Emma’s Secret

‘Give them my love. I’ll be helping Linnet put on a fashion retrospective for the next few months, and hey, Dad, guess what? Some of Miss Trigère’s clothes are going to be in the retrospective. Emma Harte was a fan of hers.’

‘I’ll tell Pauline. She’ll be pleased to hear it,’ Owen replied.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes, honey?’

‘Do you think Grandma knew Mrs Harte was dead?’

There was total silence at his end of the phone.

Evan said insistently, ‘Dad, are you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘So … what do you think? Did Gran know? If so, why did she tell me to go there?’

‘I’ve no idea. She never mentioned anything about Emma Harte to me, except that she’d known her during the Second World War. Look, Evan, my mother could’ve been wandering in her mind, or delirious, in her last moments. I told you that before you left for London.’

‘I know. At least she pointed me in the right direction … as it turns out.’

After another short silence, her father agreed, saying quietly, ‘That’s true, yes.’

Evan asked, ‘How’s Mom?’

His voice brightened as he answered, ‘She’s better; she’s come out of herself a bit. And she cooked a nice dinner for me last night. I think the new medication’s started to kick in.’

‘Oh I’m so glad! That’s great. Give her my love.’

‘I will. When do you start at Harte’s?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’ She began to laugh, and quipped, ‘They really do need me there, Dad.’

She expected him to laugh with her, which was usually his way, but he did not. ‘Perhaps,’ he answered in the same low voice, and rapidly changed the subject.

They talked for a few minutes longer about other things, and then said their affectionate goodbyes.

After Evan put the receiver down she leaned back in the chair, thinking about her father’s reaction to her news. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and she felt oddly disconcerted, even irritated by his low-key response, and somewhat baffled by his attitude. The more she thought about it the more she came to realize that he hadn’t sounded pleased about her job. She couldn’t help wondering why. Like her grandmother, he had always cheered her on, been her greatest booster. But not today.

Pondering this in London, Evan Hughes had no way of knowing that, thousands of miles away, her father, seated at his desk in his New Milford shop, was staring absently into space. He was wondering what exactly his mother had set in motion on her deathbed, admitting to himself that he should have known Glynnis would have been unable to resist pulling a few strings at the end. Under his breath Owen cursed himself for having so enthusiastically encouraged Evan to go to London, to take a sabbatical there as he himself had once done years ago. Instead, he should have discouraged the trip. But in December he had not known what he knew now. Anyway, it was too late. Evan was already there … and the wheels had begun to turn …

Evan liked the public rooms at the little hotel in Belgravia, which George and Arlette had decorated in the manner of an English country house. Not that she had ever been in an English country house, but she had seen photos in magazines, and she was partial to that particular look: the vivid floral chintzes, the mellow woods, the fine antiques, the beautiful porcelain lamps with their cream silk shades, plus the big vases of flowers loosely arranged in the English style.

Of all the rooms downstairs on the main floor, her favourite was the sitting room with its walls painted terracotta and glazed with light peach, the red-rose patterned chintz curtains at the three windows, and the overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in russet-red linen. On the floor, a wonderful old Persian rug had a similar background colour to the draperies, with a pattern of deep blues, pinks and greens. It helped to pull the entire scheme together, and acted as the perfect anchor for the seating arrangement.

The room was empty when Evan went down for afternoon tea, and as she walked in and headed for the fireplace, her spirits lifted. The atmosphere was rich, warm, welcoming, and the huge fire blazing in the hearth added to its overall cosiness, its lovely roseate glow.

She seated herself on one of the big sofas near the fireside, sat back and relaxed against the oversized needlepoint cushions, mentally pushing aside her preoccupation with her father’s odd manner on the phone. She let herself drift, staring at a painting of a moorland scene with a waterfall, heather and several sheep. It was restful to look at.

A moment later, her eyes roamed around, taking in the other traditional oil paintings, most of them landscapes obviously executed long ago. She liked them; the room had a particular style which made her feel comfortable, at ease, at home.

The grandfather clock in the corner began to strike four, and a few seconds later one of the young waitresses came bustling in, pushing a three-tier trolley laden with teapots, plates of finger sandwiches and scones, bowls of strawberry jam and clotted Devonshire cream.

The young woman was closely followed by a colleague, also behind a tea trolley, this one stacked with a variety of cakes on antique silver stands.

The two waitresses were dressed in Edwardian style, wearing long black dresses, white frilly aprons and caps, and they looked most effective in the period setting. Both women busied themselves at a long, mahogany sideboard at the far end of the room. The cake stands, plates of sandwiches and scones were soon deposited there, along with the numerous teapots.

Clara, one of the waitresses Evan was acquainted with, came hurrying over when she saw her sitting by the fire. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Hughes,’ she said with a bright smile. ‘Here for tea, are you?’

‘Hi, Clara, and yes, I am.’ Evan flashed her a friendly smile in return, and added, ‘I didn’t have lunch today, so I think I’ll go for the whole works.’

‘The full afternoon tea, then. Sandwiches, scones, and cake. Right away, Miss Hughes. Oh, and it is English breakfast tea you like, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is, thanks, Clara.’

It was her gran who had introduced Evan to afternoon tea when she was a child growing up in Connecticut. Glynnis had made quite a ceremony out of it, serving the tea from a silver pot with a silver strainer over the cup, and thin slices of lemon, or milk for those who preferred. The tea had always been Twinings brand from London, usually the English breakfast tea preferred by Glynnis, but sometimes replaced by Orange Pekoe. Never Earl Grey, because Gran didn’t like the flavour. Smoky, she had called it.

Evan and her sisters had loved the finger sandwiches filled with egg salad, slices of cucumber or tomato, occasionally thin slivers of chicken, sometimes sardines, or wafer-thin pieces of smoked salmon between the crustless bread. Because Gran had liked to bake, there were always fresh scones right out of the oven, served with strawberry jam and clotted cream, and for the finale, a caraway-seed cake.

On special occasions her grandmother would make a light sponge cake, which she sliced through the middle into two flat pieces, and filled with whipped cream and raspberry jam. And when she had grown older Glynnis had taught her how to make the sandwiches, the scones, and the various cakes; in fact, it was her gran who had taught Evan how to cook any number of things, and over the years she had become quite accomplished in the kitchen.

Evan thought of this now as she munched on a smoked salmon sandwich, wondering what to do about an apartment. Should she look for a small one in this area? Or should she stay on at the hotel? She had meant to ask her father about this earlier, but she had been so distracted by his lacklustre response to her news that it had slipped her mind.

In many ways the hotel was more convenient because she was so well taken care of here; on the other hand, she did not have a kitchen and had to eat in the hotel dining room, which added to her expenses.

After wrestling with the problem for a few minutes, she made a decision. She would stay on at the hotel for the moment, very simply because she did not have time to look for an apartment.

In any case, Evan already had a good picture of what working at Harte’s was going to be like: back-breaking routine, long hours, and total devotion and dedication to duty. She had already perceived that Linnet would be a hard taskmaster, and that she would expect everyone to work as hard as she did. And especially a newcomer like her, who was bound to be on trial. Evan had discerned that Linnet, for all her sweetness and beauty, was at heart a tough businesswoman. This did not trouble her; rather, she admired that trait.

Yes, it’s better to stay here, Evan told herself, where I’m comfortable and have every convenience. Later, once the retrospective is set up and things are rolling along smoothly, I’ll think about finding my own place, one with a decent kitchen where I can cook; an apartment where I can do a little entertaining, even. This thought pleased her, and she reached for a scone, spread it with strawberry jam and added a large dollop of cream.

As she ate the scone she realized just how hungry she had been, but she also reminded herself how fattening scones and rich cream cakes were. Not too many of these afternoon teas, she vowed to herself, and then smiled. She would be at the store most of the time anyway – and how she was looking forward to it! All of her life she had found challenges enormously appealing.

Leaning back against the cushions once again, Evan let her thoughts wander, reviewing the events of the day. And eventually they came to settle on Gideon Harte.

He had been pleasant and helpful in the corridor when she was looking for the management offices. But later this pleasantness had turned to genuine masculine charm and much solicitousness. When she had walked into Linnet’s office with Maggie Hemmings, he had hurried across the floor to greet her. Once she had been introduced by Maggie to his cousin, he had not hidden his interest in her. In fact, he had been so attentive to her that she found herself staring back at him, as intensely as he was staring at her.

His light green eyes had gazed into hers, and she found she could not look away, mesmerized by him. Now she remembered how her heart had skipped a beat, and that his long, penetrating look had made her legs go slightly weak at the knees. Nothing had ever happened to her like that before; but then no man had looked at her quite like that, not ever in her entire adult life. A moment later, when he had taken hold of her arm to lead her over to the chair, his hand had seemed to scorch through the fabric of her jacket. She had been momentarily thrown, so attracted to him was she—

‘Evan. How are you?’

At the sound of Arlette’s lilting, lightly accented French voice, she sat up with a start and exclaimed, ‘I’m fine, Arlette. How nice to see you. And how’re you?’

‘I am well. Busy, busy. George is away on the business, so I am in command, as he calls it. And one needs the bon courage to be in charge of a hotel. Even a small one such as this.’

‘But you do everything so well, so I’m sure you run it exactly the same way George does.’ As she spoke Evan smiled at Arlette, her face dimpling.

Arlette, as always, was completely captivated by that warm, wide smile, which she found so infectious, and she smiled in return. There was something unique about this friendly, open, outgoing American girl who was full of such charm and grace. Now she asked, ‘Are you all right? Are you feeling better?’