Free Being Elizabeth by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

moment or two longer he smiled. Those were not the only characteristics the men had in common. All three were tall, handsome and well dressed, and they could charm, with the greatest of ease, anyone they chose to target, be it man, woman or child.
    Robert Dunley was the youngest at twenty-five, also the tallest and best looking. Slightly more inclined to be a clothes horse than the other two, with his impeccably tailored Savile Row and Armani suits, and flair for dressing, he had many important qualifications. He was an old hand at Deravenels and devoted to the company, his own genuine loyalty bound up with the years of service his father and grandfather had given to the Turners, and before them the Deravenels.
    He was Elizabeth’s only childhood friend and without question her favourite. Robin, as she called him, was the one person who could persuade her to change her mind, make a proper decision, and he could always manage to point her in a better direction. Obviously, this was because he knew her better than anyone else, including Cecil.
    They had clung together as children, especially through her terrible adversities with her father and then Mary. Robert understood her, could cope easily with her many foibles, occasional temper tantrums and bouts of chronic illness. Cecil had known him for years, and his father before him, and a lasting friendship had built up between them.
    Sitting next to Robert was Francis Walsington, a year older at twenty-six. Having studied at Cambridge and Gray’s Inn, Francis and he were on the same wavelength and had long been business allies. Cecil was gratified to have Francis around; he was a shrewd operator with tremendous psychological insight into people, and able to handle any situation with great aplomb and skill. He was an expert on security, intelligence, spying techniques and terrorism, and had numerous strange but useful contacts which Cecil didn’t want to acknowledge but was grateful to know that he had.
    During Mary’s power days at Deravenels Francis had travelled throughout Europe, stayed away from London most of the time. Apart from her peculiar management style, Francis found her religious fervour somewhat sickening. Inherited from her mother, Mary’s devout Roman Catholicism seemed overly zealous to him. Certainly it did not sit well with Francis’s laid-back Protestant outlook on life. He had arrived in London with great alacrity a few weeks ago, fully aware that Elizabeth would soon be running the company, and Cecil had brightened considerably at the sight of him.
    On the other side of Robert was Nicholas Throckman. He was the eldest of the three men. He was forty-three, and he hadbeen a long-time employee at the old trading company. Nicholas had fled at one difficult moment during Mary’s tenure, no longer able to put up with her erratic management of the company and strange behaviour in general. He was well versed in all things pertaining to Deravenels, having worked for Edward Selmere during the latter’s Administration on behalf of Harry’s young son. He had known Elizabeth since her teens and was, in fact, a relative of Catherine Parker, Harry’s sixth wife and widow, who had been Elizabeth’s stepmother and dear friend.
    Of the three men, it was Nicholas who was the most gifted diplomat, in Cecil’s opinion, more than likely because he had had more experience. This morning Elizabeth had said to Cecil, ‘All we need are a few good men.’ She was right. And fortunately, Cecil thought, three of them are sitting here now.
    Rising from behind his desk, Cecil went to join his protégés, saying, as he sat down in a chair, ‘Are you happy? Are you pleased with your appointments, the things Elizabeth proposed to you last Friday?’
    â€˜Absolutely!’ Robert exclaimed. ‘Who wouldn’t be?’
    â€˜The same here,’ Francis agreed.
    â€˜I’m extremely happy, Cecil,’ Nicholas