Simon stood up and moved to the window to watch the boats moving soundlessly up and down the busy River Thames, hundreds of feet below him. He pondered his fate. Mentally running through a list of all the people he knew who might be in a position to help him, an idea slowly began to emerge of just how he could get himself out of the predicament he was in. A steady stream of women had wound their way in and out of his life but at this moment there was one who could maybe, just maybe, solve his little problem. He flicked through his address book, picked up the telephone beside his bed and dialled the number of Canleigh Hall in Yorkshire. His heart was thumping.
* * *
Margaret had been back at Canleigh for a week. The half-term school holiday was over and the children were returning to school. Delia had departed for Thistledown Girls School in Harrogate with Hardy driving the old shooting brake this morning as Charles had taken Richard and Vicky down to Eton and Roedean yesterday in the Rolls, had stayed down south overnight, and was due back this afternoon. He had asked her if she would like to accompany them but the idea of spending so many hours cooped up in the car with only Charles and the children for company wasn’t her idea of fun. She had declined and by the look on their faces, they weren’t surprised or disappointed by her decision.
She idled the morning away, flicking through fashion magazines on the cream velvet chaise lounge in her sitting room, overlooking the massive lawn at the front of Canleigh and the woods beyond. Growing bored and having nothing else she wished to do, she lay back, closed her eyes, and dreamt of a world without Charles. If it wasn’t for him, she could have a fabulous existence. It was so frustrating having her wings clipped by him and she could only imagine what it must be like to be completely free of male domination. How sublime that would be.
But then, it could happen one day, as Charles’ health was always a cause for concern. He had been terribly ill with pneumonia while incarcerated at Colditz Castle during the war and with the neglect and poor treatment he received at the time, he had been left with a much-weakened heart although provided he did as advised, there was no reason he couldn’t live a normal life. Charles had told her just before he asked for her hand in marriage and did explain the problem but the medical detail had been of little interest to her and having little affection for him at the time, she saw no reason to worry. Indeed, quite the reverse. If he should die prematurely, she would be left in a very comfortable position. Even more so now that she had spawned three children to continue the Canleigh line. To actually get her hands on his millions and to have no-one to curb her desires was a tantalising and dizzying prospect but until that day, if it ever came, she had no choice but to abide by his rules. She felt so depressed she could cry.
When the cream telephone on the table by the window tinkled moments later, she nearly didn’t answer it but if she didn’t, it would only lead to someone banging on her door to make sure she was all right.
“A Mr. Simon Parfitt for you, Your Grace,” Susan Armitage, Charles’s secretary announced crisply.
Margaret’s heart flipped over, her skin tingled all over her body, and her legs turned to jelly when she heard Simon’s rich, smooth voice. She had never expected him to ring her here but she was so pleased he had.
“London has been engulfed by a deep depression,” Simon remarked fatuously, causing Margaret to smile. “This has occurred because a certain Duchess flitted away recently with no indication of when, or even worse, if, she would return. All signs of life and sparkle have been extinguished from our most wondrous capital and it can only be described as a dull and dismal place without a certain person.”
Margaret’s smile broadened as she twirled the gold chain around her neck and stroked the fluffy front of her pink mule slipper of her right foot along the back of her left leg. “I’m sure that’s not strictly true,” she teased.
The purr of delight in Margaret’s voice gave Simon courage. He warmed to his theme. “Margaret … the lovely … the luscious, Duchess of Canleigh. This state of affairs simply cannot be allowed to continue. It is nothing short of imperative that London is graced with your presence tonight. This very day is the anniversary of my birth and in recognition of such a great and auspicious occasion, a party is being held … to which you are duly invited. I would also add that if you don’t come all the guests will be sent home and I shall throw myself off Tower Bridge.”
Margaret laughed gaily, feeling a considerable number of her thirty-two years dissolving away. She could have been seventeen again. “My dear Simon, I don’t believe that for one moment. But as it happens you are in luck. I only popped home to Yorkshire for a brief visit and I’m on my way back to town today,” she lied casually, not wanting him to know just how eager she really was to be with him. “I’ve an engagement earlier this evening,” she lied again “but I could possibly make it to the party later … about midnight.”
“Midnight! Oh, sweet midnight,” Simon sang
