Heirs of Ravenscar (34 page)

Edward said nothing, simply nodded.

‘But who would move the wedges? And how could anyone be certain George would go into that particular wine vault?' Will wondered aloud.

‘Everyone knew his habits. And there are a number of people who
could
have loosened the wedges, Will. If someone
did
do that, then all he had to do was sit back and wait. Inevitably something would happen. Because George had to walk down that particular alley to get to the bottles of wine at the other end.'

It was Will's turn to be silent.

Edward said at last, ‘Perhaps someone thought they were doing me a favour, ridding me of George. God knows, he's caused me enough heartache and anguish over the years.'

‘I'm sure it was an accident,' Will was quick to answer, although he was not sure at all. Like Edward, he, too, wondered if George
had
been murdered. But they would never discover who was responsible, if this were the case. There was one thing he
was
absolutely certain of – finding a culprit was only the beginning. Proof was needed. Absolute proof. He thought then of Vincent Martell, and of Amos Finnister, and finally of Alfredo Oliveri. Possible suspects, certainly. The three of them were utterly devoted to Ned, and capable of doing it. But had they?

P
aris was her favourite city at any time of year, in any kind of weather, but Jane Shaw particularly loved it in May. And now as she walked through the Tuileries she felt a wonderful surge of happiness at being there today.

It was lovely weather, sunny and balmy, with a pale blue sky and sunlight filling the branches of the trees with shimmering light. But Paris and the beautiful weather aside, there were other reasons for her carefree spirit and lightheartedness. She and Edward were in Paris for five days, and in a short while she would be meeting Grace Rose at the Louvre Museum.

Grace Rose had been studying at the Sorbonne for a couple of years now, and Jane couldn't wait to see her. They had become close in recent years, shared a love of French history and a number of other things French, and, in fact, they told everyone they were a couple of genuine Francophiles. After their visit to the Louvre, they were
going to lunch at the Grand Véfour with Edward, a restaurant he and she enjoyed. At this moment he was attending a meeting at the Paris office of Deravenels, and would rendezvous with them at the restaurant in the Palais-Royal.

As she walked through the beautiful gardens, originally designed by Louis XIV's famous gardener André Le Nôtre, her mind focused on Ned. Last month he had celebrated his fortieth birthday; not that he looked it. He was as boyish as ever, and she hoped her age was not showing either. She was now in her fiftieth year; she and Ned had been together for eighteen years, since 1907, and she considered herself truly blessed to still be with him.

It was the year 1925, and Jane was dressed in the most popular style of the moment, and looked as chic and as beautiful as she had ever looked. Her suit was by Chanel, the French designer who had become all the rage since the end of the war in 1918. Jane's outfit was made of navy-blue light wool tweed, and was composed of a skirt with pleats at the front and back, and a cardigan-style boxy, edge-to-edge jacket with no buttons.

These days Jane was wearing only Chanel. She found the designer's beautifully-made haute couture clothes elegant without being at all structured, and they had ease, comfort and practicality. It was Coco Chanel who had first designed trousers for women, and Jane had purchased several pairs yesterday – one of grey flannel, the other of butter-coloured wool Jersey, both worn with man-tailored white silk shirts. Edward had been with her at the Chanel boutique on rue Cambon, and he had been so entranced with her in the grey trousers and white silk shirt that he had persuaded her to buy the second set.

He had been happy yesterday, more relaxed, and this had pleased her. Ever since his brother George had died in Mâcon he had been given to sudden and unexpected bouts of
moroseness, that was the only word she could use to describe the way he was. He was not depressed, not at all; just melancholy, and preoccupied, as if he were thinking of the past, lost in his thoughts about his brother's rather peculiar death. Although George had died of his head wounds, which had been most severe, Ned had once muttered that George had ‘drowned in Beaujolais'. But when she had asked him what he meant he had simply shaken his head and remained silent, looking faintly puzzled.

Jane was pleased about one thing, and that was the thawing of the ice in the family. His mother had been remote and cold with Ned since George's death, four years ago now, but lately she had been civil to her son, at least, even cordial. As for Richard, he had come around much sooner, and was certainly friendly, on good terms with his brother again. Yet he kept himself in Yorkshire, running the companies, factories and mills, as well as the coal mines in the North. Ned relied on Richard to do this, and she was thankful there was a degree of ease between them these days.

It had appalled her when his mother, Richard, and also his sister Meg in Burgundy, had taken umbrage, had blamed him. She knew full well that George had brought everything on himself … The man had tempted Providence for years, and had been a most treacherous and faithless wretch all of his life. George Deravenel had never had any time or thought for anyone else because he was too consumed with himself.

Whether or not George had been murdered was something else altogether. Nobody would ever be able to prove anything, and there was no one to pin the blame on. But certainly she had her own ideas … and those wedges that had so troubled Ned
had
been partially pulled out … the gendarmes from Mâcon had told Edward that. They had found loose wedges on several other pyramids of wine casks. And nobody could explain why they were loosened.

Jane realized that she was already at the Louvre, one of Paris's gems she thought, a magnificent museum filled with some of the greatest and finest paintings in the world. She knew Grace Rose would be waiting inside and she increased her pace, hurried along the path, walking faster. She could hardly wait to see Ned's daughter, whom she had grown to love as if she were her own child.

Grace Rose was waiting inside the museum, and she hurried forward to greet Jane when she saw her walking inside. After the two of them had embraced affectionately, Jane held the young woman way from her, staring hard. ‘Grace Rose, you look perfectly wonderful! And what an air of Gallic chic you have acquired. That's a wonderful outfit.'

Grace Rose began to laugh, pleased by the praise for her somewhat unorthodox get-up. ‘It's not really an outfit, Jane, just bits and pieces which I bought here and there in Paris. At odd little shops, the flea market, and several boutiques which were having summer sales. The ensemble, if I can call it that, cost me hardly anything. I had fun doing it, and it's amusing, I think.'

Jane laughed with her, eyeing the short red silk jacket, the narrow ankle-length beige wool skirt, the huge blue rose pinned onto the jacket, the yellow beret with red and blue feathers attached, and set on one side of her auburn head in a jaunty way. She looked adorable.

Tucking her arm through Grace Rose's, Jane said, ‘Come along, let's go and feast our eyes. How much do you know about the Louvre?'

‘Not a lot, actually. I've only visited it once before and I wasn't able to stay long. But what I saw impressed me.'

‘Let me tell you a little bit about some of the paintings:
by Leonardo – the
Mona Lisa
, the
Virgin of the Rocks
– works by Raphael Titian and Veronese, as well as Goya, and one of
my
favourites, Delacroix.'

Jane talked about the art as the two women meandered around the Louvre gazing at these masterpieces.

‘My goodness, I'm overwhelmed.' Grace Rose said, looking at some of the most beautiful paintings in the world. She was awed and touched by the beauty of the works, transported by them. ‘Thank you for insisting I come with you today. I'll keep coming back as long as I'm in Paris, and whenever I return.'

‘I think you will,' Jane agreed. ‘I know I do.'

Edward was waiting for them at Le Grand Véfour, and he stood up when the two women came into the restaurant, a warm smile lighting up his face.

Once they had greeted each other, and the women were seated, the waiter poured glasses of pink champagne.

Raising his glass, Edward said, ‘To the two of you, my beauties.'

Smiling, they did the same, clinked their glasses to his, and they both said in unison, ‘And to you.'

He looked across at them, nodded, then said, ‘Rather an interesting costume, Grace Rose, there's no other word for it.'

Grace Rose smiled and told him how she had created it, and Jane added, ‘I think she looks
très chic!
'

‘Agreed.' Glancing around the restaurant, Edward addressed Grace Rose when he explained, ‘I believe Le Grand Véfour is the most beautiful restaurant in Paris, I always enjoy coming here. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do.'

‘I know I will. It's very old, dating back to before the French Revolution. Napoleon used to bring Josephine here, I think.' She turned to Jane, asked, ‘I'm correct, aren't I?'

‘Yes, they did come here, a lot of famous people did. I believe it was opened in 1784, when it was called the Café de Chartes,' Jane answered. ‘I love the décor, especially the antique mirrors on the walls and ceiling.'

Grace Rose agreed with her, and confided, ‘I have an addiction to the Palais-Royal, enjoy walking through the arches.'

‘Lots of boutiques for you to browse in,' Edward murmured with a wink, and then asked, ‘When do you finish at the university here?'

‘Next month, Uncle Ned, and then I shall return to London, and hopefully I'll get a job teaching.'

‘I thought you wanted to write books,' he remarked, sounding surprised. ‘You don't have to worry about getting a job, you know, not if you don't want to, Grace Rose. You perhaps ought to concentrate on a book.'

‘Oh, I do know that, about a job, I mean, and thank you again for my Trust, and everything else you've done for me, Uncle Ned. You know I'm very grateful.'

He merely smiled, asked Jane about their morning at the Louvre and then summoned the waiter, asked him to bring them the menus.

Once they had ordered lunch, Edward, Jane and Grace Rose talked about their plans for the next few days in Paris; it was not until after they had finished the first course that Grace Rose brought up a matter which had lately concerned her.

‘Uncle Ned,' she began softly, and then hesitated, before finally continued, ‘I need to speak to you about Amos.'

Edward stared at her alertly, and asked, ‘What about him?'

‘I'm a little worried about him. He hasn't seemed quite
himself of late, and he seems terribly preoccupied. Haven't you noticed it?'

Edward sat back in his chair, regarded her for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘I have, actually, and I've wondered myself if something was wrong. Do you think he's ill?'

‘No, I don't actually, because he seems so fit,
extremely
healthy, in fact.'

‘He's in his sixties, but I agree with you, he's as fit as a fiddle. And actually I've asked him several times if he wants to retire, but he always declines. Do you want me to talk to him again?'

Grace Rose answered quickly, ‘Yes, if you would, but I don't want him to think you're trying to push him out. Deravenels, and you, are his whole life, you know. I think he'd die if he had to leave you.'

‘I know that, my dear,' Edward answered, smiling at her gently, understanding fully her deep affection for Amos. ‘Don't you worry about it, I'll be most careful.'

‘Thank you so much, Uncle Ned, and I know my mother will be happy I've talked to you about Amos. She agrees with me that he seems burdened down …
by something
.'

Edward and Jane were staying at the Plaza Athénée Hotel on the Avenue Montaigne, and the moment they returned to their suite Edward slipped out of his jacket and loosened his tie, and went to sit in a chair near the window.

Jane stared at him, frowning. ‘Are you all right, darling?'