Power of a Woman. Barbara Taylor Bradford

Nor did I understand his actions when he was a teenager. But then, that’s another story altogether, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, it is. I didn’t understand all that mess either.”

      Derek stared off into space for a moment, lost in memories of the past, before saying eventually, “How is Nigel’s marriage? Is that all right? No problems with Tamara?”

      “None as far as I know, and she’s a smashing girl. He’s bloody lucky to have her and those two great kids.”

      “Ah, but does he know it, Miles?”

      Miles shrugged, lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

      Derek averted his head, looked into the fire, lost in thought again.

      After a moment Miles said, “Getting back to Gideon, I’ve been wondering if he’s upset about Margot. But then, why would he be, when he broke it off with her?”

      “Could he possibly have regrets?” Derek suggested, turning to face Miles, looking directly at him.

      “Maybe. But it wasn’t very good between them in the end. I think she was getting on his nerves. Margot always was something of a social butterfly, and you know Gideon’s not very keen on partying. He’s too serious, too dedicated to work.” Miles exhaled heavily. “Oh, God, I don’t know…and who knows what Gideon really thinks or feels? It beats me.”

      “Have you tried talking to him?”

      Miles threw back his head and guffawed. “Oh, come on, Gramps, of course I have! And he bit my head off the last time I did.”

      “Perhaps he’s just going through one of those phases all young men go through—at some time or other,” Derek said, thinking out loud. “Trying to find himself, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. But more than likely, it’s woman trouble.” A brow lifted knowingly. “That’s usually what’s ailing men when they appear troubled and despairing but without any real reason to be so afflicted.”

      “I suppose you’re right, Derek.”

      A split second later, Chloe appeared in the archway of the great hall. “Coo-ee, coo-ee,” she called, waving frantically, trying to gain their attention. “It’s almost three-thirty and lunch is ready! Mom would like you to come to the dining room. Now, she says.”

      “Her wish is our command, my darling.” Derek put down his glass and rose.

      So did Miles.

      Together the two men went to join her, and the three of them slowly made their way to the dining room.

       7

      IT WAS A FESTIVE LUNCH.

      Everyone talked a lot and laughed and exclaimed about the good things offered to them, since by now they were all extremely hungry.

      Cappi and her two helpers had prepared a truly memorable Thanksgiving lunch. There were all manner of delicious and succulent things to eat with the large, plump turkey—sweet potatoes with a marshmallow topping, mashed potatoes as well as potatoes roasted in the oven, and parsnips, red cabbage, cranberries, a thick, fragrant-smelling gravy, and, of course, Stevie’s famous, mouthwatering sage-and-onion bread stuffing.

      Along with the turkey, Cappi had baked a Virginia ham and roasted a batch of quail, much to Derek’s amusement. He knew that these had been made in order to tempt him; after years of complaining to Stevie about her Thanksgiving turkeys, she had apparently taken the hint. And yet hadn’t he always explained to her that English turkeys were not as good as those to be found in America, an important point, since over the years most of her Thanksgiving meals had been served in London. He had been partially teasing her; she had taken his words to heart.

      “A little of everything,” he told Cappi, who was hovering around the sideboard, where the turkey, ham, and quail were arrayed on large platters, alongside all the accompanying vegetables. “And only dark meat, please, if you’re giving me turkey.”

      “And what about vegetables, Sir Derek?”

      “Mashed potatoes would be lovely, and stuffing and gravy, but that’s it, thanks, Cappi. Must watch the waistline, you know.”

      Miles moved slowly around the table, pouring the red Bordeaux, a Château Gruaud-Larose, his favorite Saint-Julien. It had been bottled in 1989, a good year, and he commented on this to Miles, who nodded and smiled. “Chosen specially for you,” Miles told him with a conspiratorial wink.

      Chloe followed on her brother’s heels, filling their water glasses; Blair passed around the basket of homemade breads and Stevie offered cranberry sauce. Then at last they were all served, and they settled down to eat.

      Derek ate slowly, savoring his food, saying a word or two occasionally. Mostly he listened, and observed everyone.

      He was very content to be here today, enjoying this respite from his work, enjoying being with his family. Part of his family, at any rate. He could not help wishing Gideon were here, and Nigel and Tamara with their two children, and then they would have been complete. A true family all together under one roof for once.

      This was his second family; long ago there had been his daddy and his mam, his brothers, Owen and David, and sister, Gwyneth. The family of his blood, whom he had loved so much when he was growing up in Ystradyfodwg, that little parish that was the Rhondda. The Rhondda…how he loved the sound of it, loved rolling the name around on his tongue. The place of his heart…where all his hopes and dreams had been born…another of the great industrial valleys of South Wales, where coal mining was the main industry.

      The pit. The dreaded pit. The giver of wealth, the taker of life.

      His daddy had worked in the pit all his life, from being a young boy until the day he died. Claimed by the pit. It was an explosion in the belly of the earth that took so many of their men and ravaged the town. His daddy had died with the others when the walls of the mine had collapsed and water had flooded the shafts.

      His brother Owen had not been on the same shift as their daddy that day, and so, thankfully, he had been spared. Spared to become the breadwinner for them all.

      It was because of his elder brother that he had been spared. Owen, and Gwyneth too, had seen something special in him when he was a boy. Eventually they had come to calling it “the gift,” and as it turned out, it was just that, something deep within himself that he could draw on and that would eventually take him to great heights as an actor, although he had not known it then. Nor had he or they known at that time exactly what this gift was, not really. They could not define it. But, very simply, his brother and sister had discerned something in him that made him different, lifted him high above the mediocrity of the crowd.