Secrets of Cavendon: A gripping historical saga full of intrigue and drama. Barbara Taylor Bradford

we’ll be in clover,’ Cecily murmured.

      ‘Not quite,’ Charlotte said. ‘But I do believe you need to free up your mind, so you can start designing next year’s collection.’

      ‘That’s true. And I will.’

      ‘I’d like you to do something else for me, Ceci. I want you to give the bad news to Miles as soon as you possibly can. Because I want to take him to the bank on Monday morning.’

      ‘I will tell him tonight or tomorrow,’ Cecily promised, feeling much more confident about confiding her troubles to her husband. She dreaded to think what Daphne would make of all of this: not just letting in the public but now selling off all Cavendon’s assets. But it was that, or go under.

      As she looked at herself in her dressing-table mirror, checking her face and hair, a phrase was running through Cecily’s mind: Let’s turn privilege into profit. It would be her mantra from now on.

      What a relief it is, she thought, not to feel so alone any more. Greta and Dottie, as usual, had been on her wavelength, and had been plotting and planning in the office annexe, attempting to streamline their ideas for finding smaller offices, and letting certain staff members go.

      That was always the hard part. Cecily balked at doing it, but at the moment she had no option. They had to cut their overheads. Dottie had told her she already knew of a two-room suite near Burlington Arcade, and would try to secure it.

      It would be tough going, she knew that already, but by lowering their overheads, selling the factories, changing the whole theme of the couture line, and making Greta a partner, she would be on the right track. Starting again, they would succeed. Fingers crossed, she added to herself.

      Rising, she left her bedroom and went downstairs. Everyone would be assembling in the dining room for dinner at any moment.

       EIGHT

      The happiness of the evening was still with her, wrapped around her like a soft silk shawl, and she felt better than she had in a very long time. She had a sense of peace, of quiet contentment.

      As Cecily undressed and got ready for bed, she knew this feeling of joy stemmed from the presence of Charlie and Alicia at dinner, and Greta had added much to the evening’s enjoyment as well. She and her assistant were as close as ever.

      As he had done at lunchtime, Charlie made them laugh with his stories and comments about his life as a newspaperman; Alicia was her charming and loving self, and the two of them brought the true meaning of family to the table. Aunt Dottie was staying with Cecily’s parents, Alice and Walter, in Little Skell.

      Even Miles, often so dour these days, had smiled and chuckled and joined in the fun.

      What was so important about the evening was the way Daphne’s tirade of last week had disappeared, just gone away. No one mentioned her, and they were the happy clan again, united in all things, at ease with each other.

      As Cecily slipped on her silk dressing gown, and crossed the bedroom floor, she braced herself. She had promised Aunt Charlotte she would tell Miles about her troubles tonight, and there was no way out. She must do it.

      Their upstairs sitting room was empty when she went in, and she walked over to the chest upon which she had propped up the painting of DeLacy earlier, stood gazing at it. A moment later, Miles came out of his dressing room and joined her.

      ‘Isn’t it beautiful, darling?’ he said, glancing at her after staring at the portrait of his sister for a few seconds. ‘How could we have forgotten about it?’

      Turning to face him, Cecily said, ‘I never really forgot it, Miles. I knew very well where it was, since I put the box up there in the attic when DeLacy’s possessions arrived years ago.’ Her face changed, and she sighed. ‘I simply couldn’t bear to bring it out, not then, so soon after she had been killed. And I thought you would feel the same.’

      Miles nodded. ‘I did, and I understand. It was a terrible time for all of us.’ He paused, took a sip of cognac. ‘But why now? What made you finally bring it down?’ As he spoke he walked over to the sofa and sat down.

      Cecily gave the painting a lingering glance and joined him. ‘I bought a new steamer trunk, a big one to hold the Swann record books,’ she explained. ‘And Eric noticed the large box which contained DeLacy’s portrait and others by Travers Merton. I suddenly understood that now was the right time. So I told him to bring it down to the bedroom floor. Being sensitive to our feelings, Eric put them in Diedre’s old room, rather than DeLacy’s. I brought the portrait out earlier, and I’m glad I did.’

      ‘So am I.’ He smiled at her, and changed the subject. ‘It was a nice evening. I was happy to see Charlie and Alicia still in such good form. Incidentally, I’d like to take a look at the other paintings by Travers. Why don’t we do that tomorrow?’

      There was a moment of silence. Taking a deep breath, Cecily said, ‘I can’t tomorrow, I’m afraid. You see—’

      ‘But we always spend Saturday together,’ he cut in, sounding put out.

      ‘Yes, I know. However, I need to meet with Aunt Dottie and Greta to discuss a few more of my business plans. Greta is staying on until Monday. In fact, they both are.’

      ‘Oh, I see. I suppose you do have a bit of planning to do, now that you will be in Yorkshire most of the time.’

      ‘Yes, I also have a lot of problem-solving to do. Anyway, Aunt Charlotte would like to speak to you tomorrow morning, Miles. She asked me to tell you she’ll be available any time it’s convenient for you.’

      ‘Aunt Charlotte?’ He frowned. ‘Is there something wrong? Do you know what it is about?’

      ‘I do. She wants you to meet the managing director of her bank in Harrogate on Monday. To arrange a loan for you. She will be your guarantor.’

      Miles stared at her nonplussed, frowning. ‘A loan? Whatever for?’

      ‘The government taxes, Miles. They’ll be due soon.’

      Once again he gaped at her, surprise and puzzlement still filling his face. ‘But you always give me the tax money …’ he began, and then his voice trailed off when he saw how serious her expression was.

      ‘I don’t have the money to give you, I’m afraid. I have a lot of business problems, which is why Aunt Charlotte has now stepped in.’

      ‘I can’t borrow money from a bank! The whole world will soon know the Inghams are in trouble!’ he exclaimed, his voice rising.

      ‘But everyone knows that already, Miles. All the aristocratic families have been in trouble financially since the end of the war. Because of the tax increases and lack of men on the land. It’s not a secret.’

      ‘Why didn’t you confide in me?’ he demanded, anger echoing in his voice. He glared at her. ‘We share. Always.’

      ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I believe I can solve my business problems by selling the two factories in Leeds, finding smaller offices in London, closing one of the shops in the Burlington Arcade, and dropping the ready-made clothing line. Greta wants to buy in as a partner, and also, Aunt Charlotte will give me half the money to pay off my bank debts … She explained I am her main heir, and it’s part of the money she would be leaving me in her will anyway.’

      There was total silence in the room.

      As she looked at Miles, Cecily noticed his face was as white as bleached bone and there was a look in his eyes she couldn’t read. Anger? Bafflement? Bewilderment? Shock, she decided. He was in shock.

      He said suddenly, ‘Well, it seems the Swanns have been very busy these last few days, doesn’t it?’

      Startled by those words, infuriated by them, Cecily snapped back, ‘More like a couple of hundred years, wouldn’t