Barbara Taylor Bradford - Being Elizabeth

Barbara Taylor Bradford

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

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Published by HarperCollins Publishers 2008 1

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2008

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2008 ISBN:9780007287185

Version: 2017-10-25

For Bob, with my love

PART ONE

‘I slept and dreamt that life was Joy,

I woke and found that life was Duty.

I acted, and behold,

Duty was Joy.’

Rabindranath Tagore

‘I bend but do not break.’

Jean de la Fontaine

‘Work is more fun than fun.’

Noël Coward

ONE

‘She’s dead!’

Cecil Williams made this announcement from the entrance to the dining room at Ravenscar, then, closing the door behind him, he walked across to the table in a few quick strides.

Against her will, Elizabeth Turner jumped up. ‘ When ?’ she asked in a voice full of sudden tension, her eyes on his face.

‘This morning, very early. Just before dawn, to be exact.’

There was a silence.

Elizabeth took tight control of a sudden rush of emotion; even though this news had been long expected, deep down she had not believed she would ever hear those words. She took a moment to absorb them, then said, ‘There’s nothing much to say, is there, Cecil? Nothing at all, actually, and anyway, what would be the point? I’m not a hypocrite, I’m not going to pretend I mourn her death.’

‘Nor am I. I understand your feelings perfectly, Elizabeth.’ He put an arm around her shoulder, kissed her cheek, and looked deeply into her luminous dark eyes. They were glistening with tears, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the tears were not for the deceased woman. They were, in fact, tears of genuine relief.

‘It’s over, Elizabeth,’ he said, very softly. ‘ Finally . Your torment is at an end, and you’re safe, secure. No one can tell you what to do, not ever again. You’re your own woman, in control of your own destiny.’

The tense expression on her pale face instantly lifted, and she exclaimed, ‘Yes, I am free. Free at last! Oh, Cecil, how wonderful that thought is! Yet, do you know, I can hardly grasp it.’ A quavery smile flickered around her mouth and was immediately gone, as if she was not quite convinced of her new status.

He smiled at her. ‘I believe it’s going to take a few days to sink in.’

She looked at him intently, her eyes narrowing slightly. He knew her well, truly understood her, and he was correct, it would take a few days for her to truly believe that everything had changed. She took a moment to steady herself, before saying, ‘I’m being rude, Cecil. Let me get you some breakfast, you must be famished. Lucas has brought in enough food to feed an army, so what do you fancy?’

‘I am hungry, I must admit. But I’ll help myself. Go and sit down, drink your coffee and relax. You have every reason to do so today of all days.’

Elizabeth did as he suggested, glad to sit down in the comfortable chair. She was shaking inside and her legs felt weak and unsteady. As she settled back, trying to relax, she experienced instead an unexpected sense of dread. The future loomed up in front of her; it was an unknown future. Overwhelming . A wave of nausea swept over her at the prospect of moving on, leaving her old life behind, grasping her destiny with both hands. All those years of sleepless nights, early risings, often before dawn. Constantly worrying, always fearful, numb with anxiety, forever apprehensive. About her sister. Never knowing … never knowing what tricks Mary would pull, what accusations the woman would level at her. She had been living on the edge … on the edge of danger, living on her nerves for as long as she could remember. Mary had tormented her since childhood.

A moment later, Cecil returned with a plate of food, and sat down next to her. After eating a few mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, he remarked, ‘You must have been up when it was still dark outside. I was surprised when I found your door open and the bedroom empty at six-thirty this morning.’

‘I couldn’t sleep, so I finally got up. This past week has been quite wearing, horrendous really, and I’m afraid my feelings did get the better of me … it was the endless waiting and waiting, I suppose.’

He glanced at her, his steady grey eyes searching her face. He had worried about her for years, and he would always worry about her, he was well aware of that. His devotion to her was absolute, and his one thought at the moment was to protect her at all cost. But he made no comment, merely went on calmly eating his breakfast. He was a steady, careful man, and his plans were made and in place.

After finishing her cup of coffee, Elizabeth ran a hand over her mouth, and confided, ‘I never worried about her being ill, you know. I didn’t. What was the point? And, after all, we knew she was dying, that the cancer was eating away at her, that she was deluded about being pregnant. But last week … well, I couldn’t help remembering things from the past. The good things. And the bad . From our girlhood mostly … the time when our father disowned us both. Well, we were close then, if only for a short while. And the rest of the time I spent with her –’ Elizabeth broke off, shook her head. ‘The rest of the time was extremely difficult. She was impossible. I was the enemy in her eyes. She was so very possessive of our father. My mother had usurped hers , and I had usurped her, my father, of course, being the great prize, that great bull of a man, to be cosied up to and adored. Unconditionally . She was competitive and, as everyone knows, she always believed I was plotting against her.’ Elizabeth let out a long sigh. ‘No matter what, I was in the wrong with Mary from the day I was born.’

‘All that’s over, don’t dwell on it. You’re starting a new life … this is a new beginning for you,’ he said reassuringly.

‘And I aim to live my new life well,’ she answered, mustering a positive tone, and stood up, crossed to the sideboard, poured herself a cup of coffee. A few seconds later, between sips of coffee, she asked, ‘Who knows about Mary’s death? Everyone, I suppose?’

‘Not quite, not yet.’ Cecil looked across at the grandfather clock standing in a corner of the dining room. ‘It’s not yet eight. It is Sunday, so I’ve kept my phone calls to a minimum. For the moment. Nicholas Throckman was the first one to phone me, to tell me Mary was dead, and then immediately afterwards I heard from Charles Broakes, who announced the same thing.’