Being Elizabeth

Elizabeth walked forward and Harry bent down so she could kiss him on the cheek. Then he said, ‘I hear that you are doing well at school, that you are an exceptional student. That pleases me, Elizabeth.’

Putting her hand in her green blazer pocket, Elizabeth pulled out an envelope and offered it to him. ‘This is for you, Father. My school report.’

Nodding, he took it from her, and read it. ‘Congratulations are in order, I see!’ he exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his face. ‘You’re the top of your class, and you have an A-plus in everything. Good Lord, do you really speak five languages?’ He stared at her, obviously impressed.

‘If you include English, yes.’

He laughed. ‘And what are the other four?’

‘Latin, French, Italian and German.’

‘German’s tough to master. Clever girl, clever girl, Elizabeth. Now turn around, let me look at you properly.’

She did as he asked, feeling able to smile at him, feeling more relaxed, less intimidated.

‘By God, you’re a true Turner!’ he cried. ‘My red-gold hair, my height, and my father’s lean build. And a Deravenel as well. You have my mother’s colouring, yes indeed. Well, I can’t say I mind having a true Turner for a daughter. I’m rather chuffed about it, actually. Now let’s go to the dining room and have lunch, and I shall tell you all about Deravenels, and how I run it.’

Elizabeth looked up at him, and a wide smile spread across her face. ‘I’d like that, Father, and perhaps one day you will take me to Deravenels.’

‘After lunch,’ he promised, getting hold of her hand and leading her to the dining room in the Chelsea house.

Sitting up in the chair, Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet and went into her dressing room, stood staring at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was a true Turner all right, with a large dose of Deravenel thrown in.

The smile lingered on her face as she went into the library and sat down at the desk in the corner. How could she ever forget that day …? The day she was rehabilitated and became something of a favourite of his … the day she had started to admire him, understanding what an extraordinary tycoon he was. And love for him had softened all that hatred, which had formed around her like a carapace. She would always have mixed feelings about her father, but loving him had become easier as the next few years had passed, and by the time he died there was little hatred left. She was glad of that.

FIVE

‘Come on, Elizabeth, stop dithering and let’s go,’ Robert Dunley said, staring hard at her. ‘We don’t have to stay very long if you don’t want to, but I do think it’s a good idea to have a look around.’

‘Oh, all right,’ she answered after another moment of hesitation. Robert had invited her to have Sunday lunch at the Savoy, but when she had arrived a few minutes ago he had told her they first had to go over to Deravenels.

Nodding, looking pleased, he now took hold of her arm, propelled her through the hotel lobby and out into the forecourt. Within seconds they were crossing the Strand, heading for the humungous building that was Deravenels.

‘What is it that you want me to see, actually?’ she asked curiously.

‘It’s a surprise.’ His dark brown eyes filled with laughter. ‘And I can’t wait to see your face.’

‘But what is it?’ she probed, impatient to know what this was.

‘Can’t 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.’