The Cavendon Women by Barbara Taylor Bradford

mean, unkind. Will you accept my apology? Can we be friends?”
    â€œI suppose so. It all depends on how you treat me now, you know. I won’t stand for any of that old nonsense.”
    Diedre wanted to laugh at Dulcie’s outspokenness, but she swallowed hard, and said, “I promise I won’t verbally abuse you. Or upset you in any way.”
    â€œAll right.” Dulcie now gave her a pointed look. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
    â€œBecause I like you. No, I love you. You’re my sister, after all, and we should all stick together, be close. Closer than we’ve been in the past.”
    Dulcie was still wondering what this was about, what had brought it on. She exclaimed, “That’s an odd thing for you to say. You used to behave as if I was a poisonous snake.”
    A look of chagrin flowed across Diedre’s face, and she felt a tightening in her chest. How could she have behaved in such a dreadful way toward her baby sister? It was suddenly incomprehensible to her. And then it hit her. She had been unhappy at that time, at odds with the family, and she had taken it out on a child. Shame filled her, rendered her silent. She had been a mean-spirited woman, it seemed, and she was saddened.
    After a moment, Dulcie said, “You’re looking morose. What is it? Is there something wrong, Diedre?”
    There was such concern in her sister’s voice, Diedre felt even worse, and she did not answer. After a short silence she finally said, “I am feeling very ashamed of myself for treating you the way I did … after all, you were only a child, as you just reminded me.”
    â€œPerhaps you were a little jealous, because Papa spoiled and pampered me.”
    â€œYou might be right,” Diedre concurred. Thirteen years ago she had faced many problems in the family, jealousy one of them.
    â€œI was his favorite, and still am,” Dulcie now announced, giving Diedre a hard stare.
    With a faint smile, Diedre replied, “He’s clever, our darling father, and he always has been. He makes each of his four daughters feel special, that each one of us is his favorite, and the one he loves the most. And, in fact, he does. He loves us all equally.”
    â€œTrue. More than I can say about Felicity. She was no mother to me. She’s an odd one. Everyone says it’s because she’s under the influence of the knife-wielding Lawrence Pierce … that she’s so strange these days, I mean. What do you think? And is he really a blond Adonis, with the glamorous looks of a matin e e idol jumping around a stage in the West End? A man so well endowed no woman can resist him?”
    Diedre burst out laughing. “My goodness, what colorful language you use, Dulcie. You’re certainly a chip off two old blocks, mine and Aunt Gwendolyn’s.”
    â€œAm I supposed to take that as a compliment?” Dulcie asked, a blond brow lifting.
    â€œOur great-aunt would think it was. I have a feeling she’s rather proud of her way with words, even if she’s a bit tart at times. As I often am myself.”
    â€œSo be it. Have you ever met Felicity’s little playfellow?”
    â€œOnce or twice, in the early days of their relationship, just after the war started. And yes, he is very good-looking, loaded with charm, but full of himself. He’s a brilliant surgeon, everyone says that. But doctors like him, who save lives and perform miracles of a sort, are egomaniacs. They think they’re God and untouchable. And also to be revered on bended knee.”
    â€œI’ve heard that before, and the quote about being God is always attributed to you, Diedre, if you care about such things.”
    â€œI don’t, and you were a neglected child, in my opinion, at least you were neglected by Felicity. Others loved you very much and took care of you in her absence. Still, our mother was behaving in a weird way in those days, and her mind