Heirs of Ravenscar. Barbara Taylor Bradford

It was almost Christmas, the first Christmas they would be able to celebrate properly, because finally they were at peace. There would be a few faces missing at the lunch: Rob Aspen and Christopher Green, who had died in France fighting for their country. They would be remembered fondly by everyone, himself most especially.

      Rising, Edward went over to the cupboard where the safe was housed, and opened it. He stood there for a moment, and then he made a decision. He took out two large envelopes, locked the safe, went back to his desk and placed the envelopes in a drawer. This he locked. Pocketing the key, he went to get his overcoat and scarf. It was almost one o’clock. Time to go.

TWELVE

      Vicky Forth was an optimist. She had been all her life; even as a child her attitude had been positive. Her glass was always half full, never half empty; tomorrow would be a much better day than today; the future was full of promise and success. Her nature induced her to forge ahead with her projects, undaunted and full of bravery. If any adversity occurred she looked it straight in the eye, and moved right through it, as if it didn’t exist.

      Her husband Stephen, who loved, adored and encouraged her in her work, said she was a woman warrior out to conquer the world by doing good deeds. And this was true. Vicky had touched many lives. She loved helping others, most especially damaged women down on their luck, in need of care, counselling and encouragement. She wanted to help them have better lives.

      Her optimism had served her well over the years, and she suddenly thought of this now as she looked at some of the dresses in her wardrobe, wondering which one to wear tonight.

      How right she had been to encourage Grace Rose to be optimistic, to set her sights on Oxford University. Women were not yet admitted to membership of the University, but they could attend lectures and take courses.

      Grace Rose would be able to do all of the above, and would be safe, well looked after by her old friend Millicent Hanson, now widowed, who had a lovely old house in Oxford. It had been an inspired idea to write to her.

      In the letter Vicky had received today, Millicent had said she would be delighted to have Grace Rose living with her whilst she pursued her studies; Vicky was relieved, happy for her daughter, who was a wonderful student. She hoped to be a historian one day.

      Finally, Vicky selected a stylish, dark-rose coloured silk dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a narrow skirt which fell to the ankles. It had a V-shaped insertion of beige lace at the front, and this made for a unique neckline. She had only worn it once before, and she decided it would be perfect for the dinner party tonight. It had style, but it was not overly dressy for a dinner at home, especially since the men were not wearing black tie.

      After putting on the dress and stepping into matching rose-coloured silk pumps, Vicky went back to her dressing table, selected a pair of pearl-and-diamond earrings, and a matching brooch in the design of a flower. After adding the jewellery, she moved across the floor with her usual willowy grace, stood staring at herself in the cheval looking-glass in one corner of the bedroom. Nodding to herself, she decided she liked her appearance. Yes, she would do.

      Now in her mid-forties, Vicky Forth looked like a much younger woman; her dark chestnut hair was glossy and thick, with only a hint of silver threads here and there. The few wrinkles she had around her eyes and mouth were hardly visible, and because she was full of joie de vivre there was an amazing sense of youthfulness about her. Her energy and enthusiasm added to her attractiveness. Both men and women were drawn to her, found her to be a warm, kind and compassionate woman. Edward Deravenel had always said hers was the best shoulder to cry on because she had so much sympathy to give.

      Turning around, Vicky hurried towards the door, just as it flew open to admit her husband Stephen.

      A smile struck his face when he saw her. ‘How beautiful you look, Vicky!’ he exclaimed, coming into the room, closing the door. He paused to kiss her, held her away from him, smiling broadly, nodding his approval.

      ‘Hello, darling,’ she said, smiling back at him.

      ‘You’re dressed rather early, aren’t you, my dear?’

      Vicky shook her head. ‘Not really, I do have a few things to check with Cook, and Fuller. Also, a short while ago Ned telephoned. He asked to come a bit earlier, before everyone else. He wants to talk to us, so I said it would be all right.’

      ‘What does he want to talk to us about?’ Stephen asked curiously.

      ‘Grace Rose.’

      ‘What about her?’

      ‘Apparently some years ago, after he had taken over as head of Deravenels and was making money, he set up a trust for her. It will not be hers until she is twenty-one, but he wishes to bring the relevant documents tonight. He thinks we should now hold them for her until she comes of age.’

      ‘How odd. Why?’

      ‘He didn’t actually explain everything, Stephen darling, but he did mention that he was putting many of his affairs in order between now and the end of the year.’

      ‘I see. Well, then, I’d better get a move on, darling, change my shirt and suit, dandy myself up for your dinner party.’

      ‘Our dinner party, Stephen,’ she corrected. ‘Ned said it would only take fifteen minutes or so. He suggested Grace Rose could entertain Jane whilst we have our discussion in the library.’

      ‘I know Grace Rose will enjoy that, but will Jane?’

      ‘What on earth do you mean?’ Vicky frowned in puzzlement, staring at her husband questioningly.

      ‘Grace Rose has become amazingly forthright lately. Whilst she is not in any way rude, in fact she’s extremely polite and well-mannered, I do find she really does speak her mind these days. Or hadn’t you noticed?’

      ‘Yes, of course I have,’ Vicky responded. ‘On the other hand, she makes her somewhat startling comments so casually and with such panache, such good humour, I’m quite certain no one takes offence.’ Hurrying to the door, she added over her shoulder, ‘But I must go down. I have to make sure everything is in order. Don’t be too long, will you?’ She glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece and pointed out, ‘It’s already ten past six, and Ned and Jane will be arriving at six-thirty. The other guests are due at seven.’

      ‘Who else is coming, by the way?’ he asked swiftly. ‘Just refresh my memory again. You never did give me a final list, as you normally do.’

      ‘Oh sorry, so sorry, Stephen. Yes, well, it’s only family, really. There’s Ned and Jane, and us, that makes five, plus Fenella, Amos, and my brother.’

      ‘Isn’t Kathleen coming with Will?’

      ‘No, I’m afraid not. He telephoned me this morning. She’s fighting an awful cold apparently, and he said they both thought she ought to stay at home. She doesn’t want to spread germs. So I agreed. What else could I do? Anyway, a lovely flower arrangement and a note of apology arrived this afternoon from Kathleen. She’s a sweet woman, very thoughtful.’

      ‘Yes, she is. It’s all this blasted rain we’re having, if you want my opinion,’ Stephen grumbled. ‘It’s been raining cats and dogs for days. No wonder people are catching colds, becoming ill.’

      Vicky burst out laughing. ‘Let’s not complain about the English weather, my sweet! The war is OVER. That’s quite something to be happy about, isn’t it? To hell with the weather, I say.’

      He chuckled, and headed over to his dressing room. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be down,’ he muttered as he disappeared through the doorway.

      Smiling to herself, thinking how awful her life would have been without him, Vicky closed the bedroom door behind her and went downstairs. She wanted to check on Fuller, to make sure he had taken the champagne to the library; she had selected Krug, knowing it was Ned’s preferred brand these days.

      Dear