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

seems to create additional problems. Also, I wasn’t expecting Mummy to arrive for my birthday, and it’s thrown me a bit. Don’t misunderstand me, Cheska, I’m glad she’s here, and it’ll be lovely to see her. It’s just, well, to be honest, the thing I dread about visiting her is having to witness her awful pain.’

      ‘I realize that, darling.’ Francesca put her arms around Diana and hugged her. ‘I’m here, if you need me, and you know I’ll always do whatever I can.’

      ‘You’re a great comfort to me, darling. Anyway, I’m not going to think about Friday until Friday comes.’ Diana’s face visibly cheered and her smile became more certain. ‘I said we were going to make your vacation a happy one, and we are. Enough of all this. I’ll cope, in much the same way I’ve been coping for the past two years, simply by taking every day as it comes, one day at a time.’ Diana stood up. ‘I’d better go and telephone Mummy. I won’t be long, and then we’ll have that drink before lunch. In the meantime, when Victor comes up, why don’t you show him his suite?’

      ‘Oh, there’s no great hurry, Dibs. We’ll sit here and wait for you and Christian. Victor can see his suite after lunch.’

      ‘Fine, whatever you want.’ Diana touched Francesca’s shoulder lightly. ‘Thanks for being lovely, lovely you, Cheska.’ She turned abruptly and went through the door leading to the west wing of the Schloss.

      Gazing after her, Francesca thought: She’s pretty amazing. She’s so tiny, so fragile, yet she has more strength than anyone I know, and her heart’s as big as a paving stone. Instantly her thoughts flew to her aunt. She is beyond our help really, Francesca said inwardly. How Diana handled this difficult and troubling situation so well, and usually with such equanimity, was sometimes beyond her comprehension. But Francesca had come to realize that her cousin was dauntless. There was a well-spring of courage within her which she could continually draw upon; in much the same way, she had the rock of her unshakable faith to cling to. Last year, when Diana had been staying at Langley, they had had a most unusual talk, one which had taken Francesca by surprise, and it had been most revealing.

      On a sunny July afternoon, after a shopping trip to Harrogate and lunch at a local pub, they had strolled through the gardens at Langley. Diana had spoken at length about her mother and the latter’s state of mind, and then, she had expressed the opinion that there was a grand design to life itself, a pattern that existed everywhere, and for everyone.

      ‘Things can happen to us, terrible things which we cannot understand when they’re actually occurring. They seem so cruel and unjust and incomprehensible at the time,’ Diana had said. ‘But they are simply meant to be … they are part of the pattern. And I’m certain that one day the pattern becomes clear to us all, takes on a definite shape, so that finally we see its true meaning.’

      After several long moments of silence, she had murmured, and so softly Francesca had had to strain to hear, ‘God has His reasons for everything. And there will come a time in all our lives when we do understand His purpose, His divine pattern.’

      Francesca had listened carefully, and though she had found her cousin’s words as extraordinary as they were unexpected, she knew Diana had meant everything she had said. Perhaps it was this spiritual knowledge and this inner sureness that underpinned Diana’s natural fortitude.

      And remembering those words now, Francesca was again convinced that Diana believed the tragedies which had befallen her parents had been God’s will, and thus were unalterable. She saw them as a fragment of that divine pattern, and consequently they were her own destiny too. This is what sustains her, enables her to shoulder her burdens so stoically, to carry on with the business of life and of living in such a positive way, Francesca whispered to herself. And that’s not such a bad thing, when you think about it.

      As Victor made his way through the Deer Hall he understood at once the reason for its name. A collection of antlers and stags’ heads were mounted above the archway leading into the gallery and on the walls on either side of the arch. Close by was a glass-fronted gun cabinet.

      Being a hunter, and a gun collector himself, he approached this eagerly. The cabinet was locked, and he cupped his hands around his eyes, peering through the glass at a fine collection of hunting rifles and other firearms displayed there. All were in first-rate condition, and some were rare antique specimens. He would ask Diana if he could examine them later. He also made up his mind to pay that visit to Purdey’s when he was back in London, as he had long intended, to pick out a couple of new hunting rifles for himself and Nicky.

      Victor moved away from the cabinet and strolled down the gallery, his feet clattering loudly against the parquet floor, and this made him conscious of the lack of rugs and carpets in the Schloss. Were the von Wittingens as strapped as the Earl? It didn’t seem likely. Diana was beautifully turned out, and the house was elegant and well kept. But anything’s possible, he muttered, thinking of Francesca, who was always smartly if simply dressed. He was well aware the aristocracy had a clever knack for keeping up the proper front no matter what. It’s all a question of pride, he said to himself, thinking of his own, smiling wryly as he continued on down the gallery.

      A number of sombre oil paintings hung on the walls, otherwise it was unfurnished except for an odd-looking cart in the centre of the floor. As he drew closer he realized this was actually a marvellous old-fashioned sleigh, a charming relic from the past. The sleigh had a colourful painted base, brass ornamentation and polished old leather that gleamed dully in the dim light filtering through several stained glass windows. It had been stacked with greenery, flowering plants, and nosegays of dried flowers tied with moss-green velvet ribbons. He guessed the sleigh was Diana’s artistic handiwork, for it seemed to echo the spirit of the girl, whom he had taken to immediately. He found her an interesting study, a combination of gaiety and gravity which was most appealing.

      The gallery led directly into the sitting room, and as Victor meandered in he stopped short, all his senses coming into play. His first impression was visual and it was an impression of that lucent light so peculiar to the mountains. It streamed in glittering cataracts through the many shining windows, glanced off reflective surfaces and objects, washed over creamy colours and delicate jewel tones. Instantaneously he became aware of sounds … the hiss and crackle of the fire, the haunting, bittersweet strains of a piano concerto rising and falling in waves, and wafting to him on the still air was a mingling of the most evocative smells … the pungency of pine needles and wooded hills, the perfume of tuberoses, the aroma of ripening fruit.

      Francesca was standing at the far end of the long, low-ceilinged room, a flash of yellow against the stone fireplace, one so high and wide it dwarfed her. He went into the room, returning her smile, his feet sinking into velvety pile, and he was aware of sudden warmth, understated luxury, a setting of extraordinary loveliness.

      He saw, at a glance, antique chests and tables, cream walls, a cream carpet of Persian design, its graceful configurations running from ruby, rose quartz and amethyst to aquamarine and sapphire. Cushions in some of these tints sparked the two huge sofas, covered in cream velvet, which were grouped in front of the fireplace, and there were vases of fresh flowers and plants in profusion, many candles, and a plethora of objects of art that added the glitter of silver and crystal, the sharp clear hues of Meissen porcelain.

      ‘Diana had to make a quick ’phone call to Munich,’ Francesca explained, coming to meet him. She took his arm with the utmost naturalness, no longer self-conscious, nor intimidated by him, and steered him to the fire. ‘She’ll be back in a few minutes, and Christian will join us in a moment. Apparently he had an unexpected visitor, and he’s just saying goodbye. As soon as they’re both here we’re going to have a drink and a snack.’

      ‘That sounds terrific.’ He stood with his back to the fire, reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and lit one. ‘You were right about the house. Jeez, it’s just beautiful, Francesca.’ His eyes swept over the sitting room appreciatively. ‘I could sit here and dream the days away, forget about everything. In an odd way, it reminds me of the ranch, although it’s different, of course, as far as the furniture goes. But there’s the same stillness, that sense of peace.’

      ‘I’m glad