The Cavendon Women (35 page)

“My God, Miles, I'm your mother! How can you say things like this? You are accusing me of—”

“Stop right there,” Daphne said. “Miles hasn't accused you of anything, Mama. He has asked you to sort out the muddle of your jewelry boxes and give back what is ours.
That's all.
”

Miles said, “Perhaps Wilson could help you, Mama. After all, she's been handling all of your jewelry for years. She probably understands what's what better than you.”

DeLacy stood up. This was her cue. “I'll go down to the servants' hall, Mama. I think Miles has had a good idea. Wilson will certainly know where everything is, won't she?”

Felicity did not answer. She looked from DeLacy to Daphne, and back to Miles. And she understood then, knew suddenly what this had all been about. Bringing Annabel to tea had simply been a ploy to get them into her house. And now they were ganged up on her, the three of them, and about to take away her precious jewels. All that she had left in her life that gave her any pleasure these days. Certainly she didn't get any pleasure from her husband, Lawrence Pierce, the world's greatest fornicator. He was in Paris with his mistress, she knew that. Her jealousy rose up in her throat like bile as she thought of him with another woman, giving her what she was meant to get from him. And when he returned to London he would be giving it to Helen Malone, the actress and his other whore.

Unable to stand being in this room, Felicity jumped up at exactly the same moment Olive Wilson walked in with DeLacy.

Glaring at them, Felicity said in a choked voice, “Let us all go upstairs and we'll catch them.”

Miles glanced at Wilson swiftly, scowling, a quizzical look in his eyes. Wilson shook her head slightly, and stood aside to let Felicity walk past her.

“Go ahead, Daphne, and you too, DeLacy. You can both help Mama.”

They did as he suggested.

Miles put out a hand, and held Olive Wilson back. “What does she mean …
catch them
?”

“It's not important, sir. Mrs. Pierce sometimes makes mistakes like that these days. I think what she meant to say was we'll
get them
. Meaning get the jewels.”

“I understand. Come with me, Wilson; you are the best person to help us sort it out. She trusts you. I'm perfectly certain she doesn't trust me.”

*   *   *

Felicity sat in a chair in her bedroom, saying nothing, as Wilson and DeLacy brought out velvet bags of jewelry. They had all been in the safe. This was inside a locked cupboard in Felicity's dressing room.

Miles and Daphne opened the bags, checked everything off on the list, and when they were satisfied, Miles said to DeLacy, “Please go downstairs. When you open the front door you should find Eric there, with Hartley in the Rolls. And Harry, too. They'll come up with suitcases, help us to carry everything down. And Eric and Harry will put them in the vault at the house. They'll be transferred to Cavendon as soon as possible.”

 

Forty-two

It was DeLacy who knew all of the best nightclubs and restaurants in London. This was because Simon, her ex-husband, was a dashing young man-about-town, a dandy who fancied himself, and loved to go out every night to show himself off. That's what they had done when they had been married. He had been proud to have DeLacy on his arm, looking beautiful in a very short dress, the style favored by the flappers, and wearing lots of the jewelry he had given her.

Her ex-husband's favorite nightspot was the Gargoyle Club on Meard Street, a regular haunt for artists and aristocrats. It had been founded in 1925 by Simon's friend, another aristocrat called David Tennant. It was sumptuously decorated, and some of the glamorous interiors had been done by the French painter Henri Matisse. The Gargoyle boasted a four-piece orchestra, and, as in all nightclubs, food had to be served with the liquor because of the law. A lot of it went uneaten, because most people arrived late, after dinner.

DeLacy's favorite club was the Kit Cat. She loved to dance, and the club had a black jazz band from America which she thought was the best in town. She could do the Charleston, the Black Bottom, but mostly favored the foxtrot and the tango. The other reason she liked this club was because Simon hardly ever went there.

After a happy celebration supper at the Grosvenor Square house, Miles suggested they go to a nightclub to celebrate the return of the jewels. These were now safely locked up in the vault down in the basement.

Several of the women demurred, and Miles exclaimed, “Oh, come on, let's go out and have a bit of fun for once. All we do these days is work, and worry about keeping Cavendon safe. I could use a bit of a bash and I bet everyone else could.”

“Yes, it would be lovely; come on, don't be spoilsports,” Cecily cajoled. “It'll do us good.”

Diedre declined. She explained she felt queasy and wanted Paul to take her home.

Dulcie was adamant about not going, murmuring something about drawing up plans for the interiors of her art gallery. But, in truth, she preferred to go up to her room and think about James. He had asked her to meet him after the play ended tomorrow evening. He wished to take her to dinner at the Savoy. “And at least I can hold you in my arms on the dance floor,” he had said. And she had agreed to go to the stage door to pick him up.

Hugo, noticing that Miles now had a glum expression on his face, decided they should humor him. Hugo had been unable to accompany them to Charles Street earlier today, because of a business meeting. But Miles had assured him Lawrence Pierce really was abroad, and that Daphne would be perfectly safe with their mother, they all would. Felicity would have no one there to run interference for her or throw them out.

“Yes, let's go!” Hugo exclaimed. “Daphne and I will join you.” He smiled at his wife as he said this, and added, “I would love a whirl with you, darling. And it has been ages since we've had a night out. Miles is right about that.”

Daphne agreed at once, looked at her sister, and said, “Come on, DeLacy, you're the expert. Where shall we go?”

“The Kit Cat. I love it and they know me well there. But we'd better leave soon. They get awfully busy after eleven.” DeLacy stood up and walked across the dining room. “Hurry up,” she called, going out into the foyer.

*   *   *

They were welcomed with open arms and a lot of bowing and scraping by the staff of the Kit Cat. And naturally, because it was Lady DeLacy, they were given the best table in the nightclub. The decorations were glamorous, and there was a great buzz. But it was smoky, the light a bit murky. On the other hand, the black jazz band was playing their hearts out, and the atmosphere was exciting, thrilling really. They had arrived just in time. Within half an hour the club was packed with flappers, beautiful girls in short frocks accompanied by handsome young men, smoking cigarettes and holding glasses of champagne in their hands.

Automatically, several waiters brought champagne and a bowl of caviar, a plate of toast fingers along with lemon wedges to their table.

“God,
caviar,
” Miles said, glancing at DeLacy. “I love it! But I'm not sure I can eat it right now.”

DeLacy smiled at him. “You might later; we all might. And they will bring other small things, like smoked salmon on toast, small steak sandwiches. They have to serve food because of the liquor laws. Anyway, you might be hungry in an hour or two.”

“I understand.” Miles lifted his champagne flute and said, “Cheers, everyone. And thank you, ladies, for being my team. We got the jewelry. Part of our safety net is back in our hands.”

“Cheers,” they all said, echoing him.

Hugo said, “Thank goodness it went off without a hitch. But then she was outnumbered and outmatched. I recently heard that Felicity was not quite as bright mentally as she used to be.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Miles asserted. “I thought she was very alert. Didn't you, Daphne? DeLacy?”

DeLacy said, “Very much so. And she was the other day when I had tea with her and Pierce. But I do think she gets a bit flustered when he is away. Wilson sort of indicated she was possessive of him.”

“I agree with that,” Daphne interjected. “And I'm just thankful we managed to accomplish our … mission, shall we call it … without there being any kind of scandal. You know Papa wouldn't like that at all. And incidentally, they'll be back in London in about two weeks. He has to give Diedre away, you know.”

Miles asked Cecily to dance, and together, hand in hand, they went onto the dance floor, smiling at each other, happy to be together. At one moment, against his cheek, she said, “I'm so happy you managed to retrieve the jewels, Miles. However, you must always remember that when you have something to sell, you must have a buyer. If you don't, you have nothing of value.”

Miles kept on dancing, but he was startled by these words, and leaned back slightly, staring down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. There must be someone who wants the commodity, whatever it is, otherwise it's a worthless commodity.”

“That's a depressing thought. You've just thrown cold water on my jubilant mood,” he said in a low voice, trying not to show he was annoyed.

“No, I haven't,” she answered, drawing close to him again. “I'm just pointing out the reality of things … because when your father comes back, I want you to advise him to sell certain pieces of jewelry. And I think he ought to allow Dulcie to open her gallery and sell the items in storage in the attics. What good are they doing there?”

“Why this desire to sell things all of a sudden?” Miles asked, trying not to sound worried.

“Because the world is in a buying mood, on a roll right now. There's a lot of money around. People are in a good mood because business is roaring along nonstop. Everyone has telephones and cars. Women are buying … and especially my clothes. In other words, it's boom time.”

“I see what you're getting at, and I suppose you're right. There's an awful lot of jewelry at Cavendon even without these pieces we just got back. I will talk to him. And you must talk to Charlotte. You know she has the most influence over him.”

“I certainly will. And Charlotte has a lot of common sense. But let's forget it now, and enjoy ourselves.” She kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you, Miles Ingham. I love you with all my heart.”

“And I love you, my smart, clever, adorable Cecily Swann.”

A few moments later Miles and Cecily both noticed that Hugo and Daphne were now dancing. And they edged closer to them, moving through other couples on the floor.

Miles glanced at Daphne, and asked, “Did you leave DeLacy alone? I think Ceci and I should go back to the table. She might be a bit forlorn. You know how she gets.”

“Oh, she's not forlorn, not one bit. Some extremely handsome man came over to the table and introduced himself to us. It was the well-known painter Travers Merton. He asked if he could speak with her privately, so Hugo and I got up and came onto the dance floor.”

“Travers Merton,” Miles repeated. “My goodness.”

Cecily murmured, “DeLacy can handle herself, Miles. She'll be fine. Let's enjoy this dance.”

*   *   *

When Travers Merton arrived at the table, asking if she was Lady DeLacy Ingham, DeLacy had nodded, wondering who this man was.

Now the two of them were chatting earnestly and drinking champagne together. When Hugo and Daphne had done their disappearing act, she had asked the artist to sit down, and he had done so at once.

“What a stroke of luck,” Travers said now, gazing at DeLacy. “Pierce said you were beautiful, but he underplayed it. You are staggeringly beautiful, Lady DeLacy. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It is my honor to paint your portrait. And I wish to thank you in advance for agreeing to sit for me. I just hope I can do you justice.”

DeLacy was beaming at him, flattered by his words. He was not only charming, but a darkly handsome man with a certain bearing, and it was obvious he was from a good background. She thought he was about thirty-five or thereabouts, certainly younger than she had expected him to be. She felt drawn to him; he had a certain magnetism.

Finding her voice, she said, “I am the one who is honored. Thank you for agreeing to paint me, Mr. Merton.”

Leaning across the table, he said in a soft voice, “I wish we could start the portrait tomorrow. You're not by any chance free, are you?”

“I am, yes. In the afternoon.”

“Oh, that's marvelous. Could you come to my studio at about four o'clock? The light will still be good. I could do the preliminary sketches.”

“It's a perfect time for me,” DeLacy replied, feeling suddenly hot all over. She hoped she wasn't blushing.

Travers Merton was filled with pleasure, and he lifted his champagne flute. “To our collaboration. I think it is going to be rather exciting, don't you?”

DeLacy clinked her glass to his, and merely smiled.

Travers smiled back, and knew at that moment he was going to make her his. He wouldn't be able to resist her. She was delectable, sexually arousing to him. No wonder Lawrence Pierce wanted her for himself. He had never said that exactly, but Travers Merton realized she would be Pierce's ultimate prize. Lawrence Pierce had taken everything from Felicity. Her love. Her sexuality. A great deal of her money. And lately her peace of mind. To Travers it was obvious Pierce would want her gorgeous daughter. That was the way the man was made. And Travers was positive the surgeon suffered from priapism. Certainly he couldn't resist women. He was a serial womanizer of the worst kind.

“You're rather quiet,” DeLacy said, looking across the table at Travers Merton, wondering what he was thinking.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm afraid I was caught up in my thoughts about your portrait. I was wondering what you planned to wear. Perhaps we could discuss it?”