Sapphires in Siam E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 207

Beschreibung

A heartbreakingly handsome Marquis. A waterlogged body in a Siamese river with international adventurer and spy, Calvin Brook's signet ring on its finger. A summons from the King of Siam – and the voyage east with a beautiful, utterly determined young stowaway, Ankana – Calvin Brook's hot-headed and devoted daughter. He hates her. She hates him. But on their perilous journey to find Ankana's father and foil a murderous gang stealing sacred sapphires, an accidental kiss changes everything forever.

Leseprobe

Dedication

Dedicated to Ankana Gilwee, who is a very important and charming part of the best hotel in the world ­– which is the fabulous Oriental in Bangkok.

Author's Note

When I visited Thailand for the fourth time, I went to Chiang Mai in the North, and Pattaya in the South.

In the popular sea resort, which had once been a small fishing village, I found an ancient, unlisted Temple on a hill above the bay, exactly as I have described it in this novel.

Thailand is the only Buddhist country I have visited that sticks small specks of gold leaf on their Holy images.

Much of the authentic information in this book comes from a very interesting description of the Duke of Sutherland’s voyage to Siam and Malaya in 1889.

The Duke’s party was received by King Chulalongkorn and they dined in state in his Palace.

There were no punkas in Siam, but attendants in crimson costumes waved large feather fans over the heads of the guests, while a native band played Siamese music, interspersed with a selection from ‘The Bohemian Girl’ and ‘Faust’.

I also found the newly gilded Grand Palace in Bangkok breathtakingly beautiful, the Oriental Hotel the finest hotel in the East, and Pattaya very exciting.

Chapter One ~ 1898

The Marquis of Vale lay with closed eyes and knew he was bored.

Bored with the softness of the bed, the airlessness of the room, and the fragrance of tuberoses, which were supposed to arouse passion.

He was bored too, with the warm, clinging creature lying close to him.

It was not unusual for the Marquis to be bored.

But on this occasion, when it was only the second time he had been in bed with Lady Sybil Westoak, his boredom had come upon him unprecedentedly quickly.

The trouble, the Marquis reflected, was that nothing that happened had any originality about it.

He was able to predict at the beginning of the evening exactly what would be said and what would happen.

Looking back over the last dozen of his love affairs, he found there was a uniformity about them.

This inevitably made him bored long before the lady in question realised what was happening.

It was not surprising that the Marquis expected each of the women to whom he made love, to have an individuality of her own.

All the landmarks in his life to date had been strangely unexpected.

He had entered the Army when he left Oxford and proved himself a good soldier and an outstanding commander, especially on the battlefield.

He had however, because of his strong personality and a talent for diplomacy, been sent to India as an aide-de-camp to the Viceroy.

While he was enjoying the East as a member of the Raj he had unexpectedly come into a huge fortune through his maternal grandfather.

On an impulse to escape from the pomp and conventions of his social life and his duties in India, he had resigned from the Army and started to travel.

This had brought him in touch with all sorts of strange people, unusual religions and at times, into considerable danger.

When his father died, he had inherited the Marquisate, again unexpectedly, owing to the death of his elder brother on the battlefield.

This resulted in him finding himself lionised in the very sophisticated and amusing society headed by the Prince of Wales.

It was only to be expected that he would be persona grata at Marlborough House.

It was no less inevitable that every woman who met him had a glint in her eye that was obviously an invitation.

At first the Marquis was pleasantly intrigued, finding the English Ladies of Quality very different from the women with whom he had associated on his travels.

But as somebody had cynically said, ‘All cats are grey in the dark’, he soon found a sameness about his successive affaires de coeur that made him yawn.

What he really enjoyed, if he was honest, was the preliminary chase.

It gave him the same feeling of excitement and achievement as when he had climbed in the Himalayas, or of finally being a victor when some lovely woman surrendered herself to him.

Unfortunately, it did not happen like that.

Lady Sybil had stalked him as if he were a stag for two months before he finally succumbed to her insistence.

He had thought, when he first saw her come into the ballroom at Marlborough House after he had enjoyed an intimate dinner with the Prince and Princess of Wales, that she was exceptional.

When finally it was he who succumbed, rather than she who surrendered, he found that she was no different from the other women he had left unhappy or affronted over the past years.

There was no doubt that Lady Sybil was very lovely. She had the beauty of a Greek goddess, and her hair was the colour of the sky at dawn.

But there was nothing behind the transparency of her blue eyes and she never said anything that he could remember afterwards.

Their lovemaking had been satisfactory – he could not deny that.

At the same time, he knew that he wanted something more than physical satisfaction. What that was he could not explain, even to himself.

He threw back the lace-edged sheet, and as he started to get out of the bed, Lady Sybil gave a little cry of anguish.

“You are not leaving me, Osmond?”

“It is time I went home.”

“But it is still quite early! How can I lose you?”

The Marquis did not answer, and she went on, her hands caressing him.

“No one could be a more wonderful lover, and it is marvellous that as Edward is away, we can be together again tomorrow night.”

The Marquis knew that from his point of view that was improbable, but he was too tactful to say so.

Only with difficulty, because Lady Sybil was clinging to him, did he manage to get to his feet.

She threw herself petulantly back against the pillows saying,

“I cannot think why you must leave me when there is no chance of anybody stirring in the house until five o’clock.”

“You forget I have to be home before my servants are awake,” the Marquis replied.

Lady Sybil laughed.

“They must be used by this time to your coming in with the dawn! But, darling, I will let you go now if you promise you will dine here tomorrow night.”

She paused a moment, and then continued,

“I shall see you at luncheon, as we are both invited to Devonshire House.”

The Marquis, dressing himself quickly and deftly, thought that the only redeeming feature at luncheon would be the Duchess.

Although she was now growing old, she was always amusing. When he thought of her, he knew that she typified what he really desired in a woman but could not find.

As the Duchess of Manchester, she had stunned London with her beauty. She had a kind of aura of innocence and purity about her that the Marquis remembered his father saying was most attractive.

Later, when after the death of her husband she became enamoured of the Marquess of Hartington, her behaviour was exemplary.

She never addressed him in public except coolly and by his title.  For many years even the most knowledgeable gossips were never quite certain if the Marquess was or was not her lover.

Even when eventually she married him and became the Duchess of Devonshire, she still had a dignity about her.

It made her outstanding, and no husband could have asked for a more attentive wife.

‘Why cannot more women be like that?’ the Marquis asked himself as he buttoned his shirt.

In his own experience he found that women always wanted to flaunt the fact that he was theirs.

Only a week ago he had said to the present recipient of his affections,

“Do not look so pleased to see me when I come into a room where our friends are congregated.”

“But I am pleased to see you, Osmond!” she, had answered. “The moment you appear my heart leaps and I want to run into your arms!”

The Marquis retorted irritably that it was just the sort of thing he disliked because it led to people gossiping about him.

He had no desire for the husband of the lady in question to call him out in a duel. Duels were firmly forbidden by Queen Victoria, but they still occasionally took place.

However the Marquis did not wish to be involved in one, especially when the ‘woman in the case’, as far as he was concerned, was very dispensable.

‘That is the whole trouble,’ he thought.

All the women with whom he had had affairs meant very little to him once he had had them in his arms.

He would have enjoyed scaling the heights of Abraham or diving down deep into the sea to capture them.

But he had only to take one step in their direction and their lips were turned up to his.

‘Dammit all! What am I complaining about?’ he asked his reflection in the mirror as he put the finishing touch to his evening tie.

He shrugged himself into his exceedingly well-cut long-tailed coat.

Then he turned to look at Lady Sybil who was lying in a deliberately abandoned position on the crumpled bed.

“Thank you, Sybil,” he said in his deep voice, “for a very enjoyable evening.”

When she realised he was really going, she sat up revealing her exquisitely curved breasts.

“How can you be so cruel as to go when I want you to stay?” she asked.

The Marquis took her outstretched hand and lifted it perfunctorily to his lips as he said,

“Go to sleep, Sybil. I shall expect you to look the most beautiful person at Devonshire House tomorrow.”

Her fingers tightened on his.

“And we will be together again tomorrow night,” she said softly. “Oh, Osmond, I love you so! I feel tomorrow will never come!”

He smiled at her, took his hand with some difficulty from hers and left the room quickly.

As she heard his footsteps going down the passage towards the stairs, she got out of bed wondering if she had been foolish to let him go.

However she resisted an impulse to run after him to prevent him from leaving.

‘I will keep him with me longer tomorrow night!’ she promised herself.

*

As the Marquis went down the stairs into the hall, a footman who was half-asleep rose quickly from the chair in which he had been sitting to open the front door.

The Marquis told himself he must think of a convincing excuse for not entering the house again.

It was impossible simply to tell a woman he was bored.

Usually he timed the ending of his love affairs to coincide with a pressing engagement out of London, like the races at Newmarket, or the opening of the shooting season in Scotland.

Although, at the moment, he could find no good excuse for not dining with Lady Sybil, he told himself confidently that he would think of one by the morning.

The night air was cold and sharp but as Westoak House was only a short distance from his own he had not ordered a carriage to wait for him.

Instead he walked, having a sudden vision of snow-capped mountains, or the waves of the sea storm-tossed in the Bay of Biscay.

‘I have to stay in England for the moment,’ he told himself.

Then he realised that the frost in the air had swept away the cloying heat and over-scented atmosphere of Sybil’s bedroom.

By the time he reached Vale House he was feeling quite cold but invigorated.

He instructed the night-footman that he would ride in the morning at eight o’clock before breakfast.

Then he hurried up the stairs to his bedroom where his valet was waiting for him. He undressed, saying as little as possible, as he was not conversational at this hour of the morning.

When he got into bed, he did not immediately fall asleep, as he expected to do.  He found himself wondering once again why women so quickly palled on him.

He knew that his contemporaries would not believe it possible that he had no wish to touch Sybil again. She was recognised to be one of the most beautiful women in London.

There seemed to be almost a profusion of such beauties.

All of them were to be found at Marlborough House, for the Prince of Wales. Although he was growing older he had the same penchant for a pretty face that he had had since he was a very young man.

He certainly enjoyed the delights of love wherever he found them.

The Marquis saw no reason why he should not follow His Royal Highness’s example.

It was not only that he was resisting marriage, despite the pleas of his relatives that he should produce an heir. But he was also unusually fastidious in that he never took a mistress of a lower class than his own.

There was certainly no need for him to pay for his pleasures.

Also he thought the idea of keeping a discreet little house in St. John’s Wood, as did most members of his club, was somehow degrading.

Why should he want anything other than the well-bred Ladies of Quality. They were, as he well knew, all anxious for his attentions and made it very obvious that they were interested in him the moment they saw him.

He turned over restlessly in his bed, saying as he did so,

“I am bored! Bored! Bored! Bored!”

His words seemed to echo in his ears until finally he fell asleep.

*

The next morning the Marquis found there had not only been a heavy frost in the night, but there was also a bitter wind blowing through the trees in Hyde Park.

There were few riders besides himself.

As he enjoyed the exercise, he found the sharpness of the wind pleasingly invigorating.

However he realised he was hungry when he returned home for breakfast at nine o’clock.

There was the usual sideboard in the dining room laden with silver entrée dishes filled with food to tempt him. On the table there was a large pat of golden butter from his Jersey cows at Vale Park in Hertfordshire, and a pot of honey from his own bees. Besides this there were hot scones and a small cottage loaf of fresh bread, which his chef had baked for him while it was still dark.

The Marquis, however, was a careful eater as he had no desire to increase his weight.

He had no wish by the time he was the same age as the Prince of Wales, to look like him. He therefore took a great deal of exercise.

When he was in the country he rode round his estate in all weathers, only using a carriage if he was going out to dinner. In consequence he had not a surplus ounce of flesh on his body.

As he rose from the breakfast table, he was aware that there were half-a-dozen dishes still left untouched. He knew that few other men in his position would notice it or think it a waste of food. In fact, he supposed most of it would be finished in the Servants’ Hall.

He had often on his travels had to exist for long intervals on very short rations, so he therefore appreciated the value of what he ate.

He thought however as he left the dining room that any criticism he might make would only upset and surprise the household.

They carried on in exactly the same way as they had when his father was alive. Doubtless, too, there had been few changes since his grandfather’s time.

He went to his study where his secretary, Mr. Bowes, had left his letters waiting for him on his desk.

Those that obviously concerned business or engagements had been opened.

However, those that were faintly scented or written with a flowing hand were put in a separate pile untouched. The Marquis settled himself to open and read those.

“His Excellency the Ambassador of Siam, My Lord!”

The Marquis looked up in surprise.

He had met the Siamese Ambassador several times before at parties but could think of no reason why he should be calling on him at such an early hour.

He was a small man with hair that was just turning grey. He bowed respectfully to the Marquis who rose from his desk to greet him.

Then he said in excellent English,

 “You must forgive me, My Lord, for calling upon you so early, but I have urgent news from Bangkok, which I felt should be conveyed to you without delay.”

“Do sit down, Your Excellency,” the Marquis invited, wondering as he spoke what the news could be.

The Ambassador seated himself on an upright chair and as the Marquis sat down near him, he said,

“I am instructed by His Majesty King Chulalongkorn to inform you that Mr. Calvin Brook is dead!”

The Marquis exclaimed. “Dead? Are you sure?”

“I was afraid, My Lord, you would find it somewhat of a shock, but the message from His Majesty informed me that you were to be the first to be told of Mr. Brook’s demise.”

He paused for a moment to let the news sink in before he continued,

“Moreover, if it is at all possible, His Majesty would be exceedingly grateful if you could visit him in Bangkok immediately.”

The Marquis stared at the Ambassador in astonishment.

He was extremely perturbed to hear of his friend’s death and it seemed very strange that King Chulalongkorn should wish to see him personally.

Then as he considered what he had been told, he knew the answer.

There was probably something strange about Calvin Brook’s death. More than that, something which undoubtedly involved diplomatic, and perhaps even more important problems.

The Marquis had met Calvin Brook several years ago in India.

He had been told then that he was a very strange and unusual man.

He guessed, although no one had said as much, that he was deeply involved in what was. known as ‘The Great Game’. This was the counter-espionage service’s project monitoring Russian ambitions to conquer India by causing as much disturbance as possible amongst the tribesmen on the Frontier.

Then later he had met Calvin Brook unexpectedly in Nepal.

He found he was a man who was continually involved in a thousand different ways in national politics, not only concerning India, but many other countries in the East.

He then had travelled widely with Calvin Brook and looking back, he thought it was a time of more excitement than he had ever known before or since in his life.

It was not only perils of sea, jungle, or desert that confronted them. He found himself helping to quell riots, anticipate uprisings, and a half-a-dozen times at least, nearly forfeiting his life in the attempt.

It was an experience he would never forget.

He only left Calvin Brook when he had been forced to return home on his father's death.

Now he knew that Calvin was dead and it would be a grievous loss to the world.

On his return to England he had learnt from the Secretary for Foreign Affairs that Calvin Brook had been offered a peerage and various other distinctions. He had refused them all.

It was typical of the man that he preferred to remain anonymous. He had no wish to be beholden to anyone or indeed to belong to any particular country. He just wished to be ‘in the thick of things’, and managed to turn up wherever there was a trouble-spot and by some miraculous means of his own, to take the heat out of it.

All this flashed through the Marquis’s mind before he said,

“it cannot be true! It is impossible to believe that Brook is dead!”

“I think in fact, there is some mystery about it,” the Ambassador said quietly, “and that is why His Majesty is asking for you.”

Because the Marquis knew the Eastern mind so well, he was certain the Ambassador was being perceptive and finding more in the message he had received, than was actually written down in words.

There was a long pause before the Marquis said,

“I will leave for Bangkok immediately! Will you telegraph His Majesty to expect me?”

The Ambassador’s smile seemed to stretch from ear to ear.

“That is very gracious of Your Lordship, and I know how delighted His Majesty will be to receive you.”

Then, as the Marquis would have risen, he added,

“There is one thing more. It would be very gracious of you, My Lord, since you knew Calvin Brook so well, if you will break the news of his death to his daughter. “

The Marquis stared. “I had forgotten he had a daughter!”

“She is in London at the moment under the chaperonage of her aunt, Lady Brook, the widow of Calvin Brook’s brother.”

“Of course I will call on her,” the Marquis said.

“That is very kind of you,” the Ambassador replied.

“I am afraid she will be very distressed by the loss of her father.”

The Marquis was sure that was true.

He remembered that Calvin Brook had once told him that his wife had been dead, for some years, and their only child, a daughter, was at the time in Cairo.

“I left her there six months ago when I came East,” he said. “She is with friends who will take her back to England where she will go to school.”

He sighed before he went on. “She has been travelling with me, but it is now essential she should be properly educated. But I miss her, I miss her very much!”

The Marquis had hardly listened and had in fact thought that Calvin Brook would find his companionship a good deal more satisfactory than that of a child.

He now remembered Calvin Brook’s concern before they had set out on their last expedition together, which had involved travelling in great discomfort through Burma and into Siam. Calvin Brook had asked him then if anything happened to him whether he would undertake to be the guardian of his daughter.

“I will do anything you like,” the Marquis had said lightly, “but, for God’s sake, take care of yourself!”

He had paused a moment before he went on,

“You are too valuable to be killed by a poisoned dart or die of some jungle fever where there is no doctor within a hundred miles of us!”

Calvin Brook had laughed.

“I will try to do neither of those things! In fact where we are going, we are far more likely to have a knife thrust in our back, or a bullet between our eyes, and have not the least idea who our assailant may be.”

“I am glad you warned me!” the Marquis laughed.

He remembered that before they left to encounter the dangers that Calvin Brook had described, he had sent a letter to England.

He had informed his solicitors that in the event of his death, Lord Osmond Skelton-Vale would become the guardian of his daughter Ankana.

“Yes, that is her name!” the Marquis said aloud. “Ankana!”

“In Siamese that means ‘Beautiful Woman’,” the Ambassador explained.

“Then let us hope she lives up to her name,” the Marquis answered.

*

Soon after his conversation with the Ambassador of Siam, the Marquis left to drive towards Belgravia where he learnt Miss Ankana Brook was staying with her aunt.

He wondered if she would in any way resemble her father who had been a good-looking man.

Or if she would be shy, gauche and rather clumsy, as he thought young English girls were when he compared them to those of other nations.

He had been entranced by the grace and beauty of the Indian women. The children with their huge dark eyes were like something out of a picture book.

He could say the same about the girls in Ceylon.

He remembered thinking that the women of Bali and those of Siam had a grace that could not be found in the West.

‘Too large, too heavy and too hearty!’ he said to himself as his footman rang the bell of the house he was visiting.

Having asked for Miss Ankana Brook, he was shown into a well-furnished, but rather dull drawing room. He was sure it was identical with every other drawing room in the whole square.

As he waited, he thought that Calvin would certainly not fit in with such conventionality. He could see him wearing a sarong when it was hot, and nothing else. He would walk up to his waist in the muddy water through which they had to travel in parts of the Malayan jungle.

As the door opened, he turned to look in surprise at the girl who had just come in.

She was small by English standards, not more than five foot five, and she was very slim. Her hair was dark and her eyes seemed enormous in a small heart-shaped face. She was so different from what the Marquis had expected that he could only stare at her.