Cavendon Hall. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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       THREE

      When they were alone together, there was an easy familiarity between Charles Ingham and Charlotte Swann.

      This unselfconscious acceptance of each other sprang from their childhood friendship, and a deeply ingrained loyalty that had remained intact over the years.

      Charlotte had grown up with Charles and his two younger sisters, Lavinia and Vanessa, and had been educated with them by the governess who was in charge of the schoolroom at Cavendon Hall at that time.

      This was one of the privileges bestowed on the Swanns over a hundred years earlier, by the 3rd Earl of Mowbray: A Swann girl was invited to join the Ingham children for daily lessons. The 3rd Earl, a kind and charitable man, respected the Swanns, appreciated their dedication and loyalty to the Inghams through the generations, and it was his way of rewarding them. The custom had continued up to this very day, and it was now Cecily Swann who went to the schoolroom with DeLacy Ingham for their lessons with Miss Audrey Payne, the governess.

      When they were little, Charlotte and Charles had enjoyed irking his sisters by calling each other Charlie, chortling at the confusion this created. They had been inseparable until he had gone off to Eton. Nevertheless, their loyalty and concern for each other had lasted over the years, albeit in a slightly different way. They didn’t mingle or socialize once Charles had gone to Oxford, and, in fact, they lived in entirely different worlds. When they were with his family, or other people, they addressed each other formally, and were respectful.

      But it existed still, that childhood bond, and they were both aware of their closeness, although it was never referred to. He had never forgotten how she had mothered him, looked out for him when they were small. She was only one year older than he was, but it was Charlotte who took charge of them all.

      She had comforted him and his sisters when their mother had suddenly and unexpectedly died of a heart attack; commiserated with them when, two years later, their father had remarried. The new Countess was the Honourable Harriette Storm, and they all detested her. The woman was snobbish, brash and bossy, and had a mean streak. She had trapped the grief-stricken Earl, who was lonely and lost, with her unique beauty, which Charlotte loved to point out was only skin deep, after all.

      They had enjoyed playing tricks on her, the worse the better, and it was Charlotte who had come up with a variety of names for her: Bad Weather, Hurricane Harriette and Rainy Day, to name just three of them. The names made them laugh, had helped them to move on from the rather childish pranks they played. Eventually they simply poked fun at her behind her back.

      The marriage had been abysmal for the Earl, who had retreated behind a carapace of his own making. And it had not lasted long. Hateful Harriette soon returned to London. It was there that she died, not long after her departure from Cavendon. Her liver failed because it had been totally destroyed by the huge quantities of alcohol she had consumed since her debutante days.

      Charles suddenly thought of the recent past as he stood watching Charlotte straightening the horse painting by George Stubbs, remembering how often she had done this when she had worked for his father.

      With a laugh, he said, ‘I just did the same thing a short while ago. That painting’s constantly slipping, but then I don’t need to tell you that.’

      Charlotte swung around. ‘It’s been re-hung numerous times, as you well know. I’ll ask Mr Hanson for an old wine cork again, and fix it properly.’

      ‘How can a wine cork do that?’ he asked, puzzled.

      Walking over to join him, she explained, ‘I cut a slice of the cork off and wedge it between the wall and the bottom of the frame. A bit of cork always holds the painting steady. I’ve been doing it for years.’

      Charles merely nodded, thinking of all the bits of cork he had been picking up and throwing away for years. Now he knew what they had been for.

      Motioning to the chair on the other side of the desk, he said, ‘Please sit down, Charlotte, I need your advice.’

      She did as he asked, and glanced at him as he sat down himself, thinking that he was looking well. He was forty-four, but he didn’t look it. Charles was athletic, as his father had been, and kept himself in shape. Like most of the Ingham men, he was tall, attractive, had their clear СКАЧАТЬ