King Of Swords

King of Swords

Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ENDPAGE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

IN THE glowing light of a June afternoon, Ambermere had never looked more beautiful.

Julia brought her car to a halt at the side of the road and slid out from behind the wheel. The faint breeze lifted a few tendrils of waving copper hair and she pushed them back impatiently as she leaned on the wall and stared across the lush green of the lower paddock to the house.

It all looked amazingly peaceful, even deserted, but she knew that apparent tranquillity was only a façade. Inside, there would be a frantic buzz of activity as her mother and the staff applied the finishing touches to the décor for tonight’s Midsummer party.

And I should be there, helping, Julia thought, half guiltily, half in amusement. The Ambermere party was one of the most anticipated local events in the year—a pleasant tradition established over generations.

She felt a small sigh of satisfaction rise within her at the thought. That was what houses like Ambermere were all about—custom and continuity. And that was what she would continue to provide, even if she was the only daughter, instead of the once longed-for son.

A month, she decided with sudden restlessness, was far too long to be away, even though she had enjoyed herself. Aunt Miriam was a wonderful diplomat’s wife and there had been parties and dinners nearly every night. In addition there had been tennis, and swimming and polo matches, as well as visits to concerts and theatres with a succession of attractive and attentive young men.

‘But no one worthy of Ambermere,’ Julia would tell her father presently, with mock regret. It was a joke which had begun in the days of a much younger Julia who had been very much affronted to learn that the family name would die out when she married.

‘Then I won’t get married,’ she had declared to her amused parents. ‘Unless I can find a man with the same name as ours.’

‘But you might fall in love with someone called Smith,’ Lydia Kendrick had pointed out, stroking the small, determined face.

‘Then he’ll have to change his name to Kendrick,’ Julia had retorted. ‘If he won’t do that, then he’s not worthy of Ambermere.’

They had all three laughed about it since, but Julia had come to recognise that she’d been more than half in earnest. She wanted to go on living at Ambermere, and see her children brought up there, bearing her own loved family name. But the man who would fit docilely in with these plans, and father those children, remained a shadowy and amorphous figure. None of the boyfriends who wined and dined her so assiduously, and tried, without any luck, to get her into bed, seemed even remotely to be suitable candidates.

Perhaps I won’t get married at all, she thought. Maybe I’ll just run the estate and become known as an eccentric spinster. She grimaced slightly, straightening as she prepared to get back in the car, and it was then she saw him.

A man, a perfect stranger, walking across the lower paddock, where he had no right to be.

Julia’s lips tightened as she watched him. He was tall, with glossy black hair, and a swarthy skin, and she didn’t have to guess where he’d come from. Her easy-going father had always permitted gipsies to camp beyond the copse, on the understanding that they kept the site tidy, and didn’t encroach in any way on the rest of the estate.

And now here was one of them strolling about as if he owned the place. Well, he would soon know differently! Julia decided grimly.

She swung herself up on to the wall, put two fingers to her lips and whistled.

The man’s head came round sharply, and he looked at her, but he made no effort to approach. Usually the same travelling people came back year after year, but Julia had never set eyes on this one before. He was darker even then Loy Pascoe, who was the head of the family, and had conducted the negotiations with her father. Julia was aware of unsmiling dark eyes beneath level brows, a beak of a nose, and a firmly emphasised mouth and chin. Not good-looking exactly, she found herself thinking to her own surprise, but with a definite air—seignorial and irritatingly arrogant—about him. Maybe he was some distant relation of the Pascoe clan and just passing through, but that was no reason why he shouldn’t obey the same rules as everyone else.

She said clearly and coldly, ‘Do you know you’re trespassing?’

He stood surveying her silently, hands resting on his hips, but he made no reply. He was wearing well-cut cream denim pants and an elegant knitted shirt, open at the neck to reveal the strong column of his throat, and a shadowing of body hair on his chest. His clothes had obviously cost a great deal of money.

The scrap metal business must be booming, Julia thought cynically. No poor relation, this one.

Her tone glacial, she said, ‘I suppose you do speak English?’

There was a slight pause, then he nodded, his face expressionless.

‘Well that’s something.’ Julia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then you understand what I mean by trespass?’

Another nod. They were actually making progress.

‘My father permits your people to camp on his land on certain conditions. I suggest you go back where you came from and find out what they are. And don’t let me find you wandering about here again.’

She climbed lithely down from the wall and got into her car, angrily aware that he hadn’t budged an inch. The nerve of him! she thought. She risked a glance in her mirror as she drove off, and realised furiously that he was smiling—laughing at her.

I’ll call at the camp and give Loy a piece of my mind, she raged inwardly. Give these tinkers an inch, and they take a mile!

She took a careful grip on her temper, realising she was over-revving her engine. After all, it was only a minor incident, and it was utterly ridiculous to feel, as she did, that it had spoiled her homecoming. Because nothing could do that. Not now, not ever.

Ambermere was going to be hers one day, and she was going to care for it, and cherish it in a way her charming, happy-go-lucky father had never done. He called it openly the Albatross, and laughed at Julia’s fury. Her month with Aunt Miriam had been a brief interval of rest and relaxation before she began the serious business of going into the Ambermere office with Mr Greenwood and learning how to run the estate. It was what she had always wanted, although Philip Kendrick had always insisted she would have changed her mind by the time she was old enough for such responsibility.

‘We’ll see how you feel when you’re twenty-one,’ he had told her briskly. And he’d been frankly astonished when her birthday had come and gone, and she was still of the same mind about what she wanted to do with her life.

And she would begin as she meant to go on by dealing with this tinker problem, swiftly and personally. If Loy thought she was going to be a pushover to deal with because she was a girl, he would soon discover his mistake!

She parked her car and walked through the copse. The shining trailers were parked neatly enough, but there seemed to be no one around except, for a tethered dog who barked aggressively at her as she passed.

She said, ‘Shut up, Ben you idiot,’ and knocked on the door of the largest and glossiest trailer.

It opened immediately, revealing a small, white-haired woman in a stridently floral overall. Blackberry-dark eyes surveyed the visitor gravely.

‘Well, Miss Julia,’ she said. ‘It came to me that you’d be here today.’

Julia gave her a level look. Grandma Pascoe was reputed to have the second sight, and made a good income from telling fortunes at local fêtes and fairgrounds, but Julia had never believed the old woman had any special powers, just a good nose for gossip, and a phenomenal memory. And everyone in the county would know that no matter how long she’d been away, she would be back for tonight’s party. No ESP required for that! she thought with a trace of cynicism.

She said, ‘Hello, Grandma. Is Loy about?’

The white head moved in negation. ‘He’s seeing a man on business. Come in, Miss Julia. The kettle’s boiled, and I’ve been spreading the cards for you.’

Julia hesitated. The tea would be welcome, but the last thing she wanted was Grandma brooding over the tarot cards on her behalf.

She began, ‘I really don’t think …’ but Grandma stopped her with an imperative gesture.

‘You may not believe, missy, but there’s a message for you just the same. I’ve been sitting waiting for you to come and hear it.’

And no doubt cross her palm with silver, the old crook, Julia thought, torn between amusement and annoyance, as she followed Grandma into the trailer and sat down opposite her at the table. The tea was scalding and almost black, and she sipped carefully, as Grandma began to turn over the cards in front of her.

‘‘Tes all change for you, maiden, and a journey across water.’

‘I’ve just done that,’ Julia said wearily, Usually Grandma made at least a pretence of seeing the future.

‘This is ‘nother one.’ Grandma gave her a gimlet look.

‘I don’t think so.’ Julia shook her head. ‘This time I’m here to stay.’

‘See what covers you?’ Grandma turned over another card, and gasped. ‘The King of Swords! He’s come to cut you off from all you know. He’s terrible powerful, the King of Swords. You can’t fight him, though you may try.’

‘You can count on that,’ Julia said drily. ‘Can you tell me what he looks like, so I can be sure to avoid him?’

‘He’s close enough to touch.’ Grandma’s voice lowered to a whisper, and in spite of herself Julia felt a faint frisson of uneasiness chill her spine. ‘And you can’t avoid your fate, maiden.’ She turned over the final card, and gasped again. ‘See—the Tower struck by lightning. Your world turned upside down, and no mistake.’

Julia stared down at the card, her brows drawing together. She found herself wishing, ridiculously, that she’d bypassed the camp and let her father deal with the interloper. Then she pulled herself together. She had never been taken in by Grandma’s nonsense before, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

She drank the rest of her tea in one wincing gulp, and stood up. ‘Well, the weather forecast says nothing about storms,’ she remarked briskly. ‘I’ll take my chance.’ She reached for her bag, but Grandma Pascoe shook her head.

‘There’s no need for money beween us, Miss Julia. I’ve given you the warning. I can do no more.’ She paused. ‘You’re a proud girl, and no mistake, with a mind of your own. But that pride of yours will be brought low. It’s all here.’ She tapped the cards with a bony forefinger. ‘Now run away home, and dance at your party while you can.’

Julia almost stumbled down the steps of the trailer, and paused, her heart thumping. There should be a law, she thought angrily, against Grandma Pascoe and her kind spreading forecasts of doom. It was all very different from the handsome husbands and football pools wins that the old lady generally predicted.

She sat in the car, letting her pulses slow to a more normal rate, castigating herself for being an idiot. And she hadn’t even left a message for Loy about the trespasser, she realised vexedly, as she started her engine. Well, that would have to wait, because she certainly wasn’t going back.

The yard at the back of the house which housed the former stables and the garages was crowded with vehicles, florists’ and caterers’ vans among them. There was the usual atmosphere of bustle and subdued panic that Julia always associated with the Midsummer party. Although heaven knows why, she told herself wryly, as she slid her car into its usual corner. Everything’s always perfect, and this year even the weather’s going to oblige us.

She found her mother in the large drawing-room, surrounded by lists. Lady Kendrick looked up as Julia walked towards her, her face breaking into a strained smile. ‘Darling—at last!’ She embraced her warmly. ‘But you’re very late. I was beginning to get anxious.’

‘I took a slight detour,’ Julia said with deliberate lightness. ‘And I really wish I hadn’t. She gave her mother a searching look. Had those worry lines round her mouth and eyes, the tension along her cheekbones, been there unnoticed before Julia went away? If so, perhaps these few weeks of separation had been a good thing if they’d taught her to be more perceptive. Lydia Kendrick had always been a highly strung, nervous woman, and the vagaries of life with her charming, feckless but much-loved husband had done little to ease the wear and tear on her nervous system.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Julia anxiously.

‘Everything’s fine—and wonderful now that you’re here. I can’t wait to hear all the news about Miriam—and everyone. But there’s so much to do.’ Lydria Kendrick gestured helplessly about her, and Julia kissed her cheek.

‘I’ll go and unpack, then I’ll pitch in and lend a hand with it all,’ she promised reassuringly. ‘Where’s Daddy?’

‘He’s rather busy. Mr Poulton came down first thing this morning. They’ve been shut up in the study for most of the day.’

Julia’s brows lifted. ‘Rather inconsiderate of Polly,’ she remarked, using her father’s joking name for their staid family solicitor. ‘He doesn’t usually bother Daddy with business meetings on Midsummer Day.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?’

‘Of course not.’ Her mother was smiling, but her glance slid away evasively. ‘It’s just—routine. Probably Polly underestimated the time it would take.’

There is something the matter, Julia thought as she unlocked her cases in her sunny bedroom and began to restore the contents to drawers and wardrobe. It wasn’t just the uproar of preparing for the party either. It was like some dark and disturbing undercurrent beneath Ambermere’s familiar and tranquil surface. From the moment she’d seen that man—that intruder in the lower paddock, her day had seemed disjointed, her homecoming oddly clouded.

‘Jools, you’re going crazy,’ she adjured herself, as she unwrapped the dress she planned to wear that evening from its protective folds of tissue. Aunt Miriam had helped her choose it, and it relied for its chic on its stark and simple cut. She rarely wore that shade of midnight blue, but she had to admit Aunt Miriam was right when she said it darkened her eyes to sapphire. In the past, she’d chosen floating fabrics and pastels—débutante dresses, she thought with a slight grimace. This elegant, sophisticated model was going to open a few eyes—make it clear that Julia Kendrick was no longer a girl, but a woman ready and prepared to embark on her chosen course in life.

She sat down on her dressing stool and lifted her hair on top of her head in a casual swirl, studying herself, experimenting. The brief knock on her door made her start, and she looked up guiltily to see her mother had joined her.

‘Are you waiting for me?’ Julia jumped up. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’

‘No—no. Everything’s running like clockwork really—as it should after all these years.’ Lydia Kendrick’s voice was pitched higher than usual, and she dabbed at her mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief. ‘Jools darling, I shouldn’t be here talking to you like this. Your father told me to wait until after the party—not to spoil things for you on your first night—but I can’t …’

Julia put a protective arm round the slender shoulders, helping her to the window seat and sitting beside her.

‘What is it, love? Has Daddy been backing losers again? Is that why Polly’s here, to give him the usual rap over the knuckles?’

Lydia gave a strangled sob. ‘It’s worse than that,’ she said hoarsely. ‘So much worse. I don’t know how to tell you…’ There was a pause while she obviously fought for control. Then she said brokenly, ‘Jools—your father is having to sell this house.’

Julia had the oddest sensation that everything in the room had receded to a great distance. Her voice sounded very clear, however, and very cold.

‘Is this some awful joke? Because I’m afraid I don’t find it very funny …’

‘Would I—could I joke about something like this?’ Her mother’s tone was piteous. ‘Ambermere has to go. That’s why Mr Poulton’s here. He’s been here every day almost for the past two weeks. Your—your father’s had a lot of financial setbacks. The Mullion Corporation takeover—there was talk of insider trading—he had to resign from the board, although he swears he had nothing to do with it. And that’s not all. Some time ago, Daddy changed a lot of our investments, because he felt we needed more return from our money. Some of the new investments were—high-risk, but he thought it was worth the gamble.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘We lost a great deal—too much. It’s been a disaster. We have to sell Ambermere, Jools, because we can’t afford to go on living here. The party tonight will be the last we’ll ever give.’ She began to cry, her throat wrenched by small gusty sobs.

Julia sat holding her, feeling frozen.

Worth the gamble, she thought. Those words had a hollow ring. All her life, her father had been a gambler, preferring to live his life on a knife-edge of insecurity. There were years when his betting and baccarat losses had been phenomenal. Julia could remember tearful scenes, and an atmosphere of gloomy repentance which she had only partly understood at the time.

Later, it had been explained to her that their income was adequate as long as they lived quietly and without undue extravagance. But that wasn’t Philip Kendrick’s way. Country life bored him, except in small doses. He was always looking out for some scheme which would restore the family fortunes to some fabled pre-war level. He’d been like some small boy, looking for adventure, she thought. But now the adventure had gone hideously wrong.

She said, ‘Why—did Polly let him?’

‘He didn’t tell him anything about it until it was too late. You see, Daddy had been taking advice from some American he’d met in Monte Carlo—some financial wizard.’ Lydia’s lips tightened. ‘Apparently this man’s just been indicted for fraud in New York.’

Julia felt sick, ‘Oh, God—Daddy’s not involved in that?’

‘Oh, no.’ Lydia’s fingers tore nervously at her handkerchief, but her voice was decisively reassuring. ‘Darling, I know how you must feel—but Daddy did this for the best. The costs of running a house like this, an estate like Ambermere, are punitively high. He wanted you to have—a proper inheritance, not to have to scrimp and save all your life.’

Julia felt immensely weary. ‘Why didn’t you tell me—call me back from Aunt Miriam’s?’

‘We wanted you to have a good time. And there was nothing you could have done.’

‘There must be something. I’m not going to let Ambermere go like this.’ Julia tried to smile. ‘Perhaps no one will want to buy the Albatross. No one we know has that kind of money.’

There was a long silence, then Lydia said quietly, ‘These days, darling, estates like this tend to look for buyers from abroad. And Mr Poulton has found one for us.’

‘Abroad?’ Julia echoed dazedly. She shook her head. ‘Not some Arab prince? I don’t believe it…’

‘Not quite. In fact—’ there were bright spots of colour burning in her mother’s cheeks ‘—I would almost prefer it. This man is Greek—a so-called tycoon. His name is Alexandros Constantis.’

‘Constantis?’ Julia’s brows snapped together. ‘That’s familiar. Does he have a relative called Paul?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Lady Kendrick said with distaste. ‘What I’ve heard of his antecedents is bad enough. I have no wish to enquire into his immediate family. Not that they have very much to do with him,’ she added with unaccustomed waspishness.

‘Then it must be the same man,’ Julia said slowly, thinking, remembering. ‘I had dinner with Paul Constantis a few times—he was charming. He had a post at the Greek Embassy—something fairly junior, I gathered, but he used to joke about nature having intended him to be a millionaire until fate, in the shape of his cousin Alex, had prevented it.’

‘Poor boy,’ Lydia Kendrick said, almost fiercely. ‘I imagine that’s only too true. You’re too young to remember the scandal, of course, but George Constantis was an immensely wealthy man, with a fortune in banking and property all over the Mediterranean. He was a widower, and childless, and his estate was expected to go to his sister and her children. Then lo and behold, on his deathbed, he suddenly revealed that he had an illegitimate son and had left his entire business empire to this child.’ She shook her head. ‘The family wouldn’t have objected to some kind of provision, naturally, but to have this person no one had ever known existed foisted on to them—over them—was appalling. He wasn’t a child, of course. He was already a grown man—but it was said he’d been dragged up in total poverty in some slum, and could barely read or write. There was some mystery about the mother, apparently. It seems she was some little peasant girl Constantis had seduced.

‘They fought, of course. They tried to prove he wasn’t Constantis’s son at all, insisted on blood tests, but they were inconclusive, so then they tried to overturn the will in the courts, saying this Alex had exerted undue influence on the old man while he was ill. It was quite a cause célèbre. But they lost—and he took everything.’

And now, Julia thought, rage rising inside her, now he’s trying to take Ambermere from me. But he won’t. Not someone like that.

‘An uncouth barbarian,’ Paul Constantis had called him, she remembered. Well he wasn’t going to lay his vandal’s hands on her home, if she could prevent it!

She got to her feet, ‘I’m going down to talk to Daddy,’ she said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘There must be something we can do. And surely this Constantis creature can’t be the only prospective buyer we can find?’

‘Apparently he’s made an excellent offer,’ her mother returned. ‘He does a great deal of business over here, and wants a permanent residence where he can entertain.’

‘Bouzouki nights with plate smashing, no doubt,’ Julia said grimly, moving to the door. ‘We’ll see about that!’ She ran along the gallery and down the wide curve of the big staircase, letting her hand slide down the highly polished balustrade as she had always done. As she always would do, she told herself. Ambermere had to be saved somehow.

As she reached the foot of the stairs, the study door opened and her father emerged with Gordon Poulton at his side. He looked tired and haggard, and in spite of her bitterness Julia felt a wrench of her heart at his obvious distress.

He looked up and saw her, and tried to smile. ‘Jools, sweetheart, no one told me you were home. ‘How marvellous!’

She ran to him. ‘Daddy, tell me it’s not true. Promise me you haven’t sold Ambermere to this appalling Greek peasant!’

She heard Gordon Poulton make a shocked noise, and saw her father’s brows snap together in sudden quelling anger. From the shadowy doorway behind them, a third figure detached itself and stepped forward.