Remember

  Philip’s children, Vanessa and Timothy, had been quite young in the seventies, and he had not wanted to marry until they were older. She had not minded this; marriage always had been somewhat irrelevant to her, in the sense that her love for Philip existed without it, and would always exist, no matter what. The kind of deep and abiding love she felt for him did not need a marriage licence to give it validity, make it stronger or more real. Besides which, her first marriage had been such a mockery she had been quite cold about the idea of it ever since.

  Obviously, though, Philip needed them to be married at this time in their lives. Hadn’t he just said as much? If she truly loved him, and of course she did, then his happiness had to be of some importance to her. And it was. Thinking about it, she realized there was no truly good reason why she should not marry him. Quite unexpectedly, she discovered she rather liked the prospect of being his wife, especially since it would give him such enormous pleasure.

  Bringing her gaze to meet his, she said quietly, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes what?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll marry you, Philip. I will be happy and honoured to marry you. As you said a moment ago, it’s only right and proper that we get married at this particular time.’

  ‘Oh darling, that makes me so very, very happy.’ He leaned into her, kissed her gently on the mouth, took her in his arms, held her very tightly. He had never loved a woman the way he loved Anne Devereaux—and there had been plenty of women in his life before he had met her. Anne had known such hurt and pain, and the only thing he wanted was to love and cherish her, protect and safeguard her all the days of his life—and hers.

  Finally releasing her, Philip said, ‘Let’s set a date for our marriage here and now, before you change your mind. That way I can have my secretary send an announcement to The Times first thing on Monday morning.’

  ‘Never fear, I’m not going to change my mind,’ she responded, her face radiant, her eyes shining. ‘And I’ll be glad to work on the announcement with you over the weekend. But let me think for a moment about the date… I believe we should get married in December, Philip.’

  ‘But that’s months away,’ he protested.

  ‘After all these years of living in sin, surely a few more months don’t matter!’ Anne exclaimed, her ready laughter surfacing. ‘And I’m suggesting December for a very good reason… Geoffrey. I would like my brother to give me away, and I know he’s going to be abroad quite a lot between now and the end of November.’

  ‘Very well, darling, December it is.’

  ‘A Christmas wedding in the little church here at Pullenbrook will be very pretty, rather picturesque, don’t you think?’

  ‘Indeed it will. Anne?’

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘I do hope you’re going to allow me to give you an engagement ring.’

  ‘What a lovely idea! And of course I am. Every girl likes to have a ring, Philip, expects it, actually.’

  A huge smile spread across his face, and he reached into his pocket and brought out a small leather box. ‘I went to Asprey’s earlier in the week, looking for a ring for you. You see, I was determined to propose this weekend, and equally, I was absolutely determined you would accept me this time. Anyway, I found this, and I hope you like it.’ As he finished speaking he handed her the box.

  Anne was flabbergasted and her astonishment showed on her face. She lifted the lid and gasped when she saw the deep blue sapphire set within a circle of diamonds nestling in the velvet. ‘Oh Philip, it’s simply beautiful.’

  ‘I selected this particular ring because I know how much you like antique jewellery,’ he explained. ‘Anyway, the colour matches your lovely eyes, my darling.’

  ‘Thank you, Philip, for the ring… and for everything.’

  ‘Here, let me do that,’ he said, as she fumbled with the box, and took it away from her. As he slipped the sapphire on her finger, he added softly, ‘There, we are now properly engaged, and what more appropriate place to pledge our troth to each other than here on Sweetheart Hill?’

  TWENTY

  Nicky had not been in this house for almost three years, and two days ago in New York, when she had made the decision to come to see Anne Devereaux, she had dreaded the thought of being within its walls once again.

  But now that she was here at Pullenbrook most of her fears were evaporating. This was due in no small measure to Anne’s warmth, her loving demeanour, and Philip’s avuncular kindness and his special brand of geniality.

  When she had arrived from London an hour ago the two of them had greeted her with much affection; she knew this to be very genuine on their part, and it was an affection she fully reciprocated. Instantly she had begun to relax because they made her feel so welcome and had put her completely at ease.

  And then there was the house itself. The minute she had stepped over the threshold into the Great Hall she had felt its peacefulness most forcibly. This was something she had never quite forgotten, but which she had resolutely pushed to the back of her mind in recent years, and for the most obvious of reasons. But there was no denying that there was a special kind of tranquillity within the boundaries of Pullenbrook, a truly palpable thing which enfolded itself around her, seemed literally to envelop her like a cloak. In fact, she now recalled what a soothing effect the old manor had had on her in the past, and she understood why Anne thought of it as her safe haven, why she never wanted to leave it, at least not for very long.

  Suddenly it struck Nicky that this ancient Tudor house had seen so much, witnessed so much over the centuries, that if only its walls could talk they would reveal some incredible secrets.

  Goose flesh sprang up on her arms and she shivered involuntarily. What dark secrets about Charles Devereaux did this house hold? Was he alive, as she believed? And if so, why had he faked his own death?

  She shivered again and pushed these disturbing thoughts away—for the moment, at any rate. She had come here to tell Anne that she had seen Charles on American television four days ago, and that she had good reason to think he was living in Rome. But now she realized this was not the right time to broach it. She would have to wait for a more opportune moment later this evening.

  Nicky sat up straighter in her chair and glanced around.

  She and Anne were sitting in the drawing room; Anne was busy pouring tea, and she could not help thinking how exquisite this room was with its interplay of celadons. They made a perfect backdrop for the mellow antiques and the fine paintings, most of them English landscapes, several of them priceless masterpieces by Constable and Turner. She had always marvelled at Anne’s extraordinary taste, her skill at creating decorative beauty, and the way she kept up this house, undoubtedly a gargantuan task for anyone.

  Surreptitiously Nicky looked across at the fruitwood table in the centre of the room. A vase of white roses stood in the middle of it and was surrounded by a collection of family photographs in silver frames. There were several of her—alone, with her parents, with Anne and Philip in the gardens here at Pullenbrook, and of course with Charles. She swung her head to look at an end table next to the sofa near the fireplace. On this stood their engagement picture, taken by Patrick Lichfield, which was framed in gold. Her gaze was riveted on it for several seconds and then she swiftly averted her eyes, biting her inner lip nervously. But within seconds she was totally in control of herself again, and calm, a look of neutrality settling on her face, masking her real feelings.

  ‘You’re awfully quiet, Nicky darling,’ Anne remarked, glancing at her as she rose and walked across the floor, bringing the cup of tea.

  ‘Thanks,’ Nicky said, accepting it from her. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, sitting here like an idiot and gaping so avidly at everything, as if I’d never been here before. I was savouring the room, admiring it… I’d forgotten how beautiful it is… how beautiful the whole of Pullenbrook is, Anne.’

  ‘You always did love this house,’ Anne murmured, looking down at her, a faint smile touching her mouth. ‘And in the sam
e way I love it. At least, that is what I’ve believed for years now. You have a true feeling for Pullenbrook, and I realized this the first time you came here. I couldn’t help noticing that you were… well, emotionally drawn to it. That’s the best way for me to describe what I thought your reaction was to my home. And the house accepted you, welcomed you, Nicky.’

  Anne went back to the sofa, continuing, ‘It doesn’t always do that, you know. It can reject people.’ Quite suddenly she started to laugh a bit self-consciously. ‘Good Lord, that does sound bizarre, doesn’t it? You must think I’ve turned into a dotty old woman, talking in this strange way about a house.’

  ‘No, I don’t. You’re making perfect sense to me. And you, of all people, a dotty old lady! Never. Why, ‘Anne, you’re looking fantastic.’

  ‘Thank you for saying so.’ Anne leaned over the silver tea service on the table in front of her, and confided, ‘I was fifty-eight in April, but I must admit I don’t feel it, not one little bit. Anyway, getting back to what I was saying, I know you know what I mean about the house, the way it made you feel as though you belonged in it from the very first moment.’

  ‘And that feeling came rushing back today,’ Nicky told her quietly. ‘And you know something else, I happen to think of houses as living things. They do have atmospheres and vibrations, some good, some very bad. This place has good vibes to me.’

  Anne nodded. ‘We’re an odd couple, you and I, Nicky. But then we’ve always understood each other extremely well.’ Anne took a sip of tea, and a second later exclaimed, ‘Oh dear, I’ve been so busy chattering to you about the house, I forgot to offer you a sandwich, or would you prefer sponge cake?’

  ‘Nothing, thanks, Anne. I’m trying to watch my weight, especially after that fattening trip to France.’

  ‘Oh gosh, yes, I know exactly what you mean,’ Anne laughed.

  At this moment Philip came back into the room, having been summoned to the phone a few minutes before. He said to them both, ‘Sorry I took so long,’ and then glanced at Anne. ‘It was Timothy, darling. He’s just arrived in London. He sends his love, by the way.’

  Anne nodded and smiled up at him. ‘I’m glad he’s safely back home.’

  Philip took the cup of tea Anne had just poured for him, and went and sat down on the chair next to Nicky. Turning to her, he explained, ‘My son’s just started working as a journalist on the Sunday Times, and he’s been in Leipzig. There’s a lot going on there, all sorts of political situations on the bubble, as I’m sure you’re aware, Nicky.’

  ‘Yes, my friend Cleeland Donovan, who you met in Les Baux, leaves for Germany tomorrow. He wants to photograph the Berlin Wall… while it’s still standing, he says.’

  Philip looked at her alertly. ‘Does he think it’s about to come down?’

  ‘He’s been saying it would for the past two years, but, of course, he was never certain exactly when, who could be certain of that? At one point he thought it would take another twenty or thirty years, perhaps even longer. But recently he’s been muttering that the Wall will be dismantled imminently.’

  ‘Has he now?’ Philip put his cup and saucer on a nearby occasional table, and sat back in his chair, his attention still focused on Nicky. ‘That’s very interesting to know, especially since I happen to agree… as do a number of my colleagues, actually.’ Philip shook his head, and went on with a hint of acerbity, ‘However, only six months ago, East Germany’s President Erich Honecker vowed that the Berlin Wall would remain standing for another hundred years. But I’m inclined to believe that that was an idle boast on his part.’

  ‘Or merely wishful thinking,’ Nicky volunteered. ‘And in any case, let’s hope Honecker is wrong and Clee is right.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Philip murmured, and asked, ‘And is Cleeland going anywhere else in the Eastern bloc?’

  ‘Yes, after Berlin he intends to roam around for a few days, and he wants to go to Leipzig, too. He plans to cover the demonstrations that keep erupting all over the place.’

  Philip nodded. ‘Those demonstrations are going to be on the increase, I think. And I have a strong suspicion we’re going to see any number of Communist regimes come tumbling down this year.’

  Nicky was thoughtful for a few seconds, and then she said slowly, with some deliberation, ‘Only the other day I told Arch Leverson that we’re going to see the tectonic plates of history shifting under our feet in the not too distant future. There’s going to be a lot of movement, a lot of changes, especially in the Iron Curtain countries.’

  ‘Very astute of you to say so, Nicky. You’re right on the button,’ Philip exclaimed with a hint of admiration.

  Nicky smiled at him; she was pleased to get his confirmation of her opinions about world affairs. After all, Philip Rawlings was an important man with the Foreign Office.

  When they had spent time together in the past, Philip and Nicky had inevitably become embroiled in political discussions, and this afternoon was no exception. They went on chatting about the state of the world for the next ten minutes or so, until Philip finally curtailed their conversation.

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘Here we go again, Nicky, boring poor Anne with all this dry stuff about politics and politicians, which she couldn’t care less about. Sorry, darling,’ he apologized, and looked at Anne affectionately.

  ‘But that’s not true!’ Anne spluttered. ‘I’m not bored. You seem to have forgotten that I grew up with politics, and that my father was quite a statesman in his day.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten, but I do know that’s not where your interests lie, not really.’ Philip pushed himself up out of the chair and went to sit with Anne on the sofa. Taking hold of her hand, he said, ‘And now, onto more important things… have you told Nicky our happy news?’

  Anne said, ‘I haven’t had a chance yet, and in any case I thought it would be much nicer if we told her together.’

  ‘Told me what?’ Nicky looked from one to the other, filled with curiosity.

  ‘Philip asked me to marry him today—’

  ‘For about the twentieth time,’ Philip cut in.

  ‘And I accepted him,’ Anne added, her face suddenly full of radiance.

  ‘Finally,’ Philip said. ‘Anne has finally agreed to become my wife and she’s even set the date. We’re going to have a Christmas wedding here in the little church at Pullenbrook.’

  ‘Oh Anne, Philip, this is wonderful news!’ Nicky exclaimed, meaning these words, and, jumping up, she walked across the room to congratulate them.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Nicky sat in the window seat in her room, staring out across the formal gardens of Pullenbrook. But she was not really looking at them. Her gaze was turned inward.

  How she wished now that she had not come down here today, that she had delayed her visit until Monday, as she had originally intended when she had set out from New York yesterday.

  When she had arrived in London last night, the first thing she had done, after she had checked into her hotel, was telephone Pullenbrook. Anne had been overjoyed to hear from her, and so soon after their chance meeting in France. They had chatted for a few minutes, and then she had more or less invited herself down for the weekend, telling Anne that she was only in England for a few days and would love to see her.

  Anxiety had prompted her expediency; she had a desperate need to talk to Anne. Who else was there in whom to confide her terrible suspicions about Charles?

  But to her dismay she had walked into this house on a very special day in Anne Devereaux’s life. How awful it would be if she ruined it by revealing to her that her only child, the son whom she had adored, had not drowned after all, as they believed, but that he had faked his own death.

  In doing so she would be branding Charles dishonourable, duplicitous, a liar and a cheat. And a savagely cruel man who had caused his mother untold suffering and grief, as well as herself, Philip, his Uncle Geoffrey, and everyone else who was close to him. Of course, he was all of those things, if
he were alive and living under a new identity. But she couldn’t drop that bombshell tonight, as she had planned.

  Nicky leaned her head against the window pane, turning things over in her mind. She might not even be able to tell Anne tomorrow either; she may well have to stay over until Monday and talk to her then. It was not that she was afraid to speak out; she simply didn’t want to spoil Anne’s weekend. It was going to be very difficult, keeping up a relaxed front, putting on a good face for the next few days. Still, she must conceal her anxiety and impatience for Anne’s sake. She was such a nice woman, so straightforward and honest, and she deserved a little happiness at this stage in her life. No, she couldn’t dump this on her at the moment; she had to let her have this chance to celebrate with Philip.

  ***

  For another half hour Nicky sat on the window seat, mulling everything over in her mind. But eventually she got to her feet and walked into the middle of the vast room, her eyes scanning it quickly. It was full of pale lavender tints, soft pinks and dove greys; it was a gentle, rather feminine room with pretty watercolours on the walls and painted-wood pieces that were elegant and graceful.

  With her usual tact and thoughtfulness, Anne had chosen a bedroom for her which she had never occupied before, in an effort perhaps to ease the burden of unhappy memories. But every corner of Pullenbrook held memories for her… yet not all of them were bad. In fact, some of them were positive and happy.

  The four-poster bed with its lavender silk hangings and matching eiderdown looked inviting all of a sudden, and Nicky took off her shoes and went and lay down on it. She pulled the eiderdown over her, hoping to have a nap before getting ready for dinner, but her mind continued to turn.