Kitabı oku: «A Woman of Substance»
BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD
A Woman of Substance
COPYRIGHT
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Granada Publishing 1980
This paperback edition 2019
Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 1979
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019 Cover photograph © Sandra Cunningham/Trevillion Images
Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007321421
Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780007346943
Version: 2019-12-05
PRAISE
To discover more about Barbara’s books and sign up for her newsletter, visit www.barbarataylorbradford.co.uk
‘Memorable and moving … a sure-fire winner’
Express
‘Queen of the genre’
Sunday Times
‘Few novelists are as consummate as Barbara Taylor Bradford at keeping the reader turning the page. She is one of the best at spinning yarns’
Guardian
‘The storyteller of substance’
The Times
‘A sweeping saga full of passion and intrigue’
Hello!
DEDICATION
For Bob and my parents – who know the reason why
EPIGRAPH
The value of life lies not in the length of days, but in the use we make of them; a man may live long, yet get little from life.
Whether you find satisfaction in life depends not on your tale of years, but on your will.
– MONTAIGNE, Essays
I have the heart of a man, not of a woman, and I am not afraid of anything …
– ELIZABETH I, Queen of England
FOREWORD BY FERN BRITTON TO THE 40TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION
Dear readers,
I first encountered the force of nature that is Emma Harte when I raced through the pages of A Woman of Substance late into the night, many years ago. I was utterly gripped as I followed Emma’s journey from Yorkshire kitchen maid, pregnant, alone and friendless, to building her first Harte’s store – and then to becoming one of the most powerful women in the world, with a dynasty of her own.
Many of you will also, like me, remember the wonderful Jenny Seagrove playing Emma in the television mini-series that held viewers spellbound, as we watched the determined servant girl striding over the Yorkshire moors with Liam Neeson as Blackie O’Neill at her side. Barbara has never left behind her love for her home county, and Yorkshire’s wild beauty fills this novel.
Tough, uncompromising and always true to her Yorkshire roots, Emma Harte captivated the imagination of millions of readers. Her story is one of grit, ambition and determination; a woman staying true to her values and refusing to be bowed by the slings and arrows of fortune, bursting through the glass ceiling before it even had a name.
Barbara created a heroine who has inspired women for the past four decades – inspired them to be courageous, break rules and follow their dreams. I hope you will enjoy discovering her story – or perhaps rediscovering – in this new edition, published to commemorate the 40th anniversary of its first publication. There has never been a woman of substance quite like Emma Harte.
Warmest wishes,
Fern Britton
AUTHOR’S NOTE
It was in 1976 that I had the glimmer of an idea for a novel. In actuality it was the image of a young girl, wrapped in a shawl and walking through the mist on the Yorkshire moors. I had no idea who she was, but I wanted to know more about her and quite suddenly I knew she would become a woman of some importance one day.
For the next few days I thought about the girl of the moors, and as she grew flesh and became real to me I, in turn, filled with excitement. So much so that I knew I had to share her with my husband Bob. As a movie producer, he was used to listening to plots told to him by screenwriters and was a receptive listener. By the time I had told him the girl’s life story, improvising as I went along, he was genuinely sold on the novel, and as excited as I was. He told me to write an outline, which I did, and then we took it apart together and I rewrote it several times until we were sure it was everything I wanted it to be. My only worry was that it was somewhat parochial, since most of it played out in Yorkshire.
But this did not bother Bob at all, who told me that it was the girl who was captivating, who the reader cared about – and that location was not all that important. Readers will become intrigued by her, will want to keep reading to see what happens to her, how she ends up.
What I wanted was to tell a good tale about an enterprising woman, who makes it in a man’s world of business when women weren’t doing that. A woman who becomes a woman of substance.
I suppose I succeeded more than I realised at the time. Emma Harte and her life story captured everybody’s imagination, and still does. Tough and often ruthless, brilliant when it came to dissimulation, she was an amazing businesswoman, and could be a powerful and fearsome adversary when she thought this was necessary.
No author sits at a desk for hours at a time wanting to write a book that nobody reads. I am proud that my first novel, published in 1979, has sold millions of copies in ninety countries and forty languages. Remarkably, it’s still selling today forty years later.
In fact, A Woman of Substance has become a classic itself, and I smile every time I see the phrase ‘a woman of substance’ used to describe other successful or unique women. My title has seeped into everyday language and is used all the time, in newspapers, magazines and on the airwaves.
I started writing when I was seven years old, encouraged by my mother who was a voracious reader. When I was ten she found one of my stories and sent it to a children’s magazine. Imagine my surprise and joy when they accepted it, and even paid me seven shillings and sixpence for it. But it was the by-line ‘Barbara Taylor’ that impressed me and I announced to my mother that I was going to be a writer when I grew up. Many years later when I gave my mother a copy of the book she looked at me and said quietly, ‘This is the fulfilment of your childhood dream’. It was. But it might not have ever been written if Bob had not been excited by my storytelling, and had convinced me to do an outline. Even when I doubted that outline, he dismissed this idea very swiftly. It was his total confidence in my ability that gave me the courage to write my first novel, and to keep on writing many more. In fact, his love and devotion helped to create my whole career, and I couldn’t have done it without him by my side. And that is why every book is dedicated to him with all my love and gratitude, and always will be.
CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
PRAISE
DEDICATION
EPIGRAPH
FOREWORD BY FERN BRITTON TO THE 40TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION
AUTHOR’S NOTE
FOREWORD
PART ONE The Valley 1968
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
PART TWO The Abyss 1904–5
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
PART THREE The Slope 1905–10
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
PART FOUR The Plateau 1914–17
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
PART FIVE The Pinnacle 1918–50
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
PART SIX The Valley 1968
SIXTY
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
KEEP READING …
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
FOREWORD
When A Woman of Substance was published thirty years ago I was thrilled and also very surprised when the book, my first novel, became such a runaway bestseller. What amazed me even more was that it reached the top of the bestseller charts in so many other countries, and was available in a variety of foreign languages. You see, when I had finished writing the book it occurred to me that perhaps it was a little too parochial, since so much of it was set in my native Yorkshire. My French publisher soon set me straight about that, ‘Nobody cares that much about location,’ he explained. ‘It’s Emma that intrigues and captivates. We all become enmeshed in her story and want to keep reading about her, to see how she ends up.’
Well, she ended up being a role model for women all around the world. I soon discovered that Emma both inspired and empowered women of all ages. She was strong and brave, bold and fearless, and she broke the glass ceiling long before that phrase was even invented. In many ways she redefined a new generation of women, and she still does today … in ninety countries and forty languages. And all I wanted to do was tell a good tale about an enterprising woman who makes it in a man’s world when women weren’t doing that.
I suppose I succeeded more than I realized at the time. Emma and her life story captured everybody’s imagination, and still does. Tough and often ruthless, brilliant when it came to dissimulations, she was an amazing businesswoman, and could be a powerful and fearsome adversary when she thought this was necessary. Yet conversely, she was kind and loving, had an understanding heart, was generous to a fault, especially to her family, and the most loyal of women.
Aside from its publishing success, A Woman of Substance was brilliantly brought to life on our television screens. Deborah Kerr played Emma as the older woman, and Jenny Seagrove was Emma from her early youth to her mid-forties.
I will never forget seeing the film for the first time in our home, long before it had been aired. I started to cry and was filled with emotion when I saw Jenny in the role of Emma, trampling across the implacable Yorkshire moors, where she bumped into a young man called Blackie O’Neill, a character who flew so easily and swiftly from my pen, and was played by Liam Neeson in the film. They were both astounding in these roles, as was Deborah Kerr and Barry Bostwick as Paul McGill, the great love of Emma’s life. I will never forget the marvelous performances given by Sir John Mills, Gayle Hunnicutt, Barry Morse, Nicola Pagett and Miranda Richardson, to name just a few other members of this extraordinary cast. And the most wonderful thing was that each actor looked exactly right, almost as I had imagined them in my mind’s eye.
I was very proud when the six hour mini-series was nominated for an Emmy, and although it didn’t win, it nevertheless had the word winner written all over it. It is still playing somewhere in the world as I write this, and the book is still selling in every country where I am published. Everyone tells me it’s as fresh and beguiling as ever and that Emma Harte is as much a woman of today, in 2009, as she was in 1979.
No author who sits at a desk for hours at a time wants to write a book that nobody reads, and I am proud that my first novel has sold over thirty-one million copies worldwide. It is also on the list of the ten best-selling books of all time, up there with Gone With the Wind, and other famous classics. In fact, A Woman of Substance has become a classic itself, and I smile every time I see the phrase ‘a woman of substance’ used to describe other successful or unique women. My title has seeped into everyday language and is used all the time, in newspapers, magazines and on the airwaves.
I started writing when I was seven years old, encouraged by my mother who was a voracious reader. When I was ten she found one of my stories and sent it to a children’s magazine. Imagine my surprise and joy when they accepted it, and even paid me seven shillings and sixpence for it. But it was the by-line ‘Barbara Taylor’ that impressed me and I announced to my mother that I was going to be a writer when I grew up. Many years later when I gave my mother a copy of the book she looked at me and said quietly, ‘This is the fulfillment of your childhood dream.’ It was.
Of all the things that have happened to my first novel over the years, the one that has truly astonished me has been the desire on the part of my readers to have more books about Emma Harte and her family. To date A Woman of Substance has spawned five other novels, and a sixth, entitled Breaking The Rules, is published alongside this anniversary edition.
My husband Robert Bradford was the first person to hear the title Breaking the Rules, and he loved it immediately. Then he reminded me that this was what Emma had always done throughout her life … she had flaunted the rules and done it her way. And I can only say bravo to that.
Barbara Taylor Bradford
PART ONE
The Valley 1968
He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men.
– JOB
ONE
Emma Harte leaned forward and looked out of the window. The private Lear jet, property of the Sitex Oil Corporation of America, had been climbing steadily up through a vaporous haze of cumulus clouds and was now streaking through a sky so penetratingly blue its shimmering clarity hurt the eyes. Momentarily dazzled by this early-morning brightness, Emma turned away from the window, rested her head against the seat, and closed her eyes. For a brief instant the vivid blueness was trapped beneath her lids and, in that instant, such a strong and unexpected feeling of nostalgia was evoked within her that she caught her breath in surprise. It’s the sky from the Turner painting above the upstairs parlour fireplace at Pennistone Royal, she thought, a Yorkshire sky on a spring day when the wind has driven the fog from the moors.
A faint smile played around her mouth, curving the line of the lips with unfamiliar softness, as she thought with some pleasure of Pennistone Royal. That great house that grew up out of the stark and harsh landscape of the moors and which always appeared to her to be a force of nature engineered by some Almighty architect rather than a mere edifice erected by mortal man. The one place on this violent planet where she had found peace, limitless peace that soothed and refreshed her. Her home. She had been away far too long this time, almost six weeks, which was a prolonged absence indeed for her. But within the coming week she would be returning to London, and by the end of the month she would travel north to Pennistone. To peace, tranquillity, her gardens, and her grand-children.
This thought cheered her immeasurably and she relaxed in her seat, the tension that had built up over the last few days diminishing until it had evaporated. She was bone tired from the raging battles that had punctuated these last few days of board meetings at the Sitex corporate headquarters in Odessa; she was supremely relieved to be leaving Texas and returning to the relative calmness of her own corporate offices in New York. It was not that she did not like Texas; in point of fact, she had always had a penchant for that great state, seeing in its rough sprawling power something akin to her native Yorkshire. But this last trip had exhausted her. I’m getting too old for gallivanting around on planes, she thought ruefully, and then dismissed that thought as unworthy. It was dishonest and she was never dishonest with herself. It saved so much time in the long run. And, in all truthfulness, she did not feel old. Only a trifle tired on occasion and especially when she became exasperated with fools; and Harry Marriott, president of Sitex, was a fool and inherently dangerous, like all fools.
Emma opened her eyes and sat up impatiently, her mind turning again to business, for she was tireless, sleepless, obsessive when it came to her vast business enterprises, which rarely left her thoughts. She straightened her back and crossed her legs, adopting her usual posture, a posture that was contained and regal. There was an imperiousness in the way she held her head and in her general demeanour, and her green eyes were full of enormous power. She lifted one of her small, strong hands and automatically smoothed her silver hair, which did not need it, since it was as impeccable as always. As indeed she was herself, in her simple yet elegant dark grey worsted dress, its severeness softened by the milky whiteness of the matchless pearls around her neck and the fine emerald pin on her shoulder.
She glanced at her granddaughter sitting opposite, diligently making notes for the coming week’s business in New York. She looks drawn this morning, Emma thought, I push her too hard. She felt an unaccustomed twinge of guilt but impatiently shrugged it off. She’s young, she can take it, and it’s the best training she could ever have, Emma reassured herself and said, ‘Would you ask that nice young steward – John, isn’t it? – to make some coffee please, Paula. I’m badly in need of it this morning.’
The girl looked up. Although she was not beautiful in the accepted sense of that word, she was so vital she gave the impression of beauty. Her vividness of colouring contributed to this effect. Her glossy hair was an ink-black coif around her head, coming to a striking widow’s peak above a face so clear and luminous it might have been carved from pale polished marble. The rather elongated face, with its prominent cheek-bones and wide brow, was alert and expressive and there was a hint of Emma’s resoluteness in her chin, but her eyes were her most spectacular feature, large and intelligent and of a cornflower blue so deep they were almost violet.
She smiled at her grandmother and said, ‘Of course, Grandy. I’d like some myself.’ She left her seat, her tall slender body moving with grace. She’s so thin, Emma commented to herself, too thin for my liking. But she always has been. I suppose it’s the way she’s made. A leggy colt as a child, a racehorse now. A mixture of love and pride illuminated Emma’s stern face and her eyes were full of sudden warmth as she gazed after the girl, who was her favourite, the daughter of Emma’s favourite daughter, Daisy.
Many of Emma’s dreams and hopes were centred in Paula. Even when she had been only a little girl she had gravitated to her grandmother and had also been curiously attracted to the family business. Her biggest thrill had been to go with Emma to the office and sit with her as she worked. While she was still in her teens she had shown such an uncanny understanding of complex machinations that Emma had been truly amazed, for none of her own children had ever displayed quite the same aptitude for her business affairs. Emma had secretly been delighted, but she had watched and waited with a degree of trepidation, fearful that the youthful enthusiasm would be dissipated. But it had not waned, rather it had grown. At sixteen Paula scorned the suggestion of a finishing school in Switzerland and had gone immediately to work for her grandmother. Over the years Emma drove Paula relentlessly, more harsh and exacting with her than with any of her other employees, as she assiduously educated her in all aspects of Harte Enterprises. Paula was now twenty-three years old and she was so clever, so capable, and so much more mature than most girls of her age that Emma had recently moved her into a position of significance in the Harte organization. She had made Paula her personal assistant, much to the stupefaction and irritation of Emma’s oldest son, Kit, who worked for the Harte organization. As Emma’s right hand, Paula was privy to most of her corporate and private business and, when Emma deemed fit, she was her confidante in matters pertaining to the family, a situation Kit found intolerable.
The girl returned from the galley kitchen laughing. As she slid into her seat she said, ‘He was already making tea for you, Grandy. I suppose, like everyone else, he thinks that’s all the English drink. But I said we preferred coffee. You do, don’t you?’
Emma nodded absently, preoccupied with her affairs. ‘I certainly do, darling.’ She turned to her briefcase on the seat next to her and took out her glasses and a sheaf of folders. She handed one to Paula and said, ‘Please look at these figures for the New York store. I would be interested in what you think. I believe we are about to take a major step forward. Into the black.’
Paula looked at her alertly. ‘That’s sooner than you thought, isn’t it? But then your reorganization has been very drastic. It should be paying off by now.’ Paula opened the folder with interest, her concentration focused on the figures. She had Emma’s talent for reading a balance sheet with rapidity and detecting, almost at a glance, its strengths and its weaknesses and, like her grandmother’s, her business acumen was formidable.
Emma slipped on her horn-rimmed glasses and took up the large blue folder that pertained to Sitex Oil. As she quickly ran through the papers there was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. She had won. At last, after three years of the most despicable and manipulative fighting she had ever witnessed, Harry Marriott had been removed as president of Sitex and kicked upstairs to become chairman of the board.
Emma had recognized Marriott’s shortcomings years ago. She knew that if he was not entirely venal he was undoubtedly exigent and specious, and dissimulation had become second nature to him. Over the years, success and the accumulation of great wealth had only served to reinforce these traits, so that now it was impossible to deal with him on any level of reason. As far as Emma was concerned, his judgement was crippled, he had lost the little foresight he had once had, and he certainly had no comprehension of the rapidly shifting inner worlds of international business.
As she made notations on the documents for future reference, she hoped there would be no more vicious confrontations at Sitex. Yesterday she had been mesmerized by the foolhardiness of Harry’s actions, had watched in horrified fascination as he had so skilfully manoeuvred himself into a corner from which Emma knew there was no conceivable retreat. He had appealed to her friendship of some forty-odd years only once, floundering, helpless, lost; a babbling idiot in the face of his adversaries, of whom she was the most formidable. Emma had answered his pleas with total silence, an inexorable look in her pitiless eyes. And she had won. With the full support of the board. Harry was out. The new man, her man, was in and Sitex Oil was safe. But there was no joy in her victory, for to Emma there was nothing joyful in a man’s downfall.
Satisfied that the papers were in order, Emma put the folder and her glasses in her briefcase, settled back in her seat, and sipped the cup of coffee. After a few seconds she addressed Paula. ‘Now that you have been to several Sitex meetings, do you think you can cope alone soon?’
Paula glanced up from the balance sheets, a look of astonishment crossing her face. ‘You wouldn’t send me in there alone!’ she exclaimed. ‘It would be like sending a lamb to the slaughter. You wouldn’t do that to me yet.’ As she regarded her grandmother she recognized that familiar inscrutable expression for what it truly was, a mask to hide Emma’s ruthless determination. My God, she does mean it, Paula thought with a sinking feeling. ‘You’re not really serious, are you, Grandmother?’
‘Of course I’m serious!’ A flicker of annoyance crossed Emma’s face. She was surprised at the girl’s unexpected but unequivocal nervousness, for Paula was accustomed to high-powered negotiations and had always displayed nerve and shrewdness. ‘Do I ever say anything I don’t mean? You know better than that, Paula,’ she said sternly.
Paula was silent and, in that split second of silence, Emma became conscious of her tenseness, the startled expression that lingered on her face. Is she afraid? Emma wondered. Surely not. She had never displayed fear before. She was not going to turn out like the others, was she? This chilling possibility penetrated Emma’s brilliant mind like a blade and was so unacceptable she refused to contemplate it. She decided then that Paula had simply been disturbed by the meeting, perhaps more so than she had shown. It had not disturbed Emma; rather it had irritated her, since she had found the bloodletting unnecessary and a waste of precious time, and therefore all the more reprehensible. But she had seen it all before, had witnessed the rapacious pursuit of power all of her life, and she could take it in her stride. With her strength she was equipped to deal with it dispassionately. As Paula will have to learn to do, she told herself.
The severity of her expression did not change, but her voice softened as she said, ‘However, I won’t send you alone to Sitex until you know, as I already know, that you can handle it successfully.’
Paula was still holding the folder in her hands, delicate hands with tapering fingers. She put the folder down and sat back in her seat. She was regaining her composure and, gazing steadily at her grandmother, she said quietly, ‘What makes you think they would listen to me the way they listen to you? I know what the board think of me. They regard me as the spoiled, pampered granddaughter of a rich and powerful woman. They dismiss me as empty-headed and silly, a brainless pretty face. They wouldn’t treat me with the same deference they treat you, and why should they? I’m not you.’
Emma pursed her lips to hide a small amused smile, sensing injured pride rather than fear. ‘Yes, I know what they think of you,’ she said in a much milder tone, ‘and we both know how wrong they are. And I do realize their attitude riles you, darling. I also know how easy it would be for you to disabuse them of their opinions of you. But I wonder, Paula, would you want to do that?’
She looked at her granddaughter quizzically, a shrewd glint in her eyes, and when the girl did not answer, she continued: ‘Being underestimated by men is one of the biggest crosses I’ve had to bear all of my life, and it was particularly irritating to me when I was your age. However, it was also an advantage and one I learned to make great use of, I can assure you of that. You know, Paula, when men believe they are dealing with a foolish or stupid woman they lower their guard, become negligent and sometimes even downright reckless. Unwittingly they often hand you the advantage on a plate.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘No buts, Paula, please. And don’t you underestimate me. Do you honestly think I would expose you to a dangerous situation?’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘I know what your capabilities are, my dear. I have always been sure of you. More sure of you than any of my own children, apart from your mother, of course, and you’ve never let me down.’
‘I appreciate your confidence, Grandmother,’ Paula replied steadily, ‘but I do find it hard to deal effectively with people who don’t take me seriously and the Sitex board do not.’ A stubborn look dulled the light in her eyes and her mouth became a thin tight line, an unconscious replica of her grandmother’s.
