Hold the Dream

Winston now reached for the phone to ring Emma and confide his problem in her, then changed his mind at once. There was no point worrying her at the beginning of her very busy weekend of social activities which had been planned for weeks. Far better to wait until Monday morning and consult with her then.

All of a sudden he felt like kicking himself. How stupid he had been. He should have challenged Jim yesterday, asked him point blank if he wanted to step down. And if he did, who would they appoint in his place? There was no one qualified to take on such heavy responsibilities, at least not inside the company. That was the crux of the problem, his chief concern. At the bottom of him, Winston had the most awful feeling that his aunt might lumber him with the job. He did not want it. He liked things exactly the way they were.

It so happened that Winston Harte, unlike other members of Emma’s family, was not particularly ambitious. He did not crave power. He was not crippled by avarice. In fact, he had more money than he knew what to do with. Grandfather Winston, with Emma’s guidance, advice and help, had acquired an immense fortune, had thus ensured that neither his widow, Charlotte, nor his offspring would ever want for anything.

Young Winston was dedicated, hard working, and he thrived in the world of newspapers, where he was in his element. But he also enjoyed living. Long ago he had made a decision and it was one he had never veered away from: He was not going to sacrifice personal happiness and a tranquil private life for a big business career. Treadmills were decidedly not for him. He would always work diligently at his job, for he was not a parasite, but he also wanted a wife, a family, and a gracious style of living. Like his father, Randolph, Winston was very much at ease in the role of country gentleman. The pastoral scene held a special appeal for him, gave him a sense of renewal. His weekends away from the city were precious, and recharged his batteries. He found horse riding, point-to-point meetings, village cricket, antiquing and pottering around in the grounds of Beck House therapeutic and immensely satisfying. In short, Winston Harte preferred a quiet, leisurely existence, and he was determined to have it. Battles in board rooms made him irritable, and he found them endlessly boring. That was why Paula continued to surprise him. And it was becoming increasingly apparent to Winston that she was indeed cast in the same mould as her grandmother. Both women relished corporate skirmishing. It seemed to him that business, power, and winning hands-down over a business adversary were narcotics to them. When Emma had wanted him to be Paula’s back-up in the negotiations with Aire, he had swiftly demurred, suggested she send Paula in alone. His aunt had readily agreed, much to his considerable relief.

Oh what the hell, he thought, becoming impatient with himself. I’m not going to spend the entire weekend worrying about Jim Fairley’s intentions. I’ll thrash it out with him next week, once the plans for taking over Aire Communications have been put into operation. Pushing business matters to the back of his mind, he rang his father at Allington Hall and chatted with him for a good twenty minutes. He then dialled Allison Ridley, his current girlfriend. He felt a rush of warmth when he heard her voice, and she sounded equally pleased to hear his. He confirmed that he and Shane would be at her dinner party the following evening, made plans with her for Sunday, and finally dashed upstairs to change.

Ten minutes later, wearing comfortable corduroys, a heavy wool sweater, Wellington boots and an old raincoat, Winston meandered through the dining room and out on to the flagged terrace overlooking the fish pond. The sky had brightened after the brief shower. The trees and shrubs and lawns appeared to shimmer with dewy greenness in the lovely late afternoon light which brought a soft incandescent glow to the fading blue of the sky. The scent of rain and damp grass and wet earth and growing things pervaded the air, and it was a smell Winston loved. He stood on the terrace for a moment, inhaling and exhaling, relaxing and shedding the rest of his business worries, then ran lightly down the steps into the gardens. He hurried in the direction of the beck, wanting to satisfy himself that the condition of the banks had not deteriorated after the recent shower.

CHAPTER 7 (#ulink_d7a53010-c27f-51e5-affd-bf48fb4f5444)

Edwina had arrived.

Emma was aware that her eldest daughter was sitting downstairs in the library, having a drink and recovering from her journey from Manchester Airport. In the last few minutes first Hilda, then Emily, had been up to see her, to pass on this news.

Well, there’s no time like the present, Emma murmured, as she finished dressing in readiness for her dinner date with Blackie and Shane. Putting off the inevitable is not only foolish, it frays the nerves. There’s a time bomb ticking inside Edwina, and I’d better defuse it before the weekend begins.

Nodding to herself, glad she had stopped wavering, Emma fastened a pearl choker around her throat, glanced at herself in the mirror, picked up her evening bag and sable jacket, and hurried out.

She descended the long winding staircase at a slower pace, thinking about the things she would say, how she would handle Edwina. Emma had an aversion to confrontation and conflict, preferred to move in roundabout ways, and often with stealth, to accomplish her ends. Accommodation and compromise had been, and still were, her strong suits, both in business and personal matters. But now, as she approached the library, she recognized there was only one thing she could do: tackle Edwina head on.

Her quick, light step faltered as she walked through the vast Stone Hall, and dismay flew to the surface as she thought of doing battle. But Anthony’s happiness was at stake, and therefore Edwina had to be dealt with before she made serious trouble for him, for everyone, in fact. Emma took a deep breath, then continued across the hall, her step now ringing with new determination, her manner resolute.

The library door was partially open, and Emma paused for a moment before going in, one hand resting on the door jamb as she observed Edwina sitting in the wing chair in front of the fire. Only one lamp had been turned on and the light in the rest of the room was gloomy. Suddenly a log spurted and flared up the chimney, the lambent flames illuminating the shadowed face, bringing it into sharper focus. Emma blinked, momentarily startled. From this distance her daughter was the spitting image of Adele Fairley … the same silvery blonde hair, the delicate yet clearly defined profile, the shoulders hunched in concentration. How often had she seen Adele sitting like that, beside the fire in her bedroom at Fairley Hall, staring into the distance, lost in her thoughts. But Adele had not lived to see her thirty-eighth year and Edwina was sixty-three and her beauty had never been as ethereal and as heart-stopping as Adele’s once was. So Emma knew this image was part illusion; still, the resemblance was there, had been there since Edwina’s birth, and she had always been more of a Fairley than a Harte in many respects.

Clearing her throat, Emma said, ‘Good evening, Edwina,’ and bustled forward with briskness, not wanting her to know she had been watching her from the doorway.

Her daughter started in surprise and swung her head, straightening up in the chair as she did. ‘Hello, Mother,’ she replied in a formal voice that rang with coldness.

Emma paid no attention to the tone, accustomed to it by now. It had not changed much over the years. She deposited her jacket and bag on a chair, then proceeded to the fireplace, turning on several lamps as she walked past them. ‘I see you have a drink,’ she began, seating herself in the other wing chair. ‘Does it need refreshing?’

‘Not at the moment, thank you.’

‘How are you?’ Emma asked pleasantly.

‘I’m all right, I suppose.’ Edwina eyed her mother. ‘There’s no need to ask how you are. You’re positively blooming.’

Emma smiled faintly. Sitting back, she crossed her legs, and said, ‘I’m afraid I won’t be here for dinner after all. I have to go out. A last minute – ’

‘Business as usual, I’ve no doubt,’ Edwina sniffed scornfully, giving her an unfriendly look.

Emma winced, but suppressed her annoyance. Edwina’s rudeness and sneering manner were generally inflammatory to Emma, but tonight she was determined to overlook her daughter’s unwarranted attitude towards her. You don’t catch flies with vinegar, she thought dryly; and so she would continue to be pleasant and diplomatic, no matter what. Studying Edwina’s face, she at once noticed the tiredness of the drooping mouth, the weary lines around her silver-grey eyes which swam with sadness. Edwina had lost weight, and she seemed nervous, anxious even, and certainly the Dowager Countess of Dunvale, usually filled with her own importance, was not quite so smug this evening. It was apparent she was besieged by troubles.

Emma felt a stab of pity for her, and this was such an unprecedented feeling, and so unexpected, she was a little amazed at herself. Poor Edwina. She is truly miserable, and frightened, but she does bring it on herself I’m afraid, Emma thought. If only I could make her see this, get her to change her ways. Then becoming aware that she was being looked over as carefully as she was scrutinizing, Emma said, ‘You’re staring at me, Edwina. Is there something wrong with my appearance?’

‘The frock, Mother,’ Edwina replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘It’s a little young for you, isn’t it?’

Emma stiffened, and wondered if her charitable feelings had been misplaced. Edwina was intent on being obnoxious. Then she relaxed and laughed a gay, dismissive laugh, resolved not to let Edwina get her goat. When she spoke her voice was even. ‘I like red,’ she said. ‘It’s lively. What colour would you like me to wear? Black? I’m not dead yet you know, and whilst we’re on the subject of clothes, why do you insist on wearing those awful lumpy tweeds?’ Not waiting for a reply, she added, ‘You have a lovely figure, Edwina. You should show it off more.’

Edwina let this small compliment slide by her. And she asked herself why she had ever accepted Jim Fairley’s invitation, or agreed to stay here at Pennistone Royal. She must be insane, to expose herself to her mother in this way.

Emma compressed her lips, her eyes narrowing as they weighed Edwina speculatively. She said, with the utmost care, ‘I’d like to talk to you about Anthony.’

This statement jolted Edwina out of her introspection, and swinging to face Emma, she exclaimed, ‘Oh no, Mother! When Emily said you’d be coming down to see me, I suspected as much. However, I refuse to discuss my son with you. You’re manipulative and controlling.’

‘And you, Edwina, are beginning to sound like a broken record,’ Emma remarked. ‘I’m tired of hearing that accusation from you. I’m also fed up with your continual sniping. It’s impossible to have a decent conversation with you about anything. You’re defensive and hostile.’

Strong as these words were, Emma’s tone had been mild, and her face was devoid of emotion as she pushed herself up and out of the chair. She went to the William and Mary chest in the corner, poured herself a small glass of sherry, then resumed her position in front of the fire. She sat holding her drink, a reflective light in her eyes. After a long moment, she said, ‘I am an old woman. A very old woman really. Although I realize there will never be total peace in this family of mine, I would like a bit of tranquillity for the rest of my life, if that’s possible. And so I’m prepared to forget a lot of the things you’ve said and done, Edwina, because I’ve come to the conclusion it’s about time you and I buried the hatchet. I think we should try to be friends.’

Edwina gaped at her in astonishment, wondering if she was dreaming. She had hardly expected to hear these words from her mother. She finally managed, ‘Why me? Why not any of the others? Or are you planning to give the same little speech to them this weekend?’

‘I don’t believe they’ve been invited. And if they had, I would hope they’d have enough sense not to come. I don’t have much time for any of them.’

‘And you do for me?’ Edwina asked incredulously, mentally thrown off balance by her mother’s conciliatory gesture.

‘Let’s put it this way, I think you were the least guilty in that ridiculous plot against me last year. I know now that you were coerced to a certain extent. You never were very devious, avaricious or venal, Edwina. Also, I do regret our estrangement over the years. We should have made up long ago, I see that now.’ Emma genuinely meant this, but she was also motivated by another reason. Anthony. Emma was convinced that only by winning Edwina over to her side could she hope to influence her, get her to adopt a more reasonable attitude towards her son. So she said again, ‘I do think we should give it a try. What do we have to lose? And if we can’t be real friends, perhaps we can have an amicable relationship at the very least.’

‘I don’t think so, Mother.’

Emma exhaled wearily. ‘I am saddened for you, Edwina, I really am. You threw away one of the most important things in your life, but – ’

‘What was that?’

‘My love for you.’

‘Oh come off it, Mother,’ Edwina said with a sneer, looking down her nose at Emma. ‘You never loved me.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘I don’t believe this conversation!’ Edwina exclaimed, shifting in her chair. She took a gulp of her scotch, then brought the glass down on the Georgian side table with a bang. ‘You’re incredible, Mother. You sit there making these extraordinary statements and expecting me to swallow them whole. That’s the joke of the century. I might be stupid, but I’m not that stupid.’ She leaned forward, staring hard at Emma, her eyes like chips of grey ice. ‘What about you? My God, it was you who threw me away when I was a baby.’

Emma brought herself up in the chair with enormous dignity and her face was formidable, her eyes steely as she said, ‘I did not. And don’t you ever dare say that to me again. Ever, do you hear? You know that I put you in your Aunt Freda’s care because I had to work like a drudge to support you. But we’ve gone through this enough times in the past, and you’ll think what you want, I suppose. In the meantime, I have no intention of being side tracked from what I have to say to you, just because you have the need to dredge up all your old grudges against me.’

Edwina opened her mouth, but Emma shook her head. ‘No, let me finish,’ she insisted, her green eyes holding Edwina’s sharply. ‘I don’t want you to make the same mistake twice in your life. I don’t want you to throw Anthony’s love away, as you did mine. And you’re in grave danger of doing so.’ She sat back, hoping her words would sink in, would have some effect.

‘I have never heard anything quite so ridiculous,’ Edwina snorted, assuming a haughty expression.

‘It’s the truth, nevertheless.’

‘What do you know about my relationship with my son!’

‘A great deal. But despite his love for you, which is considerable, you are hell bent on driving a wedge between the two of you. Why, only last night, he told me how concerned he is about your relationship, and he looked pretty damn worried to me.’

Edwina lifted her head swiftly. ‘So he is here. When I phoned him at his London club last night they said he’d already left. I couldn’t imagine where he was. I had no idea he was coming to the christening. Is he here?’

This was asked with anxiousness, and Emma saw the eager light flickering in her daughter’s eyes. She said, ‘No, he’s not.’