Kitabı oku: «Hold the Dream»

BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD
Hold the Dream

Copyright

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.

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

This paperback edition 2004

First published in paperback by Grafton 1986

First published in Great Britain by Granada Publishing 1985

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 1985

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

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Source ISBN: 9780586058497

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2014 ISBN: 9780007363698

Version: 2018-11-08

Dedication

For Bob – who makes everything possible

for me, with my love.

Epigraph

‘She possessed, in the highest degree,

all the qualities which were required in a

great Prince.’

GIOVANNI SCARAMELLI,

Venetian Ambassador

to the Court of Elizabeth Tudor,

Queen of England

‘I would have you know that this kingdom

of mine is not so scant of men but there be

a rogue or two among them.’

ELIZABETH TUDOR, Queen of England

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Family Tree

Book One: Matriarch

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Book Two: Heiress

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Book Three: Tycoon

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Keep Reading

About the Author

Other Books By

About the Publisher

Family Tree (Emma Harte)

Matriarch

‘I speak the truth, not so much as I

would, but as much as I dare; and

I dare a little more, as I grow older.’

MONTAIGNE

CHAPTER 1

Emma Harte was almost eighty years old.

She did not look it, for she had always carried her years lightly. Certainly Emma felt like a much younger woman as she sat at her desk in the upstairs parlour of Pennistone Royal on this bright April morning of 1969.

Her posture was erect in the chair, and her alert green eyes, wise and shrewd under the wrinkled lids, missed nothing. The burnished red-gold hair had turned to shining silver long ago, but it was impeccably coiffed in the latest style, and the widow’s peak was as dramatic as ever above her oval face. If this was now lined and scored by the years, her excellent bone structure had retained its clarity and her skin held the translucency of her youth. And so, though her great beauty had been blurred by the passage of time, she was still arresting, and her appearance, as always, was stylish.

For the busy working day stretching ahead of her she had chosen to wear a woollen dress of tailored simplicity in the powder-blue shade she so often favoured, and which was so flattering to her. A frothy white lace collar added just the right touch of softness and femininity at her throat, and there were discreet diamond studs on her ears. Otherwise she wore no jewellery, except for a gold watch and her rings.

After her bout with bronchial pneumonia the previous year she was in blooming health, had no infirmities to speak of, and she was filled with the restless vigour and drive that had marked her younger days.

That’s my problem, not knowing where to direct all this damned energy, she mused, putting down her pen, leaning back in the chair. She smiled and thought: The devil usually finds work for idle hands, so I’d better come up with a new project soon before I get into mischief. Her smile widened. Most people thought she had more than enough to keep her fully occupied, since she continued to control her vast business enterprises which stretched halfway round the world. Indeed, they did need her constant supervision; yet, for the most part, they offered her little challenge these days. Emma had always thrived on challenge, and it was this she sorely missed. Playing watchdog was not particularly exciting to her way of thinking. It did not fire her imagination, bring a tingle to her blood, or get her adrenaline flowing in the same way that wheeling and dealing did. Pitting her wits against business adversaries, and striving for power and supremacy in the international marketplace, had become such second nature to her over the years they were now essential to her well-being.

Restlessly she rose, crossed the floor in swift light steps, and opened one of the soaring leaded windows. She took a deep breath, peered out. The sky was a faultless blue, without a single cloud, and radiant with spring sunshine. New buds, tenderly green, sprouted on the skeletal branches, and under the great oak at the edge of the lawn a mass of daffodils, randomly planted, tossed yellow-bright heads under the fluttering breeze.

‘I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o’er vale and hill, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils,’ she recited aloud, then thought: Good heavens, I learned that Wordsworth poem at the village school in Fairley. So long ago, and to think that I’ve remembered it all these years.

Raising her hand, she closed the window, and the great McGill emerald on the third finger of her left hand flashed as the clear Northern light struck the stone. Its brilliance caught her attention. She had worn this ring for forty-four years, ever since that day, in May of 1925, when Paul McGill had placed it on her finger. He had thrown away her wedding ring, symbol of her disastrous marriage to Arthur Ainsley, then slipped on the massive square-cut emerald. ‘We might not have had the benefit of clergy,’ Paul had said that memorable day. ‘But as far as I’m concerned, you are my wife. From this day forward until death do us part.’

The previous morning their child had been born. Their adored Daisy, conceived in love and raised with love. Her favourite of all her children, just as Paula, Daisy’s daughter, was her favourite grandchild, heiress to her enormous retailing empire and half of the colossal McGill fortune which Emma had inherited after Paul’s death in 1939. And Paula had given birth to twins four weeks ago, had presented her with her first great-grandchildren, who tomorrow would be christened at the ancient church in Fairley village.

Emma pursed her lips, suddenly wondering if she had made a mistake in acquiescing to this wish of Paula’s husband, Jim Fairley. Jim was a traditionalist, and thus wanted his children to be christened at the font where all of the Fairleys had been baptized, and all of the Hartes for that matter, herself included.

Oh well, she thought, I can’t very well renege at this late date, and perhaps it is only fitting. She had wreaked her revenge on the Fairleys, the vendetta she had waged against them for most of her life was finally at an end, and the two families had been united through Paula’s marriage with James Arthur Fairley, the last of the old line. It was a new beginning.

But when Blackie O’Neill had heard of the choice of church he had raised a snowy brow and chuckled and made a remark about the cynic turning into a sentimentalist in her old age, an accusation he was frequently levelling at her of late. Maybe Blackie was right in this assumption. On the other hand, the past no longer troubled her as it once had. The past had been buried with the dead. Only the future concerned her now. And Paula and Jim and their children were that future.

Emma’s thoughts centred on Fairley village as she returned to her desk, put on her glasses and stared at the memorandum in front of her. It was from her grandson Alexander, who, with her son Kit, ran her mills, and it was bluntly to the point, in Alexander’s inimitable fashion. The Fairley mill was in serious trouble. It had been failing to break even for the longest time and was now deeply in the red. A crucial decision hovered over her head … to close the mill or keep it running at a considerable loss. Emma, ever the pragmatist, knew deep in her bones that the wisest move would be to close down the Fairley operation, yet she balked at this drastic measure, not wanting to bring hardship to the village of her birth. She had asked Alexander to find an alternative, a workable solution, hoped that he had done so. She would soon know. He was due to arrive for a meeting with her imminently.

One possibility which might enable them to resolve the situation at the Fairley mill had occurred to Emma, but she wanted to give Alexander his head, an opportunity to handle this problem himself. Testing him, she admitted, as I’m constantly testing all of my grandchildren. And why not? That was her prerogative, wasn’t it? Everything she owned had been hard won, built on a life rooted in single-mindedness of purpose and the most gruelling work and dogged determination and relentlessness and terrible sacrifice. Nothing had ever been handed to her on a plate. Her mighty empire was entirely of her own making, and, since it was hers and hers alone, she could dispose of it as she wished.

And so with calm deliberation and judiciousness and selectivity she had chosen her heirs one year ago, bypassing four of her five children in favour of her grandchildren in the new will she had drawn; yet she continued to scrutinize the third generation, forever evaluating their worth, seeking weaknesses in them whilst inwardly praying to find none.

They have lived up to my expectations, she reassured herself, then thought with a swift stab of dismay: No, that’s not strictly true. There is one of whom I am not really sure, one whom I don’t think I can trust.

Emma unlocked the top drawer of her desk, took out a sheet of paper, and studied the names of her grandchildren, which she had listed only last night when she had experienced her first feelings of uneasiness. Is there a joker in this pack, as I suspect? she asked herself worriedly, squinting at the names. And if there is, how on earth will I handle it?

Her eyes remained riveted to one name. She shook her head, with sadness, pondering.

Treachery had long ceased to surprise Emma, for her natural astuteness and psychological insight had been sharply honed during a long, frequently hard, and always extraordinary life. In fact, relatively few things surprised her any more, and, with her special brand of cynicism, she had come to expect the worst from people, including family. Yet she had been taken aback last year when she had discovered through Gaye Sloane, her secretary, that her four eldest children were wilfully plotting against her. Spurred on by their avariciousness and vaunting ambition, they had endeavoured to wrest her empire away from her in the most underhanded way, seriously underestimating her in the process. Her initial shock, and the pain of betrayal, had been swiftly replaced by an anger of icy ferocity, and she had made her moves with speed and consummate skill and resourcefulness, which was her way when facing any opponent. And she had pushed sentiment and emotions aside, had not allowed feelings to obscure intelligence, for it was her superior intelligence which had inevitably saved her in disastrous situations in the past.

If she had outwitted the inept plotters, had left them floundering stupidly in disarray, she had also finally come to the bitter, and chilling, realization that blood was not thicker than water. It had struck her, and most forcibly, that ties of the blood and of the flesh did not come into play when vast amounts of money and, more importantly, great power, were at stake. People thought nothing of killing to attain even the smallest portions of both. Despite her overriding disgust and disillusionment with her children, she had been very sure of their children, their devotion to her. Now one of them was causing her to re-evaluate her judgement and question her trust.

She turned the name over in her mind … Perhaps she was wrong; she hoped she was wrong. She had nothing to go on really – except gut instinct and her prescience. But, like her intelligence, both had served her well throughout her life.

Always when she faced this kind of dilemma, Emma’s instinctive attitude was to wait – and watch. Once again she decided to play for time. By doing thus she could conceal her real feelings, whilst gambling that things would sort themselves out to her advantage, thereby dispensing with the need for harsh action. But I will dole out the rope, she added inwardly. Experience had taught her that when lots of freely proffered rope fell into unwitting hands it invariably formed a noose.

Emma considered the manifold possibilities if this should happen, and a hard grimness settled over her face and her eyes darkened. She did not relish picking up the sword again, to defend herself and her interests, not to mention her other heirs.

History does have a way of repeating itself, she thought wearily, especially in my life. But I refuse to anticipate. That’s surely borrowing trouble. Purposefully, she put the list back in the drawer, locked it, and pocketed the key.

Emma Harte had the enviable knack of shelving unsolvable problems in order to concentrate on priorities, and so she was enabled to subdue the nagging – and disturbing – suspicion that a grandchild of hers was untrustworthy, and therefore a potential adversary. Current business was the immediate imperative, and she gave her attention to her appointments for the rest of the day, each of which was with three of the six grandchildren who worked for her.

Alexander would come first.

Emma glanced at her watch. He was due to arrive in fifteen minutes, at ten-thirty. He would be on time, if not indeed early. Her lips twitched in amusement. Alexander had become something of a demon about punctuality, he had even chided her last week when she had kept him waiting, and he was forever at odds with his mother, who suffered from a chronic disregard for the clock. Her amused smile fled, was replaced by a cold and disapproving tightness around her mouth as she contemplated her second daughter.

Elizabeth was beginning to push her patience to the limits – gallivanting around the world in the most scandalous manner, marrying and divorcing haphazardly, and with such increasing frequency it was appalling. Her daughter’s inconsistency and instability had ceased to baffle her, for she had long understood that Elizabeth had inherited most of her father’s worst traits. Arthur Ainsley had been a weak, selfish and self-indulgent man; these flaws were paramount in his daughter, and following his pattern, the beautiful, wild and wilful Elizabeth flouted all the rules, and had remained untamed. And dreadfully unhappy, Emma acknowledged to herself. The woman has become a tragic spectacle, to be pitied, perhaps, rather than condemned.

She wondered where her daughter was at the moment, then instantly dropped the thought. It was of no consequence, she supposed, since they were barely on speaking terms after the matter of the will. Surprisingly, even Alexander had been treated to a degree of cold-shouldering by his adoring mother because he had been favoured in her place. But Elizabeth had not been able to cope with Alexander’s cool indifference to her feelings, and her hysterical tantrums and the rivers of tears had abruptly ceased when she realized she was wasting her time. She had capitulated in the face of his aloofness, disapproval, and thinly-veiled contempt. Her son’s good opinion of her, and his love, were vital, apparently, and she had made her peace with him, mended her ways. But not for long, Emma thought acidly. She soon fell back into her bad habits. And it’s certainly no thanks to that foolish and skittish woman that Alexander has turned out so well.

Emma experienced a little rush of warmth mingled with gratification as she contemplated her grandson. Alexander had become the man he was because of his strength of character and his integrity. He was solid, hardworking, dependable. If he did not have his cousin Paula’s brilliance, and lacked her vision in business, he was, nonetheless, sound of judgement. His conservative streak was balanced by a degree of flexibility, and he displayed a genuine willingness to weigh the pros and cons of any given situation, and, when necessary, make compromises. Alexander had the ability to keep everything in its proper perspective, and this was reassuring to Emma, who was a born realist herself.

This past year Alexander had proved himself deserving of her faith in him, and she had no regrets about making him the chief heir to Harte Enterprises by leaving him fifty-two per cent of her shares in this privately-held company. Whilst he continued to supervise the mills, she deemed it essential for him to have a true understanding of every aspect of the holding corporation, and she had been training him assiduously, preparing him for the day when he took over the reins from her.

Harte Enterprises controlled her woollen mills, clothing factories, real estate, the General Retail Trading Company, and the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company, and it was worth many millions of pounds. She had long recognized that Alexander might never increase its worth by much, because of his tendency to be cautious; but, for the same reason, neither would he ruin it through rash decisions and reckless speculation. He would keep it on the steady course she had so carefully charted, following the guidelines and principles she had set down years ago. This was the way she wanted it, had planned it, in point of fact.

Emma drew her appointment book towards her, and checked the time of her lunch with Emily, Alexander’s sister.

Emily was due to arrive at one o’clock.

When she had phoned earlier in the week Emily had sounded somewhat enigmatic when she had said she had a serious problem to discuss. There was no mystery, as far as Emma was concerned. She knew what Emily’s problem was, had known about it for a long time. She was only surprised her granddaughter had not asked to discuss it before now. She lifted her head and stared into space reflectively, turning the matter over in her mind, and then she frowned. Two weeks ago she had come to a decision about Emily, and she was convinced it was the right one. But would Emily agree? Yes, she answered herself. The girl will see the sense in it, I’m positive of that. Emma brought her eyes back to the open page of the diary.

Paula would stop by at the end of the afternoon.

She and Paula were to discuss the Cross project. Now, if that is skilfully handled by Paula, and she brings the negotiations to a favourable conclusion, then I’ll have the challenge I’m looking for, Emma thought. Her mouth settled into its familiar resolute lines as she turned her attention to the balance sheets of the Aire Communications Company, owned, by the Crosses. The figures were disastrous – and damning. But its financial problems aside, the company was weighted down with serious afflictions of such enormity they boggled the mind. According to Paula, these could be surmounted and solved, and she had evolved a plan so simple yet so masterful in its premise, Emma had been both intrigued and impressed.

‘Let’s buy the company, Grandy,’ Paula had said to her a few weeks ago. ‘I realize Aire looks like a catastrophe, and actually it is, but only because of its bad management, and its present structure. It’s a hodgepodge. Too diversified. And they have too many divisions. Those that make a good profit can never get properly ahead and really flourish because they’re burdened by the divisions which are in the red, and which they have to support.’ Paula had then walked her through the plan, step by step, and Emma had instantly understood how Aire Communications could be turned round and in no time at all. She had instructed her granddaughter to start negotiating immediately.

How she would love to get her hands on that little enterprise. And perhaps she would, and very soon too, if her reading of the situation was as accurate as she thought. Emma was convinced that no one was better equipped to deal with John Cross and his son, Sebastian, than Paula, who had developed into a tough and shrewd negotiator. She no longer equivocated when Emma hurled her into touchy business situations that required nimble thinking and business acumen, which she possessed in good measure. And of late her self-confidence had grown.

Emma glanced at her watch again, then curbed the impulse to telephone Paula at the store in Leeds, to give her a few last-minute tips about John Cross and how to deal with him effectively. Paula had proved she had come into her own, and Emma did not want her to think she was forever breathing down her neck.

The telephone rang. Emma reached for it. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me, Aunt Emma. Shane. How are you?’

‘Why Shane, how lovely to hear your voice. And I’m fine, thanks. You sound pretty good yourself. I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, at the christening.’ As she spoke, she took off her glasses and laid them on the desk, relaxed in the chair.

‘I was hoping to see you before then, Aunt Emma. How would you like to go out on the town tonight, with two fun-loving bachelors?’

Emma laughed gaily. ‘And who’s the other fun-loving bachelor?’

‘Grandfather, of course, who else?’

‘Fun-loving! He’s getting to be an old stick-in-the-mud, if you ask me.’

‘I wouldn’t be saying that, mavourneen,’ Blackie boomed into the phone, having taken it away from his grandson. ‘I bet I could still give you a run for your money, if I got half the chance.’

‘I’m sure you could, darling.’ Emma smiled into the phone, her heart warming to him. ‘However, I’m afraid you won’t get that chance tonight. I can’t accept your invitation, Blackie dear. Some of the family are arriving later, and I ought to be here.’

‘No,’ Blackie interjected peremptorily. ‘You can see them tomorrow. Ah now, don’t be refusin’ me, darlin’,’ he cajoled. ‘Apart from wanting the pleasure of your lovely company, I need your advice on an important business matter.’

‘Oh!’ Emma was mildly taken aback by this statement. Blackie had retired and left the running of his companies to his son, Bryan, and to Shane. Not unnaturally, her curiosity was piqued, and she said, ‘What kind of business?’

‘I don’t want to be discussing it on the telephone, Emma,’ Blackie said in a softly chiding tone. ‘It’s not something that’s so cut and dried it can be settled in the matter of a few minutes. We have to be going back and forth, you know, dissecting it a bit, and I think we should be doing it over a nice drop of Irish and a fine meal.’

Emma laughed under her breath, wondering how important this so-called business matter really was, but found herself conceding, ‘I suppose I can let them fend for themselves. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t much looking forward to tonight. Even though Daisy and David will be here, the prospect of a family gathering isn’t particularly exciting. So I accept. And where are you and your dashing grandson planning to take me? Out on the town in Leeds isn’t too exciting.’

Laughingly, Blackie concurred and said, ‘But don’t worry, we’ll cook up something, and I promise you won’t be bored.’

‘What time then?’

‘Shane will pick you up around six. Is that all right, me darlin’ girl?’

‘It’s perfect.’

‘Good. Good. Until later then. Oh, and Emma?’

‘Yes, Blackie?’

‘Have you given any more thought to me little proposition?’

‘Yes, and I have serious doubts about it working.’

‘Oh, so you’re still me Doubting Emma after all these years, I can see. Well, we’ll discuss that tonight, too, and maybe I can be convincing you yet.’

‘Perhaps,’ she murmured softly as he hung up.

Emma sat back, contemplating Blackie O’Neill. Doubting Emma. A faint smile flickered in her eyes. When had he first called her that? Was it 1904 or 1905? She was no longer sure, but it had been thereabouts, and Blackie had been her dearest, closest friend for all of those sixty-five years. For a whole lifetime. Always there when she needed him, loyal, devoted, supportive and loving. They had been through most of life’s exigencies together, had shared each other’s terrible losses and defeats, pain and anguish; had celebrated each other’s triumphs and joys. Of their contemporaries, there were only the two of them left, and they were closer than ever, inseparable really. She did not know what she would do if anything happened to him. She resolutely squashed this unacceptable thought before it took hold. Blackie was an old war horse, just as she herself was an old war horse, and even though he was eighty-three there was a great deal of surging life and vitality left in him. But no one lasts indefinitely, she thought, experiencing a twinge of anxiousness, whilst acknowledging the inevitable. At their grand ages mortality was a given, one which could not be argued with, and impending death was an old, if unwelcome, familiar.

There was a knock on the door.

Emma glanced at it, adopted her normal expression of cool inscrutability, and called, ‘Come in.’

The door swung open and Alexander entered. He was tall, lean and trim in build, with his mother’s dark good looks, her large, light-blue eyes; but his somewhat serious, saturnine face made him appear older than his twenty-five years, gave him a dignified air. He wore a well-cut dark grey worsted suit, a white shirt and a burgundy silk tie, all of which reflected, and reinforced, his rather sober personality.

‘Good morning, Grandmother,’ he said, striding towards her. Reaching the desk, he added, ‘I must say, you’re looking pretty nifty today.’

‘Morning, Alexander, and thank you for the compliment. Mind you, flattery’s not going to get you anywhere with me,’ she responded crisply. Nonetheless, her eyes danced and she regarded her grandson fondly.

Alexander kissed her on the cheek, seated himself opposite, and protested, ‘I’m not trying to flatter you, Grandy, honestly I’m not. You do look absolutely spiffing. That colour really suits you and the dress is very chic.’

Emma nodded impatiently, waved her hand in airy dismissal, and fixed her grandson with a keen and penetrating stare. ‘What have you come up with?’

‘The only solution to the Fairley problem,’ Alexander began, understanding she wanted to curtail the small talk and plunge into business. His grandmother loathed procrastination, unless it suited her own ends; then she could elevate procrastination to an art. But she scarcely tolerated it in others, so he rushed on. ‘We have to change our product. By that I mean we have to stop manufacturing the expensive woollens and worsted cloths that hardly anybody is buying, and start weaving blends. Man-made fibres, such as nylon and polyester, blended with wool. Those are our best bets.’

‘And you think this move will get us out of the red and into the black?’ Emma asked, her stare intensifying.

‘Yes, I do, Grandy,’ he replied, sounding sure of himself. ‘One of our chief problems at Fairley has been trying to compete with the man-made fibre goods on the market today. Nobody wants pure wool any more, except the Savile Row boys, and they’re not a big enough market for the Fairley output. Look, either we produce the blends or shut up shop – which you don’t want to do. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Can we make the changeover easily?’

Alexander nodded emphatically. ‘We can. By manufacturing cheaper goods we can capture the more popular-priced markets here and abroad, and do volume sales. Of course, it is a question of sales and getting a real foothold in those new markets. But I’m sure we can pull it off.’ He reached into his inside breast pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve analysed every aspect of the plan, and I’m certain I’ve not overlooked one thing. Here it is.’

Emma took it from him, reached for her glasses, studied the closely-typed sheet. She recognized immediately that he had done his homework with his usual diligence. He had refined the idea she herself had toyed with, although she had no intention of revealing this, not wishing to undermine him, or diminish his efforts. She looked up, removed her spectacles and gave him the benefit of a warm, congratulatory smile.

‘Well done, Sandy!’ she exclaimed, reverting to the affectionate diminutive of his childhood. ‘You’ve put a lot of sound thinking into this, and I’m delighted, really delighted.’

‘That’s a relief,’ he said, a smile breaking through. Reserved of nature though he was, Alexander was always completely relaxed and outgoing with Emma, who was the one person he truly loved, and now he confessed, ‘I’ve really bashed my brains out on this one, Grandy, played around with all manner of convoluted ideas, I don’t mind telling you. Still, I kept coming back to my original plan for creating the new blends.’ He leaned closer to the desk, and gave her one of her own penetrating stares. ‘But, knowing you, I have a feeling you’d already thought of the solution before you threw the problem at me.’

Emma was tickled at his perceptiveness, but she stifled the laugh that bubbled in her throat. She looked into his candid blue eyes and slowly shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she lied. Then observing his disbelief, she added, ‘But I suppose I would have. Eventually.’

‘You’re damned right you would,’ he acknowledged. He shifted slightly in the chair and crossed his legs, wondering how to break the bit of bad news to her. He decided to jump in with both feet. ‘There is one other thing, though, Grandmother.’ He hesitated, worry suddenly clouding his face. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to cut down on our running costs at the mill. Really tighten our belts out there at Fairley, if we want to operate more efficiently – and profitably. I hate to tell you this, but a number of men will have to be laid off.’ There was a slight pause before he finished gloomily, ‘Permanently laid off.’

Emma’s face tightened in aggravation. ‘Oh dear.’ She nodded slowly, as if confirming something to herself. ‘Well, I sort of expected that, Alexander. If you have to do it, you have to do it. I presume you’ll be letting the older men go, those who are near retirement age?’ she asked, one brow lifting questioningly.

‘Yes. I think that’s the fairest thing.’

‘See to it that they get a special bonus, severance pay, whatever you want to call it. And naturally their pensions will become effective immediately. No penny pinching, and waiting it out until they actually reach retirement age. I won’t have any of that nonsense, Sandy.’

‘Yes, of course. I second-guessed you on that one. I’m preparing a list of names, and details of our financial obligations to the men. I’ll get it to you next week, if that’s all right with you.’ He sat back, waiting.

Emma made no response. She pushed herself up and walked slowly to the oriel window, where she stood looking down into the magnificent gardens of Pennistone Royal. Concern edged on to her wrinkled face as she ruminated on the mill at Fairley. Her life had been bound up with it in so many different ways. Her father had worked there, and her brother, Frank, when he was only a small boy and should have been at school. Frank had been a bobbin ligger, slaving from early morning until nightfall, hardly able to drag his weary little legs home at the end of the long day, sickly pale from exhaustion and lack of fresh air and sunshine.

Adam Fairley, Jim’s great-grandfather and the Squire of Fairley, had been the owner of the mill then. How she had hated him as a girl; for the best part of her life really. With the wisdom of great age, she knew Adam had not been the tyrant she had believed him to be. But he had been negligent, and that in itself was a crime in her eyes. His monumental negligence and his selfish preoccupation with his personal problems and his all-consuming love for Olivia Wainright had caused grievous trouble for others less fortunate. Yes, Adam Fairley had been guilty of abdicating his duties in the most careless and callous fashion, and without so much as a glance at those poor souls who toiled in his mills: The workers who made his cushioned life of ease and privilege possible, who were dependent on him, and were, in a very real sense, his responsibility. Half a century ago, she commented silently. I may understand something of the man now, but I’ll never forget what he did. Never.

She glanced down at her small but strong hands, soft and well cared for, the nails manicured to expensive perfection. But once those hands had been red and chapped and sore from scrubbing and polishing and washing and cooking for the Fairleys, when she had been bound in service to them as a child. Lifting one hand, she touched her face, and remembered with stunning clarity Murgatroyd’s sharp blows on her cheek. The detestable Murgatroyd, Adam Fairley’s butler, who had been permitted by the squire to rule that pernicious and secretive doomed house with a cruelty that bordered on savagery. Despite his harshness and his unremitting persecution of her, Murgatroyd had never frightened her. It was that monstrous house which had filled her with a nameless terror and from which she had wanted always to flee.

Then, one day, she had owned that great mausoleum of a place – Fairley’s Folly, the villagers had called it – and she had known at once that she would never live in it, would never play the role of the grand lady of the manor. And with a flash of sudden and intense vision she had understood exactly what she must do. She must obliterate it from the face of the earth as if it had never existed. And so she had torn it down, brick by brick by brick, until not a trace of it was left, and she could still recall to this very day the grim satisfaction she had experienced when she had finally razed it to the ground.

Now, across the span of four decades, she heard an echo of her own voice saying to Blackie: ‘And destroy this garden. Demolish it completely. I don’t want a rosebud, one single leaf left growing.’ Blackie had done exactly as she had instructed, uprooting that walled rose garden where Edwin Fairley had so inhumanly and shamefully repudiated her and their child, which she had been carrying. Miraculously, in the space of a few days, the garden, too, had disappeared as if it had never been there at all, and only then had she felt free of the Fairleys at last.

At this time in her life, Emma had acquired the mill. She had done her utmost to give the men proper living wages and overtime and all manner of fringe benefits, and she had kept the village going for years, often at great financial cost to herself. The workers were part of her in a way, for it was from their class that she herself came, and they held a favoured and unique place in her affections. The thought of letting a single one of them go distressed her, yet she had no choice, it seemed. Better, surely, to operate at half her work capacity and keep the mill rolling, than to close it down completely.

Half turning she said, ‘By the way, Alexander, have you discussed any of this with Kit?’

‘Uncle Kit,’ Alexander exclaimed, his startled tone reflecting the expression flicking on to his face. ‘No, I haven’t,’ he admitted. ‘For one thing, he hasn’t been around. And for another, he doesn’t seem interested in any of the mills, Fairley least of all. He hasn’t appeared to give a damn since you dumped him out of your will.’

‘That’s a crude way of putting it, I must say!’ Emma snapped, and returned to her desk with a show of briskness. ‘I didn’t dump him, as you call it. I passed him over. For his daughter, remember. As I did your mother for you and Emily, and your Uncle Robin for Jonathan. And you know the reasons why, so I won’t bother elucidating on them again. Also, let’s not forget that my will doesn’t come into effect until I die. Which won’t be for a long time, if I have anything to do with it.’

‘Or me either,’ Alexander cried swiftly, as always dismayed by her talk of dying.

Emma smiled at him, fully aware of his devotion to her, his genuine concern for her well being. She continued, in that business-like tone, ‘Well, so much for Kit. Mmmm. Of course, I realized he was being a bit derelict in his duties; on the other hand, I did think he made an occasional visit, if only for appearances’ sake.’

‘Oh yes, he does do that. But he’s so morose and uncommunicative he might as well not be there,’ Alexander explained, adding, as an afterthought, ‘I can’t begin to guess what he does with his time these days.’

‘Not much, if I know my eldest son. He never was blessed with much imagination,’ Emma shot back sardonically, the suggestion of a disdainful smirk playing on her mouth. She made a mental note to talk to Kit’s daughter, Sarah, about her father’s present mood. Morose indeed, Emma thought, with disgust. He brought his troubles on entirely by himself. No, not true. Robin gave him a helping hand, and Elizabeth and Edwina, his cohorts in the plot against me. Aware that Alexander was waiting expectantly, Emma finished, ‘Anyway, since Kit’s not around, he’s not going to hamper you – as he has so often in the past. Your way is clear. Put this plan into operation immediately. You have my blessing.’

‘Thanks, Grandy.’ He leaned forward, said with earnestness, ‘We are doing the right thing.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

‘And don’t worry about the men who are to be retired. They will be all right, really they will.’

She glanced at him quickly, her eyes narrowed under the hooded lids. She thought: I am so glad it’s not Alexander whom I suspect of treachery and duplicity. That I could not bear. It would kill me. She said, ‘It pleases me that you’ve always been so involved with the Fairley mill, and on such a personal basis, Sandy. You care, and that’s important to me. And I appreciate your understanding … I mean of my involvement with that particular mill.’ She smiled wryly and shook her head. ‘The past, you know, is always with us, always reaching out to claim part of us, and I learned a very long time ago that we cannot escape it.’

‘Yes,’ he said laconically, but the look in his eyes expressed so much more.

Emma said, ‘I’ve decided to go to the Fairley mill next week. I’ll be the one to explain the changes we’re going to make. Tell them about the retirements myself, in my own words. It’s only proper.’

‘Yes, it is, Grandy. And they’ll be thrilled to see you. They all worship you, but then you know that.’

‘Humph!’ she snorted. ‘Don’t be so foolish, Alexander. And don’t exaggerate. You know I can’t abide exaggeration.’

Alexander swallowed a smile, remained silent, watching her closely as she sorted through some of the papers on the desk, her head bent. She had spoken swiftly, crossly even, but there had been a curious gruffness in her voice, and he knew that she had been touched by his words. He was amused by her mild chastisement. It was a hoot. Her whole life had been an extraordinary exaggeration, for God’s sake. Why, she was larger than life.

‘Are you still here?’ Emma said, glancing up, frowning and feigning annoyance. ‘I thought you’d be halfway to the office by now, with all you’ve got to do today. Get along with you!’

Alexander laughed, jumped up and went around the desk. He hugged her to him, and kissed the crown of her silvery head. ‘There’s nobody like you in this entire world, Emma Harte,’ he said gently. ‘Nobody like you at all.’

CHAPTER 2

‘Nobody in this world but Emma Harte would have come up with such a preposterous proposition,’ Sebastian Cross cried indignantly, glaring, his face turning choleric.

‘She didn’t come up with it, I did,’ Paula replied in her coldest voice, returning his angry look with a steady unblinking gaze.

‘Tommy rot! It’s your grandmother talking, not you!’

Paula felt herself stiffening in the chair, and she suppressed the swift denial that sprang to her lips. Self-control was essential in all business dealings, and particularly with this odious man. She would not permit him to put her down, nor bait her with his inference that her grandmother was manipulating this negotiation from afar.

‘Think what you will,’ she said, after a slight pause. ‘But regardless of whoever formulated the deal, that’s it, as I’ve outlined it. It’s a take it or leave it situation.’

‘Then we’ll leave it, thank you very much,’ Sebastian shot back, filled with rancorous hatred for her and her strange yet compelling beauty, her money and her power. His dark eyes blazed, as he added, ‘Who the hell needs you or your grandmother.’

‘Now, now, Sebastian, let’s not be too hasty,’ John Cross soothed. ‘And please, do calm down.’ He threw his son a cautionary look, then turned to Paula, his whole manner unexpectedly conciliatory. ‘You must make allowances for my son. Naturally he’s rather upset. After all, your proposal came as something of a shock to him. He is very committed to Aire Communications, as I have always been, and he has no desire to leave the company. Neither do I. In short, we both expect, indeed fully intend, to continue in our present positions. I as chairman of the board, and Sebastian as managing director. Harte Enterprises would have to agree to that.’

‘I don’t believe that is possible, Mr Cross,’ Paula said.

‘Forget it, Dad,’ Sebastian almost shouted. ‘We’ll go elsewhere for the money.’

‘You’ve nowhere else to go,’ Paula could not help retorting icily, reaching for her briefcase on the conference room table. She stood up, announced with finality, ‘Since we seem to have reached an impasse, there’s obviously nothing more to say. I think I’d better leave.’

John Cross sprang to his feet, took her arm. ‘Please,’ he said quietly. ‘Please sit down. Let’s talk a little more about this.’

Paula hesitated, staring at him. Throughout their relatively short meeting, whilst his son had blustered and snarled, John Cross had adopted a stance of inflexibility, displayed a quiet but firm resoluteness to make the deal on his terms, despite their original understanding. Now, for the first time, she detected a sign of wavering on his part. And whether he was aware of it or not, the preceding months of tension and anxiety had taken their toll. The troubles of his floundering company were much in evidence, clearly imprinted on his gaunt and weary face, and there was a quiet desperation behind the bloodshot eyes which held a hint of new panic. He knows I’m right about everything, she thought, carefully assessing him yet again, but he just won’t admit it. The fool. She instantly corrected herself. The man standing before her had built up Aire Communications from nothing, so she could hardly characterize him as a fool. Misguided, yes; and, regrettably, he suffered from the serious malady of paternal blindness. He had long invested his son with qualities Sebastian did not possess, nor was ever likely to possess, and therein lay his downfall.

‘All right,’ she said at last, seating herself tentatively on the edge of the chair. ‘I’ll stay for a few minutes to hear what you have to say. But very frankly, I meant it when I said we’d reached an impasse.’

‘That’s not strictly true, in my opinion,’ he responded, smiling faintly, and his relief at her continuing presence in his board room was barely concealed as he took a cigarette and lit it. ‘Your proposition is a bit preposterous, you know. We want new financing. We don’t want to be taken over and thrown out of our own company. No, no, that’s not what we had in mind when we came to you,’ he finished, shaking his head several times for added emphasis.

Paula gazed at him in amazement. She gave him a curious smile. ‘You’ve just pin-pointed the crux of the matter. You came to us, remember. We didn’t seek you out. And you certainly knew enough about Harte Enterprises, and how we operate, to understand that we never invest in companies that are in trouble. We take those over, reorganize them, and put them under new management. Our management. In other words, we get them running smoothly, efficiently, and on a profitable basis. We’re not interested in financing other people’s continuing disasters. It doesn’t pay.’

John Cross winced at this unmistakable thrust, but resisted the parry. Instead he said, ‘Quite so, quite so. I’ve been thinking … Maybe we can arrive at a workable compromise–’

‘Dad! Don’t!’ Sebastian exploded irately, moving violently in his chair.

His father held up one hand, and frowned at him. ‘Hear me out, Sebastian. Now, Paula, here’s what I think we might do, how we might make a deal after all. Harte Enterprises could buy fifty-two per cent of Aire Communications’ shares. That gives you the control you insist you must have. You put in your management, reorganize as you wish, but you must let us stay with – ’

‘Dad! What are you saying? Are you crazy?’ Sebastian bellowed, his flushed face darkening considerably. ‘Where would that leave us? I’ll tell you where. Out in the bloody cold, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Sebastian! Please,’ John Cross shouted back, finally losing his composure, his exasperation running high. ‘Let me finish for once in my life.’

‘Just a minute, Mr Cross,’ Paula cut in rapidly, her irritation echoing in her voice. ‘Before you go any further, I must point out, yet again, that we wouldn’t be interested. It must be a full buy out. One hundred per cent or nothing. And I told you this right from the – ’

‘That’s the old monster talking again, Dad,’ Sebastian interrupted derisively, his mouth contorted into an ugly line. ‘Emma Harte! Jesus Christ, the only heart she’s got is in her name. Don’t deal with them, Dad. They’re vultures, both of them, and this one learned well at the knee of the master, that’s patently bloody obvious. She wants to swallow us up, in the same way her grandmother has swallowed up companies over the years. I told you, we don’t need them.’

Paula chose to ignore this unruly and vindictive outburst, deeming it unworthy of a response. She focused all of her attention on John Cross. She was appalled at his deviousness and enraged, but controlling herself, she said as evenly as possible, ‘I started to say, that I quite clearly recall mentioning the full buy out to you, Mr Cross, long before today’s meeting. I find it hard to believe you’ve forgotten the protracted conversations we’ve had about that very matter.’ She gave him a hard stare, wondering if he thought she was stupid.

John Cross coloured under her sharp scrutiny. He remembered her initial statements only too well. But he had hoped to get Harte Enterprises interested in the company, whet Emma Harte’s appetite, then structure the deal to suit himself. He had been elated when he had realized it was Paula who would do the negotiating. He had believed he could manipulate her, and the situation, to his advantage. His plan, had somehow misfired. Maybe Sebastian was right. Yes, Emma Harte was undoubtedly working behind the scenes; all of this had her unmistakable stamp to it. An unreasonable anger surged through him, and he exclaimed heatedly, ‘Look here, you’re not being fair.’

‘Fair,’ Paula repeated. She smiled thinly, added in a clipped tone, ‘The issues of fair or unfair just won’t play in this instance.’ She held him with her startlingly blue eyes. ‘I’m surprised to hear you use that word. I told you, at the outset of today’s meeting, that Harte Enterprises is prepared to pay you two million pounds for Aire Communications. That’s more than fair. It’s downright generous. Your company is in an unholy mess. It could go belly up at any moment.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose that’s your affair, Mr Cross, not mine,’ She leaned forward, grasped the handle of her briefcase. ‘We seem to have nothing further to say to each other.’

The senior Cross said, ‘If, and I am saying if, we do decide to accept your offer, can my son and I remain with the company?’

She shook her head.

John Cross thought rapidly, came to an unpalatable but necessary decision. ‘I would be willing to step aside. After all, I am near retirement age.’ He stubbed out his cigarette, fixed his pale eyes on her. ‘However,’ he went on firmly, ‘you must reconsider your decision regarding Sebastian. No one knows this company like my son. Why, he would be invaluable to you. I must insist that he be appointed to the new board of directors and that he be given a contract for five years as special consultant. I would have to have your guarantee on that, and in writing, before we can proceed any further.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘There is no place in Aire Communications for your son if we take the company over.’

The older man was silent.

Sebastian looked pointedly at his father, his expression at once both baleful and condemning. John Cross dropped his eyes, unable to meet that accusatory gaze, toyed with his gold pen, said nothing at all. Sebastian leaped up angrily, seething, and strode across the board room. He stood looking out of the window, his body rigid, and he cursed Paula Fairley under his breath.

Paula’s glance followed Sebastian. She felt the malignancy and alertness in him, but intuitively so, for she could not see his face. It was turned into the shadows cast by the window and the buildings outside. Involuntarily she shivered and brought her eyes back to his father. They regarded each other alertly, each wondering which one of them would make the next move. Neither did.

Paula saw a thin, grey-haired man in his early sixties, a self-made man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, and who, in the process, had acquired a distinguished air and a degree of superficial polish. He was also a frightened man. His company was sinking like a torpedoed battleship with a gaping hole in its bow, yet seemingly he was prepared to spurn the life belt she had thrown him because of his love for his son. The son who had so badly mismanaged Aire Communications that he had brought it to its present weakened and crippled state. She noticed a muscle twitching in the elder Cross’s face and glanced away.

John Cross, for his part, sat facing a young woman of great elegance in her grooming and her dress. She wore a magenta wool suit, magnificently cut and tailored, obviously a pricey piece of haute couture, with a man-tailored shirt of white silk. There was an absence of jewellery, except for a simple watch and a plain gold wedding band. He knew that Paula McGill Amory Fairley was only in her mid-twenties, yet she gave the impression of being so much older with her inbred caution, her cool authoritative manner. She reminded him of her famous grandmother, even though her colouring was so different. The glossy black hair, cut in a straight bob that grazed her jawline, the blue eyes flicked with violet, and the ivory complexion were unquestionably striking; but whereas Emma’s fabled russet-golden tints had always suggested softness and beguiling femininity, Paula’s beauty was somewhat austere, at least to suit his taste in women. Neither were her features quite as perfect as Emma’s had once been. Still, they did share the same aura of presence, and she had apparently inherited the old lady’s steely toughness as well as that uncommon widow’s peak, those sharp eyes that penetrated with a keen intelligence. His heart sank as he continued to study that palely beautiful but obdurate face.

He would never win with her. As this unpleasant realization sank in he did another volte-face, made yet another decision, and this one was final. He would seek financing from another source and insist that the deal include Sebastian. He must ensure his boy’s future with the company – one which had been built up expressly for him. That was the only thing he could do; the right and proper thing to do. Yes, he must protect his son above all else, otherwise what had his life been about?

John Cross was the one who broke the prolonged silence. ‘We are deadlocked, Paula. I have to pass.’ He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, then let them fall on to the conference table limply. ‘Thank you for your time. And please tell your grandmother that her terms are too harsh for my palate.’

Paula laughed softly as they both rose. ‘They’re my terms, Mr Cross, but I won’t labour the point.’ Being a courteous young woman she thrust out her hand. ‘I wish you lots of luck,’ she said with studied politeness.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice equally as civil as hers but not quite as steady. ‘Let me escort you to the lift.’

As they passed the window, Paula said, ‘Goodbye, Sebastian.’

He swivelled his dark head, nodded curtly, and she was so startled by the naked hatred etched on his cold and bitter face she hardly heard his muttered response. She had recognized a most dangerous enemy.

CHAPTER 3

Paula was blazing mad.

Walking rapidly down the Headrow, one of the main thoroughfares in Leeds, she soon put distance between herself and the Aire Communications building. Her mind was racing. Although she had felt the sharp thrust of Sebastian Cross’s vindictive and combative personality, had readily acknowledged that he detested her and had become her arch enemy, her thoughts now centred on his father, and with good reason. Having more or less agreed to her terms right from the start, John Cross had ultimately reneged, and, moreover, in the most treacherous and despicable way.

It did not require much analysis on her part to understand why he had done so. It was apparent that he did not want to lose face in front of his domineering son, whose presence had unnerved him, made him defensive and, very possibly, more reckless than he had ever been in his entire life. Yet surely his honour and integrity were important to him too, took precedence over everything else? And what about retaining his son’s respect? She laughed hollowly at herself for entertaining such ridiculous thoughts. A young man of Sebastian’s perfidious nature had never made the acquaintance of those particular qualities. During the meeting, when she had understood that John Cross was not to be trusted, she had been momentarily astonished. He enjoyed a good reputation in Yorkshire’s business community, had always been considered honourable if not necessarily the wisest of men. That he would go back on his word was inconceivable to her.

Her pace accelerated, and so did her anger, as she recalled the energy and thought and time she had expended on Aire Communications. Her grandmother was going to be as infuriated as she was. Emma Harte would not tolerate being played for a fool; neither could she abide anyone who did not deal from a straight deck. Grandy would handle the situation in one of two ways. She would either shrug disdainfully and turn away in disgust, or she would treat Mr Cross to a tongue lashing the likes of which he had never heard before. Her grandmother had an intractable sense of honour, never went back on her handshake or her word, both of which were as good as a written contract, as the whole world knew.

The thought of Emma Harte putting the duplicitous John Cross firmly in his place brought a flicker of a smile to Paula’s violet-blue eyes. He deserved that if nothing else. But in reality he was facing much worse than Emma’s acid tongue and her virulent condemnation. He was looking disaster right in the eye. Bankruptcy. Total ruin. Obliteration. She knew he was convinced that he could easily find another conglomerate or company to refinance Aire. She also knew he was absolutely wrong in this foolish belief. She had her ear to the ground, and the word was out. Nobody wanted to touch Aire Communications. Not even those ruthless and rapacious asset strippers who bought companies, plundered them, and then tossed to one side the empty shells which were left.

It suddenly occurred to Paula, as she cut down Albion Street, that, Unbelievable though it was, John Cross had no real conception of what was about to happen to him or his company. She thought then of those he would take down with him, and of the many employees at Aire who would be thrown out of work. We could have saved him, more importantly saved them, she muttered under her breath. The man is unconscionable. Ever since she could remember, her grandmother had instilled a sense of responsibility in her, and this was one of the mandatory rules in Emma’s special code of ethics.

‘Great wealth and power bring enormous responsibilities, and don’t you ever forget that,’ Grandy had told her time and time again. ‘We must always look after those who work for us, and with us, because they help to make all this possible. And they rely on us, just as we rely on them in other ways,’ she had constantly pointed out. Paula was well aware that there were those magnates and industrialists who were jealous of Emma Harte, and who, as adversaries, misguidedly saw her as a hard, ruthless, driven and power-hungry woman. Yet even they did not have the temerity to deny that she was eminently fair. That was something every Harte employee knew from firsthand experience, hence their extraordinary loyalty and devotion to her grandmother, and their love for her.

Paula stopped abruptly, and took several deep breaths. She must get rid of the anger boiling inside her. It was exhausting, took too much of her precious energy – energy which could be directed elsewhere and to much better purpose. And besides, rage blocked reasonable and intelligent thought. She started to walk again, but now her step was slower and more regulated, and by the time she reached Commercial Street she had managed to calm herself considerably. She dawdled a little bit, stopping to glance in shop windows, until finally she was drawing to a standstill in front of E. Harte, her grandmother’s huge department store at the end of the street. She smiled at the uniformed doorman, whom she had known since childhood. ‘Hello, Alfred,’ she said, smiling.

‘’Ello, Miss Paula,’ he responded with a benevolent grin, touching his cap. ‘It’s a right beautiful day. Yes, luvely, it is that, Miss Paula. Let’s ’ope t’weather ’olds til termorrer, for yer bairns’ baptisms.’

‘Yes, let’s hope so, Alfred.’

He grinned again and pushed open the door for her. She thanked him, hurried through the perfumery department and took the lift to her office on the fourth floor. Her secretary, Agnes, looked up as she walked in, and exclaimed, with a small frown, ‘Oh dear, Mrs Fairley, you’ve just missed Mr O’Neill. Shane O’Neill, that is, and only by a few minutes too. What a shame. He waited for quite a while, then had to rush off to an appointment.’

‘Oh.’ Paula stopped dead in her tracks, taken aback, but she recovered herself, and asked quickly, ‘Did he say why he dropped in? Or leave a message?’

‘I gathered he was passing the store and decided to say hello on the spur of the moment. No message though, other than to tell you he would be coming to the christening.’

‘I see. Anything else, Agnes?’

‘Mr Fairley phoned from London. You can’t call him back, he was on his way to a luncheon at the Savoy Hotel. He’ll be arriving on schedule, at six, with your parents. The other messages are on your desk. Nothing vital.’ Agnes hesitated, then asked, ‘How did your meeting go at Aire?’

Paula made a sour face. ‘Not good, Agnes. In fact I’d venture to say that it went extremely badly.’

‘I am sorry, Mrs Fairley. I know the amount of work you put in on those dreadful balance sheets, and then the hours you devoted to the contracts.’ Agnes Fuller, prematurely grey at thirty-eight, plain of feature and with a severe expression that actually betrayed the kindest of hearts, had worked her way up through the ranks of the Leeds store. She had been flattered yet apprehensive when Paula had promoted her to private secretary. After all, Paula was the heiress apparent, and Emma Harte’s favourite; also, there were those in the store who thought she was cold, remote, unyielding and something of a snob who lacked Emma’s extraordinary common touch. But Agnes had soon discovered that Paula had none of the characteristics so unkindly attributed to her by detractors. She was reserved of nature – even a little shy – cautious and prudent, and a veritable work horse, and these traits had, very simply, been misconstrued. Over the past three years, Agnes had come to love the younger woman, was admiring of her, and considered her to be a brilliant executive who was a warm and caring person and a considerate employer.

As she peered at her young boss through her bifocals, Agnes noticed that Paula was paler than usual, and drawn. She gave her a look of sympathy mingled with regret. ‘It’s all very annoying,’ she clucked in commiseration, shaking her head. ‘And I hope you’re not going to let it bother you, particularly this weekend.’

‘No, I won’t, I promise you that,’ Paula reassured. ‘As my grandmother always says, you win a few, lose a few. We lost this one – ’ She did not finish, and a reflective expression settled on her face. ‘But, come to think of it, perhaps that’s just as well.’ There was a thoughtful pause, before she finished, ‘Excuse me, Agnes, I’ll see you shortly.’

Paula went into her office and sat down at the huge antique partners’ desk which dominated the room. After taking the Aire Communications papers out of her briefcase, she picked up a red pen and wrote dead in capitals across the front of the bulging folder. She rose, went to the filing cabinet and slipped it inside, then returned to her desk. The deal was dead as far as she was concerned. The negotiations had ended in a fiasco, and, in consequence, she had lost all interest in Aire Communications.

More than any other of the Harte offspring, Paula had inherited an unusual number of Emma’s characteristics, and those she had not been born with she had acquired by osmosis, from years of working at Emma’s side. Chief amongst these was the ability to admit any kind of mistake with openness and candour, and then put it behind her philosophically. Like Emma, she would invariably say: It didn’t work. Perhaps my judgement was flawed. But let’s go on from here. We mustn’t look back.

And this was exactly what she said to herself now. In her mind, Aire Communications was already a thing of the past. If she had gravely misjudged John Cross and wasted a great deal of time and effort on him, she had no intention of compounding these errors by dwelling on them unnecessarily. She wondered whether she ought to give her grandmother a ring, to explain what had happened, then decided against it. Grandy was seeing both Alexander and Emily this morning, and was bound to be busy. Later, she would drive out to Pennistone Royal, as arranged, and apprise her of the situation. Grandy is going to be disappointed, of course, she thought, sorting through the sheaf of messages. But that won’t last long, and I’ll soon find another project for her.

Picking up the telephone, Paula returned all of her business calls, signed the stack of letters Agnes had typed, and then sat back in the chair, glancing at her personal messages.

Her mother had called. Nothing important. Don’t bother to call back. Will see you tonight, Agnes had scribbled, then added one of her inimitable postscripts. Mrs Amory sounded marvellous, elated about tomorrow. We had a lovely chat. She’s got a new hairstyle, and is wearing a grey Christian Dior suit for the event.

Paula smiled at Agnes’s comments, then scanned the message from her cousin, Sarah Lowther. Apparently she was fighting a cold and might not be well enough to attend the christening. But she didn’t sound at all sick, Agnes had written cryptically. How strange, Paula thought, frowning and re-reading the slip of paper. Sarah obviously doesn’t want to come. I wonder why? Since she could not hazard a guess, she turned to the last message. Miranda O’Neill was at the Leeds office of O’Neill Hotels International. Please call her back before lunch, Agnes had instructed.

Paula immediately dialled Miranda’s private number. The line was busy, as it usually was when she was in the city. Like her grandfather, Miranda had what the poet Dylan Thomas had called ‘the beautiful gift of the gab’. She could easily be talking for the next hour. Automatically, Paula’s thoughts turned to Miranda’s brother, Shane, and instantly she saw his vivid laughing face in her mind’s eye. She was terribly disappointed she had missed him earlier. Such a visit had become a rarity. For years he had made it a habit to drop in on her both in Leeds and London, and when these unexpected visits had ceased abruptly she had been hurt and baffled.

Shane O’Neill, son of Bryan, grandson of Blackie, had been Paula’s closest friend since childhood. They had grown up with each other, had spent all of their school holidays together, and they had been inseparable for most of their lives, so much so that Emma had nicknamed Paula the Shadow. As her mind lingered on Shane, she realized she had not set eyes on him for many, many months. He was constantly travelling these days, dashing off to Spain and the Caribbean, where a number of the O’Neill hotels were located, and when he was in England, and if she chanced to run into him, he had a preoccupied air and a distant manner. She exhaled softly, slowly. How odd it was that their closeness should end with such finality, as it had two years ago. It still puzzled her. When she had eventually tackled Shane, had asked him what had happened between them, he had looked at her in the most peculiar way, and denied that anything had. He had blamed business and his time-consuming schedule for his absence from her life. Perhaps he had simply outgrown her. Childhood friendships often did change radically; very frequently they deteriorated to such an extent they could never be reinstated. Regrettably, she thought. And I do miss him. I wish I’d been here this morning.

The buzz of the telephone cut into her thoughts. She reached for it. Agnes said, ‘It’s Miss O’Neill, Mrs Fairley.’

‘Thanks, Agnes, put her through, please.’

A split second later Miranda’s lilting voice flowed over the wire. ‘Hello, Paula. I thought I’d better call you again, since my phone’s been busy for ages.’

‘That’s par for the course,’ Paula said with an affectionate laugh. ‘When did you get in from London?’

‘Last night. I drove up with Shane. And for the last time, I don’t mind telling you. He’s a maniac in a car. The tyres sizzled the roads. I thought we’d end up in a ditch. I’ll never know how I got here safe and sound. I was so shaken up, and white, when we arrived at the house, Mummy knew immediately what had happened. She’s forbidden me to drive with him again. She gave him quite a piece of her mind, and – ’

‘I’ll bet,’ Paula broke in, with another laugh. ‘Your mother thinks the sun shines out of Shane. He can’t do anything wrong in her eyes.’

‘Well, he’s in the doghouse at the moment, my dear. She really told him off, and so did Dad.’

‘Shane came to see me today, Miranda.’

‘Hey, that’s good news. Like you, I can’t understand why he’s so aloof with you these days, but then he’s a strange one, that big brother of mine. Too much of the Celt in him, perhaps. Anyway, what did he have to say?’

‘Nothing, Miranda, since I wasn’t here. I was out at a meeting.’

‘Too bad. Still, he’s coming to the christening. I know you had your doubts, but he told me he was definitely going to go. He even offered to drive me.’ Miranda groaned in mock horror at this idea. ‘I declined. I was going to go with Grandpops, but naturally he’s escorting Aunt Emma. So I’ll toddle over by myself. Listen, Paula, apart from wanting to say hello, I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch? I’ve got to come over to the store to pick up a package for my mother. I could meet you in the Birdcage in half an hour. What do you think?’

‘That’s a nice suggestion, Merry. I’ll see you there at noon.’

‘It’s a date,’ Miranda said. ‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’ As she began clearing her desk of papers, Paula was suddenly glad Miranda had suggested lunch. Her friend was a delight to be with, and a very special girl, with her naturalness, her sweetness, her gaiety and effervescence. She had a joyous, carefree disposition, and laughter sprang readily to her lips, undoubtedly the reason why her nickname Mirry had soon turned into Merry when she was small.

Paula smiled to herself, wondering what Miranda was wearing today, what surprise was in store for her. The twenty-three-year-old girl had a penchant for creating the most outlandish outfits – costumes really – but they were put together with imagination and style, and she certainly carried them off with élan. They would have looked perfectly ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow they were exactly right on Miranda O’Neill. Apart from suiting her tall, somewhat boyish figure, they were an adjunct to her fey and whimsical personality. Or so it seemed to Paula, who considered Merry to be an original, the one genuine free spirit she knew. Her grandmother was equally fond of Miranda, and said that Blackie’s granddaughter was the best tonic in the world for all of them, because she chased their blues away. ‘There’s not a bad bone in that girl’s body,’ Emma had remarked to Paula recently. ‘And now that she’s grown up she reminds me a lot of her grandmother. There’s a good deal of Laura Spencer in Merry – Laura’s true goodness for one thing. Also, there’s a wise head on those young shoulders, and I’m pleased you two have become such good friends. Every woman needs a close and trusted friend of the same sex. I should know. I never really had one after Laura died.’

Remembering these words of Emma’s, Paula thought: But she always had Blackie, and she still has him; whereas I’ve lost Shane. Funny, though, that Miranda and I drew closer together once Shane had dropped out …

There was a knock and Agnes poked her head around the door. ‘These proofs just came up from the advertising department. Can you give them your okay?’

‘Yes, come in, Agnes.’

‘They’re the advertisements for the spring fashion sales,’ Agnes explained, handing them to her.

After studying the newspaper advertisements for a few seconds, Paula initialled the proofs, gave them back to her secretary and stood up. ‘I’m going out on to the floor for a while. Could you phone the Birdcage, Agnes, and tell them I’ll need my usual table, please. At noon.’

‘Right away,’ Agnes said as they went out together.

When Emma Harte had first opened the café on the second floor of the Leeds store, she had called it the Elizabethan Gazebo, and had decorated it in the style of an English country garden. Such things as handpainted wallpaper depicting pastoral scenes, panels of white trellis, artificial topiary animals, and antique birdcages combined to create a most enchanting little setting.

Over the years, as she refurbished the café, the name changed to match the theme, or vice versa. But always a garden or outdoor motif prevailed, often with an international flavour, as Emma had given rein to her imagination and fantasies with flair and not a little wit. After a trip to the Bosphorus, with Paul McGill, she had been inspired to create the effect of a courtyard in a Seraglio. Mosaic tiles, silver wallpaper painted with peacocks, potted palms and a splashing fountain were combined in the new design. She had called the café Turkish Delight, and had been delighted herself to witness its instantaneous popularity as a smart gathering place, not only for women shoppers but local businessmen who came in for lunch. Several years later, Emma decided a more homespun motif was in order. Highland Fling was the name she chose, and the setting took on the appearance of a Scottish castle yard, featuring rustic furniture and colourful tartans. Eventually this ambience gave way to one which suggested an Oriental teahouse and drew its inspiration from the elegant decorative elements of the Far East. The café was renamed the China Doll. Then came the Balalaika, redolent of nineteenth-century Russia; after that it was transformed into Riviera Terrace, and in 1960 Emma redid the café yet again. This time she used a sophisticated theme based on the skyline of New York City, lining the walls with giant-sized photographic murals of Manhattan. The decor suggested a big-city roof garden and she called it Skyscrapers. But by the late summer of 1968 Emma had grown tired of this decorative mood, and, as the café needed a complete overhaul at this time, she gave the project to Paula, asking her to create something different.

Paula knew everything there was to know about all of the stores in the Harte chain, and she remembered the photographs she had seen of the original Elizabethan Gazebo. She went into the archives, dug out the original plans and sketches, and was instantly struck by the uniqueness and beauty of the antique birdcages. Since she was aware they were stored in packing cases in the basement, she had them brought up and unwrapped. And so the current theme and the latest name were born.

Paula had the wooden and brass birdcages repainted or repolished and, after finding more to add to the collection, she featured them throughout the restaurant. They stood out beautifully against a background of lime-green wallpaper over-patterned with a sharp white trellis design; white wicker chairs and matching tables with glass tops reiterated the outdoor mood. Paula loved all growing things, was, in fact, a gifted gardener, and so her final, masterful touch was a lush assortment of small trees, flowering shrubs and plants. It was the many pots of hydrangeas and azaleas that gave the Birdcage its cachet, and this real garden within the heart of the store bloomed in all seasons under her personal supervision. Emma had recognized at once that it was an evocation of her own first design and as such a little tribute to her, and she was flattered.

A few minutes after twelve, on this Friday morning, Paula hurried into the Birdcage and as always she was struck by the refreshing sight of the flowers and foliage, one which appeared to cheer everyone up. Moving between the tables, where morning shoppers were settling down to lunch, Paula saw that Miranda O’Neill had already arrived. Her burnished copper hair, cascading in a glorious mass of waves and curls around her heart-shaped face, seemed to catch and hold all the light, was like a shining beacon at the far side of the room. Miranda glanced up from the menu she was perusing, saw Paula, and waved.

‘Sorry I kept you waiting,’ Paula apologized when she reached the table. ‘I was delayed in the Designer Salon. We’ve been having the most awful trouble with the new lighting, and I wanted to check on it again. It’s still not right I’m afraid.’ She bent down and kissed her friend, slipped into the next chair.

Miranda grinned a little impishly, and said, ‘Oh dear, the trials and tribulations of running a store! I’ll swap jobs with you any day. Doing public relations for a chain of hotels can be the pits at times.’

‘If I remember correctly, you really badgered your father for that job.’

‘That’s true. But I wouldn’t have, if I’d known what I was letting myself in for,’ Miranda grumbled, making a long face. But she then had the good grace to laugh, and admitted, ‘I suppose I enjoy it really. It’s only occasionally that I feel the pressure. But right now I’m in Dad’s good books. He’s very happy with my latest campaign, and he even went so far as to say I’d been innovative the other day. That’s praise indeed from him. He’s not given to paying me compliments, as you know. He even said that if I behave myself he’s going to send me to Barbados in a few weeks, to look over the hotel we’ve just bought there. By the time we’ve remodelled it and redecorated, it’ll be super de luxe and as elegant as the Sandy Lane. We all believe it’s going to be an important addition to our chain.’

‘That’s marvellous, Merry. Really exciting for you. Now, shall we order? I don’t want to rush you, but I have to leave the store early today.’

‘No problem, I’m a bit pushed myself.’ Miranda glanced at the menu again, said, ‘I’ll have the plaice and chips, I think.’

‘Good idea. I’ll join you.’ Paula caught the attention of the waitress, ordered, and then turned to Miranda, looking her over quickly, at once captivated by her outfit. Today she was wearing a rather theatrically-styled jerkin with a wide, flaring collar and three-quarter sleeves, and it was laced up the front over a white silk shirt with longer sleeves. There was a twinkle in Paula’s eyes as she said, ‘You look like a female Robin Hood, in all that Sherwood Green suede, Merry. The only things that are missing are a quiver of arrows and a perky little felt hat with a sweeping feather.’

Miranda broke into laughter. ‘Don’t think I don’t have the hat! I do. But I didn’t dare wear it to lunch, in case you’d think I was bonkers. Everyone else does.’ She swivelled in the chair to reveal her legs, which were encased in tight green-suede pants and matching boots that came up above her knees. ‘When Shane saw me this morning he said I looked like the Principal Boy in a pantomime. I went the whole hog with this outfit, I’m afraid. Is it too theatrical?’

‘Not really. And you could have worn the hat. I for one happen to like you in your fanciful costumes.’

Miranda looked pleased. ‘Coming from the elegant you that’s a real compliment.’ Leaning closer, she hurried on, ‘Are you and Jim busy tonight? I was wondering if I could invite you out to dinner?’

‘I’d love you to join us tonight, if you won’t be bored. Grandy’s having a family dinner at Pennistone Royal.’

‘I’m not sure that that’s still on, Paula. Your grandmamma has a hot date with my grandfather.’ Miranda’s laugh held a hint of mischief, which was reflected in her eyes, as she said, ‘Can you imagine, and at their ages!’

Paula was thrown by this statement. ‘Oh, you must be mistaken. I’m certain Grandy intends to be there.’

‘I’m not wrong, honestly I’m not. I heard Shane talking to my father a little while ago. Grandfather is taking Aunt Emma out to dinner. But I was only teasing when I said they had a hot date, since Shane’s going with them.’

‘Then Grandy must have changed her plans,’ Paula said, dreading the thought of the dinner without her grandmother’s presence. ‘I expect my mother will play hostess in her place, since I can’t imagine Grandy actually cancelling it without talking to me first.’

‘No, I don’t think she would do that.’ Leaning forward again, her manner still teasing, Miranda said, ‘When my grandfather and your grandmother get together, they’re incorrigible. I told him the other day that it was about time he made an honest woman out of Aunt Emma and married her.’

‘If anyone’s incorrigible, it’s you, Merry! And what did Uncle Blackie say to that?’

‘He chuckled, and told me he’d only been waiting for my approval, and now that he had it he was going to pop the question. ’Course, I knew he was only kidding me in return. But to tell you the truth, I don’t think it’s such a bad idea, do you?’

Paula merely smiled. She said, ‘Anyway, getting back to the family dinner, you’re very welcome. Come around seven-thirty for drinks. Dinner’s at eight-thirty.’

‘You are a darling, Paula. Thank you. You’ve just rescued me from a boring evening with Ma and Pa. All they do these days is talk about the baby.’

‘I’m not sure your evening with us will be much more stimulating. My mother has become something of a doting grandma. All she does is rave about the twins. I can’t seem to shut her up.’

‘But I adore Aunt Daisy. She’s such a lovely woman, and not a bit like the rest of you – ’ Miranda stopped, horrified at her words. Her pale, freckled face flamed to scarlet.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Paula demanded, a dark brow arching as she pretended to be insulted, but the amusement touching her mouth betrayed her.

‘I didn’t mean it the way it came out,’ Miranda exclaimed in embarrassment. ‘I wasn’t referring to you or Aunt Emma, or your cousins, but to your aunts and uncles actually. I am sorry, though. It was rather rude of me.’

‘Don’t apologize, I happen to agree with you.’ Paula fell silent thinking specifically of her Aunt Edwina, the Dowager Countess of Dunvale, who was due to arrive from Ireland later that day. It was because of Edwina that she and Jim had had their first truly serious quarrel. Some weeks ago, to her utter astonishment and disbelief, Jim had decided that Edwina must be invited to the christening. When Paula had objected, and strenuously so, and had reminded him that Edwina was no favourite of Grandy’s, he had brushed aside her protestations and told her she was being silly. And then he had reminded her that Emma wanted bygones to be bygones, sought peace within the family. ‘Well, you’d better not invite Edwina until I’ve mentioned it to Grandy,’ Paula cautioned, and he had acquiesced to this suggestion, at least. When she had told her grandmother about it, Emma had appeared off-hand, indifferent even, and had told her to accept the situation gracefully, to let him invite Edwina, and to put a good face on it if she accepted. But there had been a strange look in Grandy’s eyes, and Paula suspected that Emma had been disappointed in Jim. As she had herself, but she had overcome this feeling, loving him as much as she did; and she had excused Jim, too, because he had no family of his own to invite to his children’s christening, and Edwina was half Fairley. If only Edwina weren’t so hostile to Emma and to her.

Miranda, studying her friend, saw that she looked troubled, and ventured, ‘You’re awfully pensive all of a sudden, Paula. Is something wrong?’

‘No, no, of course not.’ Paula forced a smile, and changing the subject, she asked, ‘How’s your mother?’

‘Her health’s much better, thanks. Also, I think she’s finally recovered from the shock of getting pregnant at forty-five and giving birth to a change-of-life baby. And little Laura is simply adorable. I love to watch Grandfather playing with her. He’s quite infatuated, and of course he’s thrilled they called her Laura, after my grandmother. They almost gave me that name, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t, Merry.’

‘Yes. Then they changed their minds, I suppose. But I wouldn’t have minded being named for my grandmother, and I certainly wish I’d known her. She must have been a remarkable woman. Everyone loved her so, especially Aunt Emma.’

‘Yes, and Grandy told me, only the other day, that she’s never stopped missing Laura since the day she died.’

‘We’re all muddled up, aren’t we, Paula?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Hartes and the O’Neills. And the Fairleys, for that matter. Our lives are inextricably linked … we can’t really escape each other, can we?’

‘No, I don’t suppose we can.’

Miranda reached over and squeezed Paula’s hand. ‘I’m glad we can’t. I think it’s rather nice to have you and Aunt Emma and Aunt Daisy for a second family.’ Her huge hazel eyes, sparkling with tiny prisms of gold, overflowed with warmth and affection.

Paula returned the pressure of her hand. ‘And it’s nice for me to have the O’Neills.’

The arrival of the waitress with the tray of food interrupted this exchange, and for the next fifteen minutes or so the two young women talked mostly about Paula’s babies, the christening the next day, and the reception Emma was giving after the church ceremony. But then Miranda, quite suddenly, adopted a serious tone, when she said, ‘There’s something very important I’d like to discuss with you.’

Paula, at once noticing the change in her friend’s demeanour, asked swiftly, ‘Do you have problems?’

‘Not at all. But I do have an idea I’d like to throw at you, to get your reaction.’

‘What kind of idea, Merry?’ she asked curiously.

‘You and I doing business together.’

‘Oh.’ This was the last thing Paula expected, and after her initial exclamation she was startled into momentary silence.

Miranda grinned, and not giving her a chance to comment further or brush the idea to one side, she rushed on: ‘I had a flash of inspiration last week, when I was going over the blueprints for the new hotel we’re building in Marbella. The architect has planned a galleria of shops, and it struck me immediately that we must include a boutique. Naturally, I thought of Harte’s, then I realized one boutique wouldn’t interest you. So I took the idea a step further … Harte boutiques in all of our hotels. There’s the new one we’re doing over in Barbados, we’re about to remodel the Torremolinos hotel, and eventually the entire chain will get a revamp. We could have a boutique in each one, and Harte’s could run them.’ Miranda sat back and searched Paula’s face for a clue to her feelings, but it was unreadable. She asked eagerly, ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Paula said. ‘Have you discussed this with Uncle Bryan?’

‘Yes, and Dad liked the idea. He was very gung ho actually, and told me to talk to you.’ Miranda gazed at her friend expectantly and crossed her fingers. ‘Would you be willing to go into the venture with us?’

‘I think we might be. I’d have to talk to my grandmother, of course.’ This was uttered with Paula’s usual caution, but she could not conceal the interest quickening on her face. With a small rush of excitement, she thought: It could be the perfect project for Grandy. The one I’ve been looking for, and it would certainly take the sting out of the Cross fiasco. Straightening up, Paula said in a more positive voice, ‘Give me some additional details, Merry,’ and she listened attentively as the other girl talked. Within minutes she began to recognize the endless possibilities and advantages inherent in Miranda O’Neill’s idea.

CHAPTER 4

Emma sat up with an abrupt jolt.

I don’t believe it. I almost dozed off, she thought with exasperation. Only old ladies do that in the middle of the day. She began to laugh. Well, she was an old lady, even though she was loath to admit that to anyone, least of all herself.

Shifting her position on the sofa, she stretched, then straightened her skirt, and immediately became aware of the heat from the blazing fire. The room was stifling, even for her – she who had always suffered from the cold and rarely ever felt warm enough. No wonder she had become so drowsy.

With a burst of energy she propelled herself up and off the sofa, and hurried to the windows. She opened one of them and took several deep breaths, fanning herself with her hand. The crisp air felt good, and the breeze brushing against her face soon refreshed her, and she stood there for a moment or two until she was cooler, before turning away and retracing her steps.

Her pace was slower, and she looked around as she skirted the two large plump sofas in the centre of the floor. She nodded with pleasure, thinking how lovely the room appeared at this moment, washed as it was in the golden sunlight now streaming in through the many windows. But then it always did look beautiful to her, and she would rather be here than anywhere else on this earth.

Is it age, I wonder, that makes us cleave to the best-known spaces in our lives, and the well-loved and familiar things? Is it the memories of the years gone by, and of those we cared so much about, which bind us to those places and make them so special in our deepest hearts? She believed that this was true – at least for her. She felt safe, and comforted, when she was in surroundings where so many episodes of her long and colourful life had been played out.

Such a place was Pennistone Royal, this ancient, historic and rambling house on the outskirts of Ripon, which she had purchased in 1932. In particular she favoured this room – the upstairs parlour – where she had spent so many endless happy hours over the years. She had often wondered how it had come to be called the upstairs parlour, for there was nothing parlour-like about it at all. This struck her once again as her glance took in the impressive architectural details and the splendid furnishings.

By the very nature of its dimensions the room had a singular grandeur, with its high, Jacobean ceiling decorated with elaborate plasterwork, its tall leaded windows flanking the unique oriel window, and the carved fireplace of bleached oak. Yet for all its imposing detail, and despite its size, Emma had introduced a mellow charm and great comfort, plus a subtle understated elegance that had taken time, much patience, superb taste and a vast amount of money to create.

Being confident of her original choices, Emma had never felt it necessary to change anything, so the room had remained the same for over thirty years. She knew, for instance, that no other paintings could ever surpass the fine portraits of a young nobleman and his wife by Sir Joshua Reynolds, or the priceless Turner landscape. The three oils were in perfect harmony with her graceful Georgian antiques, collected so lovingly and with infinite care. And such things as the Savonnerie carpet, faded now to a delicate beauty, and her Rose Medallion china in the Chippendale cabinet, were matchless touches that added to the room’s graciousness and style. Even the walls were always repainted in their original primrose, for to her discerning eye this pale and delicate colour made the most restful backdrop for the art and the rich patinas of the dark woods, and it introduced the cheerful sunny aspect she preferred.

This morning, the springlike mood of the setting, created by the airy colour scheme and the brightly-patterned chintz on the sofas, was reinforced by porcelain bowls brimming with jonquils, tulips and hyacinth, which spilled their lively yellows, reds, pinks and mauves on to some of the darkly-gleaming surfaces, and their fragrant scents were aromatic on the still and gentle air.

Emma moved forward, then paused again in front of the fireplace. She never tired of looking at the Turner which hung above the mantelpiece, dominating the soaring chimney wall with its misty greens and blues. The landscape was bucolic, evocative, and a superb example of Turner’s poetic and visionary interpretations of the pastoral scene.

It’s definitely the light, she decided for the hundredth time, as always fascinated by the luminous sky in the painting. In Emma’s opinion, no one had ever been able to capture light on canvas in quite the same manner as Turner. The clear cool light in this masterpiece was forever associated in her mind with the Northern skies under which she had grown up, and had lived for most of her life, and which she would love always. She believed them to be unique because of their clarity, and a radiance that seemed unearthly at times.

Her eye now caught the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost one. She had better pull herself together, and very smartly, since Emily was due momentarily, and everyone had to be on their toes when the volatile, whirlwind Emily was around. Most especially old ladies, she added inwardly, chuckling softly again.

Hurrying briskly into the adjoining bedroom, she sat down at her dressing table. After dabbing her nose with powder, she renewed her pink lipstick and ran a comb through her hair. There, that does it. Passable, she added under her breath, peering into the glass. No, more than passable. I really do look pretty nifty today, as Alexander said.

She swung her head and stared at Paul’s photograph standing on one corner of the dressing table, and she began to speak to him in her mind. This was an old habit of hers and one which had become something of a ritual.

I wonder what you would think of me, if you could see me now? Would you recognize your glorious Emma, as you used to call me? Would you think that I have grown old gracefully, as I believe I have?

Picking up the photograph, she sat holding it with both hands, gazing down into his face. After all these years she still remembered every facet of him, and with a poignant vividness, as if she had seen him only yesterday. She blew a mote of dust off the glass. How handsome he looked in his white tie and tails. This was the last picture taken of him. In New York. On 3 February 1939. She recalled the date so easily. It had been his fifty-ninth birthday, and she had invited a group of their friends for drinks at their lavish Fifth Avenue apartment, and then they had gone to the Metropolitan Opera to hear Risë Stevens and Ezio Pinza sing Mignon. Afterwards, Paul had taken them to Delmonico’s for his birthday dinner, and it had been a wonderful evening, marred only at its outset by Daniel Nelson’s talk of impending war, and Paul’s equally bleak assessment of the world situation. Paul’s mood had been gay later, at dinner. But it was the last carefree evening they ever spent together.

She touched the white wings of his hair with a fingertip, and half smiled to herself. The twins who were being baptized tomorrow were his first great-grandchildren too, a continuation of his bloodline. Upon his death, the McGill dynasty had passed into her hands for safekeeping, and she had guarded it well and faithfully, just as she had preserved and multiplied his great fortune, which she had solemnly vowed she would.

Sixteen years, she thought. We only had sixteen years together. Not very much time really, in the span of a life … particularly a long life like mine.

Without thinking, she spoke aloud: ‘If only you had lived longer. If only we could have shared our later years, grown old together. How wonderful that would have been.’ Her eyes misted over and she felt a tightening in her throat. Why you foolish, foolish old woman, she admonished herself silently. Weeping now for something gone so far beyond tears. With a swift and darting movement she returned the photograph to its given place.

‘Grandma … are you alone?’ Emily asked in a tentative voice from the doorway.

Startled, Emma jumped, and turned in the chair. Her face lit up. ‘Oh hello, Emily dear. I didn’t hear you come through the parlour. And of course I’m alone.’

Emily ran to her, gave her a resounding kiss, and then looked down at her curiously. She said, with a funny little smile, ‘I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone, Gran.’

‘I was. I was talking to him.’ She inclined her head at the photograph, and added dryly, ‘And if you think I’m getting senile, you can forget it. I’ve talked to that photograph for thirty years.’

‘Gosh, Grandy, you’re the last person I’d ever think of as being senile!’ Emily was quick to reassure, meaning every word. ‘Mummy maybe, but never you.’

Emma fixed her coolly probing eyes on her granddaughter. ‘Where is your mother, Emily. Do you know?’

‘Haiti. Basking in the sun. At least I think that’s where she’s gone.’

‘Haiti.’ Emma sat up in the chair, surprise registering, and then she let out a small whoop of a laugh. ‘Isn’t that the place they practise voodoo. I hope she isn’t having a wax doll made called Emma Harte, into which she can stick pins and wish me ill as she does.’

Emily also laughed, shaking her head. ‘Honestly, Gran, you are a card. Mummy wouldn’t think of anything like that. I doubt she’s ever heard of voodoo. Besides, I’m sure she’s far too preoccupied. With the Frenchman.’

‘Oh. So, she’s done another bolt, has she? And with a Frenchman this time. Well, I must say, your mother is getting to be a regular United Nations.’

‘Yes, she does seem to have developed a fondness for foreign gentlemen, Grandy.’ Emily’s green eyes brimmed with laughter as she stood rocking on her heels, regarding her grandmother with delight, enjoying their bit of repartee. There was no one like her Gran when it came to the caustic jab which got right to the heart of the matter.

Emma said, ‘Knowing your mother, he undoubtedly has an uncertain character, not to mention a dubious title. What’s this one’s name?’

‘Marc Deboyne. You might have read about him. He’s always in the gossip columns. And you’re right on target, regarding his character. But he doesn’t have a title, dubious or otherwise.’

‘That’s a relief. I’m sick to death of all these counts and princes and barons with unpronounceable names, grandiose ideas and empty wallets, whom your mother unfailingly collects. And invariably marries. Deboyne is a playboy though, isn’t he?’

‘I’d categorize him as IWT, Gran.’

‘What on earth does that mean, dear?’ Emma asked, her brows lifting, expressing her puzzlement.

‘International White Trash.’

Emma guffawed. ‘That’s a new one on me. And whilst I get the implication, explain further, please, Emily.’

‘It’s a term for men with murky backgrounds, even questionable backgrounds, who have social aspirations which they can only hope to fulfil in another country. I mean a country not their own. You know, where inconsistencies won’t be spotted. It could be an Englishman in Paris, a Russian in New York, or, as in this instance, a frog in London.’ Emily made a disagreeable face. ‘Marc Deboyne has been flitting around Mayfair’s fashionable drawing rooms for years, and I’m surprised Mummy got involved with him. He’s so transparent. He must have managed to dupe her somehow. Personally, I think he stinks, Gran.’

Emma frowned. ‘Have you met him then?’

‘Yes, and before Mummy too.’ She stopped short, deciding not to mention that Deboyne had made a pass at her first. That would really be inflammatory to her Gran. She finished, ‘He’s quite ghastly.’

Emma sighed, and wondered how much this one was going to cost her daughter. For cost her he would. That type of man always came expensive – frequently emotionally, but always financially. Dismally she thought of the million pounds she had given Elizabeth last year. Cold cash, too. Most of it had probably been frittered away by now. Still, what that foolish woman did with the money was no concern of hers. She had only been interested in buying Elizabeth off, and in so doing, protecting Alexander, Emily, and the fifteen-year-old twin girls. Emma said, with some asperity, ‘Your mother is impossible. Impossible. Where are her brains, for God’s sake? Don’t bother to answer that, Emily. In the meantime, out of curiosity, whatever happened to the current husband? That lovely Italian.’

Emily stared at her in disbelief. ‘Grandy!’ she shrieked. ‘What a switch! You always said you thought he was a gigolo. In fact, you were usually quite unkind about him, and I was certain you detested him.’

‘I changed my mind,’ Emma replied loftily. ‘As it turned out he wasn’t a fortune hunter, and he was nice to the twins.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go into the parlour and have a drink before lunch.’ She tucked her arm through Emily’s companionably, and steered her across the floor. She asked again, ‘So, where is Gianni what’s-his-name?’

‘He’s around. He’s moved out of Mummy’s flat, of course. But he’s still in London. He’s got himself a job with some Italian importing company, antiques, I believe. He often telephones me to ask about Amanda and Francesca. He’s rather attached to them I think.’

‘I see.’ Emma disentangled her arm and lowered herself on to one of the sofas. ‘I’d like a gin and tonic, Emily, instead of the usual sherry. Do the honours, please, dear.’

‘Yes, Grandy. I think I’ll have one myself.’ Always in a tearing hurry, Emily dashed across the room to the Georgian table which held a silver tray of bottles and Baccarat crystal glasses. Emma’s eyes followed her. In the red wool suit and frilly lilac blouse Emily reminded her of an iridescent humming-bird, so small, so swift, so brilliantly plumed, and so full of life. She’s a good girl, Emma thought. Thank God she hasn’t turned out like her mother.

Mixing the drinks deftly, Emily said, over her shoulder, ‘Talking of my baby half-sisters, Gran, are you going to let them stay at Harrogate College?’

‘For the moment. But I fully intend to pack them off to finishing school in Switzerland this September. In the meantime, they seem to be happy at the college. Of course, I realize that’s because of my proximity. I suppose I spoil them, letting them come home so much.’ Emma paused, remembering the fuss and bother and upset the previous year, when her two youngest grandchildren had tearfully begged to come and live with her. Emma had finally succumbed under their constant pressuring, although her acquiescence had been conditional. For their part, they had had to agree to attend the nearby boarding school Emma had selected. The girls had been thrilled, their mother delighted to be rid of them, Emma relieved that she had averted a nasty family contretemps from developing further.

Leaning back against the cushions, she let out a tiny sigh. ‘Anyway, spoil them or not, I do feel those two need mothering, and a chance to lead a normal family life. They’ve had little enough of either with your mother.’

‘That’s true,’ Emily agreed, carrying the drinks over to the seating arrangement in front of the fire. ‘I feel a bit sorry for them myself. I suppose Alexander and I got the best of Mummy, I mean her better years. The girls have had a rough time of it … all those husbands. It seems to me that ever since she left their father, our mother has been on a downward slide. Oh well, what can you do? …’ Emily’s young breathy voice petered out sadly. She shrugged in resignation, and her whole demeanour reflected her disenchantment. ‘There’s not much you or I can do about your daughter, my mother, Grandy. She’s not likely to change.’

Emily now looked across at her grandmother, her blonde brows meeting in a frown. She said in a fretful tone, ‘The trouble with poor Mummy is that she suffers from the most terrible insecurity about herself, her looks, her figure, her personality … well, just about everything.’

‘Oh, do you think so,’ Emma exclaimed in astonishment at this remark. Her face changed and there was a glint of malice in her flinty green eyes as she remarked, with immense coldness, ‘I can’t imagine why.’ She lifted her glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers, Gran darling.’

Emma settled into a corner of the vast sofa, and, squinting in the sunlight, she focused on the attractive twenty-two-year-old Emily. The girl had a special place in her affections, for apart from being open and uncomplicated, she had a very lovable personality, one that was sunny, cheerful, and perennially optimistic, and she was a dynamic girl, filled with enthusiasm for life and her work. If Emily’s pink-and-cream blonde prettiness had the porcelain fragility of a Dresden shepherdess, it was, nevertheless, deceptive, belying an extraordinary drive that had the velocity and power of an express train running at full speed. Emma knew there were those in the family, specifically her sons, who thought Emily was scatterbrained and flippant. This secretly amused Emma, since she was fully aware that Emily purposely chose to give this fraudulent impression. In no way did it reflect her basic seriousness and diligence. Emma had long ago decided that her sons really disliked their niece because she was far too blunt and opinionated – and truthful – for their comfort. Emma had been witness to more than one scene when the intrepid Emily had made Kit and Robin squirm.

Emma looked into the clear green eyes, a reflection of her own as they had once been, saw the expectancy flickering in them, then noted the confident smile etched on Emily’s mouth. Emily had obviously convinced herself she was going to get her own way. Oh dear. Taking a deep breath, Emma said, with a faint laugh, ‘For someone with a serious problem, you certainly don’t look very troubled, dear. You’re positively glowing this morning.’

Emily nodded, and admitted, ‘I don’t think my problem’s all that serious, Grandy. I mean, it doesn’t seem to be today.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. You sounded as if you had the burdens of the world on your shoulders, when you spoke to me on Tuesday morning.’

‘Did I really,’ Emily laughed. ‘I suppose things seem so much brighter when I’m with you. Perhaps that’s because I know you can always solve any problem, and I just know you’ll – ’ She broke off when Emma held up a silencing hand.

Emma said: ‘I’ve known for some time that you want to go back to Paris, to work in the store there. That is what you want to discuss, isn’t it? That is your problem?’

‘Yes, Gran,’ Emily said, her eyes shining with eagerness.

Emma put down her drink on the butler’s tray table, and leaned forward, her expression suddenly serious. She said carefully, ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you go to Paris. I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Emily, but you will have to stay here.’

The happy smile vanished, and Emily’s face dropped. ‘But why, Grandy?’ she asked in a crushed voice. ‘I thought you were pleased with the way I handled things in Paris all last summer and through the autumn.’

‘I was. Very pleased, in fact, and proud of you. Your performance has nothing to do with my decision. No, that’s not strictly true. One of the reasons I’ve formulated new plans for you is because of the way you performed over there.’ Emma’s eyes did not leave her granddaughter’s face as she explained carefully, ‘Plans for your future. Which, in my considered opinion, is with Harte Enterprises.’

‘Harte Enterprises!’ Emily cried, her voice rising incredulously.

She froze on the sofa, staring at her grandmother dumbfounded. ‘Where would I fit in there? Alexander, Sarah and Jonathan are working in that company, and I’d just be a spare wheel! A dogsbody, with nothing to do. Anyway, I’ve always worked for you. In the stores. I love retailing, and you know that, Gran. I’d just hate, positively hate and detest, being pushed into that organization,’ Emily protested with uncommon fierceness, flushing bright pink. Breathlessly, she rushed on, ‘I really mean it. You’ve always said it’s important to enjoy one’s work. Well, I certainly wouldn’t enjoy working at Harte Enterprises. Oh please let me go to Paris. I really love that store, and I want to continue to help you get it properly on its feet. Please change your mind. Please, oh please, Gran darling. I’ll just be miserable if you don’t,’ she wailed, and her face was as woebegone as her voice as she clenched her hands together in her lap.

Emma made an irritated clucking noise, and shook her head reprovingly. ‘Now, now, Emily, don’t be so dramatic,’ she exclaimed with unusual sharpness. ‘And do stop trying to cajole me. I know all about your wheedling. Sometimes it works, other times, like right now, I am quite impervious to it. And incidentally, the Paris store is on its feet, thanks, in no small measure, to you. So you’re not needed there any more. Very frankly, I need you here.’

This remark, although uttered mildly, caused Emily to sit up swiftly, and she frowned, further taken aback. ‘You need me, Grandy. What for? What do you mean?’ Emily’s eyes widened and filled with worry. She wondered if her grandmother had a serious problem within Harte Enterprises. Hardly. Her health? That seemed unlikely too. But obviously something was amiss.

‘What’s wrong, Grandma?’ she asked, giving words to her spiralling anxiety, all ideas about Paris swept completely out of her head.

‘There is nothing wrong, dear,’ Emma said with a bright smile, detecting the girl’s concern. ‘Before I explain my reasons for wanting you here, I would like to clarify my remark about your future. Naturally I realize you like working at the stores, but you can’t get much further at Harte’s. Paula and your Uncle David have the real power there these days, and Paula will inherit all of my shares one day. Paula respects your ability, and she would love to keep you by her side, but Emily, you’d always be a salaried employee, with no financial interest whatsoever. I do – ’

‘I know that,’ Emily interjected. ‘But – ’

‘Don’t interrupt me,’ Emma snapped, cutting her off. ‘As you learned last spring, I have left you sixteen per cent of Harte Enterprises, and that’s a huge interest, since the company is so very rich. And solid. As solid as the Bank of England, in my opinion. Your wealth, your future security, will come from your shares in Harte Enterprises, and I have felt for the longest time that you must have a hand in running it. After all, it will belong, in part, to you one day.’

Emma could not fail to miss the worried expression now settling on Emily’s face and she reached across the table and squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘Don’t look so distressed. I’m not implying that I lack confidence in your brother. You must know that I don’t. Alexander will guide, and guard, Harte Enterprises with all of his strength and ability, and with great devotion, I’ve no fear. Nevertheless, I want you to be active there, along with Sandy and your cousins. I really believe that you must direct that considerable energy of yours, and your many talents into the company in which you have such a major stake, and from which you will reap so many benefits.’

Emily was quiet, mulling over her grandmother’s words, and after a longish pause, she said slowly, ‘Yes, I see what you mean, and I know you have my interests at heart, but there’s nothing about the company that appeals to me. Anyway, Sarah has always enjoyed running the clothing end, and she’d resent it if you shoved me in there with her. As for Jonathan, he’d really get on that high horse of his, if you foist me on him. He considers the real estate division to be his little kingdom, and his alone. He’d be in revolt if I started poking around there. So what would I do at HE? The only thing I understand is retailing.’ Her voice faltered, for she was on the verge of tears, and she looked away swiftly, staring out of the window, her expression exceedingly glum.

The prospect of leaving the Harte chain of stores, and Paula, whom she worshipped, was depressing and distressing to Emily. And she would have to leave. That had already been decided, she had the good sense to recognize. Her opinion wasn’t being sought. She was being told what to do, told what was expected of her, and her grandmother’s authority was unassailable. Besides, that cold and stubborn look was now engraved on her grandmother’s face, and it was a look they were all familiar with, one which left nothing to the imagination. It said, in no uncertain language, that Emma Harte would have her own way no matter what. Emily felt the prick of tears behind her eyes, as she contemplated her miserable future. Mortified, she blinked them back and swallowed, endeavouring to hold on to her diminishing composure. Tears, emotion, and any other sign of weakness in business were anathema to her grandmother.

Emma, observing the girl closely, saw how troubled and upset she was growing, and realized immediately that she must allay Emily’s worries. Adopting her most sympathetic manner, Emma said, ‘Don’t take this so hard, dear. It’s not half as bad as you imagine. And I certainly had no intention of putting you in either of the divisions run by your cousins. That wouldn’t be fair to any of you. Nor am I considering making you Sandy’s assistant – if that idea has entered your agile little brain. No, no, nothing like that. When I said I needed you here, I did mean here. In Yorkshire. I would like you to work at General Retail Trading, and learn everything there is to know about that division of Harte Enterprises. You see, Emily, I want you to run it for me eventually.’

For a moment Emily thought she had misheard. She was so surprised she was speechless. She gaped at her grandmother, and then finally managed to ask, ‘Are you serious?’

‘Really, Emily, that’s a stupid question. Do you honestly think I would joke about my business?’

‘No, Grandy.’ Emily bit her lip, trying to digest her grandmother’s words. The General Retail Trading Company, known within the family as Genret, was one of Harte Enterprises’ most important assets, and an enormous money-maker. As the implications behind her grandmother’s announcement began to sink in, she was assaulted by a mixture of emotions: she was flattered, overwhelmed, worried and scared all at once. But these feelings were almost instantaneously overshadowed by genuine bafflement.

Sitting forward with a jerk, she asked in a puzzled voice, ‘But why do you suddenly need me? You have Leonard Harvey. He’s been running Genret for years, and brilliantly. Or so you’ve always said.’

‘And I meant what I said.’ Emma picked up her drink, took a sip, sat nursing it in her hands. ‘However, Len reminded me several weeks ago that he will be retiring in three years. I’d hoped he would stay on, but he insists on going when it’s time. He wants a chance to enjoy life, do a few of the things he’s always wanted to do, like take a trip around the world, for one thing.’ Emma laughed softly. ‘I can certainly understand his point of view. That man’s worked for me for over thirty-five years, and I don’t remember him ever taking a day off, except for his annual summer holidays in August. Naturally, I’d no option but to agree, albeit reluctantly.’

Emma put down her drink, rose, and went to stand with her back to the fireplace. She stared down at Emily, and continued matter-of-factly: ‘Len brought up his retirement because he thought it was high time I started to think about his successor. It occurred to me at once that here was the perfect opening for you. I’ve been racking my brains for months, wondering how to get you situated within Harte Enterprises, in a division you would enjoy. I believe I’ve found it, Emily, and I’m also convinced Genret could well use your special talents.’

Emily said nothing. She, who had an opinion about everything which she usually had no qualms expressing, was now oddly at a loss for words.

Emma stood waiting, giving Emily a chance to catch her breath and marshal her thoughts. She understood perfectly the girl’s unprecedented reticence. She had just dropped a bombshell on her. But as the silence grew, Emma, always in a hurry to settle matters and move on, announced peremptorily, ‘I need you to start working at Genret immediately. Len wants to begin his training programme at once. Three years may seem like a long time to you, but it isn’t really. Genret is a large company, and you will have a great deal to absorb and understand. So, what do you say?’

Still Emily was mute, and Emma threw her a sharper look. Then she scowled at her. ‘Come along, dear, you must have some comment to make. I can’t believe that the cat’s got your tongue permanently.’

Pulling herself together, Emily gave her grandmother an uncertain smile. ‘Are you sure? Really sure about me going into Genret?’

‘I wouldn’t have suggested it, if I’d had any doubts,’ Emma retorted crossly.

‘But what about the group at Genret?’ Emily asked quickly. ‘I mean, will they sit still for it? For me?’

‘I am Genret, Emily. Or had you forgotten that?’

‘No, no, of course I hadn’t, Grandmother. What I meant was, will Len and the top management team accept me? I know you can appoint anybody you want, since it’s your company, but surely Len must have a protégé, somebody he would like to follow in his footsteps, who knows the inner workings of Genret.’

‘He doesn’t. Furthermore, he thinks you’re the ideal choice. And he’s not just pandering to me. Len’s too shrewd and outspoken to fall into that trap. And, whilst he realizes I would like a member of the family inside Genret once he goes, he would tell me point blank if there was no suitable candidate. He would insist we look outside the family. It just so happens that he thinks you’re ideally suited to head up a wholesale supply company. For several reasons, all of them excellent. Your experience with the stores, your considerable knowledge of retailing, not to mention merchandise, plus your natural business abilities. That you also happen to be my granddaughter is simply fortuitous. It didn’t influence him one iota, I can assure you of that. Besides, you’re a quick study, Emily, and you’ve learned a lot in the last five years.’

‘I’m glad to have Len’s vote of confidence, as well as yours, Grandy.’ Emily started to relax, and as her depression also began to lift, she discovered she was excited about the sudden turn of events. She asked, ‘And Alexander? Have you discussed it with him?’

‘Naturally. He thinks you’ll be marvellous.’

‘What does Paula say?’

‘She’s delighted too. She’s going to miss you at the stores, but she recognizes the good sense behind my plans for you.’

‘Then it’s settled!’ Emily beamed, and allowed her natural enthusiasm to surface. ‘Genret is a big responsibility, but now that I’ve recovered from my initial surprise, I’m looking forward to it, I really am. I’ll try very hard, and I’ll do my best not to let you down.’

‘I know you will, dear.’ Emma returned her smile, delighted to finally witness Emily’s eagerness and her excitement. Not that she had had any doubts about her offer being accepted. Emily was far too clever to thwart her, or to pass up the opportunity to head a division. Besides, Emily loved a challenge. This last thought prompted Emma to add, ‘I’m quite certain you’ll enjoy this new venture as much as you did your sojourn in Paris last year. It’s going to be equally as challenging, and ultimately very rewarding.’

‘Yes, I know it will be.’ With a sudden flush of embarrassment, Emily recalled her outburst of earlier. Looking extremely shame-faced, she apologized, ‘I’m sorry I behaved in such a childish way, when you said I couldn’t go back to Paris, Grandy. It was ridiculous of me to act like that.’

‘I understand. You were disappointed. In any case, you’ll be going to Paris quite a lot for Genret, and travelling all over the world on your buying trips. That’s certainly something to look forward to, Emily.’

‘Oh it is, Grandy. And thank you for your faith in me, and for this wonderful opportunity.’ Emily jumped up and hugged Emma tightly. With a happy little laugh, she said, ‘Oh Grandy, you’re such an inspiration! You make everything seem possible – and attainable. And exciting as well. Do you know what? I feel like rushing down to the Genret offices in Leeds right now, and getting stuck into the work with Len immediately.’

‘Len and Genret have managed to exist without you until now, Emily, so I think they’ll survive for another few days,’ Emma replied, her mouth twitching with hidden laughter. ‘In the meantime, I have a much better idea. I think you should come downstairs with me, and have lunch instead. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.’

CHAPTER 5

Emma sat at the table in her splendidly-appointed Adam dining room, sipping a cup of coffee after lunch, smiling and nodding occasionally, enjoying Emily’s natural joie de vivre and bubbling enthusiasm for everything. Earlier, when they had been eating, Emily had bombarded her with questions about Genret. Each one had been probing and not without a certain shrewdness, and this had pleased Emma.

Now, the twenty-two-year-old was entertaining her with titbits of gossip about the family, and, as usual, Emma found her pithy comments hilarious. Robin and Kit were most often the butts of her barbed wit, and she had already managed to get in a few sharp digs about her uncles.

But here her sarcasm stopped, for she never made astringent or unkind remarks about anyone else. Although Emily tended to be something of a chatterbox, she was not malicious, nor was she a talebearer intent on stirring up trouble. In point of fact, she was anything but this, and Emma was well aware that her granddaughter’s predilection for chattering was harmless enough, especially since she knew herself to be the girl’s only confidante. To Emma’s considerable relief, Emily was not only discreet but extremely close-mouthed with everyone else in the family, and even Paula and Alexander, with whom she was on very intimate terms, were no exceptions to this rule.

Unexpectedly, Emily veered away from her discourse on the family, and launched into glowing descriptions of the outfits she had chosen for the fifteen-year-old twins to wear the next day. Recently Emily had elected to play a motherly big-sister role with Amanda and Francesca, and Emma had assigned to her the task of selecting their clothes and looking after similar details.

But it was not very long before Emma found her attention straying, her mind forever preoccupied with business, and specifically Paula’s meeting with the Crosses. She could not help speculating on the outcome, wondering how Paula had fared. If the negotiations had gone well she was facing a fair amount of work. Not that this troubled Emma unduly. She had always thrived on honest-to-goodness toil, and still did, and Paula had laid out foolproof plans for the takeover.

Emma and Paula wanted Aire Communications for its three most important assets: its magazine division, its local radio stations, its huge, modern building on the Headrow. Following Paula’s advice, she fully intended to make Aire Communications a subsidiary of the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company. Once she had relocated the entire staff of Aire in the offices of the Yorkshire Morning Gazette, her newspaper headquartered in Leeds, she would sell the Aire Communications building. This would enable her to cut down on Aire’s staggering overheads, and at the same time she would cleverly recoup part of the purchase price, possibly a good half of her two-million-pound investment. Yes, that building’s worth at least a million, Emma reflected, whatever Jonathan says to the contrary. She would have to have a little talk with her grandson tomorrow, a very serious talk. He was dragging his feet with his second evaluation of Aire’s prime bit of real estate. She had asked him for it days ago and he had not yet responded. Once again she wondered why, and her mouth tightened.

‘Grandy, you’re not listening to me!’ Emily shook her arm impatiently.

‘Oh sorry, dear. You were saying you’d chosen navy-blue dresses and coats for the twins. I’m sure they’re very smart, you have such good – ’

‘Goodness, Gran, that was five minutes ago,’ Emily interjected. ‘I was already on to another subject. Aunt Edwina to be precise.’

‘Now why on earth is she suddenly so interesting to you?’

‘She’s not really. I think she’s an old sourpuss and a crashing bore,’ Emily said in her typical blunt fashion. ‘However, I’m positive we’re going to be in for a rocky ride with her this weekend. I bet she’s going to give us all an earful.’

‘What about?’ Emma asked, sounding slightly baffled.

‘The divorce,’ Emily said succinctly.

This reply brought Emma upright in her chair, and she stared hard at Emily. ‘So, you’ve heard about that, have you?’ Surprise immediately gave way to humour, and Emma chuckled and shook her head. ‘Is there anything you don’t know about this family of ours?’

‘Not much,’ said Emily, grinning at her. ‘But I don’t pry, Gran. You know that. Everyone just tells me things automatically. It must be my sympathetic nature.’ Her grin widened. ‘And then I tell you. Never secrets, though. I don’t break a confidence. Ever.’

‘I should hope not, dear. Remember what I’ve always said … a still tongue and a wise head. Anyway, who mentioned Anthony’s divorce?’

‘Jim. He came to see me last weekend. He wanted my opinion about something, my advice really. He brought up the divorce in passing. It was Aunt Edwina who told him. Apparently she’s terribly upset … scandal touching the sacred name of the Dunvales and all that silly nonsense. As if anybody cares about divorce these days. But she’ll harp on about it for the next few days, you mark my words.’

‘I doubt it, since Anthony will be here himself. In fact, he’s already here.’

‘In this house?’ It was Emily’s turn to be astonished.

‘No. He’s staying with your Uncle Randolph up at Middleham. Actually, he’s going to be there for the next week.’ A wicked gleam entered Emma’s eyes, and she could not resist teasing, ‘Obviously there are some things you don’t know, Emily. Our young earl is staying with the Hartes because he’s courting Sally. Very seriously courting her.’ Emma was unable to hold back a laugh as she observed the expression on Emily’s face.

Emily was so dumbfounded by this piece of news her jaw had dropped. But it took less than a second for her to recover, and she retorted, ‘And I bet Aunt Edwina doesn’t know either! Otherwise she would have scuttled that relationship ages ago. And she’ll still try.’

‘She can do nothing,’ Emma snapped, her face hardening. ‘Anthony is not only of age, he’s thirty-three. He doesn’t have to answer to his mother, or anyone else for that matter, and I told him so last night. He has my blessing. Frankly, I’m glad he’s going to marry Sally. She’s a fine girl and quite lovely, and it’s a perfect match in my opinion.’

‘I second that, about Sally being a lovely person. But then I’m prejudiced. So are you – even more so, because she looks so much like your mother. And Edwina’s going to be prejudiced too, in the other direction.’ Emily stopped, thinking of her aunt’s reaction, which would be violent, and she cried excitedly, ‘Oh my God! I can’t wait to see Aunt Edwina’s face when she finds out he’s involved with Sally Harte. She’s going to be absolutely furious, Grandma. She has such grand ideas about everything. And after all, Sally’s only a generation removed from the working class.’

‘And what do you think Edwina is?’

‘A countess,’ Emily giggled gleefully, ‘and a Fairley to boot! She’s never been the same since she discovered her father was Sir Edwin Fairley, and a KC, no less. She’s an even bigger snob now than she was before. It’s a pity you ever told her the truth about you and old Edwin, Gran.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with you.’

Emma averted her face, looked out of the window, focused her thoughts on her eldest grandchild, son of her own first-born child. Anthony Standish was the only offspring of Edwina’s marriage with the Earl of Dunvale, and as such he was her whole life. Because Emma had been estranged from Edwina for years, she had not really come to know Anthony until he was eighteen. That was in 1951, when her brother Winston had effected a reconciliation between her and her daughter. More like an armed truce, Emma said inwardly, but at least the boy and I took to each other immediately, and thankfully we have continued to be close. She was extremely fond of Anthony, who, despite his reserved nature and gentle manner, had an inner strength and a toughness of mind that Emma had recognized instantly and privately applauded. Upon his father’s death, he had inherited the latter’s title and lands in Ireland. For the most part, Anthony lived at Clonloughlin, his estate in County Cork, but whenever he had the occasion to be in England he never failed to visit her. It was on one of these trips to Yorkshire, six months ago, that he had become re-acquainted with Sally, Winston’s granddaughter, who was his cousin. According to Anthony they had fallen in love at once. ‘It was a coup de foudre, Grandmother,’ he had confided shyly last night. ‘And as soon as my divorce from Min is final I intend to marry Sally.’ Emma, delighted at this news, had indicated her pleasure, and assured him of her full support.

Shifting in the chair, Emma glanced at Emily, and said, ‘I wouldn’t worry your head about Anthony. He can take care of himself. I told him not to hide his relationship with Sally any more, from his mother, that is, and to behave naturally at the christening. We might as well get this out in the open once and for all.’

‘Edwina will make trouble, Grandma. Big, big trouble,’ Emily warned, rolling her eyes at the ceiling.

‘If she knows what’s good for her she won’t,’ Emma replied, her voice murderously soft. ‘Now, on to other things. You said Jim wanted your advice. What about?’

‘The gift he’s bought for Paula. It’s a strand of pearls, and he wasn’t sure she’d like them. But they’re beautiful, and I told him she’d be thrilled.’

‘That’s nice.’ Emma glanced at her watch, feeling restless. ‘I’ll have another quick cup of coffee, and then I’d better go up and do a little paperwork until Paula arrives.’

‘I’ll get the coffee for you,’ Emily volunteered, taking Emma’s cup to the sideboard. Returning with it, she said, ‘I had dinner with T.B. when I was in London on Tuesday. He sends his love.’

Emma’s face softened considerably. She had always cared for Tony Barkstone, Elizabeth’s first husband and father of Emily and Alexander. They had remained good friends over the years, and she asked, with a warm smile, ‘How is he?’

‘In good form. He’s as sweet as always, and he seems happy. No, content might be a better word. Or perhaps accepting is even better. Yes, that’s it. He’s accepting.’ Emily sighed heavily.

And a little too dramatically, in Emma’s opinion. But then Emily was a romantic girl and Emma knew that she had long harboured the desire for her parents to be reunited. A most unlikely event, as far as Emma was concerned. Looking at Emily thoughtfully, Emma’s brow lifted quizzically, and she murmured, ‘Accepting is a peculiar word to use about your father’s life, isn’t it, dear?’

‘Not really. I think T.B. is accepting – of his new family. But I don’t believe my father has been really happy since he split with Mummy. To tell you the truth, Gran, I think he’s still in love with her.’ She confided this in an intense tone, giving Emma a long and knowing look.

‘Oh phooey!’

‘Well, she was his grand passion, that I know for a fact – because he once told me so. I believe he’s carrying a torch for her.’

‘That’s a bit farfetched, Emily, they’ve been divorced for donkey’s years.’

‘Even so, he could have remained shackled to her emotionally.’ Emily tilted her blonde head to one side and wrinkled her nose. ‘Unrequited love, and all that. Why are you looking so sceptical, Grandma? Don’t you believe that’s possible?’

‘Possible. Not very practical. And I’m quite certain your father has more common sense than to yearn after Elizabeth. He had her pegged years ago.’

‘I hope you’re right. I’m sure that being in love with someone who doesn’t care in return is most unsatisfactory, not to mention painful. Very impractical in the long run, as you just said.’ A faraway expression flickered in Emily’s wide green eyes, and she said, almost inaudibly, ‘If only Sarah would recognize that.’

As quiet as her voice had been Emma had heard her. She put down her coffee cup with a loud clatter and gaped at Emily, frowning. ‘Our Sarah. Is she in love with someone who doesn’t love her?’

‘Oh gosh, Gran, I shouldn’t have mentioned Sarah. It’s really none of my business,’ Emily muttered, her face flushing and filling with chagrin. ‘Please don’t say anything to her, will you? She’d be ever so upset.’

‘Of course I won’t say anything. I never do, do I? Who’s she carrying a torch for? That’s what you implied, you know.’

Emily hesitated. She was suddenly tempted to fib. But she had never lied to her grandmother in her whole life. Still, perhaps in this instance she ought to resort to a white lie.

Emma pressed, ‘Who is it?’

There was a moment of silence. Emily swallowed, and knowing herself to be trapped, she mumbled, ‘Shane.’

‘I’ll be damned.’ Emma leaned back and focused her keen old eyes on her granddaughter, ‘Well, well, well,’ she said, and a slow smile spread across her face.

Emily shot up in her chair, her eyes flaring open, and she cried, ‘Oh Grandy, don’t look like that! Please don’t look like that!’

‘And how am I looking?’

‘Gratified. And ever so conspiratorial. I know you and Uncle Blackie have long had hopes that one of us, or one of the Harte girls, would marry Shane O’Neill, and unite our families. But he’s not interested in any of us, except for – ’ Emily bit off the rest of her sentence abruptly, instantly wishing she could also bite off her tongue. This time she really had said far too much. She jumped up and went to the Hepplewhite sideboard, where she hovered over the silver bowl of fruit. ‘I think I’ll have a banana,’ she said, attempting nonchalance. ‘Would you like one too, Gran dear?’

‘I certainly wouldn’t, thank you very much.’ Emma swung her head and studied her granddaughter’s back. ‘Except for whom, Emily?’

‘No one, Gran.’ Emily wondered how to extricate herself, and adroitly, without arousing her grandmother’s suspicions further. She sauntered back to her chair, flopped down, and attacked the banana with her dessert knife and fork, her head studiously bent.

Emma watched her, knowing that Emily was avoiding her eyes. And avoiding answering.

‘I know you were about to tell me who Shane is interested in, Emily. If anyone knows, it’s you.’ She laughed lightly, endeavouring to be casual. ‘You’ve always been my conduit for information about everyone in the family. And out of it for that matter. So come along, finish your sentence.’

Emily, who was still cutting the skin off the banana with painstaking care, finally lifted her head. Her face was a picture of innocence as she said, ‘I wasn’t about to reveal a thing, really I wasn’t. I’m not in Shane’s confidence – I don’t know anything about his love life. What I was going to say, before, is that he isn’t interested in any of us, except for a one-night stand.’

‘Really, Emily!’

‘Sorry.’ Emily dropped her eyes, then coyly looked up at Emma through her long lashes. ‘Have I shocked you, Grandma?’

‘At my age I’m shock resistant, my girl,’ Emma replied tartly. ‘But I am rather surprised by your remark about Shane. It wasn’t very nice. Extremely unkind, in fact.’ A new thought struck Emma, and she gave her granddaughter a fierce stare. ‘Has he ever suggested anything of the sort – ’

‘No, no, of course not,’ Emily burst out peremptorily before Emma could finish. And then she was swift to qualify her previous statement about Shane. ‘It’s just a feeling I have about him,’ she mumbled, hating herself for maligning Shane, who was the nicest person imaginable. ‘I didn’t mean any harm, Grandy, honestly I didn’t. Besides, who can blame him for being a bit of a lady-killer, when women fall at his feet like ninepins. That’s hardly his fault.’

‘True,’ Emma acknowledged. ‘But getting back to Sarah, I hope this crush she has on him is going to pass soon. I can’t bear to think that she’s miserable. How does she really feel, dear?’

‘I don’t know, Gran,’ Emily replied in all truthfulness. ‘She’s only discussed Shane with me once, ages ago, and I think she’s regretted mentioning him ever since. But I know she’s smitten with him, just through my own observation. She always blushes furiously whenever his name comes up, and she gets all self-conscious and sort of dopey when he’s around.’ Emily levelled her gaze at Emma, and it was direct and candid, as she added, ‘No, she’ll never say anything to anyone about her feelings. Sarah’s basically much too secretive to confide.’

This last comment further surprised Emma, but she decided not to pursue it for the moment. Conscious of the girl’s stricken expression, she hastened to say, ‘You don’t have to be apprehensive about me, darling. Have no fear, I won’t mention Shane to Sarah … I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing her. And she’ll come to her senses, if she hasn’t already.’ Emma’s eyes rested on the bowl of spring hyacinths in the centre of the table, and she ruminated briefly on all that had been said. When she raised her head she smiled kindly at Emily. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m questioning your powers of observation, or your judgement, but you do have a tendency to be overly imaginative at times. You could be wrong about Sarah. Perhaps she has forgotten Shane by now, in view of his lack of interest in her. She does have her feet on the ground, you know.’

‘Yes, Gran,’ Emily said, although she did not agree with her grandmother’s assessment of her cousin. Sarah might look as if her feet were firmly planted on the ground but her head was most definitely in the clouds. Emily bit her lip, and she wished more fervently than before that she had never mentioned Sarah in the first place. Embarking on this kind of conversation with her canny grandmother had been a horrible mistake. The trouble was, she was constantly doing it. Emma had always been the most dominant and important person in her young life, and confiding everything in her was a childhood habit which was difficult, if not impossible, to break. But Emily was thankful for one thing – she had caught herself in the nick of time, had managed not to reveal the truth about Shane to Grandy, who doted on him as if he were one of her own.

The realization that she had protected him made Emily feel better, for she liked and admired Blackie’s grandson. She smiled to herself as she toyed with the banana in front of her, filled with sudden self-congratulation. For once she had been rather clever, side-stepping Grandy’s probing so skilfully. And thankfully Shane O’Neill’s secret was still safe. It would always be safe with her. Poor Shane, she thought with a twinge of sadness, what a terrible burden he has to carry. Stifling a sigh, Emily finally said, ‘I don’t think I want any more of this,’ and she pushed her dessert plate away, making a face.

Emma, anxious to bring the lunch to an end, nodded quickly, and said, ‘I’d better get back to my desk. What are your plans for this afternoon? You’ve finished at the Harrogate store, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, Grandy. I completed the stock inventories you wanted, and selected the clothing for the sales,’ Emily explained, relieved that Emma had apparently now dismissed Shane and Sarah Lowther from her mind. ‘I’m going to potter around in my room. Hilda asked one of the maids to unpack my suitcases when I arrived, but I prefer to arrange my things myself.’

‘Suitcases in the plural, Emily? How many did you bring?’

‘Ten, Gran.’

‘For the weekend?’

Emily cleared her throat and gave her grandmother one of her most engaging and persuasive smiles. ‘Not exactly. I thought I’d stay with you for a while, if that’s all right with you. It is, isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ Emma answered slowly, wondering what this unexpected move on Emily’s part was all about. ‘But what about your flat in Headingley?’ she thought to ask with a small frown.

‘I want to get rid of it. I have for some time, actually. I decided to sell it, or rather that you should ask Jonathan to do so. Anyway, last night I packed a lot of my clothes and other things, because I’d convinced myself you’d be sending me to Paris next week. Now that I’m not going, I might as well stay here at Pennistone Royal. I’ll be company for you, Gran. You won’t be so lonely.’

I’m not lonely, Emma thought, but said, I’m probably being dense, but you seemed awfully taken with that flat when I bought it for you last November. Don’t you like it any more, Emily?’

‘It’s a very nice flat, really it is, but – . Well, to be honest, Gran darling, I have felt rather isolated there by myself. I’d much rather be here. With you.’ Emily flashed her beguiling smile again. ‘For one thing, it’s a lot more fun. And exciting.’

‘Personally, I find it pretty dull here. Pretty dull indeed,’ Emma muttered and stood up, headed for the dining room door. Over her shoulder she said, ‘But you’re quite welcome, Emily,’ and she hoped she had not sounded too grudging. First the twins, and now Emily, she sighed under her breath. Suddenly they’re all moving in on me. And just when I thought I was going to get some peace and quiet for once in my life.

As she walked briskly across the vast Stone Hall and mounted the staircase, with Emily trailing in her wake, Emma had another thought: maybe she would take Blackie up on his little proposition after all.

Paula talked and Emma listened.

They sat together in the upstairs parlour, facing each other across the Georgian silver tea service which Hilda had brought up a few minutes after Paula had arrived.

Emma had poured tea for them both, but she had hardly touched her own cup. She sat so still on the sofa she might have turned to stone, and the familiar mask of inscrutability had dropped down over her face as she concentrated on Paula’s words, absorbing each one.

Paula spoke well, recounting the meeting at Aire Communications with precision and careful attention to the smallest detail, and her narration was so graphically descriptive Emma felt as though she had been present herself. Several times she experienced a spurt of anger or annoyance, but not an eyelash flickered, not a muscle moved in her blank, impenetrable face, and not once did she interrupt the flow of words.

Long before Paula came to the retelling of the final scene in the board room, Emma’s mind, so agile and astute, leaped ahead. She knew without having to be told that John Cross had reneged on the deal. For a moment she was as startled as Paula had been earlier in the day, but when this initial reaction passed with some swiftness she realized she was not so surprised after all. And she came to the conclusion that she knew John Cross better than she had believed. Years ago she had spotted him for what he was, an egotist, puffed up with his own self-importance, a foolish man with immeasurable weaknesses. At this time in his life he was between a rock and a hard place, dealing from fear and desperation and propelled by increasing panic, and it was patently clear that he would be capable of just about anything. Even a dishonourable action, for apparently he was a man without scruples. And then there was that disreputable son of his, goading him on. A pretty pair indeed, she thought disdainfully.

Paula came to the end of her story at last, and finished with a tiny regretful sigh, ‘And there you have it, Grandy. I’m sorry it ended in a debacle. I did my best. More than my best.’

‘You certainly did,’ Emma said, looking her fully in the face, proud of her, thinking how she had progressed. A year ago Paula would have blamed herself for the breakdown in the talks. ‘You’ve nothing to reproach yourself for, and just chalk this one up to experience and learn from it.’