she should say that, Jay thought.
‘No, Amber, it is I who am the fortunate one,’ he told her tenderly.
Theirs had been a wonderfully happy marriage, all the more so, Jay reckoned, because of the despair and heartache they had both endured before they had married one another, Amber through the betrayal of her first love, Jean-Philippe, then through the road accident that had resulted in the death of both her husband and dearly loved son, and Jay himself through an unhappy marriage to his mentally unstable first wife.
She had been so blessed, Amber thought gratefully in turn, and in so many different ways, but the blessing she valued the most had been Jay’s survival of the heart attack that she had feared would take him from her. They had waited so long to share their love and be together gether, that even now she still felt that every minute they shared was a precious gift. It grieved her that not all their children and grandchildren had found such happiness in their lives.
‘So that’s everyone accounted for then, is it?’ Jay teased.
‘Not quite. There’s still Cassandra,’ Amber reminded him.
They looked at one another and their faces fell.
‘I know that she’s your cousin, Jay, and of course John’s stepmother, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget the past and her cruelty.’
‘I know.’ Jay gave Amber’s hand a gentle pat. Its skin might be soft and loose and mottled with age now, but to him she was still the same beautiful girl she had been when she was seventeen, and his love for her had had to be a secret he could not share with anyone.
Cassandra! Jay had no more liking for his cousin than Amber did.
‘What makes a person like that, Jay?’ Amber asked sadly. ‘It’s as though Cassandra enjoys being cruel and mean. I know that Greg was wrong to fall in love with Caroline, but no one need have known they had been lovers. Cassandra was the one who told Caroline’s husband about the relationship.’
‘Yes. I’m afraid that I too can’t bring myself to forgive her for the harm she did,’ Jay agreed sombrely.
Amber gave a small shiver. Despite the warmth from the logs burning in the grate of the elegant Carrara marble fireplace, the room suddenly seemed cold, as though the chill of past tragedies had somehow swept in.
‘We’ll never know if poor Caroline’s death was an accident, and she missed her footing and fell into the lake, or if she deliberately took her own life because Cassandra had exposed her infidelity to Lord Fitton Legh. Caroline and Greg paid such a dreadfully heavy price for their affair: Greg disinherited by our grandmother and sent to Hong Kong, and Caroline facing divorce and disgrace. I often wonder if Cassandra would have been more compassionate if it hadn’t been for her own feelings for Caroline. She was so passionately in love with her. Do you think Cassandra went on to marry Lord Fitton Legh because he had been Caroline’s husband?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jay admitted. His cousin was an enigma to him, a difficult spiteful girl who had turned into an embittered and cruel woman.
‘I do wish that she hadn’t married Lord Fitton Legh, Jay. She always was a very unkind stepmother for poor John, and she is even now, despite the fact that he and Janey are so very kind to her.’
‘John feels he has a moral obligation to carry out the terms of his father’s will, not just to the letter but above and beyond it, and his father did stipulate that John must provide well for Cassandra. You know how highly John thought of his father.’
‘Yes,’ Amber acknowledged, ‘but that makes it all the more upsetting that he was such a cold and distant father to John, although of course…’ She stopped and looked uncertainly at her husband.
‘Except that John may not be his child, you mean?’ Jay supplied. He saw her face and added quietly, ‘Yes, I know that your cousin Greg believed that John was his child—’
‘Because Caroline Fitton Legh had told him so,’ Amber pointed out, ‘but in truth she could have told Greg that he was John’s father because it was what she wanted to believe herself
‘None the less, Lord Fitton Legh brought John up as his son.’
‘And John worshipped him. Him and Fitton. Fitton is his life. Janey complains that sometimes she thinks the house and the land mean more to him than either she does or their sons. John isn’t very good at articulating his feelings and I do sometimes wonder if their marriage is as happy as we thought it would be when they first married. It would destroy John, I think, if he were ever to suspect that Greg, and not the late Lord Fitton Legh, was his father, and that he himself had no right to the title or to Fitton.’
‘So have we now finally accounted for everyone?’ Jay asked ruefully.
‘Yes,’ Amber confirmed, looking up as they both heard the familiar sound of the tea trolley outside the drawing-room door.‘Here’s Mrs Leggit with the tea,’she announced unnecessarily, smiling at their housekeeper as she came in. ‘We’ve just been discussing Christmas, Mrs Leggit. It would be lovely if we have snow.’
‘They’ve had some already up in Buxton, or so I’ve heard,’ the housekeeper answered, adding as she headed for the door, ‘Mind you, they are much higher up there, than we are down here.’
‘Christmas, the family and snow. Wouldn’t that be perfect?’ Amber smiled at Jay as she handed him his tea.
‘Perfect,’ he agreed.
It was snowing and Olivia hated snow in New York. It wasn’t like proper snow at all – not like snow in Aspen, or Switzerland. New York’s snow made yellow cab drivers even more bad-tempered than they were ordinarily, and turned to slush on the sidewalks. She just hoped that it didn’t snow heavily enough to ground the planes at JFK so that her flight to Manchester was cancelled. To Manchester and to Robert.
Her rich chestnut shoulder-length hair gleamed with health as she stepped out of Vanity Fair magazine’s reception and waited for the lift to take her back down to the lobby. Tall and slender, her classically elegant features and blue eyes, enhanced by discreet makeup, Olivia carried with her an air of calm confidence that right now belied the excitement she felt inside. Soon she would be seeing Robert. She sighed ruefully at herself. When was she going to grow up and behave like a proper twenty-five-year-old and not a wide-eyed teenager in the grip of her first crush? Never, probably, where Robert was concerned, she admitted. She had loved him for so long that she couldn’t imagine not loving him, she admitted as she stepped out of the lift into the lobby of the building that housed Si Newhouse’s publishing empire of glossy magazines. She was wearing the new butter-soft leather boots she’d seen in Barneys and not been able to resist, and they were about as suitable for slushy pavements as a pair of high-heeled summer sandals. The hem of her long dark cream cashmere coat would also, no doubt, be marked, but she’d felt she had to wear it since that Mecca of fashion, Vogue magazine, also had its offices in the building. She was sure she’d seen Christy Turlington, one of the so-called supermodels, in the lobby when she’d come through.
At least now she’d delivered the article she’d been working on for Vanity Fair, a real coup for her, and she was keeping everything crossed that they liked it, even if the deadline had meant that she’d had to stay home instead of accompany her parents and younger brother on their flight this morning.
Still, it wouldn’t be long before she was following them, and then there’d be Denham, her grandparents, Christmas, the whole family and Robert.
Engrossed in the pleasure of thinking about her cousin, she almost walked straight into the man heading for the lift, her stomach clenching in dismay and dislike when she looked up and recognised who he was.
Tait Cabot Forbes, political investigative reporter sans equal, sans pity for his victims,