Being Elizabeth by Barbara Taylor Bradford Read Free Book Online Page A

yes.’
    He laughed. ‘And what are the other four?’
    â€˜Latin, French, Italian and German.’
    â€˜German’s tough to master. Clever girl, clever girl, Elizabeth. Now turn around, let me look at you properly.’
    She did as he asked, feeling able to smile at him, feeling more relaxed, less intimidated.
    â€˜By God, you’re a true Turner!’ he cried. ‘My red-gold hair, my height, and my father’s lean build. And a Deravenel as well. You have my mother’s colouring, yes indeed. Well, I can’t say I mind having a true Turner for a daughter. I’m rather chuffed about it, actually. Now let’s go to the dining room and have lunch, and I shall tell you all about Deravenels, and how I run it.’
    Elizabeth looked up at him, and a wide smile spread acrossher face. ‘I’d like that, Father, and perhaps one day you will take me to Deravenels.’
    â€˜After lunch,’ he promised, getting hold of her hand and leading her to the dining room in the Chelsea house.

    Sitting up in the chair, Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet and went into her dressing room, stood staring at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was a true Turner all right, with a large dose of Deravenel thrown in.
    The smile lingered on her face as she went into the library and sat down at the desk in the corner. How could she ever forget that day …? The day she was rehabilitated and became something of a favourite of his … the day she had started to admire him, understanding what an extraordinary tycoon he was. And love for him had softened all that hatred, which had formed around her like a carapace. She would always have mixed feelings about her father, but loving him had become easier as the next few years had passed, and by the time he died there was little hatred left. She was glad of that.

F IVE
    â€˜C ome on, Elizabeth, stop dithering and let’s go,’ Robert Dunley said, staring hard at her. ‘We don’t have to stay very long if you don’t want to, but I do think it’s a good idea to have a look around.’
    â€˜Oh, all right,’ she answered after another moment of hesitation. Robert had invited her to have Sunday lunch at the Savoy, but when she had arrived a few minutes ago he had told her they first had to go over to Deravenels.
    Nodding, looking pleased, he now took hold of her arm, propelled her through the hotel lobby and out into the forecourt. Within seconds they were crossing the Strand, heading for the humungous building that was Deravenels.
    â€˜What is it that you want me to see, actually?’ she asked curiously.
    â€˜It’s a surprise.’ His dark brown eyes filled with laughter. ‘And I can’t wait to see your face.’
    â€˜But what is it?’ she probed, impatient to know what this was.
    â€˜Can’t tell you,’ he answered firmly as they came to a stop in front of the huge double door of the building. Robert immediately punched a number into the keypad embeddedin the stone wall to the left of the door, and stood back, waiting.
    A split-second later, a disembodied voice came through the intercom system: ‘Good morning. Who is it, please?’
    â€˜Good morning, Alfred, it’s Robert Dunley.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir. Please enter.’
    There was a loud buzzing noise; Robert pushed the heavy door and, as it sprang open, he escorted Elizabeth inside.
    Standing waiting for them in the central lobby was the weekend commissionaire, Alfred Vine. His face lit up at the sight of Elizabeth and he exclaimed, ‘Miss Turner! What a pleasure to see you. Welcome back.’
    â€˜It’s nice to see you, too, Alfred.’ Elizabeth gave him a warm smile; she had known him for years, as she had most of the service staff.
    â€˜I was sorry to hear about Mrs Turner Alvarez,’ the commissionaire went on in a low tone. ‘My condolences, Miss Turner.’
    â€˜Thank you, that’s