Emma’s Secret

‘And you never looked inside any of the cases?’ Emily asked, incredulity echoing in her voice.

‘No. Why would I? They weren’t heavy. I just assumed Grandy had kept them there because there was no space left in the luggage room. Which there isn’t. And it was a convenient place. Actually, I never gave them a second thought, not even when I used that office myself. I had Margaret put them down in the basement when I redecorated.’

‘So how did they find their way to the attics?’

‘Margaret took them up there. We had a dreadful flood in the basement two weeks ago, and she remembered the cases when she was taking other things out to safety. She knew they were good, hardly used, and she put them in the smaller attic, in the first cupboard where there was space.’

‘Thank God she did. If she hadn’t, the cases and the diaries would have been totally ruined, destroyed.’

‘You’re right, we’re lucky she acted so promptly.’

Emily glanced at the open suitcase again, and then turned to her cousin. ‘Have you read any of them?’

‘I haven’t. Linnet only gave them to me a couple of hours ago.’

‘Are you going to?’

‘Eventually, I suppose.’

‘Shall we look inside one now?’ Emily asked. ‘I’m very curious.’

Paula hesitated, and then nodded. ‘All right, if you want to, Emily.’

Reaching into the case, Emily pulled out the diary dated 1938, opened it and glanced at the first page, then she handed it to Paula silently.

After scanning the page in the same cursory way Emily had done, Paula put the diary back in the small suitcase. ‘I don’t think we should be reading these …’

‘I know what you mean, they’re very private. On the other hand, Paula, I have the feeling Gran wouldn’t mind us looking at them. I think she’d want us to read them, actually.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. But for now I’m going to lock the case and put it away somewhere safe. And maybe in a few weeks or so we can read them together. If you’d like that, Emily?’

‘Oh yes, I would, that’s a good idea. Gran was articulate, you know, and actually she wrote rather well I thought. She expressed herself most eloquently at times.’ Emily paused, and then leaning toward Paula, she said quietly, ‘I’m sure there are a few secrets in there, don’t you agree?’

‘I don’t really know … did she have any during the war years? Paul was dead and she was grieving, coping with our uncles being in the services, running a big business under wartime conditions. What kind of secrets could she possibly have had?’

‘Well, I didn’t mean sexual, or anything like that! I bet she never wrote that kind of thing down. Really, Paula, Gran was very proper.’

‘She also had a number of husbands, let’s not forget that.’

‘Only two. And two lovers.’

‘And that was that. So I’m sure there are no secrets buried in those diaries.’

‘You never know. Anyway, everyone has secrets,’ Emily pronounced.

‘They do?’ Shane said from the doorway, startling them both, making them jump as he strolled into the room. ‘Are you quite positive of that?’ He was smiling broadly as he came to join them by the fireside.

Paula said, ‘I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, Shane, but India found a case full of Grandy’s diaries in the attic. I was just telling Emily about their discovery, showing them to her.’

‘How wonderful,’ he said, glancing at the case on the coffee table. ‘I see they’re her private diaries.’

‘Yes, it’s a great find, but we’ve decided not to read any of them. At least not now.’

Shane looked down at her, his eyes loving as he said, ‘You’ve made a good decision … wait for the right moment. After all, these are sacrosanct … a woman’s private thoughts and feelings. Those should be treated with great respect.’

Later, as she sat near the fireplace in the great Stone Hall, Paula glanced around at her family, as always pleased and happy to have them gathered around her at Pennistone Royal.

Everyone had finally arrived. Shane had mixed drinks for those who wanted whiskey or vodka, and Linnet and India had poured champagne into tall Venetian flutes and passed them around.

Although she rarely drank, Paula had elected to have a glass of champagne tonight, and she sat sipping it, her eyes roaming around the room. They came to rest on her cousin … and staunchly devoted ally, Emily. She was currently engaged in deep conversation with Emsie, the two of them sitting in a corner near the fireplace. Those two had bonded early in Emsie’s young life, and they were particularly close. When Emily had been a teenager, she had loved horses, and had been a champion rider in all manner of equestrian events in Yorkshire. Mucking out stables had been fun for Emily, just as it was for Emsie. They had a lot in common, in many areas, quite aside from loving each other. How pretty Emily looks, Paula thought. Her cousin was wearing a sage-green silk tunic over fir-green wool twill trousers, so narrow and well cut they might have been tailored for a cavalry officer. The green emphasized the loveliness of her eyes, and her soft blonde colouring, while the outfit made her look slimmer, Paula noted.

She experienced a sudden, wonderful surge of warmth and love for Emily, who had been her stalwart companion since childhood. There was nobody like Emily in the whole family, not really. Loving, kind and sincere, she was also a tough businesswoman, direct, with no frills attached, and outspoken to the point of bluntness. There were times, at meetings, when she took Paula’s breath away with her pithy comments, most of which usually made Paula laugh hilariously.

Even Emsie had made a big effort tonight, Paula realized, as her eyes lingered on her seventeen-year-old daughter. Emsie … another original, Paula thought, smiling inwardly. Usually she looked dishevelled and grungy in unattractive clothes that Paula wanted to rip off and burn. In fact, the only time she looked halfway decent was when she wore her riding clothes. But tonight there had been a sudden reversal, and Emsie was attractively decked out in scarlet wool trousers and a matching turtleneck sweater, which Paula recognized. Didn’t they belong to Linnet? Well, she’d obviously borrowed them. Red was a marvellous colour for Emsie with her black hair and black eyes.

No mistaking who she is, Paula thought, scrutinizing her intently. She was Black Irish, a true Celt, the epitome of an O’Neill. Her eyes swept over the three men in her life: Shane, Desmond and Grandfather Bryan. They were standing together talking near the big armoire, obviously engrossed in some topic, horses and racing, no doubt. Tall, long-legged, broad shouldered all three of them, descended from Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill, known to the world as Blackie. They had inherited their looks and their colouring from him. Bryan’s hair was pure white now and Shane’s tinged with silver at the sides, but Desmond, at fifteen, had hair as black as coal. Her three devoted men, how she loved them. Like Emsie, the youngest of the clan, they were unmistakably O’Neills right down to their boots.

And there was her other child, Linnet. She was a true Harte, no two ways about that, with red hair shot through with gold and green eyes. She had chosen to wear black trousers and a black sweater with a scooped-out neck, and she looked taller than ever and very slender, her hair a fiery halo around her pale face. Tonight she appeared quiet and reflective, unsmiling. Paula was certain it was because of Julian’s presence.

Shifting slightly in the chair, Paula’s eyes scanned the Stone Hall, and finally she spotted her great ally, Gideon. He was standing at the far end, engrossed in conversation with India, his first cousin and close friend. Like Linnet, Gideon was pure Harte, with dark russet hair and light green eyes, very white teeth in his lean, tanned face. He loved sports and had recently been to Switzerland for five days’ skiing, where he had caught the sun. He was good looking, like his father Winston, and just as stable; devoted to the family in the same way Winston had always been.

Her eyes settled on her cousin Anthony’s daughter, India. Lady India Standish. She had an honorary title as the daughter of an earl. Another blonde in the family, a dainty, fragile-looking girl, with delicate bones and soulful eyes. Soft, gentle; but Paula knew that India had a great deal of strength, and was a true and loyal friend to Linnet. She carried the Fairley blood through her grandmother Edwina, and there were those who said she had a strong look of her when she had been young. Paula felt protective of India, although Shane laughed at her when she said this, reminding her that India had the courage of a lion and could easily stare down an army without flinching. She was the family’s favourite because of her loving kindness, her tenderness and compassion for others. Paula knew that she was also very brave.

Paula spotted another family favourite, and her great friend and colleague, Winston. Her cousin, Emily’s husband. He was travelling across the Stone Hall in long strides, intent on joining his best friend Shane. Winston’s red-gold hair had faded and was touched with grey, but just as the O’Neills were stamped with a particular look, so were the Hartes, passed down from Emma and her brother Winston. This Winston, the one walking across the stone floor tonight, had been very special to Emma, a great favourite, perhaps because he had looked so much like her. ‘The salt of the earth,’ she had called him, and it was true. He was very charming, dashing. Emily had been smitten with him when she was sixteen, and no wonder. These days he was a commanding figure, her staunchest supporter in all things, whether business or family matters. She loved Winston like a brother.

As she sat back in her chair, sipping her champagne, Paula let her gaze finally rest on the son of one of her dearest friends, Julian. He had, in the last few minutes, edged closer to Linnet, and now they were speaking to each other quietly, standing a little apart from the others. How she wished she could hear what they were saying. Oh to be a fly on the wall, Paula thought, and hoped they were ending their silly separation, which had been Linnet’s idea. And not a very good one at that. Julian was already a member of the family by the very nature of his birth, and a full-blown member of the third clan; everyone liked and admired him.

He was a truly nice young man – perhaps too nice in some ways – and he had many excellent qualities. He adored Linnet and always had, and because of this he was a little too submissive to her will, Paula thought. He’s so right for her, though, and he understands that she will have so much responsibility one day. Just as he will. And they have a shared history, the past, and their childhood that binds them together irrevocably. He is admirable, thoughtful, kind, intelligent, even a bit of an intellectual, and fun loving. The latter is so important for Linnet, who tends to be a workaholic.

Suddenly, there he was, moving in her direction, coming across the floor in rapid strides, looking hell-bent and determined about … something. And something important at that, she decided, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Then he was hovering over her, tall, dark-haired, just like his father Michael, his eyes clear, bright blue and unblinking. Filled with the honesty and sincerity she had first seen there when he was only a child.

Julian was a pleasant-looking young man, lean and slender … perhaps a little too thin right now, Paula thought. He was, as usual, well dressed in a dark blazer worn with dark grey trousers and a black turtleneck sweater.

‘I need to talk to you for a moment,’ Julian said, smiling down at her. ‘In private,’ he added softly.

Paula nodded, stood up instantly, her hopes soaring unexpectedly. Perhaps he was going to speak to her and Shane about Linnet, about becoming engaged, and was testing the waters with her first before jumping in the deep end with Shane. But surely he knew they were all for this match …

He interrupted her thoughts as he placed his hand under her elbow and led her across the Stone Hall to a quiet corner away from the fireplace, where everyone was gathered, talking amongst themselves as they sipped their drinks.

‘Let’s sit here for a moment.’ He indicated two straight-backed chairs, covered in tapestry, placed near a circular table.

Once they were settled, she stared at him expectantly.

Always straightforward and direct, Julian got right to the point. ‘My grandfather wondered if you could pop over to see him tomorrow? If you’re not too busy.’

‘Why, of course I’m not. But is something the matter? I know he’s not been feeling well.’ Her face clouded over with concern.

‘Oh he’s all right, suffering from a bit of rheumatism, and he’s had a bad cold. But Grandfather’s a tough old bird, don’t you know, and as sharp as he ever was. He actually wants to talk to you about …’ Julian broke off, leaned closer, lowered his voice and murmured sotto voce, ‘Jonathan Ainsley.’

Paula stared at him disbelievingly, her body instantly stiffening. ‘Jonathan,’ she repeated. ‘What on earth could Uncle Ronnie have to say about him?’

‘Apparently your cousin has returned to England. Permanently. Grandfather heard through his bankers in the City that Jonathan plans to open a business in London.’

For a moment she could not respond. She felt a trickle of apprehension run through her, and although she did not know it, she had turned considerably paler.

‘But is Uncle Ronnie sure of this?’ she asked at last. As the words left her mouth she knew the question was a foolish one. Ronald Kallinski, her wise rabbi ever since Emma’s death, always knew exactly what he was talking about.

Julian nodded. ‘Oh yes, he’s quite sure. He feels for you and he needs to talk. He’s obviously not very happy about this sudden turn of events.’

‘Jonathan Ainsley can’t hurt me, or create problems with the company. I own fifty-four per cent of the stock, and that’s what matters in regard to the Harte stores. Even if he bought some of the stock that’s being traded on the London Stock Exchange it would be meaningless because I own the majority of the shares and control many more. And as far as the other companies are concerned, they’re all controlled by me, Winston, Emily and Amanda, privately held by the family. And as tight as a drum. Emma saw to that before she died. We are invulnerable. But you know all this, Julian,’ she pointed out, sounding confident and sure of herself. ‘We’ve never had any secrets within the three clans.’

‘I know, and I agree with you. On the other hand, Grandfather did sound rather concerned about the return of the dreaded Mr Ainsley.’

Paula laughed, then responded, ‘I’ll go and see him tomorrow, if only to reassure myself that he’s all right.’

Julian gave her the benefit of a wide smile. ‘You’ve always worried about everyone for as long as I can remember. Linnet’s right when she says you’re a genuine earth mother. And look, I can come and get you tomorrow, drive you over to Harrogate to see Grandfather.’

‘Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.’ It suddenly occurred to her that she might easily use the opportunity to speak to him about Linnet.

‘It’s no problem at all. And anyway, it will give us a chance to chat about Linnet.’ He threw her a coolly calculated look and added, with a small smile, ‘I bet you were thinking exactly the same thing, weren’t you?’

He’s astute, just like his grandfather, she thought, and then nodded. ‘Well, yes, I was,’ she admitted.

Leaning even closer to her, Julian said in a low, confiding voice, ‘It’s all going to be fine, so don’t worry. I know Linnet better than I know myself. She wanted to step away from our situation to take stock; she thought we were being pressured into marriage. We weren’t, not really, but …’ He paused, shook his head, finished, ‘Please don’t worry.’

‘I can’t help it,’ Paula answered, and then hesitated.

‘You know, life does have a way of taking care of itself,’ he announced in a firm voice, before she had a chance to say anything else. ‘Tell me later what time you want me to come and fetch you tomorrow, and I’ll be here.’

He moved away; Paula watched him return to Linnet’s side, and then at once her thoughts went to Jonathan Ainsley, her cousin. He had betrayed the family and tried to steal the stores from her, but she had outwitted him, and in a certain sense she had destroyed him. He called her his nemesis and she was. He had vowed to wreak his revenge. And she knew he would. A cold chill settled around her heart.

CHAPTER SIX

Harte’s was the most imposing edifice in Knightsbridge, an important landmark ever since the first day it was finished, and its glamour and prestige were renowned the world over. Almost everyone who visited London felt compelled to make a stop at Harte’s, always to browse and marvel, usually to buy … something, however small.

On this cold Tuesday morning in the middle of January, Evan Hughes was finally hurrying towards the magnificent store, filled with excitement and anticipation. It was acting like a magnet, pulling her forward, and she couldn’t wait to enter its stately portals.

Evan paused, but only for a moment, to peer into the beautifully dressed windows that fronted onto Knightsbridge. How imaginative and tasteful they were, and she felt a little frisson of anticipation as she pushed open the doors and went inside the vast and impressive establishment.

She stood for a moment blinking in the bright lights and glancing around. How spectacular it all was. She was in the cosmetics department and there was a glitter and shine to everything, from the products themselves to the decorative elements which added their own unique touches.

Slowly Evan walked through the department, admiring the flair that was very much in evidence in the displays of creams and lotions, lipsticks, powders and perfumes, breathing in the scented, rarefied air as she strolled along.

Suddenly she caught sight of her own reflection in one of the counter mirrors and she stopped, paused to check her appearance before moving on, satisfied that she looked well put-together. Her make-up was perfectly applied, her hair fresh and glossy, and she felt better than she had in days.

After her bout with the flu, which had lasted ten days in the end, she had been drained, a bit weak in the legs. But last night she had decided she did not want to put off visiting Harte’s any longer, and she had made the decision to come to the store today.

Earlier that morning she had washed her hair, done a skilful make-up job and dressed with care. Her choice was a stylish black trouser suit which emphasized her slenderness and height, and black leather boots. Over the suit she wore a long, black wool coat that came down to her ankles, and was not only well tailored and elegant but had a certain dash to it. Adding a flash of bright colour to the ensemble was a long red wool scarf which she had thrown around her neck. Other than this accessory her only adornments were gold earrings and a watch.

Although Evan did not realize it, she cut quite a swathe as she strolled on through the cosmetics department; a number of people turned to look and admire.

But she was totally oblivious to the attention she drew, endeavouring to feel more at ease and relaxed. She was lost in her thoughts as she headed towards the information booth.

The young woman in the booth looked up and smiled as Evan came to a standstill in front of the window, and asked pleasantly, ‘Can I help you, madam?’

‘Well. Er. Yes. What floor are the management offices on?’

‘The ninth,’ the young woman answered.

‘I’m assuming Mrs Harte’s office is on the same floor,’ Evan ventured, staring at her questioningly.

‘Mrs Harte,’ the young woman repeated and frowned, shook her head. Then she exclaimed, ‘Oh, you must mean Mrs O’Neill … Mrs Paula O’Neill. A lot of people get her confused with her grandmother.’

‘And her grandmother is Emma Harte?’

‘Was. Mrs Harte is dead. Has been for quite a while.’

Taken aback though she was, and instantly dismayed, Evan said quickly, ‘Yes. Yes, I was getting them confused, that’s true. And Mrs O’Neill’s office is on the ninth floor, isn’t it?’

‘It is.’

‘Thanks very much,’ Evan murmured, and with a quick nod she hurried away, not quite sure where she was heading in the store. But it certainly wasn’t towards the bank of elevators which would whiz her up to the management offices.

At this moment what she really wanted was to sit down and have a cup of coffee and think about her grandmother’s last words to her. Because the words uttered by the girl at the information desk had just negated her grandmother’s instructions to ‘go and find Emma … your future is with her.’

Emma Harte was dead. Had been for quite a while, the young woman had said. That could mean anything. A few months, a year, or maybe even a few years.

It struck her now that her grandmother and Emma Harte must have been about the same age, since they had seemingly known each other in the Second World War. Mrs Harte had probably passed away recently, just as her gran had. Well, so much for that, she muttered, and glanced around.

Evan had been walking without paying much attention to her surroundings, and now she realized she was in the jewellery department. Approaching a sales person she asked politely, ‘Excuse me … Is there a restaurant on this floor?’

‘There’s the Coffee Café on the other side of the food halls. Just keep walking straight ahead, you’ll come to it,’ the young man told her with a smile.

‘Thanks,’ Evan said, and walked on. Within a couple of minutes she had traversed the huge, well-stocked food halls and was standing in front of the Coffee Café. Pushing open the opaque-glass doors she went inside, glancing about as she did so.

The café was small and attractive, and redolent with the smell of coffee. It was almost empty; she made for a booth where she sat down and took off her scarf.

A moment later she was ordering a pot of coffee, and as she waited for the waitress to bring it, Evan pondered on her predicament. She had come to the store hoping to see Emma Harte and hoping to get a job; without this important contact there was no possibility of that now.

Sighing, she leaned back against the banquette and closed her eyes, filled with dismay again. Her thoughts were on Glynnis. Almost two months ago now, as she lay dying, her gran had told her to come to London to seek out Emma Harte, and she had implied that Emma Harte had something to do with her future.

Had her grandmother been delirious? Or living in the past? Didn’t that sometimes happen to people when they were dying? Didn’t parts of their past lives flash before them like a reel of film unravelling? She’d read that somewhere. She had believed her grandmother that day, because she had no reason not to do so. And yet just before she had left, her father had pointed out that she might not get a reaction from Mrs Harte, since Glynnis had known her in the Second World War. And that had been sixty years ago, after all. Over half a century ago. Too long.

How foolish she had been to take everything on face value. Why hadn’t she checked things out? Because she had trusted Gran. Irritation with herself swept over her and she experienced a rush of frustration. Here she was in London, with nothing to do, no prospects. The trip had been a waste of time, and, more importantly, money.

No, that’s not really true, she thought, sitting up straighter on the banquette. The pot of coffee had materialized while she had been lost in her thoughts, and she poured herself a cup, added milk. As she sipped it she decided she deserved a vacation, and she also reminded herself she had no real reason to worry, at least not for the moment, thanks to the money her grandmother had left her.

Immediately she zeroed in on the legacy that she, her siblings and her father had received from his mother. The overall amount Gran had left was enormous, at least to them it was, and was something of a mystery. Her father had attempted to explain it away, yet it did seem incredible to her that Gran had accumulated such a princely sum.