Emma’s Secret

The two of them sat down for lunch at the round walnut table which stood in the bay window of the morning room. Until very recently this had been an office, rarely used, which Paula had considered wasted space. A few months before Christmas she had turned it into a spot for intimate casual meals, such as breakfast and light lunches, or tea in the afternoon. Now everyone used it.

The morning room had a springlike feeling because of Paula’s decorative scheme based on pale apple-green and white: green walls, green-and-white-striped balloon shades at the windows, green-and-white-checked fabric on the chairs around the table. Accentuating this look were a collection of thirty-six botanical prints hanging on one wall and jugs of yellow and white chrysanthemums which stood on a long, carved wooden sideboard and a Queen Anne chest placed in a corner of the room. Adding a welcoming, cosy touch on this snowy day was the blazing fire in the hearth; a small loveseat and armchairs covered in rose-coloured linen were arranged around a coffee table in front of the fire, and it was here that tea was often served.

As always, Bryan admired Paula’s decorating. His daughter-in-law had a way of making a room look elegant, but it was never intimidating because she had the happy knack of creating a sense of comfort in the midst of the elegance.

Linnet said, ‘A penny for your thoughts, Gramps.’

He smiled at her. ‘Wasn’t thinking of anything much. But …’ He paused, leaned across the table and asked in a conspiratorial voice, ‘Any more information about Paula’s plans for Shane’s birthday?’

Linnet nodded. ‘Mummy spoke to me about it the other day. Uncle Winston’s also going to be sixty in June, and she said she was considering making it a joint birthday party for the two of them. Actually, she told me she was going to speak to you about it, Grandfather.’ Linnet gave him a hard stare and her brows pinched together in a frown. ‘I guess she didn’t.’

‘No, she—’ Bryan broke off as Margaret came hurrying in with a tray; a moment later she was placing a plate of potted shrimps in front of him, then brought one over for Linnet. ‘The brown bread and butter is already on the table, Mr O’Neill,’ she said, then glancing from one to the other, she asked, ‘Do you need anything else?’

‘We’re fine, Margaret, thank you,’ Linnet replied. ‘Thanks very much.’

The housekeeper nodded, then flashed a smile and disappeared.

Bryan picked up a fork and plunged it into the tiny pale-pink shrimps encased in the round of hardened butter. ‘Mmmm. They’re delicious,’ he said after a moment. ‘A joint party, eh? And where does your mother plan to have it?’

‘Here at Pennistone Royal …’ Her voice faltered as she noticed that his expression seemed to change. ‘Don’t you like the idea of a party for the two of them?’

‘Sure an’ I do, I think it makes great sense, Linny, darlin’. Your father and Winston have been best friends all of their lives, since they were boys, and then as young men they shared Beck House in West Tanfield. What rascals they were when they were little,’ he said, chuckling, ‘and when they were young spalpeens chasing after the girls. Handsome they were, too.’

‘They still are,’ she shot back, laughter echoing in her voice.

‘True, only too true. But they got their wings clipped all right, that and they did! And by Emma’s favourites … your mother and Emily.’ Bryan grinned at her. ‘Fell like ninepins, the two of them, when those beautiful Harte girls batted their eyelashes.’ He shook his head, still smiling, and continued to spear the blush-pink shrimps with his fork.

Linnet confided, ‘Mummy wants to make it quite a fancy bash, Grandpops. You know, a marquee in the garden, dancing under the stars, and all that stuff. I suppose the only thing that’s really worrying her is the weather. June can be cool, and sometimes rainy.’

‘Yes, it can, but the house is big enough for a grand party, sure an’ it is, mavourneen,’ Bryan murmured. ‘Emma gave a dinner-dance here in the fifties and it was wonderful. She did the whole bit with a marquee outside, just like your mother is planning, but Emma used it for cocktails, and dancing later. It was the Stone Hall that was set up for dining, and, as I recall, there was another band indoors in case of rain. It all worked well … such a lovely night it was.’

‘Mummy said she’d heard Grandy talk about that party once. She thought you’d know all about it and that you’d be able to help her do something similar.’

‘I will that,’ Bryan replied, a look of pleasure settling on his face. ‘I do believe I have some photos from way back then. I must look them out.’ He stared off into the distance for a moment, recalling this event of long ago, and obviously he was filled with happy memories from the beatific smile on his face.

Margaret cleared their plates, served the steaming hot cottage pie and vegetables, and then slipped out of the room quietly. Linnet and her grandfather went on to discuss her brother Desmond and his many talents, but eventually they fell silent as they finished lunch. These two had always been comfortable in each other’s company, were at ease with each other, and words weren’t always necessary.

At one moment Bryan sat back and stared across the table at Linnet. In the cool northern light coming in through the bay window her colouring was so very vivid it startled momentarily. Yet there was a paleness, a translucent quality to her skin today, and she looked suddenly quite fragile.

Yet Bryan knew how strong she was both mentally and physically. She had enormous willpower, as well as stamina and energy, even though she was a slender girl.

She is going to need all the strength she has, he thought, just as she’ll need her wits about her. Tessa wants it all, has convinced herself she’s entitled to it all, and she’ll fight for what she believes are her rights. Intuitively, he knew that Paula would give everything to Linnet. This was her child by Shane, the great love of her life, the hero of her childhood, her true soul mate, and Linnet was their love child, very much desired, and conceived in great passion. Furthermore, she was cast in the image of the woman who had founded the Harte family dynasty and a great business empire. Yes, there was no question about it, Linnet was irresistible to Paula. Also, she was best suited to take Paula’s place one day. She was level-headed, steady as a rock, with a cool nerve, and an insight quite remarkable for her age.

All this aside, Tessa did not have Linnet’s business acumen, her vision or her stamina … all necessary attributes required in the person running Harte stores. Paula, shrewd, calculating, and with a mind like a steel trap when it came to business, knew this. She might not discuss it with anyone, but Bryan knew she knew what Tessa’s shortcomings were.

He had been resistant to Tessa’s charms when she was little, long before Shane and Paula were married. Even then he had been wary of Jim Fairley’s child, detecting in her vanity, duplicity and a tendency to lie. And later it had irritated him that she had been so envious of Linnet. Now that they were grown up Tessa was not only envious but she resented Linnet, most especially her looks. Those were simply an accident of birth, to do with genes, and there was nothing anybody could do about them.

Tessa’s other resentments were bound up with the Fairleys, with Shane who had been a loving father to her, but was, nonetheless, still perceived as the stepfather, and with Emma Harte. The last was easy enough to fathom; at least he had fathomed it all out finally.

There’ll be tears before bedtime one day very soon, he thought, taking a sip of his water. His instincts told him trouble was brewing and that Tessa had Linnet in her line of fire. It was going to be nasty. He wished it could be different, but he knew that was not possible.

The die was cast. It had been cast long ago.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_e4d7574d-82d6-5a7b-bd80-edaa324058df)

‘It’s only the flu, Dad, I’m not dying,’ Evan said, balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder, reaching for the box of tissues on the beside table. ‘I’ll be better in a couple of days,’ she added, then blew her nose several times.

‘It doesn’t sound like it to me,’ Owen Hughes responded swiftly, then exclaimed, ‘Oh, just a minute, honey! A couple of customers have walked in.’ Putting the phone down on his desk, he stepped out from his office into the main room of his antique shop in New Milford, Connecticut, to greet the two women who had entered. But when he saw that his assistant Darrell was already moving forward to look after them, he retreated and returned to his desk. He picked up the phone again and went on, ‘Sorry about that, Evan.’

‘It’s okay, Dad. How’s Mom?’

‘Not much change …’ His voice, suddenly deflated, trailed off.

Instantly she wished she hadn’t asked the question. Her mother had gone into one of her depressions about ten days ago, just before she had left for London, and when her father had come to New York to take her to Kennedy Airport he had been worried about his wife, and down in the dumps himself.

Summoning a cheerful voice, Evan said, ‘As I told you when I called you on Wednesday night, George was so nice when I arrived, and he’s been very kind to me since. As soon as he knew I was ill, on Friday, he had a doctor here to see me within a few hours. So try not to worry about me, Dad.’

‘I can’t help it,’ Owen answered, and then had the good grace to laugh. ‘And I know, before you tell me, that you’ll soon be twenty-seven. But I can’t change the way I feel about you. I guess you’re still my little girl. And listen, honey, I’m glad George is there for you: he’s a great guy, and he thought you were the cutest kid on the block when you were little. He’ll help you any way he can, and so will Arlette. You only have to ask them.’ A small sigh escaped. ‘I just wish you’d waited until spring to go to London. January’s such a lousy month. It’s snowing, I’ve no doubt.’

‘It’s going to be a rainy Sunday tomorrow, Daddy. But I don’t care, I won’t be out in it. And I’m very cosy here in the hotel.’

‘At least I don’t have to worry about you missing meals, not eating. I know George keeps a good kitchen, and the hotel has room service.’

‘It does, but I’m not hungry. Arlette has poured a lot of soup and hot tea down me, though, these last few days.’

‘Just take care of yourself, Evan.’

‘I will, and thanks for calling, Dad. Have a great weekend, and I bet you’ll have a big crowd for your lecture tomorrow.’

‘I hope so, but not too big a crowd. As you know, the shop only holds about sixty,’ he answered with a laugh. ‘Don’t go out until you feel better, honey. That English dampness can be treacherous. Promise.’

‘I promise, and give my love to everyone.’

‘I will. Bye, sweetheart.’

‘Bye, Daddy.’

When she hung up, Even slid down in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She had started with the flu the night she arrived from New York. That was Wednesday. Now it was Saturday, and she still didn’t feel all that much better, even though the doctor had prescribed various medicines which she had been taking religiously.

But better to be sick here than in some awful commercial hotel, Evan thought glumly. Once she had made the decision to come to London, her father had insisted she stay at the small family hotel in Belgravia owned and run by his old friend George. Her father had met George when he had gone to live in London as a young man, and they had been friends ever since. She was glad now that she had agreed. George Thomas, whom she barely remembered from her toddler years, was a lovely Welshman, and his wife Arlette was one of those completely competent, take-charge Frenchwomen who seemed to know everything about everything. They had been warm and welcoming when she had arrived and given her a most comfortable room that was both inviting and full of real charm.

It was on the top floor, one level down from the attics under the eaves of this grand Victorian townhouse, which they had turned into a small but attractive hotel some years before. The room was decorated with lovely, colourful floral chintz fabrics and handsome Victorian furniture, including this wonderful four-poster bed where she now lay cocooned in two feather-light duvets. She felt coddled and cared for, thanks to Arlette’s expert ministrations and motherly interest.

Despite this tender loving care, Evan would have given anything not to be sick. Her plan had been to go to Harte’s department store in Knightsbridge when she arrived without wasting any time. Once there she had intended to seek an appointment with Emma Harte, using her grandmother’s name as an introduction. But the flu had laid her flat. Next week, she thought. I’ll go next week to see Emma Harte.

Ever since Glynnis Hughes had died last November, Evan had felt lost. That cheerful, encouraging, stalwart woman had always been there for her as long as she could remember. Her gran was forever boosting her morale, cheering her on, telling her she could do anything she wanted, as long as she put her mind to it and worked hard. Evan had always believed that Glynnis had been more of a mother to her than her own mother.

An image of her mother suddenly insinuated itself into her mind, and Evan’s thoughts turned to her. Marietta Hughes had been a talented artist once, but something awful had gone wrong, and she had given up, given up on life in so many different ways.