With a faint smile, Diedre replied, ‘He’s clever, our darling father, and he always has been. He makes each of his four daughters feel special – that each one of us is his favourite and the one he loves the most. And, in fact, he loves us all equally.’
‘True. More than I can say about Felicity. She was no mother to me. She’s an odd one. Everyone says it’s because she’s under the influence of the knife-wielding Lawrence Pierce … that she’s so strange these days, I mean. What do you think? And is he really a blond Adonis, with the glamorous looks of a matinee idol jumping around a stage in the West End?’
Diedre burst out laughing. ‘My goodness, what colourful language you use, Dulcie. You’re certainly a chip off two old blocks: mine and Aunt Gwendolyn’s.’
‘Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?’ Dulcie asked, a blonde brow lifting.
‘Our great-aunt would think it was. I have a feeling she’s rather proud of her way with words, even if she’s a bit tart at times. As I often am myself.’
‘So be it. Have you ever met Felicity’s little playfellow?’
‘Once or twice, in the early days of their relationship, just after the war started. And yes, he is very good looking, loaded with charm, but full of himself. He’s a brilliant surgeon, everyone says that. But doctors like him, who save lives and perform miracles of a sort, are egomaniacs. They think they’re to be revered on bended knee.’
‘I’ve heard that before, and the quote about being God is always attributed to you, Diedre, if you care about such things.’
‘I don’t, and you were a neglected child, in my opinion – at least you were neglected by Felicity. Others loved you very much and took care of you in her absence. Still, our mother was behaving in a weird way in those days, and her mind was elsewhere.’
‘I can well imagine exactly where it was. On the scalpel-happy doctor. And a certain part of his anatomy.’
Diedre stared at her, pushed back a chuckle, and asked, ‘Have you ever thought of being a writer, Dulcie?’
‘Occasionally, but I’m studying art history … I love paintings, and occasionally I’ve thought I might open an art gallery when I grow up.’
‘I think you’re grown up now. And that’s a great idea. In the meantime, has DeLacy arrived yet?’
‘She has, and I heard her crying a short while ago. I went into her bedroom and comforted her. I think she regrets her divorce, but I told her to buck up and get ready. So she pulled herself together, and said she was glad to be here with all of us … “in the middle of the clan Ingham” was the way she put it.’
‘Shall I go and see her? She is all right, isn’t she?’
‘She is, I’m sure of that. She was focusing on what to wear when I left her room, so you don’t have to go and see her.’
‘And why did you come to see me? Since I was so horrid to you?’
Dulcie walked across to Diedre, stood in front of her. She said, ‘I wanted to find out if you still frightened me. I was relieved to discover you don’t. And, listen, we can be friends now. After all, we are sisters …’ She let her sentence drift away, and went to the door, opened it. ‘I’m going to go and get ready.’
‘I shall too, Dulcie. I’ll see you downstairs,’ Diedre answered, feeling better than she had in a long time. Her chat with Dulcie had cleared the air.
Also, she was very taken with her youngest sister, the baby of the family. She had been a pretty child, and had grown up to be a true beauty. She had a glamour about her, with her flowing blonde hair, worn shoulder length. Her face was soft; her full mouth, high cheekbones and arched brows gave her a strong look of Daphne at the same age.
She’s got it all, Diedre thought, walking over to the wardrobe to take out a frock. She’ll go far, our little Dulcie.
Anger had replaced DeLacy’s tears, as she discarded dress after dress, throwing them on the bed, a look of disgust on her face. There was nothing in her wardrobe here at Cavendon that she liked; they were old frocks, out-of-date for the most part, and not so flattering any more, she was sure of that.
She stood glaring at them scattered across her bed, when there was a knock on the door. Before she had a chance to speak, Miles walked in.
‘I came to see what you were doing. My God, DeLacy, you’re not even ready!’ he exclaimed, slightly annoyed.
‘Only because I’ve nothing to wear,’ she wailed, staring at her brother. ‘I brought several things for the evening, but I didn’t bother about day frocks …’ Her voice trailed off helplessly.
Miles came over to the bed and started to examine the dresses. Finally, he picked out a pale grey and white silk afternoon frock with a full skirt, a square neckline and flowing sleeves. ‘This looks quite stylish. I’d wear this if I were you.’
‘That’s a funny expression to use, Miles, since you’re a man. But no doubt you like it because it’s an old Cecily Swann frock.’
He nodded, and smiled knowingly. ‘Of course it is; her style is inimitable. That’s why she’s the success she is today.’ He noticed DeLacy’s mouth tighten, and he knew the reason why. Cecily and DeLacy were no longer friends, and had not been for years.
He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on, put this on. It’s really beautiful, Lacy, and certainly it doesn’t look dated. With some jewellery, it’ll look quite different. Smart.’
DeLacy sighed. ‘I suppose I have no option. All right, I’ll wear it. But I don’t have time to ring for Pam and wait for her to come up. You’ll have to help me.’ As she spoke, DeLacy picked up the dress and hurried into the bathroom. ‘Wait for me, Miles, please, don’t leave.’
‘I’ll be here,’ he promised. He strolled over to the window and glanced out. In the distance he could see the lake and the two swans floating across the water. It had been his ancestor, Humphrey Ingham, who had decreed there would forever be swans at Cavendon, in recognition of James Swann, who had been his liegeman all those years ago, and the truest friend Humphrey had ever had. And they’ve been true ever since, Miles thought. For more than one hundred and seventy years …
‘Here I am!’ DeLacy cried, sounding more cheerful and swinging around. ‘If you could do the buttons for me, Miles. Then all I have to do is put on a string of pearls and earrings, and I’m ready.’
He did as she asked, saying as he did, ‘You look beautiful, and the dress is lovely. By the way, I think you and Cecily should make up, become friends again.’
‘I’ve tried. Many times; even asked her aunt Dorothy to let me buy clothes there. But I’ve been rejected every time. They just don’t give an inch.’
‘Maybe Ceci will relent, if I ask her,’ Miles murmured, fastening the last button. ‘I’ll talk to her later today.’
‘She’s here!’ DeLacy exclaimed as she turned around to face him, surprise in her eyes. ‘And she’s talking to you?’ DeLacy was astonished.
‘Yes, actually, she is,’ Miles answered carefully.
‘I can’t believe it! I thought she would never speak to you again. Why didn’t you tell me she was going to be here?’
Miles sighed. ‘I’ve been far too busy; I wasn’t keeping it from you. But please, Lacy, hurry up. We mustn’t keep Papa waiting.’
‘Just another second, and do let’s go downstairs together. I won’t be a moment.’ As DeLacy spoke she hurried over to her dressing table, took out a string of pearls, put them on, began to look for the