Barbara Bradford - The Cavendon Luck

‘I will indeed,’ DeLacy answered, putting her cup in its saucer. ‘Dulcie and James are well, as are the twins, Rosalind and Juliet, and little Henry. In fact, the children are flourishing. James is halfway through his new movie and enjoying working at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. However, Dulcie and James want to come back to England.’ DeLacy paused and gave Great-Aunt Gwendolyn a pointed look. Her eyes went to her father, Charlotte and her sister Diedre.

Lady Gwendolyn said, ‘I believe we know the reason. A true-blue Englishman like James must feel it’s his duty to be on these shores at this particular and dangerous moment in history. And, knowing Dulcie, I’m quite certain she feels exactly the same way.’

‘Oh, no question about that,’ Charles said, then glancing at Charlotte he asked, ‘Don’t you agree?’

‘I do indeed. And you know that Dulcie’s an Englishwoman down to her toes.’

Miles, jumping into the conversation, exclaimed, ‘I suppose they’ll leave California when he finishes the picture.’

‘Hopefully, yes,’ DeLacy answered her brother. ‘However, according to Dulcie, there might be a problem. James has a big contract with MGM. Apparently Louis B. Mayer, who runs the company, is a great fan of his; signing James was a coup for him. Dulcie thinks he might not want to release James from the contract.’

‘Because he has other films to make, I suspect,’ Diedre asserted. ‘A signed contract is very binding, as you well know. Not only that, James is a big money-earner for MGM. Of course they won’t want to let him go.’

Cecily interjected, ‘But everything’s negotiable. I’m sure there is a way around the problem, should one develop.’ Glancing at DeLacy, she smiled at her dearest friend. ‘What about Felix and Constance? I thought they were in America at the moment, DeLacy.’

‘Yes, in New York. They’ll be going out to Los Angeles next week. Dulcie’s praying Felix will be able to handle Mr Louis B. Mayer.’

Staring at DeLacy curiously, Miles asked, ‘Why do you refer to him by his full name? It sounds so odd.’

DeLacy laughed. ‘It does, doesn’t it? But that’s how Dulcie refers to him in her letters, and I guess I just picked up on it, repeated her words.’

‘I am perfectly certain Felix Lambert is quite a crafty fox, and Constance as well,’ Diedre said. ‘That’s why James trusts them to represent him. Leave it to them. They’ll come up with something. After all, they are professionals. I’ve discovered it’s always a good idea to leave it to the pros.’

Cecily nodded. ‘I couldn’t agree more. And, from my experience with him, Felix is bound to pull something out of the hat.’

DeLacy nodded. She then addressed her father. ‘You’ll be very pleased to know Dulcie is thrilled with the way I’ve been running her art gallery. Especially since we’ve been making huge profits, and especially this year. It should make you happy as well, Papa. You’ll be getting quite a large cheque from the gallery for the Cavendon Restoration Fund.’

‘I am delighted, DeLacy. Well done, darling,’ her father said.

‘I say, that’s great news, old thing,’ Miles exclaimed. Rising, he went over to his sister, leaned over and hugged her. ‘And it’s true, you have been doing a fabulous job.’

DeLacy smiled up at him. ‘Thanks to you. You’re the one who has trained me how to run a business. And so has Ceci.’

Miles half smiled, and went over to the children’s table. Before he could say a word, a little chant started. ‘Late, late, late. Late, late, late.’

He ruffled Walter’s hair, who was the leader of this choir. ‘You’re all little rascals. Very naughty boys, don’t you know?’

‘Am I a naughty girl?’ Venetia asked, staring at her father, her eyes dancing.

Walking around the table, standing next to her chair, he said softly, ‘I suppose you are. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Venetia.’ He smoothed his hand over her white-blonde hair. ‘And you are definitely my favourite daughter.’

‘Oh Daddy, don’t be silly. There’s only me.’

‘I sometimes feel there are quite a few of you lurking around.’

The arrangement they had made was to meet in the conservatory just before dinner, but Diedre was not there when Cecily arrived. Walking across the terracotta floor, she went over to the French doors, stood looking out at the moors rolling towards the North Sea, admiring the view. It was familiar, but never failed to please her.

Twilight had descended and the sky was already growing darker. It was a deeper blue and the far horizon was streaked with a mixture of colours: lavender and apricot, and a deep pink bleeding into red.

Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. These words ran through her head as she remembered how often her mother had said them to her when she was a child.

Turning away from the window, Cecily strolled over to the desk, ran one hand across the mellow old wood, and lovingly so. How often she had stood here, talking to Daphne, who had made it her desk, having commandeered it when she was seventeen and facing terrible problems in her young life.

The conservatory had soon become Daphne’s private place, her haven. None of the family ever used it, and so she had taken it for herself.

From here she had planned her marriage to Hugo, a joyful event, and later it had become her command post.

After a moment longer, lingering near the desk, she walked across to a wicker chair, part of a grouping, and sat down. Her thoughts turned to Diedre. Cecily knew that the best person to talk to about Greta’s family and their predicament was Diedre. In 1914 she had gone to work at the War Office and had remained there after the Great War had ended. Only when she became engaged to Paul Drummond did she resign.

Cecily knew how grief-stricken she had been when Paul had unexpectedly, and very suddenly, died; she had helped her as best she could through that devastating first year of widowhood. One day, quite unexpectedly, Diedre had confided she was returning to her old position at the War Office. She had explained that work would ease her grief and loneliness. Also, she had explained, there was going to be a war, a very bad war, and she would be needed.

Although Diedre had never discussed her job at the War Office, Cecily was quite positive she worked in Intelligence, and Miles agreed with her. Therefore, if anyone knew how to extract someone from a foreign country, she was sure it was Diedre.

Cecily’s thoughts now turned to Greta. She had grown very attached to her and cared about her, worried about her wellbeing. Her assistant was extremely sincere, had enormous integrity, and was a hard worker; certainly Cecily had grown to depend on her. She had great insight into people, especially those who were meaningful to her; Cecily knew how much Greta was suffering because of the situation that existed in Berlin.

Greta’s father was a well-known professor of philosophy. He had studied Greats at Oxford years ago, and become an expert on Plato. In fact, he ranked as one of the greatest professors in his field. Greta adored him. She was fond of her stepmother, Heddy. As for her two half-siblings, Kurt and Elise, they were almost like her own children, and she worried about them constantly. Cecily hated to see her suffer and was mortified that she herself could do nothing to help. Leaning back in the wicker chair, Cecily closed her eyes, her mind whirling.

The sharp click of high heels on stone brought Cecily up sharply in her chair. Diedre strode into the conservatory, looking elegant in a navy-blue silk dress, which Cecily had made for her.

It was cut on the cross and made Diedre look taller and even svelter than ever. But then, Diedre had long been known for her chic fashion sense, spending much of her time in London.