Barbara Taylor Bradford - In the Lion’s Den

Jane, born Cadwalander, was a handsome rather than beautiful woman, who dressed strikingly and stylishly to her advantage. Now in her thirties, she was the eldest daughter of the most renowned and brilliant barrister in England’s Courts of Justice, Louis Cadwalander, long considered a great star of the courtroom. When Louis’s wife, Estelle, died unexpectedly and very suddenly, it was to their eldest child he turned. This was his fourteen-year-old daughter, Jane. Very simply, he told her to take charge of the household and run it the way her mother had. Jane did so without flinching. She became the chatelaine, managed the butler, the housekeeper, the maids and the gardeners, and brought up her younger siblings. The children did as they were told and called her The General, at first behind her back and then to her face. And she didn’t mind that, and laughed; she thought of it as a compliment.

When Reggie met her, it was love at first sight for them both, and soon he was calling her The General, too, in the most admiring way. He thought she was quite a marvel. And to him she still was. Now she was his private general, her siblings having grown up, but her own twin sons – their little miracles – were now her charges.

Moving away from the window, Jane settled in an armchair in front of the fire. Her thoughts focused on Alexis Malvern. Deep down inside, Jane was upset with Alexis. She believed it was time she pulled herself together and went back to London, worked alongside her father, learning to run the Malvern business. After all, business in general was now undergoing changes every day; she knew that from Reggie. He had told her the world was changing at a rapid pace.

She sat up straighter in the chair. Falconer! Her husband employed a man called George Falconer on The Chronicle . That’s why she knew the name, which was relatively uncommon. Could they be related? Possibly.

Alexis had spoken in the most derogatory way about James Falconer, calling him Jimmy lad , implying he was out for himself, an opportunist and untrustworthy.

Yet she had met George Falconer a couple of times at events at the newspaper and had found him to be a pleasant, rather attractive man. He was the assistant to H. J. Browning, the royal correspondent. Reggie favoured him and often gave him special pieces to write for the editorial page. George had been extremely polite, with excellent manners, she recalled.

Pushing aside thoughts of the Falconers, Jane made herself more comfortable in the chair and brought her attention back to Alexis and her overall problems. Jane was quite sure that her friend preferred to be at Goldenhurst because it was Sebastian’s own creation. He had redesigned the old farmhouse, even built parts of it himself, and so she felt comfortable here.

And comforted, Jane added under her breath. She feels his presence here. It struck Jane at this precise moment that she herself sometimes felt Sebastian’s presence at Goldenhurst. But this is no life for her. She has to move on … get back to work … learn enough to take charge of the company … she will have to do that one day. And who knows when?

We don’t know anything. Jane understood that only too well. We are in control of our own lives to a certain extent, but in the final analysis life is responsible for what happens to us, she thought, good or bad. And Henry Malvern has been ailing, according to Reggie. Men gossiped just like women; news travelled fast between the many private men’s clubs in London. Henry belonged to Savile’s, as did Reggie. Chitchat about the members prattled around.

If only I knew where to begin. That thought was stuck in her head. Jane had tried in the past year to encourage Alexis to spend more time in London, gently reminding her that her father was getting on in years and needed her. Alexis seemed to understand, would nod, and look sorrowful. She had gone to her father’s aid earlier in the year and made a trip to France – but on her return had abruptly come back to Goldenhurst and refused to change her ways.

‘It’s like she’s drugged,’ Jane muttered to herself. ‘I’ve got to find a way to … shock her into coming to her senses …’

The door was flung open, interrupting her thoughts, and Jane jumped up. Her face was radiant as she ran across the room and flung herself at her husband standing in the doorway.

‘Reggie! Reggie darling! What on earth are you doing here? Oh how lovely. You’ve escaped your American newspaper tycoon. However did you do it, you clever thing?’

Laughing, hugging her closer, Reggie released her and said, ‘I didn’t escape. I’m afraid he had rather a bad accident. He fell in the Strand, and a bobby got him to a hospital. He’s hit his head and gashed it badly.’

‘Oh dear. Were you with him? I mean, how do you know?’

‘Jake told the police and the hospital to contact me. He suggested I go to the country and he would see me next week, since he was now trapped in London … they’re keeping him in bed.’ Taking hold of her arm, he walked her across the room and they both sat down in front of the fire.

‘Lucky for me you brought all my gear down here today,’ Reggie said, smiling at her, then leaning forward, warming his hands against the flames. ‘All I had to do was order the carriage and jump in.’ Happiness flooded his face. ‘So here I am, with the woman I love, sooner than expected.’

Jane reached out and grasped his hand. ‘Did you see Alexis?’

He nodded. ‘I said we’d see her at dinner.’

‘Reggie, there’s something I need to ask you,’ Jane began and then stopped.

He looked at her alertly, catching the tone of her voice, but he replied mildly, ‘Go ahead, ask away.’

‘Does George Falconer have any relatives?’

‘Well I’m sure he has a mother and father,’ Reggie responded, smiling, suddenly looking faintly amused.

‘I know that , of course! Please don’t tease me. This is important. Can you tell me what you know about George? After all he is one of your favourites on the newspaper.’

Nodding, Reggie was thoughtful before saying, ‘He has two brothers. One owns a café; the other, the eldest I believe, has stalls at one of the markets.’

‘What about nieces? Nephews?’

‘I believe he does have some. Actually, I met his oldest nephew some time ago. Bumped into them near the Bettrage Hotel in Mayfair.’

Jane sat waiting, holding her breath, her eyes riveted on her husband.

Lord Reginald was frowning. Eventually he said, ‘Now I remember … they were coming out of the hotel and it was the young man I noticed first. Then suddenly, there was George, speaking to me and introducing the young fellow. I was taken aback, actually.’

‘Why were you surprised?’

‘I was startled by the young man. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said he was the scion of some aristocratic family. Tall, good looking, properly dressed. He had impeccable manners, and what a voice … an actor’s voice.’ Reggie shook his head, and exclaimed, ‘Come to think about it, he had a voice that resembles your father’s. Mellifluous. Put him in a courtroom and – with those looks and that voice – he would be like your father. He’d win every case.’

Jane had a surprised expression on her face, could not speak. After a moment, regaining her equilibrium, she said, ‘Are you sure it was George’s nephew, not someone he was interviewing?’

Laughing, Lord Reginald shook his head rather vehemently. ‘I’m sure. Why does this matter to you, Jane? You are being quite intense about this.’

‘Did he say, “This is my nephew”, or did George introduce him by name?’

‘Both. He said this is my nephew, James Falconer.’ Again Reggie asked, ‘Look, why does this matter so much?’