Being Elizabeth. Barbara Taylor Bradford

tell you,’ he answered firmly as they came to a stop in front of the huge double door of the building. Robert immediately punched a number into the keypad embedded in the stone wall to the left of the door, and stood back, waiting.

      A split-second later, a disembodied voice came through the intercom system: ‘Good morning. Who is it, please?’

      ‘Good morning, Alfred, it’s Robert Dunley.’

      ‘Thank you, sir. Please enter.’

      There was a loud buzzing noise; Robert pushed the heavy door and, as it sprang open, he escorted Elizabeth inside.

      Standing waiting for them in the central lobby was the weekend commissionaire, Alfred Vine. His face lit up at the sight of Elizabeth and he exclaimed, ‘Miss Turner! What a pleasure to see you. Welcome back.’

      ‘It’s nice to see you, too, Alfred.’ Elizabeth gave him a warm smile; she had known him for years, as she had most of the service staff.

      ‘I was sorry to hear about Mrs Turner Alvarez,’ the commissionaire went on in a low tone. ‘My condolences, Miss Turner.’

      ‘Thank you, that’s kind of you.’

      Robert said, ‘We’re going up to the executive offices, Alfred, we won’t be very long.’

      ‘Take your time, sir, no problem.’

      Elizabeth glanced around as the two of them walked across the gargantuan marble foyer, their footsteps clattering loudly as they made for the great double staircase that flowed up to the first floor. How impressed she had been with this foyer when she was a young girl; it had intimidated her. She smiled to herself. Perhaps it still did in a certain way. It was impressive, no two ways about that.

      ‘It’s very quiet this morning, Robin,’ Elizabeth said, and instantly looked startled as her voice echoed back to her. ‘Oh, goodness, I’d forgotten about the echo in here.’

      ‘Had you now?’ Robert glanced at her, grinning. ‘Don’t you remember the time we first discovered it? We were about ten and started “making echoes”, as you called it, by screaming and shouting. There was hell to pay.’

      ‘God, yes, I do remember! Your father and mine were absolutely furious with us, because of the noise we made. But it was Sunday, and the place was deserted, just as it is this morning. I never quite understood the fuss.’

      ‘My father docked my spending money. What did yours do?’

      Elizabeth chuckled. ‘I can’t recall, just shouted at me, I think.’

      They went on up the staircase in silence, headed down the main corridor and stopped outside the managing director’s office. Robert said, ‘Close your eyes. I want this to really be a surprise.’

      Elizabeth did as he asked; he took hold of her hand, led her into the office, switched on the overhead light and said, ‘Okay, you can open your eyes.’

      She did so and instantly gasped. ‘Oh, my God! Robin! How on earth did you manage to do this?’ As she spoke, her eyes swept around the room, swiftly taking everything in, and then she turned around and hugged him. ‘It’s Father’s office once again, not hers! Oh, thank you!’

      ‘Do you like it?’ he asked eagerly, as always, wishing to please her.

      ‘I love it, can’t you tell?’ She walked slowly around the large room which had been occupied in the last hundred years by Richard Deravenel, his son Edward Deravenel, and Edward’s youngest brother Richard. Then it had been her grandfather’s, and after Henry Turner died, her father Harry had occupied it for years.

      Because Edward Selmere had been the administrator, running the company on behalf of her younger brother, he had used another office on the executive floor. Once Mary had become managing director it was her domain, as was proper, but she had made a mess of it, in Elizabeth’s opinion.

      Looking at Robert, Elizabeth asked, ‘What on earth did you do with all that ghastly modern furniture Mary bought?’

      ‘I chucked it out, with Cecil’s agreement, of course,’ Robert laughed, added, ‘I was happy to see the last of it. And look, Elizabeth, over there on the wall behind the desk … it’s the famous old map of the world, which Mary had sent down to storage. I rescued it and put it back where it belongs.’

      Rushing over to the map, she said, ‘And you had it reframed, from the look of it.’

      ‘I did, and now you can see the map much better because I had new glass put in.’

      ‘Robin, how lovely of you to do all this. Thank you, thank you, you’ve made me so happy.’ She sat down at the beautiful Georgian desk that had been used by those of her ancestors who had run this company before her, smoothed her hands over the fine leather top, reverentially, momentarily lost in thought. A few seconds later, rousing herself, she took stock once more, noting the rich cream colour on the walls, the antique Chesterfield sofa with its highly polished, dark-green leather gleaming in the light from the various lamps. ‘It’s all here, isn’t it, Robin? All of the things my father appreciated so much.’

      ‘And his father before him, and the Deravenels,’ Robert replied. ‘It’s even the same Persian rug. However, I want you to know I did have that cleaned! It all started about three weeks ago when I asked Cecil if I could have the walls repainted before you came back. I’m sure you remember that awful dreary steel-grey paint Mary had chosen. Cecil told me to do whatever I wished, and it suddenly struck us both that the furniture Mary had bought wasn’t right, either for this office or for you. So … voilà! And I’m thrilled you’re happy with everything.’

      ‘I am.’

      ‘Then let me take you to lunch to celebrate your return to Deravenels and your new job as the boss lady.’

      Many heads turned as they walked through the lobby of the Savoy Hotel on their way to the restaurant. They were both good looking, and Elizabeth was almost as tall as Robert. They made a handsome, elegant couple, and Elizabeth was particularly arresting with her startlingly white skin and auburn hair. She had chosen to wear a tailored, purple wool coat and dress that showed off her slender figure to perfection, while the purple-and-green silk scarf was a dashing addition to the outfit.

      Robert Dunley was well aware of the swathe they cut as they walked through the restaurant. They usually did. They both loved fashionable clothes, and he was something of a peacock. As for Elizabeth, she had always had style and a certain flair, wore unique outfits by Joseph, Versace, and Cavalli in strong colours with great aplomb. In fact, they both had enormous self-confidence and were sure of themselves when it came to their taste in clothing.

      After sitting down at a window table overlooking the Thames and ordering two glasses of champagne, Robert took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘Aren’t you glad we went to the office?’

      Elizabeth agreed. ‘Yes, I am, you were absolutely right, but then you usually are. Nobody understands me like you do, Robin darling. I realize how much I was dreading going there tomorrow, and your little preview has made me feel more at ease. And thank you again for the work you did on Father’s office. I hated what Mary had created, that abysmal steel-and-glass trap, and couldn’t bear the thought of using it.’

      ‘I shudder when I think of it, and actually I enjoyed dumping her stuff, bringing back all those lovely old pieces from the storage unit downstairs. It was not only fun but a labour of love,’ Robert reassured her.

      At this moment the waiter arrived with their flutes of champagne, and after toasting each other Elizabeth asked, ‘What do you think I ought to do with the Chelsea house?’

      ‘Do you want to live there?’ Robert asked.

      ‘I don’t know … I don’t think so. But now, looking out at the river flowing by, I can’t help thinking