She rang a little gold bell on her desk, a signal that they were leaving. Edward picked up his coat and laughed. ‘Thanks, duchess, I appreciate this and so does Jinks. She’ll be here, and you call me or Miss Henderson for anything you need.’
In truth, Barbara did behave as if she was royalty, enjoying herself, almost flaunting herself in front of Edward. He shook her hand as they left, and Jinks said a polite ‘thank you’.
As the butler closed the front door Jinks snorted, ‘Oh, God, what does she think she’s playing at? And the voice? She’s coming on stronger than the Queen Mother.’
Edward held the car door open for his daughter and tapped her on the nose. ‘Like I said, sweetheart, use her. She’ll have every designer in Paris fighting to dress you.’
The Rolls surged into the Park Lane traffic. Jinks remained silent, chewing her nails, a habit she had picked up from her mother, and Edward pulled her hand from her mouth.
‘Don’t bite your nails. Your mother always chewed hers, bad habit.’
But Jinks paid no attention, thinking over what Barbara had said. ‘What do you know of Vassar? My going there? Only, I was actually thinking about it myself... Maybe I should look into it before making a decision. The important thing is, is what they have on offer better than I could get from Oxford or Cambridge? Education-wise, I doubt it very much.’
‘That’s my girl. We can be on the first plane to New York if that’s what you want.’
‘What? And miss my shopping spree with her ladyship? No need to rush things. I’ll get Miss Henderson to contact them, send me the details. I just want to get one thing straight, though — I’ve no intention of becoming some glorified debutante for you or Barbara. It’s an out-of-date farce now anyway. But maybe I should travel, think seriously about Vassar. You think it would be a good training ground? I’m not really interested in the trappings of the English colleges.’
‘All depends on what you want to do, sweetheart.’
‘Oh, I know exactly what I want to do — go into business.’
‘Oh, yes? Anything particular?’
‘Well, banking, of course — didn’t Mother tell you?’
Edward turned his head sharply. For a moment he thought she was joking. She wasn’t — she gave him a direct look, then turned to gaze at the traffic. She smiled. ‘One day I’ll be taking over the Barkley Company, won’t I? Stands to reason I should know what I am doing.’
He said nothing, concentrating on his driving. The thought had never entered his head that his daughter would consider entering the family business.
As if she was reading his mind, she said softly, ‘You didn’t expect me to want to, did you? I suppose it would be different if I was your son. If I was your son I would automatically presume I was going to work in the company. Evelyn...’ She turned and stared at him, and he kept his eyes on the road, wondering how much she knew.
‘What about Evelyn?’
‘I was just thinking... he’s in France, so if I go to Paris with his mother I will no doubt meet up with him. Did you know Uncle Alex sent him there? About the only place that would take him, so I hear.’
‘And where did you hear all this?’
‘Miss Henderson, of course. She and I are just like that.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘She’s always taken care of me. She never forgets my birthday, she never forgets.’
Edward found her directness, her quietness, unsettling. He realized that, though his daughter might be gauche, there was a strength in her, an edge he hadn’t bargained for and didn’t quite understand.
‘So you’ll go to Paris with Barbara, will you?’
She shrugged her shoulders and then took off her glasses, polishing them with her fingers. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm in it. As you said, use her — I don’t have to like her, or her son.’
‘What do you think of Evelyn?’
Her reply almost caused him to run into the car in front of them. ‘Oh, him... he reminds me of a gypsy. Unfortunately, he behaves like one. He was expelled for stealing — pitiful when you consider the opportunities he has. Oh! Would you drop me at the corner? I think I’ll go and see some friends. Dewint’s packing all my bags for me. There’s not a lot I want from the manor, anyway. I’m moving in with two girls, it’s all arranged.’
Edward pulled the car over and she immediately reached into the back seat for her overnight case. He put his hand on her shoulder.
‘I thought we could have dinner tonight?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve a previous engagement. Another time, maybe.’
He withdrew his hand as the car door swung open. She slammed it shut, then tapped on the window. ‘If I decide I’m interested in Vassar, could we go to New York?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.’
She strode off without saying goodbye. He had been wrong in thinking his daughter was nervous — there was an arrogance to her, a mannish quality. She was so tall, taller than most of the men she passed in the street. He realized he had no idea who her friends were, or where she was going. He sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel... There was so much that he didn’t know about his daughter, and it was strange, because he didn’t feel a great deal of affection for her at that precise moment. If anything, she reminded him of Allard... He slapped the wheel. ‘Christ, that’s it, that’s who she’s like — bloody Allard.’
Suddenly he felt old and tired, and he swung the car back into the traffic, heading for Victoria. He spent ages trapped in the rush hour, and by the time he reached Greenwich he was in a foul temper.
Dewint greeted him with brimming eyes, and for one moment Edward wondered what on earth was wrong with him. Then he realized it was only a few days since the funeral. Dewint asked if his flowers had arrived, and Edward said they were the best there, everyone had remarked on them. In actual fact he had no recollection of them. Heavy-hearted, he walked up the stairs to his room, pausing as the full realization struck him. She would never be coming home, he would never see her again. He felt helpless.
‘You know, we would never have been divorced? I loved that crazy lady — I loved her, Norman, you know that?’
‘I know you did, sah. I’ll bring up some nice home-made soup.’
Edward loosened his tie and looked around. The place was in need of redecoration, it was tired like himself. The few family photographs around his dressing-table mirror caught his eye. One was of Evelyn that Christmas when he had arrived on their doorstep. It was the last time the house had felt lived in. He picked up the snapshot and lay on his bed, looked at the cheeky grin that stretched from ear to ear... He muttered to himself, he should never have let him go, never let him leave the house that night. He stared at the picture until his hand flopped to his side. Evelyn belonged to him, he was his son... He sat up, slammed his fist against his other palm. ‘I’m going to get him back, I’m going to bring my son home.’
‘Soup, sah,’ said Dewint, carrying the loaded tray, and found the photograph thrust beneath his nose.
‘This is my son, my son, and I’m going to bring him home...’
Edward rushed from the room, knocking the tray from Dewint’s trembling hands. As it crashed on the floor, he heard Edward’s shout and the awful, thundering sound as he fell headlong down the stairs.
Dewint managed to get him on to the sofa in the lounge before he blacked out. He was streaming blood from a head wound, and the panic-stricken Dewint rushed to phone the doctor. When he got back, Edward was white as a sheet, and lay absolutely motionless.