Tall Poppies (4 page)

‘I want to dance with Richard Villiers,’ she snapped.

Richard was the bluff son of Dragon’s finance director, a massive Blackburn Rovers fan. She’d rather talk about

z6

football than David Fairfax’s gardeners any day of the

week.

‘For God’s sake, Elizabeth!’ Monica spat.

Elizabeth pouted. There was no way out of it, if she wanted to avoid a scene. She walked back across the room and watched the moony eyes light up with the enthusiasm of a border terrier spotting a rabbit.

‘Smashing dress, smashing,’ David repeated. ‘D’you like a dance?’

She surrendered sullenly to the inevitable, much to the fury of the gaggle of hopeful debs who’d been hovering in the duke’s vicinity all night.

‘Sure, Dave, that’d be cool.’

David hauled her bodily round the draughty hall, stepping anxiously all over her apricot slippers. Elizabeth was selfishly furious. Why couldn’t the great hulking lout take dancing lessons? He spent his life attending these wretched things!

‘I say, Bessie - can I call you Bessie?’

‘No,’ replied Elizabeth coldly.

‘You’re wasted at school. Really, you know. You’re very pretty. Ever thought about gettin’ hitched?’

Elizabeth withdrew as far as the waltz allowed her, but was caught by David’s plump arm squeezing her waist.

‘Definitely not. I’m only sixteen, I haven’t even been to college yet.’

The duke looked nervous but tried again. ‘What does a pretty girlie like you want to bother with college for? Bet your ma and pa wouldn’t mind;’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Elizabeth sharply.

‘Anyway, I’ve got a boyfriend. Joe Sharp in the village.’ ‘Sharp? Never heard of him.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ Elizabeth grinned again, picturing Joe, stained overalls, swearing, muscular, the forbidden taste of cigarettes in his mouth when she kissed him. ‘He’s an attendant at the garage, he goes to St Joseph’s school.’

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‘Ha ha,’ Fairfax chuckled, annoyingly, ‘don’t be ridiculous?

Suddenly he caught her to him as they whirled in time with the Strauss, thrusting his face into her neck and kissing it. Revolted, Elizabeth braced herself and shoved him away.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get off me!’ She was a strong girl. Fairfax tripped and fell sprawling, and there was an agonising crack as his head hit the flagstone floor.

Around them couples stopped dancing to stare. The string quartet faltered in its playing for a second because of the commotion at the centre of the ballroom. It struck up again as the countess made frantic motions to continue, but David Fairfax lay crashed out on the polished marble, groaning in agony. Blood was seeping out of one cheek.

There was a stunned silence amongst the assembled guests.

l’.eaning back against the tree trunk, Elizabeth winced at the memory. Her father’s face had set like granite and the ball had started breaking up as of that moment. Suddenly all the tycoons remembered important breakfast meetings and the socialites developed headaches, as the guests made polite excuses to their hosts and scurried away. David, helped to his feet by the onlookers, gave Elizabeth an embarrassed nod and hobbled towards the door. It had taken barely half an hour for the piles of fur coats and cashmere shawls to disappear from the cloakroom, and once the last guest had hastened outside the earl sent his daughter to her room, the quiet menace in his voice worse than any shouting fit.

Neither last night nor this morning had Tony wanted to hear her explanation. As far as her parents were concerned she was simply a disgrace.

z8

Elizabeth sat under the mossy trunk of an apple tree, biting into the crisp, smoky flesh of a windfall. She loved it out in the orchard: the dry-stone walls covered with bindweed and ivy, the warm scent of mown grass, the tiny white moths that fluttered around her like scraps of lace. They kept pear, apple and plum trees, and if you didn’t mind the wasps that gathered greedily around all the ripe fruit, the orchards were a glorious place to get lost in. Elizabeth discovered them as a child, to her parents’ dismay. She liked nothing better than shinning up the ancient, gnarly trunks, finding a nook to sit in, and hiding there all afternoon, while the stable-hands combed the grounds calling for her.

Maybe that was the start of my rebel streak, she thought ruefully. It had been so exciting, clambering up a tangle of branches and leaves like a squirrel. If she got high enough, she could see over the orchard walls, to the red-roofed stables and the manicured green of the croquet lawn, and even past the bounds of the estate, to the clifftops and the silver glitter of the sea. She would trek back up to the castle around teatime, with grazed knees and torn stockings, leaving mud and leaves all over the kitchen flagstones, and be marched off to bed without supper.

Elizabeth smiled. Sixteen years old, and she was still in trouble.

Even the servants had been giving her stern looks at breakfast. Mother had been reduced to taking a tray of coffee and dry toast in her bedroom, while Daddy and that little prig Richard had glowered heir way through the kippers and marmalade without so much as a ‘Good morning’.

My God, if he wasn’t already leaving everything to the boys, he’d disinherit me, Elizabeth thought, then hugged herself. Granny had put a stop to that. She needn’t be afraid of Dad any more.

z9

Even so, she had saddled up one of the bay mares as soon as breakfast was over and taken her out for a gallop across the cliff tops. It was good to be out of his way; the turrets and battlements rearing behind her seemed gloomy and menacing in the chill morning light. She’d never known Tony so furious. It was dawning on her that he had been serious about her marrying David. He was outraged that she’d blown her chances of becoming a duchess …

‘Lizzie!’ called a reedy voice.

‘Right here, Richard,’ Elizabeth said, throwing her apple core into some bracken. Her brother came clumping through the trees, looking annoyed.

‘Where on earth have you been? You’d better get yourself inside, sharpish. Father wants to see you in the library, right away.’

She got up, ignoring the gloating tone to Richard’s voice. What an unpleasant little brat he was, he loved to see her in trouble.

She tried to ignore the nagging voice inside her that told her she’d behaved like a spoilt brat herself last night. Poor clumsy David, he hadn’t meant any harm.

But no! Elizabeth thought sulkily. Why should I have to put up with him on my birthday!

When they reached the dark-panelled hall Richard turned pointedly away towards her stepmother’s morning room, leaving Elizabeth standing in front of the library door by herself. She looked at the brass studs in the old oak door and drew herself up bravely. Father’s bullying needs standing up to, Elizabeth told herself. She smoothed down her long mane of hair and knocked sharply.

‘Come in,’ the earl snapped.

Elizabeth pushed the thick door hard and it swung open, creaking on its hinges. The library was a large room, tapestries and antique swords mounted .between

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rows of dusty, leatherbound books. A mahogany grand piano stood to one side. Behind it, his back to her, her father was sitting in front of his writing desk, a sheaf of papers laid out neatly on the green baize.

‘Elizabeth,’ he said icily without turning round, ‘your behaviour last night was unforgivable. You disgraced yourself in front of all our friends. You made a public exhibition of yourself. Your stepmother was so ashamed she has made herself ill.’

‘David Fairfax kissed me. What was I supposed to do? He was slobbering down the front of my dress—’

‘Elizabeth!’ Her father spun round on his seat, glaring at her. ‘Not another word, do you hear me? Stop lying!’

‘But I’m not lying!’ Elizabeth protested, feeling the tears well up despite herself.

The earl.raised a warning hand, his expression dark. ‘For the sake of sheer impudence and disobedience to us

you chose to assault one of your own guests.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Why in the name of God a decent young man like that should have been interested in you, Elizabeth, is quite beyond me, but you could not even accept a small romantic gesture—’

‘There’s nothing romantic about being pawed by that baboon!’ Elizabeth cried angrily. ‘You and Monica just want to marry me to a duke! You’re nothing but a pair of snobs!’

Father gazed at her impassively.-Then he reached down to his desk and picked up a piece of paper.

‘This is a letter of registration, enrolling you at the Ecole Henri Dufor.’

‘The Ecole Henri Dufor?’ Elizabeth repeated blankly. ‘In Saas-Fe.’

‘You’re sending me to Switzerland?’

Her father nodded coldly. ‘Since you cannot seem to

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behave yourself here, I am sending you to your stepmother’s finishing school to learn some manners.’

Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief. ‘To learn flower arranging and deportment? This is the seventies, Daddy. Nobody does that any more. What about my A-levels?’

‘You can take the Baccalaureate, for all I care.’ He laid the letter purposefully in front of him. ‘You have gone too far, young lady. I tell you that I will not permit you to make a mockery of this family.’

She thrust her hands deep inside her jodhpurs. ‘I won’t

go.’

‘You’ll go. Or I will cut you off without a penny.’ ‘I’ll borrow money from the bank.’

‘Indeed. Do you imagine that banks take charity cases? Against what would you borrow money? Your pony, perhaps?’

Her father’s expression frightened her, but Elizabeth stubbornly shook her head. ‘You know perfectly well. Granny told you about her will the day she died. She left ne fifteen per cent of the company.’

There was a silence, broken only by the crackle of the pine logs blazing in the fireplace.

‘Your grandmother left me her entire estate,’ Tony Savage said.

‘No.’ Elizabeth paled. ‘Granny wouldn’t lie to me.’ Her father picked up a tiny brass key from the green baize, reached under the desk and unlocked a small side drawer. Elizabeth felt her heart thumping as he drew out a thin sheaf of vellum, yellowed somewhat with age.

‘This is Mamma’s will, Elizabeth. If you doubt my word, you are at liberty to read it yourself.’

‘She was making a new one,’ Elizabeth said.

‘She did not make a new one. She did not leave you any stock.’ The earl glanced down at the parchment. ‘I seem to remember there is a small jewellery bequest t.o you in

here, but you won’t inherit that until your twenty-first birthday. A bank wouldn’t think much of it.’

Elizabeth stood there trembling with shock. The bequest had been her protection; she had counted on it.

‘Phone her solicitors, if you like,’ her father told her coolly, indicating the telephone that stood next to her on a card-table. ‘They will confirm it.’

Fighting to stay calm, Elizabeth shook her head. Father wouldn’t make that offer if he was bluffing, but Granny had given her a solemn promise just a few days ago.

‘She can’t have got round to changing it, then,’ Elizabeth managed, ‘but you know she intended to, Daddy. That was what she told you when you went upstairs to see her. She wanted me to have her stake in Dragon. You have to respect her last wishes!’

‘Mother told me no such thing.’ The earl’s tone was flat. ‘I confess I am sorry that you choose such a subject for more lies.’

‘I’m not lying,’ Elizabeth gasped. ‘You know how much I loved Granny!’

‘Did you? It sounds to me as though you were trying to influence a frail old woman for your own benefit. You have been a thoroughly selfish girl for far too long.’ Her father leaned forward, his sallow face set hard. ‘For your information, Mamma and I were discussing your brother’s trust fund. The world, does not revolve around you, whatever you may believe. And I notice you never mentioned this so-called bequest until this moment.’ He snorted with contempt. ‘You fool only yourself, Elizabeth.’

Panic and doubt washed over her in a wave as she looked at her father’s cold, certain face. Did he really think she would lie about Granny? Was it possible that Granny had planned on telling her father later? And never had the chance?

The earl was holding the vellum will firmly. Elizabeth

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realised, with a terrible sense of desertion, that she had lost. She wasn’t a major stockholder in Dragon. She had no chance of a marketing job, no right to a seat on the board. She was just a rebellious teenager whose parents were determined to crush her.

For one wild moment Elizabeth thought about running away, but where would she go? Cardiff? London? With what money, and to do what? She was only a schoolgirl, and she’d lived in luxury all her life. She knew she’d last about ten seconds on the streets.

‘You will go to Switzerland, one way or the other,’ the earl snapped, as though reading her mind. ‘If you behave sensibly, we will continue your allowance at the Ecole. If, on the other hand, you decide to cause your stepmother or me any more distress, you will receive not one centime. Which is it to be?’

At least she would get away from him.

‘I’ll go to Switzerland,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Would you like some ham, Nina?’ Mrs Glazer asked.

Nina shifted uncomfortably on her seat, unsure if she was being deliberately insulted. Jeff had mentioned that she was Jewish at the start of tea, and an extra chill had settled over the already icy table.

‘No, thank you,’ she replied quietly, taking a sip of her tea. The cup was made of bone china and rimmed with gold leaf. The cutlery was silver plate, the table made from some’dark wood that looked very expensive, and the Glazers’ carpets were so thick her shoes sank into them as she walked. They lived in a redbrick townhouse on Willow Street in the Heights; the neighbourhood was rich, the streets leafy and clean. Mrs Glazer answered the door in a smart red woollen suit, with gold earrings and Italian leather shoes.

Nina smoothed down her own cheap black dress. Nothing could quiet the bolting nerves in her stomach. She’d known Jeff was rich, but it was still a shock. They might both reside in Brooklyn, but he lived in another world.