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Chapters (71)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Part One
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Part Two
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Part Three
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Part Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Part Five
  61. Fifty-Four
  62. Fifty-Five
  63. Fifty-Six
  64. Fifty-Seven
  65. Fifty-Eight
  66. Fifty-Nine
  67. Sixty
  68. Sixty-One
  69. Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  70. About the Author
  71. Newsletter Sign-up

They walked across to the marble fireplace, and she now swiftly took in the room. Beautiful, mellowed wood furniture. A Georgian desk, big and grand, and perfect for him. Bookshelves filled to overflowing with burgundy leather-bound books, all matched.

Dark-green velvet draperies at the windows, and the same velvet on the two walls on either side of the door. A parquet floor, covered in dark-green rugs. A big sofa and an armchair upholstered in dark-green brocade.

All this green was accented by lots of white. The door, the fireplace and moldings. A masculine room, yet it did not overwhelm. She realized what good taste he had.

“I think you approve of the library, Vanessa,” Robert said, recognizing the expression on her face.

“I do! It’s elegant without being pretentious.” She gave him a pointed look, and asked, “Can I see the rest of the house, please?”

“Of course.” He led her to the door and out into the white marble entrance foyer with its imposing crystal chandelier, and the double staircase leading upstairs.

“This is the drawing room,” he explained as they went inside. “Lots of yellow as you can see. But it makes for sunshine on a rainy day. You’ll be in the dining room later. It’s blue and white, and I know you’ll like it.”

“Can we go to your bedroom?” she asked a little coyly. “I’d like to see it.”

“Not right now,” he said in that firm voice. “I hear Adrian on the doorstep.”

And a moment later, Turnbull joined them in the foyer, nodded to her and said to Robert, “I do believe Lord Fraser has arrived, m’lord.”

Forty-One

Mr. Oliver Templeton hurried up Curzon Street, relieved he had left the hansom cab in Piccadilly. The traffic there was incredibly bad on this hot August Friday. Hansoms, drays, carriages and that odd thing called a motorcar, all so crowded together making movement virtually impossible. And so he had paid the driver and jumped out. On foot would be quicker.

Now, thankfully, here he was almost at Lord Adrian Fraser’s private bank. He paused, took out his watch and smiled. It was ten minutes to ten. Actually, he would arrive five minutes early. South Audley Street was just ahead of him.

As the top private investigator at the Berkeley Private Detective Agency, Oliver was proud of the work his team had done, and with the most interesting results they had produced. It was quite a dossier and, in many ways, it had been easy to track the various individuals under investigation. He hoped Lord Fraser would be well satisfied.

Within a few minutes, Oliver was entering the bank and being ushered into His Lordship’s private office.

As Oliver was led in by a lady secretary, Lord Fraser walked toward him, his hand outstretched.

“Good morning, Mr. Templeton,” he said. “Come and sit over here.”