In the Lion’s Den: The House of Falconer

Henry rose and walked across to the drinks table, poured cognac into two balloons and carried them back to the fireside. ‘Here you are, Falconer, a bit of good old Napoleon. I want to make a toast to the new arcade in Hull.’

James was not a big drinker, but he took the brandy balloon and clinked his glass to Mr Malvern’s. ‘To the new Malvern arcade.’

‘In the City of Gaiety,’ Henry added, and took a swallow of the brandy. ‘And to all of our other projects,’ he added.

James smiled, took a sip of the drink and felt a slight burning in the back of his throat. ‘I suppose you are going to spend what’s left of tonight with your parents,’ Henry murmured, cutting into James’s thoughts.

‘Yes, I am, sir, when I leave here. I enjoy being at home with my family.’

A fleeting smile crossed Henry’s face and was gone. ‘I wish I could say the same,’ he said in a wistful voice. ‘Anyway, Bolland will drive you to Camden Town.’

Paying attention to him and listening to him carefully, James felt a sudden twinge of sadness for Henry Malvern, who was undoubtedly rather lonely. And then it turned into a surge of genuine anger about Alexis, who was being unkind to her father, strange in her behaviour towards him. It was as if she were unaware of his existence these days.

Finally he said, ‘Thank you for offering the carriage, sir. I’m grateful for your kindness.’

Although he arrived late, Rossi was so happy to see her brother, she hugged him tightly for a good few minutes, before standing away and staring at him. ‘You get better and better,’ she said, laughing, holding onto his arm. ‘You look like … a shiny new penny, James Lionel Falconer, and I’m proud to be your sister.’

‘Adoring sister,’ Eddie corrected her, grinning at his older brother. ‘And I agree with her – you gleam, Jimmy, but maybe more like a brass button than a penny.’

James couldn’t help laughing at Eddie’s comment. After squeezing his younger brother’s shoulder affectionately, he walked forward into the cosy kitchen. He stood with his back to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the fire blazing up the chimney.

He glanced around, loving everything about this room in which he had grown up: the copper pots, pans and moulds hanging on a wall, gleaming brightly in the light from the gas lamps. The long oak table under the window was set for supper, with ten chairs squeezed around it; closer to him were the big armchairs facing the fire. One of the old leather chairs was his father’s favourite; it was where he sat and read the newspaper, enjoyed a glass of beer, finally relaxing after being on his feet all day in the Malvern market. It was Eddie who helped him on the stalls these days.

He smiled to himself, remembering the many times he had sat at that long table, reading a book, or helping Eddie with his reading and writing.

He never had to help his sister, who was quite the scholar. When it came to history, English, writing essays and stories, no one could surpass her. Rossi’s sewing was even better in a certain sense. The shawls she made were intricately put together so that they looked like works of art. In fact, he thought they were Art with a capital ‘A’.

James loved Rossi very much, and admired her talent. Over the last few years she had developed into a really good designer. His mother worked with her and, in the past year, he had convinced Rossi to hire some of the local women to help out with shawls, scarves, and capes. Sewing was a national hobby. Every woman in England sewed; the women Rossi had selected from the area of Camden were good at what they did, and Rossi was thriving.

Glancing across at Rossi now, James said in a warm and loving tone, ‘The last few shawls you made were so beautiful, Rossi. The way you place various fabrics at angles … sort of like a patchwork, but somehow better.’

‘Thank you, James,’ Rossi responded with a quick, pleased smile.

She walked over to the cupboard and took out the rest of the glasses and plates. James joined her, and they placed them at each setting, to finish the table.

Eddie left his own special little corner to one side of the fireplace, where he kept his easel and paintbrushes. He always had a canvas he was at work on, painting being his passion.

‘I’m glad Grandma and Grandpa are here tonight,’ Eddie said, coming to stand next to his brother, smiling up at him.

‘So am I,’ James replied. ‘How lucky we are that the Honourable Mister and Lady Agatha are in Europe for two months, which means our grandparents are free to join us on Saturdays. I’m just sorry I’m so late.’

Rossi nodded. ‘It’s like a gift, having them here. Uncle George and Uncle Harry have also arrived. They’re in the front room. With Father.’

‘So Uncle Harry isn’t making the supper tonight?’ James asked, surprise echoing in his voice.

‘No, we did it,’ Eddie announced.

‘Mother has been supervising us,’ Rossi explained. ‘She’s just changing her frock. She’ll be down in a few minutes.’

‘You should have told me that the other day,’ James said. ‘Forewarned is forearmed.’

‘I made a lamb stew this morning and cooked it with carrots, parsnips and chopped onions, plus a few herbs. Now that you’re here I’ll put it back in the oven.’

‘I’ll go and greet everyone,’ James smiled at her. ‘But come and get me if you need me.’

When the entire Falconer family came together for their Saturday night suppers, it was always a joyous occasion. Tonight was no exception: they loved each other and were proud of their endeavours and achievements, and revelled in being with each other. They hadn’t seen Philip and Esther since the supper at the Montague London house, and everyone was relieved to see that their grandfather was moving around freely on crutches now.

Philip, still with a cast on his leg, was full of praise for Matthew’s stalls, for James and his success at the Malvern Company and Eddie for his artistic efforts. He also complimented his two other sons, remarking on George’s latest story for The Chronicle and pointing out, with pride in his voice, that Harry was about to open a fully fledged restaurant at last. He added that he was happy Harry was keeping the name Rendezvous, which was what his café was also called.

‘Because everyone has loved the café, they’ll recognize the name and come rushing over. You will be flooded with customers.’

Everyone laughed. Picking up his glass of red wine, which he always chose over the beer the other men drank, Philip toasted the women present. His wife Esther, his daughter-in-law Maude, and his granddaughter Rossi. The men joined in, full of smiles.

The stew had been relished, called the best they’d ever eaten, and seconds were served. Later, it was Maude and Esther who cut slices of apple pie and covered them with Bird’s custard. The finishing touch was a cup of coffee for those who enjoyed it.

Surveying the table at one moment, looking at each and every member of his family, James Lionel Falconer understood how lucky he was to be part of this clan. In their different ways, they were all quite wonderful. And very special. He loved them and they loved him, and that was all that mattered. Whatever was unfolding in his work, they would support him. If he chose not to take up the extraordinary chance Henry Malvern had offered him, the chance to move on from working the market to being in business, he knew his family would champion him, however risky it might seem. And as for Alexis Malvern? His eyes rested on his parents, Matthew and Maude. The love they had was what he yearned for some day – a love that was kind and true. And nothing about Alexis Malvern made him believe he would find it with her.

PART TWO (#ulink_a0316c7e-a2f1-50fb-bf18-3b4c6f701049)

EIGHT (#ulink_5b547ac4-65c6-5095-84a9-8ff4b98501aa)

James Falconer stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, giving himself the once-over. He nodded and decided he looked correct, finally admitted he liked his new dark navy-blue suit after all. It had been an investment he’d felt he needed to make, but he’d had to save hard for it.

Straightening his dark navy cravat, he turned away from the mirror and left the bedroom, taking out his pocket watch as he did so. It was exactly five minutes to five. He realized he might as well go down to the street. His colleague and friend Peter Keller was picking him up in a carriage in a few minutes.

He locked the door of the small flat behind him and ran down the stairs. It was a lovely June afternoon. The sun was still shining in a clear blue sky above the tall thin Georgian houses that lined their street, many of them given over to lodgings and apartments like his uncle’s. As he stood on the front steps of their building, he suddenly grinned at the sight of Uncle George walking towards him.

‘Well, well, well, don’t you look the toff,’ George said, also grinning. ‘And where are you off to, all dressed up and fit to kill?’ Then he frowned. ‘Must be somewhere special, you’re usually working till midnight.’

‘I’m going to a supper for Natalya Parkinson – Natalie, as we call her outside the office – who works at Malvern’s, as you know. Her aunt is Mrs Lorne, the well-known philanthropist. She’s giving a little celebration because Mr Malvern has put Natalie on the Hull team.’ James winked. ‘At my suggestion. She’s going to work with me on the building of the new arcade, as my assistant.’

‘Good for you, I feel pleased you know how to delegate. You got Keller promoted. I know that.’

James nodded. ‘The Wine Division needed someone to take over. And he deserved it. Look, here he comes now. At least I think he’s in this carriage coming down the street. We’re going together.’

When the carriage came to a stop, the window came down, and Peter Keller looked out at them.

‘Good evening,’ he said, opening the door. To James he murmured, ‘I didn’t know your uncle was coming.’

‘He’s not. He’s just arrived back from the newspaper.’ James squeezed George’s arm and said, ‘See you later, Uncle George.’

‘Have a good time, lads. Nice to see you, Keller,’ George answered and went into the building.

Climbing into the carriage, James sat down opposite Peter Keller and pulled the door closed. Settling against the seatback, he said, ‘I’m very glad you agreed to come. You seemed a bit hesitant at first.’

‘I think I was. I don’t know any of the other guests. Only Miss Parkinson.’ He gave James a sheepish look, and added, ‘Whom I like a lot, actually.’

James smiled. ‘I know you do, and I suspect Natalie likes you too.’