Barbara Bradford - The Cavendon Luck

Despite her worries, Greta laughed. ‘A dog with a bone.’

‘That’s true,’ Cecily answered. ‘When there’s a problem, I have to solve it – and quickly, before it gets out of hand. I need help with this matter, Greta. I’m sure you realize that. I do have someone I can talk to, who might be able to guide me in the right direction.’

Greta simply nodded. She had total faith in her, knew that if anyone could help it was Cecily – this beautiful and talented woman whom she trusted totally.

Cecily was crossing the grand entrance hall at Cavendon a little later, when she heard the sound of music. Instantly she stopped, stood still for a moment listening intently.

The magical sounds were coming from the yellow drawing room and the piano, a recent addition, was being played by Daphne’s daughter, Annabel. No one else could conjure up such miraculous music on the ivory keys the way she did.

The fourteen-year-old had been playing since her childhood. It was her passion and she was superb. Cecily was forever telling Daphne how gifted she was. And good enough to be a concert pianist one day, she always insisted.

Daphne merely smiled serenely, no doubt because she believed the same thing yet did not want to admit it. The lovely Daphne, to whom Cecily was devoted, was far too refined to push her children forward for accolades. But the five of them were talented and very clever. Alicia wanted to be an actress, Charlie a journalist, and the twins intended to join Hugo in the world of finance.

Continuing across the hall, knowing she was yet again running late for afternoon tea, Cecily headed for the drawing room. She opened the door and stood on the threshold, peering in.

She let out a small sigh of relief when she realized she was not the last after all. For once. Aunt Charlotte and the Earl were already there, and so was Lady Gwendolyn. Annabel, of course, was still sitting at the piano, starting a new piece. It was Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’. Obviously Diedre had arrived from London earlier than usual. She sat between Lady Gwen and her son, Robin, who was eleven, and chattering to her, filling her in. As he usually did, he was spending the summer at Cavendon with his cousins.

Her own brood, David, Walter and Venetia, were at the children’s table on the other side of the drawing room. This was an innovation of Charlotte’s, who believed they would enjoy afternoon tea better if they had their own private table. The children had jumped at the idea. There were two empty chairs, obviously for Robin and Annabel.

As she stepped forward, Cecily heard a little shriek of delight. Venetia had spotted her. A small bundle of joy composed of an angelic face, blonde curls and bright blue eyes hurtled towards her, her face wreathed in smiles.

Crouching down, Cecily caught her five-year-old daughter in her arms and hugged her. She whispered, ‘You see, I kept my promise. I’m not the last today.’

Venetia’s blue eyes sparkled with laughter and her face was filling with dimples. She whispered back, ‘Daddy will be last, Mummy. LAST!’

Suppressing her own laughter, Cecily looked at her and shook her head. ‘Maybe not, darling. Where’s Aunt DeLacy? Is she hiding somewhere in the room, do you think?’

Giggling, shaking her head, Venetia whispered, ‘She’ll be the last?’

‘I think so,’ Cecily answered. This was a little game between them. Cecily was generally always the last to arrive for tea, and Miles teased her about it. Her little daughter would protest about his teasing and now Venetia was obviously thrilled to bits that her mother had arrived before her father this afternoon.

Taking hold of Venetia’s hand, Cecily led her into the room, smiling at everyone and greeting them affectionately. Walking over to the children’s table, she kissed her sons, David and Walter, who were grinning at her and nodding their heads. They were also pleased she had made it before Miles; that was very obvious. Cecily was highly amused.

Robin stood up and went to kiss her, then hurried over to the children’s table, followed by Annabel. Cecily bent over and kissed Lady Gwendolyn, and said, ‘How beautiful you look in your purple frock, Great-Aunt. It still suits you.’

‘Thank you, Cecily; I must tell you, it’s several years old. But then you know that.’ Lady Gwendolyn chuckled, went on. ‘I’m very thrifty, and I keep all of the clothes you make for me. It’s a good thing your other clients don’t, or you’d be out of business in no time at all.’

Nodding her agreement, Cecily sat down between Lady Gwen and Diedre. She turned to Diedre, said sotto voce, ‘Can I speak to you later? It’s a work thing.’

Diedre merely nodded her agreement.

Looking across the room at her, the Earl said warmly, ‘Thank you, Ceci, for allowing Greta to do those few letters for me this morning. It was a great help.’

Greta often lent a hand and had a particular rapport with Diedre and Robin, whom she’d helped get through the terrible months after the death of Paul Drummond, Diedre’s husband and Robin’s father.

‘It wasn’t a problem: she was happy to help out.’

Charles Ingham gazed at his daughter-in-law, a loving expression in his eyes. He treated her like one of his own daughters these days, and he admired her tremendously. ‘I feel sorry for Greta. She worries so much about her family, and feels helpless to do anything. Has she heard from her father lately?’

‘As a matter of fact, she spoke to him today. Professor Steinbrenner believes they are stuck in Berlin for the moment.’

The Earl’s face was serious when he began, ‘Things are bad in Europe. And we—’

Charlotte interrupted him swiftly. In a low voice, she murmured, ‘Let’s not discuss Europe and what’s going on … in front of the children.’ She had just noticed that David and Robin were listening intently to their grandfather’s conversation. ‘Little pigs have big ears,’ she finished in a low tone.

Before Charles could make a response, the door flew open and DeLacy came into the room in a rush, looking flushed and out of breath.

‘Hello, everyone!’ she exclaimed, and went immediately to her father and Charlotte, kissing them both. Hurrying across the floor, she went over to Lady Gwendolyn and, sitting down next to her, squeezed her hand, leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘You asked me for news of Dulcie and James when you phoned me at the gallery the other day. I’m happy to tell you I received a letter from Dulcie this morning—’

‘Sorry, Charlotte, sorry Papa for being late. Couldn’t avoid it. I had to take an important phone call,’ Miles announced, entering the room on the heels of DeLacy.

‘It’s not a problem, Miles,’ the Earl said.

‘You’re forgiven,’ Charlotte added, her voice warm and welcoming. He had always been a favourite of hers.

‘You’re late, you’re late, you’re late,’ sang a chorus of young voices, all sounding very gleeful indeed.

Venetia began to giggle, and so did Cecily, and just at that moment the door opened and Hanson strode in, looking purposeful.

Focusing on Lord Mowbray, he asked, ‘Shall we serve tea, my lord?’

‘Yes, please do so, Hanson. Now that everyone has arrived.’

Inclining his head, Hanson turned on his heel, beckoned Gordon Lane, the under butler, to come in with the largest tea trolley, filled with a silver tea service, cups, saucers and plates. Gordon was followed by two of the maids, also pushing trolleys laden with tea sandwiches, scones, strawberry jam and Cornish cream. There was a cream cake and a variety of delectable pastries.

Cups were filled, plates of sandwiches were passed around, and once again afternoon tea was served in the same way it had been for years. It was a ritual everyone enjoyed. Once the staff had moved the trolleys to the back of the yellow drawing room, and everyone had settled, Lady Gwendolyn spoke out. ‘Now come along, DeLacy, do give us the news from Hollywood USA.’