Heirs of Ravenscar. Barbara Taylor Bradford

a friend of, Tabitha James, the real mother of Grace Rose.’

      ‘Get on with you, Amos, you can’t be serious!’

      ‘I am. I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, fantastical even, but certainly Tabitha knew a man by that name. Do you think there are two Cedric Crawfords in London?’

      ‘I don’t know, but I very much doubt it.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘After all, it’s not a name like John Smith, is it?’ He drew closer to Amos. ‘Refresh my memory a bit … I know you found Grace Rose in Whitechapel, in terrible circumstances.’

      ‘She was living in a cart, I think it might have been a discarded costermonger’s cart, in a cul-de-sac, and she was dressed as a boy.’

      ‘That’s right! Now I remember, you told me all about it when I came back for the first time with Maisie. You took him to Lady Fenella’s, to Haddon House, and when they washed all the dirt off of him he turned out not to be a him, but a her. How’s she doing?’

      ‘You’ve got a good memory, Charlie, and she’s doing wonderfully well. But going back to her childhood, when I found her she told me her mother was dead, and then later her mother’s old friend, a woman called Sophie Fox-Lannigan, explained to Lady Fenella that Tabitha James had been living with a man called Cedric Crawford, a guard’s officer and a gambler. And that when she went to see Tabitha one day, she’d disappeared. They all had. It seemed a bit of a mystery to her.’

      Charlie frowned, looked suddenly worried. ‘And you want to ask him if it was him, is that it?’

      ‘Well, yes. You see we just don’t know where Tabitha is buried, and it’s always troubled me, and Lady Fenella. You see, when Grace Rose was four she said her mother was buried in Potters Field, but nobody’s ever believed that, it didn’t sound right. And she isn’t, we checked. It would be nice to know the truth, especially for Grace Rose … that’s all there is to it, I promise you, Charlie.’

      ‘Do you think he knows?’

      ‘He might. Then he might not. It’s just possible he moved out, moved on, left Tabitha James before she died.’

      Charlie took a deep breath, then blew out air. ‘I wouldn’t want you to upset him, Amos, he’s been through such a bloody lot.’

      ‘I understand that, and I would never create any problems. But I would like to talk to him, yes. Can you arrange it?’

      ‘I could, I suppose,’ Charlie answered, sounding reluctant.

      ‘But will you?’

      Charlie nodded. ‘As long as you handle him with kid gloves.’

      ‘I will, word of honour. And don’t tell him why I want to see him, let’s not alarm the man, make him think I want to blame him about Tabitha. Because I really don’t, I assure you of that.’

      ‘I can ask him as we’re leaving if he can dine with us tomorrow –’

      ‘I can’t tomorrow, Charlie,’ Amos interrupted. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m having supper with the Forths, you know, the couple who brought Grace Rose up. But apart from that, I’ve no other commitments, I’m free.’

      ‘Shall I suggest Friday?’

      ‘That suits me fine.’

      ‘And where should we go? Come back here? Or do you have a particular preference?’

      ‘We can go wherever you want, Charlie, pick any place you like, just so long as you understand I’m doing the inviting and I’m doing the paying.’

      Charlie grinned. ‘Let’s have dinner here. It’s nice and convenient for me, and also for Cedric. He lives in Queen Street. With his sister, Rowena.’

      ‘I’ll book the table when we leave tonight. And remember, let’s keep this nice and easy, Charlie. He mustn’t know why.’

      ‘Mum’s the word.’

TEN

      ‘I always know when it’s going to rain,’ Will Hasling said to Alfredo Oliveri. ‘My shoulder gives me hell.’

      ‘It’s the same for me, my arm feels as if it’s in a vice. Never mind – better to have aching wounds than be kicking up daisies in a foreign cemetery,’ Alfredo pointed out.

      Will grinned. ‘Very true.’

      The two of them had both suffered minor wounds in the Somme in 1917, and had been shipped home on a hospital ship, then treated at a military hospital in London. As soon as they could, both men had returned to work at Deravenels, and were extremely relieved to be safely back in their old jobs. They had worked with Edward since he had taken over the company in 1904, and were his key executives.

      Alfredo paused just before they reached Edward’s office, and put his hand on Will’s arm, stared at him intently. ‘He’s not going to like what you’re about to reveal to him.’

      ‘You don’t have to tell me, I know that, and I’m going to suggest he deals with everything after Christmas, when George is back in London. Giving his brother a rollicking on the telephone won’t be effective. He’s got to dress George down face to face, don’t you think?’

      ‘I do,’ Alfredo replied, and sighed. ‘He hasn’t discussed the MacDonald situation at great length with me, but I’m making the assumption he’s a trifle indifferent to the deal.’

      ‘You’re right, as usual. For him it’s a take it or leave it deal. He’d like to own the liquor company, but if he doesn’t get it he won’t cry.’

      ‘It struck me earlier that he might have set a trap for his difficult little brother. If George blows the liquor business out of the water he’s in trouble, and most certainly can then be demoted. What say you?’

      Will began to laugh. The Italian part of you is certainly quite Machiavellian, Oliveri. I mustn’t forget that.’

      Alfredo merely smiled, and walked on down the corridor. He stopped at Edward’s office, knocked, then walked in, followed by Will Hasling.

      Edward was hanging up the phone. ‘Morning, you chaps!’ he exclaimed cheerfully when he saw them, an affectionate look crossing his face. He had worried about these two men so much during the war, filled with fear for their safety, and had vowed to cherish them for the rest of their lives when they came back.

      ‘I know you’ve got to go and see a man about a dog,’ Will began, ‘but I’ve something I need to talk with you about.’

      Edward chuckled. ‘I am indeed going to see a man about a dog. Or I was. However, because of my work here today I’ve asked Mrs Shaw to go to Harrods to pick out a Westie for Young Edward, and she agreed to do it.’

      Alfredo began to laugh, suddenly realizing the play on an old and very familiar saying. ‘Will you take the dog with you to Yorkshire tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘You can ship it, you know, that’s no problem.’

      ‘So Mrs Shaw told me, and that is how it will travel … in a van, by road, special delivery for Master Edward Deravenel from Harrods. He’ll love it because he’ll feel very important.’ Leaning forward, he now asked, ‘So, Will, why are you here?’ He glanced at Alfredo. ‘And you, Oliveri? You’re both standing there with such glum faces I’m assuming that you’re about to deliver bad news.’ Edward, looking very handsome in a dark blue Savile Row suit and cornflower-blue tie, sat back in his chair, his eyes focused on his executives. ‘And for God’s sake sit down, the two of you. You might as well be comfortable when you give me the dire news.’

      ‘You assume correctly,’ Will said. ‘It’s about George. He’s in trouble.’

      ‘How unusual,’ Edward said in a sardonic voice. ‘What’s he done now? I know he can’t have killed my deal with Ian MacDonald because that