Chapters (73)
- Cover
- Dedication
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- PART TWO
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- PART THREE
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- PART FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- PART FIVE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Keep Reading …
- About the Author
- Also by Barbara Taylor Bradford
- About the Publisher
‘I’d be glad to accompany you,’ Robert answered. ‘It would be a sad and lonely trip if you were by yourself. And I will send a note to Harry Peterson, ask him if I can drop by his house in Aldington. He’s just come back from Paris, where he bought some paintings. Impressionists.’
‘Did he really! My God, he must have quite a collection by now,’ Adrian said, sounding impressed.
‘One of the best in the world, I suspect,’ Robert replied, glad he had averted the conversation away from the cemetery and Annabel. Adrian was convinced her husband had hurt her in some way, caused the heart attack, which Robert truly doubted.
After the butler had served the jam roll and custard and left, Adrian said, ‘This is perfection, Robert.’ He grinned and continued, ‘You’re definitely after something, spoiling me like this.’
Although he wasn’t looking for a favour, he suddenly thought of one. ‘Can I bring Vanessa down to Fraser Hall tomorrow, to spend a day in the country?’
‘It would be my pleasure! You see, I was right! You do want something in return for the comfort food. And you can stay the night, the whole of Saturday and Sunday too.’
Robert merely smiled and began to eat the dessert.
FORTY-THREE
Robert Lassiter and his old friend Harry Peterson greeted each other with warmth, embracing and smiling. They were happy to meet again after Harry’s long sojourn in Kent and Robert’s in Ireland. It had been some months.
Taking hold of Robert’s arm, Harry led him down the long hall of Avery Court, his Tudor house built when Elizabeth I was on the throne. It had always entranced Robert, who favoured Elizabethan architecture.
Harry said, ‘I was so excited when I received your letter, because I was just about to write to you.’
‘Really!’ Robert glanced at him as they entered a small, rather cosy parlour in the middle of the hall. ‘Why were you going to write to me?’ His curiosity was apparent.
‘I’ve had a little windfall. No, I shouldn’t call it that, because it’s quite a large one, actually. My bachelor uncle, Thomas Peterson, recently died. I was his sole heir. I’ve inherited everything.’
‘Sorry to hear about your uncle. So he left you property, I suspect, if you were going to contact me?’
‘He did, Robert. Quite a lot of commercial property in Croydon – shops, in fact; two theatres in the West End, and a very large house in Hampstead with a lot of acreage attached.’
‘And do you wish to sell it all?’
‘I do. I have my house in Charles Street, and that’s enough for me. These days the Home Farm down the road here keeps me very busy. It’s a great agricultural success.’