because of her impeccable manners, Katharine was always civil to him, even cordial, but this could be so excessive it bordered on parody, in Nick’s view, at any rate. Frigid was the only word he could ever find to properly characterize her to himself.

      In contrast, he thought of Francesca as warm and loving and sunny of nature. An uncomplicated young woman who was lots of fun, and had a terrific sense of humour. In particular, Nicky liked her smart mind. She was also keen and incisive and he admired her vast knowledge of history.

      On that tedious Sunday evening, a couple of weeks earlier, when Victor had been inveigled by Katharine into giving a supper party in his suite, Francesca had started to look as bored as he was feeling. She had drifted over to join him during cocktails, and had remained resolutely glued to his side thereafter. Nick had been delighted to have her company. He had sensed rather than observed her irritation with Estelle Morgan’s ridiculous