EMMA’S SECRET
Barbara Taylor Bradford

COPYRIGHT

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2003

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2003

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

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.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008365615

Ebook Edition © November 2019 ISBN: 9780007330638

Version: 2020-04-14

DEDICATION

For Bob, as always, with my love

THE THREE CLANS

The Hartes shown in line of descent

Emma Harte: Matriarch: Founder of dynasty and business empire

HER CHILDREN

Edwina: Dowager Countess of Dunvale: Emma’s daughter by Edwin Fairley (illegitimate). First born

Christopher ‘Kit’ Lowther: Emma’s son by her first husband Joe Lowther. Second born

Robin Ainsley: Emma’s son by her second husband Arthur Ainsley. Third born

Elizabeth Ainsley: Emma’s daughter by her second husband Arthur Ainsley. Robin’s twin. Third born

Daisy (Ainsley): Emma’s daughter by Paul McGill (illegitimate). Fourth born

HER GRANDCHILDREN

Shown in line of descent

Anthony Standish: Earl of Dunvale, son of Edwina and Jeremy Standish, Earl of Dunvale

Sarah Lowther Pascal: Daughter of ‘Kit’ and June Lowther

Jonathan Ainsley: Son of Robin and Valerie Ainsley

Paula O’Neill: Daughter of Daisy and David Amory

Philip McGill Amory: Son of Daisy and David Amory; brother of Paula

Emily Barkstone Harte: Daughter of Elizabeth and Tony Barkstone; half-sister of Amanda

Amanda Linde: Daughter of Elizabeth and Derek Linde (Elizabeth’s second husband)

EMMA’S GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN

Tessa Fairley Longden: Daughter of Paula and Jim Fairley (Paula’s first husband)

Lorne Fairley: Tessa’s twin, son of Paula and Jim Fairley

Toby Harte: Son of Emily and Winston Harte II; brother of Gideon

Gideon Harte: Son of Emily and Winston Harte II

India Standish: Daughter of Anthony Standish and Sally Harte, Earl and Countess of Dunvale

Linnet O’Neill: Daughter of Paula and Shane O’Neill (Paula’s second husband)

Chloe Pascal: Daughter of Sarah and Yves Pascal

Fiona Amory: Daughter of Philip McGill Amory

Emsie O’Neill: Daughter of Paula and Shane O’Neill

Desmond O’Neill: Son of Paula and Shane O’Neill

THE HARTES continued

Winston Harte: Emma’s older brother and business partner

Randolph Harte: Son of Winston and Charlotte Harte

Winston Harte II: Son of Randolph and Georgina Harte

Toby Harte: Son of Winston and Emily Harte; Brother of Gideon

Gideon Harte: Son of Winston and Emily Harte

Frank Harte: Emma’s younger brother

Rosamunde Harte: Daughter of Frank and Natalie Harte

Simon Harte: Son of Frank and Natalie Harte; brother of Rosamunde

THE O’NEILLS

Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill (‘Blackie’): Founding father of dynasty and business empire

Bryan O’Neill: Son of Blackie and Laura Spencer O’Neill

Shane O’Neill: Son of Bryan and Geraldine O’Neill

Linnet O’Neill: Daughter of Shane and Paula O’Neill

Emsie O’Neill: Daughter of Shane and Paula O’Neill

Desmond O’Neill: Son of Shane and Paula O’Neill

THE KALLINSKIS

David Kallinski: Founding father of dynasty and business empire

Sir Ronald Kallinski: Son of David and Rebecca Kallinski

Michael Kallinski: Son of Ronald and Helen ‘Posy’ Kallinski

Julian Kallinski: Son of Michael and Valentine Kallinski

Contents

COVER

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

THE THREE CLANS

PROLOGUE: 2000

PART ONE

Dynasty: 2001

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

PART TWO

Legend: 1940

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

PART THREE

Legacy: 2001

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

KEEP READING …

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

PROLOGUE
2000

Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.

T.S. ELIOT

Four Quartets: Burnt Norton

PROLOGUE

She sat very still in the chair next to the bed, holding her grandmother’s hand. It was so quiet in the hospital room she could hear her breathing, the breath coming in soft little intakes and exhalations.

The old woman’s face was relaxed, the tension gone from it as she dozed, and she appeared to be younger than her years, younger than she had looked in a very long time.

Perhaps she will get better, Evan thought, her eyes on her grandmother, the person whom she loved most in the whole world except for her father. She wished he would get here. He was driving into Manhattan from Connecticut and had left several hours ago; she couldn’t imagine what was making him this late. Evan glanced at her watch, and when she saw the time she realized he was probably snarled up in the late afternoon traffic of Manhattan … rush hour was imminent and Thanksgiving was next week. Too many cars in the city today, she decided, trying to relax. A moment later Evan focused on her grandmother once more, and a small sigh escaped her; she couldn’t imagine her life without her beloved Gran in it. The prospect was bleak.

She had been suffering with a kidney infection and had gone into kidney failure. It was only a question of time.

Glynnis Jenkins Hughes. The Welsh girl from the Rhondda Valley, who had arrived in America fifty-four years ago as a GI Bride. Come to these shores to join her GI husband Richard Hughes, and bringing with her their small son Owen, conceived and born in England when Richard had been stationed there in the Second World War.

And she’s been as much a mother to me as she has to Dad, Evan decided, leaning back in the chair, closing her eyes, allowing a fund of childhood memories to come flooding back … Gran always there for them … always laughing, full of fun and gaiety, her warmth and love so abundant, her capacity for caring boundless.

Her mother had been ill for as long as Evan could remember, and still was, a manic depressive living in a world of her own, out of reality, out of their lives in a certain sense.

One day, many years ago, her Gran had come up to Connecticut from New York City and had taken over, muttering that they were all too little to fend for themselves. And adding, in a quieter voice, but not so quiet Evan didn’t hear, that a man needed a hot meal to come home to at night, as well as loving arms to hold him, a good woman to give him comfort and warmth and understanding. To boost him, when he needed it, to bolster his confidence.

Gran had spent several years sheltering her and her two sisters, Elayne and Angharad, taking care of them, running their young lives. She had been full of robust energy, enthusiasm and good will, a happy woman, comfortable in her own skin, who wanted only to share her joy in living with them and their father, her only child. Which she did so profoundly, Evan thought, and she is the best part of me. She made me what I am.

Finally opening her eyes, Evan glanced towards her grandmother. A smile broke across her troubled face when she saw that Glynnis was awake.

‘You were dozing, Evan,’ Glynnis said weakly, her voice whispery.

‘Not really. Just resting my eyes and thinking, Grandma.’

‘About?’

‘You, and how you took care of us so well when we were little girls. And Dad, too.’

A smile touched Glynnis’s lips, and quite unexpectedly her rheumy old eyes cleared, became alive, very bright and shining, the blueness remarkable in its intensity.

Squeezing her grandmother’s hand, Evan exclaimed, ‘You’ll be out of here soon! You’ll see.’

‘Where’s Owen?’ Glynnis murmured, her voice querulous, barely audible.

‘Dad’s on his way. He’ll be arriving any minute … he’s probably caught in traffic.’

‘Leave here,’ Glynnis instructed hoarsely.

‘I can’t leave you alone, Gran!’ Evan protested, shaking her head. Wondering what this was all about, she frowned and added, ‘I want to be here to take care of you, and so does Dad.’

‘Leave New York … that’s what I meant … you’re twenty-six … should be out … in the world …’ Glynnis’s voice trailed off wearily. And she sighed, seemed to sink further into the pillows.

Evan leaned closer to her grandmother, her eyes fixed on her unwaveringly. ‘I’m happy here, I love my job at Saks … and anyway, I want to be near you.’

‘I’m dying.’ Glynnis’s lids fluttered, and she stared back at Evan, held her granddaughter with her own steady gaze.

‘Don’t say that, Gran! You’re going to get better. I know you are.’ Evan’s eyes filled, and she tightened her grip on Glynnis’s fragile fingers.

‘Old,’ Glynnis whispered, ‘too old now.’

‘No, you’re not! You’re only seventy-nine, that’s not old these days,’ Evan protested, her voice rising.

Glynnis sighed, and her heart clenched. It was unbearable for her to see her granddaughter’s tears, to witness her pain. My one true love, she thought, well there was the other, but that was so long ago it doesn’t matter any more. Evan was always mine. Like my own daughter, the daughter I never had with Richard. Dearest, dearest Richard. The truest husband a woman could ever want. Such a good man. The best man I ever knew; the right man to spend a lifetime with, after all. So much to say to Evan. So little time left. I must get my thoughts unscrambled … get them straight. I should have told her before … but I was afraid …

‘Gran! Gran!’ Evan cried. ‘Please, Gran, open your eyes!’

Slowly Glynnis’s eyelids lifted, and as she gazed at her granddaughter again, a sudden radiance flooded her wrinkled face. ‘I was thinking of your grandfather, Evan. Such a good man, Richard Hughes.’

‘We loved him too, Grandma.’

‘Do you think he’s waiting for me? Do you believe in an afterlife, Evan? Is there a heaven, do you think?’

‘I don’t know, Gran.’ Evan brushed her eyes with her fingertips, flicked away the tears. ‘I hope so, I really do.’

‘I think perhaps there is … don’t weep for me, Evan, I’ve had a good life … sad at times … painful, too … But I’ve enjoyed it all … there’s always the bad along with the good …’ Glynnis drifted off once more, lost in her thoughts, trying to summon the last vestiges of her strength.

Evan bent closer, touching Glynnis’s cheek very gently. ‘I’m here, Grandma.’

‘I know, dear.’ Glynnis sighed, and a faint smile flickered on her wide and generous mouth.

Evan said, ‘Dad’ll be here any minute now,’ and she hoped that he would. She pushed her spiralling anxiety away.

‘I loved him too much,’ Glynnis muttered suddenly.

‘You can never love a child too much – you said that yourself, Gran.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes, long ago, to me, when I was a little girl.’

‘I don’t remember. Evan?’

‘Yes, Gran?’

‘Go to Emma.’

‘Emma? Who’s Emma?’

‘Emma Harte. In London. She has … the key. To your future. Oh, Evan—’ Glynnis stopped speaking abruptly, stared at her granddaughter with enormous intensity as though committing her face to memory, and then she closed her eyes. A long, fluttering sigh rippled through her before she lay absolutely still.

‘Gran,’ Evan said in a low, insistent tone. ‘Gran.’

There was no response, not even the flicker of an eyelash. Evan glanced down at their hands clasped together on top of the sheet and she saw that her grandmother’s hand had gone slack in hers. She felt her throat closing. Her eyes welled.

Gran’s gone, Evan thought. Gone to another place. She’s out of her pain and suffering, at peace.

Bending forward, Evan kissed Glynnis’s still-warm cheek; the tears spilled out of her eyes and slid down her face as grief engulfed her. So distraught was she that Evan did not hear her father come into the hospital room. It was only when she felt his loving hand resting lightly on her shoulder that she became aware of his presence.

‘She’s gone?’ Owen asked, a catch in his voice.

‘Yes, Dad, but only a second ago.’ As she spoke, Evan smoothed her hand over Glynnis’s silver hair, and then she got up, turned to her father. When she saw the tears in her father’s blue eyes, the anguish on his face, she stepped into his arms, wanting to comfort him and needing his comfort in return.

They clung together for a few seconds. Finally, Owen said, ‘I tried to get here before she died.’

‘I know Dad, and Gran knew that too.’

‘Did she have any last word for me?’

‘She said she loved you too much.’

Her father was silent, a reflective look crossing his face. A moment later he released Evan and went to sit beside his mother, his dark head bent over her, his sorrow apparent.

Evan, watching him, concerned for him, did not immediately think of her grandmother’s last words to her. When she did, she was baffled.

And some time later she went to London. To find Emma Harte. To find her future.

PART ONE
Dynasty 2001

Hold your friends close,

Your enemies closer.

ANONYMOUS

Be not forgetful to entertain

strangers: For thereby some have

entertained angels unawares.

Hebrews 13: 1–2

CHAPTER ONE

It was a blustery morning.

The penetrating wind blowing in from the North Sea was laden with moisture, and the dampness was heavy on the air, and icy. Linnet O’Neill felt as though it were seeping into her bones.

She huddled further into her thick, loden-green wool coat and tied her scarf tighter around her head. Then, thrusting her gloved hands into her pockets, she trudged on, doggedly following the winding path which would bring her to the crest of the moors.

After a moment she lifted her head and glanced up.

Above her, the arc of the sky appeared hollowed out, resembled the inside of a vast, polished bowl. It was the colour of steel, its metallic greyness relieved by a few scudding clouds, pale and wispy in the clear crystalline light so peculiar to these northern climes. It was an eerie light that seemed to emanate from some hidden source below the horizon.

When she first set out to walk up into the high country which soared above Pennistone Royal, Linnet had anticipated rain, but the massed black clouds of earlier had been scuttled by the gusting wind.

Since she had lived here all of her life, she knew about the weather and its unpredictability, knew that the skies of Yorkshire were ever-changing. By lunchtime the sun could easily be creeping out from behind the greyness to fill the heavens with radiance, or rain might be slashing down in a relentless, unending stream.

You took your chances when you went walking on the Yorkshire moors, she knew that. But she didn’t care. Ever since she had been a small child, these moors had been irresistible to her; she had loved to come here with her mother when she was little, to wander amongst the heather and the bracken, content to play alone with her stuffed animals in the vast emptiness surrounding her. It was her world; she had even believed it belonged to her when she was growing up, and, in a way, she still did.

It was quiet on the moors this morning.

In the spring and summer, even in the autumn, there was always the splash and tinkle of water as it tumbled down over rock formations into pebble-strewn becks, and the whistling of little birds, the rapid whirring of their wings, was ever present.

All were absent on this cold January Saturday.

The birds had long ago flown off to warmer places, the becks had a layer of ice, and it was curiously silent as she climbed higher and higher, the land rising steeply.

Linnet missed the sounds of nature so prevalent in the summer months. To her there was nothing sweeter than the twittering and trilling of the larks and linnets as they wheeled and turned in the lucent air.

On those lovely, balmy days it was a treat to come up here just to hear the musical choruses of the linnets, often delivered with gusto from an exposed branch of a bramble bush. They loved those bushes, these little birds, as well as the gorse that grew on the moors where they often made their nests or searched for seeds.

And on those days, in the sunlight and under cerulean skies, there was the scurry of rabbits, the calls of larger birds, the scent of warm grass, wildflowers, bracken and bilberry mingling, all so sweet and redolent on the air. Then the moors were at their most beautiful, except for late August and September, when the heather bloomed and transformed the dun-coloured hills into a rolling sea of royal purple and soft muted greens.

Suddenly the wind became fiercer, buffeted her forward and, taken by surprise, she almost stumbled on the path but quickly regained her balance. No wonder the wildlife has gone to ground, or gone away, she thought, and she couldn’t help asking herself if she had been foolish to come out in this bitter cold weather.

But whenever she returned to Pennistone Royal, even after only a short absence, she usually headed for the moors at the first opportunity. When she was walking across them she felt at peace, tranquil in her mind, and at ease with herself. Up here she could think clearly, collect her thoughts and sort things out. And most especially if she was troubled. These days her troubles centred on her sister Tessa who had become her rival in various ways. And especially at the store where they both worked.

It pleased her to know that she was home again, in the place where she truly belonged.

Her mother also loved the moors, but only in the spring and summer months; Paula did not entirely share her feelings about this wild and desolate landscape in the winter, considered by some to be the bleakest county in England at this particular time of year.

It was her father, Shane O’Neill, who had a deep affinity for the high country all year round, and a rare, almost tender love of nature. She always thought of her father as a true Celt, a throwback to a much earlier century, and it was he who had nurtured her own love of the outdoors, of wild things, and the flora and fauna which abounded in Yorkshire.

She knew from her mother that her great-grandmother had been just as passionate about the moors as she was, and had spent a considerable amount of time on them throughout her life. ‘Whenever she was troubled, Grandy headed for her beloved moors,’ her mother had once told her, years ago. Linnet fully understood why they had given Grandy such solace; after all, she had been born in one of the moor villages, had grown up in the Pennine hills.

Her great-grandmother was the renowned Emma Harte, a legend in her own time; people who had known Emma said she was like her, and made comparisons between the two of them. Linnet simply laughed somewhat dismissively, but secretly she was thrilled. Who wouldn’t want to be favourably compared to that most extraordinary woman, who single-handedly had created a great family dynasty and an enormous business empire circling the globe?

Her mother said she was a chip off the old block and equated her with Emma, because she had considerable business acumen and a talent for merchandising and retailing. ‘Just like Grandy,’ Paula would point out constantly, with a proud smile.

Linnet felt warm inside when she thought about her mother, Paula O’Neill. She was a very special person, fair and just in her dealings with everyone, whatever others might believe. As for her father, he was awesome.

Linnet had always enjoyed a perfect and most harmonious relationship with Shane, and they had drawn even closer after Patrick’s death ten years ago. Her elder brother had died of a rare blood disease when he was seventeen, and they had all mourned the sweet-natured Patrick, retarded from birth but so loving and caring. He had been everybody’s favourite; each of them had protected and nurtured him in their own way, especially Linnet. She still missed him, missed mothering him.

As she tramped on, moving ever upward, Linnet noticed tiny icicles dripping from the bramble bushes. The ground was hard as iron. It was becoming colder now that she was almost at the summit, and the wind was raw and biting. She was glad she was wearing warm clothes and boots, and a woollen scarf around her head.

Just as she knew it would, the path suddenly rose sharply, and she felt her calves tightening as she climbed higher. Within minutes she was puffing hard, and she paused to rest. Peering ahead, she realized she was only a few feet away from the crest; there, a formation of huge, jagged black rocks jutted up into the sky like some giant monolith erected as a monument to an ancient Celtic God.

Once she had suggested to Gideon Harte, her cousin and best friend, that the monolith was possibly man-made, perhaps even by the Celts themselves. Or the Druids. But Gideon, who was well-informed about a lot of things, had immediately dismissed that idea.

He had explained that the black boulders piled so precariously on their limestone pedestal had been carried there by a vast glacier during the Ice Age, long before man had existed in Britain. Then he had pointed out that the rocks had been sitting there for aeons and aeons, and therefore were not actually precariously balanced at all. They merely looked as if they were.

Anxious to reach the top, Linnet now set off again, and suddenly, there she was, stepping onto the plateau to stand in the shadow of the immense monolith floating immediately above her. Its pedestal of limestone, formed by nature millenniums ago, was an odd shape, with two pieces protruding out on either side of a tall, flat slab which was set back. Thus a narrow niche was created, a niche protected from the strong winds that blew at gale force up here on the high fells.

Years ago Emma had placed a boulder in the niche, and this served as a makeshift bench. Linnet sat down on it, as she always did, and gazed out at the vista in front of her. And her breath caught in her throat; whenever she was seated here she never ceased to be awed by this panoramic spread of the land. It was magnificent.

Her eyes roamed across bare, untenanted fells, windswept under the lowering sky, stark, implacable and lonely, and yet she never felt lonely or afraid up here. The wild beauty of the moors captivated her, filled her with such wonder, and she relished the solitude.

Far below her, Linnet could see the fields and pastures of the pastoral Dales, their verdant summer lushness temporarily obliterated in this harsh weather.

The fields and meadows were gleaming whitely, covered as they were with winter frost, and the river flowing through this bucolic valley was a winding, silver rope that glittered in the cold northern light.

And there, in the centre, sitting amidst the peaceful meadows punctuated by drystone walls, was Pennistone Royal, that ancient and stately house acquired by Emma Harte in 1932, almost seventy years ago.

In the years she had lived there, Emma had turned it into the most magical of places. The grounds were extensive and picturesque. Lawns rolled down to the river, and in the spring and summer months the masses of flower beds and flowering shrubs were ablaze with riotous colour.

But there were no roses anywhere in those lovely rambling gardens. It was a family legend that Emma Harte had detested roses, because she had been spurned by Edwin Fairley in the rose garden at Fairley Hall. On that day so long ago, when she was just a young girl, she had told Edwin she was carrying his child. In his panic, and fearing his powerful father, Adam Fairley, he had repudiated her, made it clear she was on her own in her terrible predicament. He had offered her a few shillings; she had asked to borrow a suitcase.

Emma had run away. From her family and Fairley village nestling in the shadow of the Pennine chain of hills. Courageously, Emma had travelled to Leeds to find her dear friend Blackie O’Neill, whom she knew would help her.

And of course he had. He had taken her to live with his friend Laura Spencer, later his wife, who had looked after her until Edwina was born. It was then that Emma Harte had made a vow: she would become a rich and powerful woman to protect herself and her child. She had worked like a drudge to accomplish this, and as it happened everything she touched had turned to gold.

Linnet’s grandfather, Bryan O’Neill, had told her that her great-grandmother had never once looked back. As a young woman she had surged ahead, gone from success to success, reaching even higher, always attaining the impossible, finally becoming a true woman of substance.

According to her grandfather, Emma had apparently never forgotten that horrible day in the rose garden at Fairley Hall. Her senses had been swimming, and feeling nauseous she had vomited violently when she was alone. Emma had blamed her attack of nausea on the roses, and thereafter, for the rest of her life, she had felt overcome whenever she smelled them. The flower held such terrible memories for her she could not abide it.

Out of deference to her beloved Grandy, Paula had never permitted roses to be grown at Pennistone Royal, nor were they ever used in floral arrangements in the house. Emma’s ruling still held: roses were forbidden in her homes.

Linnet had been born in her great-grandmother’s house twenty-five years ago, in the middle of May. Her grandmother, Daisy, Emma’s favourite daughter fathered by Paul McGill, had inherited Pennistone Royal from Emma. But she had immediately gifted it to her daughter, Paula, because she preferred to live in London, and also to save death duties later. Paula had lived there since Emma’s death. The house meant more to Linnet than any other place on earth; even though she worked in London during the week, she came up to Yorkshire every weekend.

This past November Paula had taken Linnet into her confidence about a matter close to Paula’s heart. ‘Grandy made a rule years ago,’ she explained. ‘And it was this … Pennistone Royal must go to the one who loves it the most, as long as that person has the intelligence and the knowledge to look after the estate properly. I know that Tessa, as the eldest, believes I’m going to leave it to her, but I just can’t, Linnet. She doesn’t even like the house and grounds; they’re meaningless to her. She’s only concerned with what they represent in terms of power and prestige in the family. That’s certainly not what Grandy wanted or intended.’ Paula had shaken her head and gone on: ‘Lorne has no interest in the house, and Emsie cares only about her stables.’

A loving smile had crossed her mother’s face as she had continued. ‘I doubt she’ll ever change, bless her heart. And as for Desmond, he’ll have his grandfather’s house in Harrogate one day, when Grandfather Bryan is gone.

At this juncture in the conversation, her mother had reached out and taken her hand, saying, ‘And so I am planning to leave Pennistone Royal to you, Linnet, because I know how much it means to you, how much you really care. But not a word to anyone about this. Understand, darling?’

Linnet had nodded and thanked her mother profusely, and promised not to betray her confidence. She fully understood all of the ramifications involved. But Paula’s words had startled her; it was the last thing she had ever expected. Deep down she was thrilled; on the other hand, she did not like to dwell on anything she might one day inherit, especially if it involved her mother and father. She was very close to them and wanted them to have long lives.

Leaning back against the limestone slab in the niche, Linnet sighed, still dwelling on Paula’s words, the decision she had made. There would be trouble with Tessa if she ever found out about their mother’s intentions.

It was true that Tessa did not have any genuine feelings for the house and the estate, but she did covet them, excessive greed being one of her least attractive traits. And her mother was correct, Lorne wouldn’t care at all. London was his bailiwick, and he rarely if ever came north any more, except for special family occasions and holidays. He was very much caught up in his own world, the world of the West End theatre, where he was a successful and very popular young actor. He was truly dedicated to his theatrical career and, unlike his twin, Lorne was not avaricious or combative. He had a loving, gentle heart and had often been her fierce and loyal champion against Tessa in the past. This did not mean he did not love his sister, because he really did. Like most twins he and Tessa were very close, and saw a lot of each other. Very simply, Lorne was not particularly interested in his mother’s business, nor did he have any desire to inherit any part of it. Tessa was welcome to it.

As for the two youngest of the O’Neill brood, they didn’t figure in the scheme of things, as far as Tessa was concerned. Emsie was a dreamy-eyed girl, rather fey and whimsical with an artistic nature. Linnet thought of her as another true Celt, like their father Shane. Possessions were of no consequence to her; she loved her horses and her dogs more than new dresses and pretty things.

‘Nonsenses,’ she called the latter, rather disdainfully, preferring to muck out the stables in a pair of jeans and an old sweater, rather than dress up to go to parties.

Linnet smiled inwardly, reflecting on her sister, of whom she was extremely protective and whom she loved dearly. Emsie, at seventeen, was a vulnerable, sensitive girl, but also riotously funny when she wanted to amuse the family. Named for Emma Harte, she had become Emsie a few days after her birth, her parents suddenly realizing that there was no room for another Emma in the family. The Emma who was dead still dominated them all from the grave.

The last-born child of the O’Neills was the son her father had yearned for, especially after Patrick’s death. Desmond, who was now fifteen, was the spitting image of Shane: six feet tall, dark haired and ruggedly handsome, he was looking very grown-up already.

Linnet had always thought Desmond was the most gorgeous child, and he was turning into a stunning young man. There was no doubt in her mind that women were going to fall at his feet like ninepins, as they apparently had at her father’s, before he was married to their mother. Desmond was the apple of Shane’s eye, and of his grandfather’s, the much-desired heir to the O’Neill hotel empire founded by Blackie, and built up into a worldwide company by Bryan and his son Shane, who ran it today.

Funnily enough, Tessa had always been rather taken with Desmond, favouring her youngest half-brother more than her other O’Neill siblings. ‘Mostly, that’s because he doesn’t represent a threat to her,’ Linnet had said to Gideon recently, and her cousin had nodded, agreeing with her. ‘But he is irresistible,’ Gideon had thought to add.

For a few seconds Linnet focused on her older sibling, and her face changed slightly, took on a grim aspect. Tessa, her half-sister, had been born to her mother and Jim Fairley, Paula’s first husband. But Jim had been killed when the twins were small. He had died, tragically, in a massive avalanche in the town of Chamonix.

Because Tessa had been born a few minutes before Lorne, she was the eldest, and never allowed him, nor anyone else for that matter, to forget this fact. She forever reminded them she was Paula’s heir apparent as the first of her six children, only five of whom were now living.

Suddenly contemplating Tessa’s competitiveness and rivalry, Linnet cringed inside. She hated confrontation and in-fighting, and was usually the peacemaker in the family. Now perhaps this was no longer a viable role.

She and her cousin Gideon had discussed Tessa’s attitude just the other day, and he had reminded her that Tessa was jealous of her, and envious.

Although she loathed the thought of this, Linnet had found herself in agreement with her cousin. He had pointed out how mean-spirited Tessa had been when they were children. She had also been a troublemaker at times. ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots that easily,’ he had muttered.

A feeling of dismay now lodged in Linnet’s stomach. Nothing had changed really, even though she and her sister were now grown-up. Tessa had bullied her, bossed her around when she was little, and in some ways she was still attempting to do so, however indirectly.

Quite unexpectedly, Linnet remembered how she had stood up to Tessa when she was only five, surprising everyone, herself included, and Tessa most of all. Certainly she had shown her independence, that she was feisty, and had the spirit of Emma Harte in her. Her twelve-year-old sister had finally backed off after Linnet had proved she was a match for her.

Linnet laughed out loud, her laughter floating out across the empty fells, reverberating back to her in a series of echoes. She had just remembered an incident with Tessa’s bright yellow sunhat, of which Tessa had been so proud. It had been ruined in the swimming pool at the Villa Faviola in France, and Linnet could see it now, in her mind’s eye, floating so serenely in the pool. Where she had deliberately tossed it … how pleased with herself she had been.

And how angry Tessa had been with her that day, screaming that she had wilfully destroyed her expensive, brand-new hat, purchased with a whole week’s pocket money at the open-air market in Nice.

On that particular morning, Gideon had roared with laughter, and so had his brother Toby, much to Tessa’s annoyance, since Toby was usually one of her drooling sycophants, yes-ing her to death and fawning all over her. As he still did to this day.

As for Tessa, it had been obvious that she was so startled by Linnet’s courage and audacity that she was totally flabbergasted. Their mother had been secretly amused by these goings-on, and had had a hard time smothering her laughter.

Tessa was now thirty-one and a married woman. Her husband, Mark Longden, was a well-known architect who had made something of a name for himself with his ultra-modern buildings. They had a three-year-old daughter Adele, named in honour of Tessa’s great-great grandmother, Adele Fairley. Tessa was very proud of her connection to that aristocratic family, and this was another point she liked to ram home to people, at least those who were interested and would listen.

In spite of her age and position in the world, Tessa could still be mean, often for no apparent reason. The family was conscious of this, and appalled at her behaviour which they deemed to be immature, and frequently rather ugly.

Linnet and Tessa worked for their mother at Harte’s in Knightsbridge, the chain’s flagship store. But Tessa had a much more important job than she did; her sister managed a number of departments, while she ran only the fashion floors, and assisted her mother with merchandising and marketing. There was no question that Tessa had more power, and yet in the last few months her sister had grown increasingly hostile towards her.

Only the other day, Linnet had experienced a peculiar feeling, a premonition really, that trouble was brewing and would soon erupt. The mere idea of this was alarming, especially since the cause of Tessa’s recent animosity eluded her.

The distant rumble of thunder brought Linnet out of her reverie and, startled, she sat up straighter on the boulder, lifted her eyes to the sky. It looked curdled, suddenly darker, and there was no denying that a storm threatened.

Not wanting to be caught up here in the rain, or perhaps even a blizzard since it was so cold, she jumped up. Turning away from the extraordinary view of the upper fells, she headed down the steep path at once, making for her home just visible below her in the valley.

It had been a long steady pull on the way up, but it was much easier going down, and she moved at a fairly rapid pace. Thoughts of her elder sister continued to preoccupy her. Linnet was baffled by Tessa’s coldness in these last few weeks. Normally she was much friendlier. There seemed to be no good reason for the change in her demeanour … unless she knew, somehow, about their mother’s intentions regarding Pennistone Royal and who would inherit it one day.

But how could she know?

The question hovered there. Linnet pondered on it, casting her mind back to the meeting she had had with their mother in November.

The conversation had been held in private, in her mother’s inner sanctum at the Leeds store. They had been entirely alone, and in any case Tessa was in London at the time. No, she couldn’t possibly have any inkling of it, Linnet decided.

And yet … she thought of the way Tessa had directed some of her hostility towards their mother in December – at least that was the way Linnet had read it, and she was surprised at the time. Unexpectedly, Tessa had announced that she would not be coming to Pennistone Royal for Christmas. This was tantamount to sacrilege in the family, and everyone was taken aback.

For years and years the Hartes, the O’Neills and the Kallinskis had celebrated the important holidays together at Pennistone Royal. It was a tradition that had begun in 1933, just after Emma Harte had purchased the grand house and its vast estate outside Ripon.

‘The gathering of the three clans,’ her grandfather called it, and that was exactly what it was. Emma Harte, Blackie O’Neill and David Kallinski had become friends very early in the twentieth century, and had remained friends throughout their lives, as had their growing families. And the Hartes and the O’Neills were now joined in marriage and by blood.

‘Ninety-five, ninety-six years, Linnet,’ her grandfather had explained to her this past Christmas. ‘That’s how far our relationships go back. Spending Christmas together is mandatory. As David Kallinski used to say, we’re mishpocheh … family.’

Not unnaturally, their mother had been very upset with Tessa when she had learned of her intention to remain in London over the holidays. Dismayed and hurt, Paula had finally laid down the law as only she could, in her inimitable Emma Harte style.

Of course Tessa, in the end, had had no alternative but to acquiesce, commit to the visit, no doubt encouraged to do so by Mark Longden, who knew a good thing when he saw it. Like any smart gambler, he always had his eye on the main chance.

Ever since he had slithered so skilfully into their lives five years ago, Linnet had been scrutinizing him surreptitiously.

And she continued to observe him, saw how obsequiously attentive he was to their mother. It was quite apparent to her that he obviously regarded Paula not only as the matriarch to be kow-towed to, but Mrs Moneybags to be endlessly flattered.

Linnet had been suspicious of Mark from the beginning; had considered him to be an opportunist and a gold-digger. And she had often wondered what the beautiful Tessa had ever seen in him. For beautiful her sister was, and she could exhibit enormous charm and grace when she wanted, and considerable intelligence. And there were many other qualities in Tessa which balanced her less attractive traits. Linnet cared about Tessa; her sister was nobody’s fool, she knew that. And yet she had chosen Mark. It troubled her that Tessa had married someone not quite up to par.

Eventually, and somewhat grudgingly, Tessa had agreed to spend Christmas at Pennistone Royal. Even so, it had been a clever compromise. She had explained that they would arrive on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, in time for tea and the lighting of the tree, and depart after lunch on Christmas Day. Her excuse for such a short visit was the necessity of spending Boxing Day with Mark’s parents in Cirencester.

But in essence, Tessa had given her family only twenty-four hours of her time, and Grandfather Bryan, in particular, had been very put out, mainly on Paula’s behalf. He had made a few adverse comments to Linnet, after Tessa had left with Mark and Adele. He frequently confided his thoughts to her, and in this instance he had said that Tessa was as manipulative now as she had been as a child.

Despite the Christmas activities, and the presence of the other clans as well as the O’Neills, Tessa had acted rather strangely, in Linnet’s opinion. Temperamental by nature, especially in her childhood when she had been prone to throwing tantrums, this characteristic seemed to get the better of her at Christmas. During the short time she was in Yorkshire, she had not even bothered to disguise her moodiness or ill temper, much to Linnet’s surprise. Furthermore, she seemed hell-bent on doing battle.

Now, as then, Linnet wondered why. There appeared to be no valid reason for this curious combativeness, and she thought Tessa was being reckless in the way she constantly annoyed their mother.

Paula had not said anything to Linnet at Christmas, nor since then, regarding Tessa’s questionable behaviour. But understanding her mother the way she did, Linnet knew Paula had not missed a trick. She was merely biding her time. It was unlikely that Paula would put up with Tessa’s moods for very long. She was a practical woman with her feet firmly on the ground, and emotional outbursts for no apparent reason usually left her totally unmoved.

So be it, Linnet muttered to herself. What will be, will be. I’ll just have to tackle things as they come at me … if indeed they do. And in the meantime, I’m not going to worry.

But despite this promise to herself, Linnet did worry as she continued her trek down into the valley. She was far too astute to underestimate her sister, and she also knew that Tessa could fight a mean fight.

She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did she would have to defend herself. She had no other choice.

CHAPTER TWO

Linnet was glad to be off the moors for once, and she experienced a sense of relief as she crossed the long meadow behind Pennistone Royal. It was going to snow, and very soon; she knew from experience that the worst thing that could happen was to be caught on the moors in bad weather.

When she finally arrived at the old, wrought-iron gate that led into the estate she pushed it open, hurried past the vegetable gardens, and only slowed her pace when she came to the parterres cut into the back lawn.

She stood there for a second surveying the intricate designs, as always intrigued by their geometric precision. ‘Best seen from the air, them there parterres,’ Wiggs used to say to her when she was a little girl and he was a young gardener. ‘But I don’t have an aeroplane,’ she would protest, staring at him perplexed. ‘An upstairs window then?’ he would suggest with a big wink. And she would wink back, the way he had taught her, run into the house, up the stairs and into a back bedroom. From there she could see the parterres from high up, just as Wiggs had said. She had always had a soft spot for him; now he was head gardener at Pennistone Royal and in charge of the whole estate.

On this cold morning she thought the parterres looked a bit sad. But in the spring and summer the geometrical patterns would be bristling with tender young leaves and the small, flowering plants that brought vivid colour to the dark earth. And elsewhere on the estate the many fountains would be spraying water high into the bright sunlight, and the famous Rhododendron Walk, which her mother had created over thirty years ago, would be in full bloom. That was the time of year she loved the gardens best of all, when there was such renewal, and everything was bursting with life and the air was fragrant with mingled scents.

Linnet shivered under the sharp wind and hurried on, huddling down into her coat, wanting to get home to stand in front of one of the roaring fires, to warm herself until she was thawed out.

Within a few minutes the front façade of the house loomed up in front of her, and she came to a stop, gazing up at it with admiration. There was a timelessness about it that never failed to move her … how much this house must have seen over the hundreds and hundreds of years it had been standing. The dramas of families and so many lives. Happiness and joy, pain and suffering, death and loss, love and marriage and the bearing of children. An endless, enduring cycle, her grandfather was prone to saying, always adding, ‘If only these venerable old stones could talk, what stories they could tell.’

Rooted in the seventeenth century, Pennistone Royal had a majestic dignity with its mingling of Renaissance and Jacobean architecture. The grey stone walls were intersected with many mullioned windows and topped with crenellated towers, whilst tall chimneys punctuated the roof. When she had been a very little girl she had thought of those chimneys as sentinels standing guard over the house and everyone in it – especially her family.

She smiled at the remembrance; she had been such an imaginative, fanciful child.

As her eyes roamed over it she realized just how much she loved this ancient house. It was her safe haven, her home, just as it had been Emma’s home for so many years of her long life. Linnet felt her great-grandmother’s presence in every corner of it, and this was another reason she cared about it so much. Grandy Emma would want me to have it, when my time comes, Linnet mused, but I hope that’s not for years and years …

She lifted her eyes and glanced up at the sky as she began to walk on at a brisk pace. As usual it had changed yet again: bloated, heavy with cloud, it looked curiously luminous, streaked with pale, silvery light. Suddenly her face was thoroughly wet … it had started to snow and the flakes were whirling around her in great flurries, settling on her scarf and her coat.

Not wasting another moment, Linnet began to run, her loden coat flying out behind her.

Bryan O’Neill had arrived at Pennistone Royal over an hour ago, and once he had looked in on his grandson, Desmond, who was recovering from the flu, he had made his way to the upstairs parlour.

Positioning himself at a window, he had stood there ever since, looking out at the moors, anxiously waiting for Linnet to return, worried about her.

Now, as he saw her sprinting along the path, he relaxed for the first time since entering the house. Convinced that she was going to get lost in a blizzard, as she had once before, he had been on tenterhooks.

With her suddenly in his direct line of vision, his spirits lifted considerably, and he felt his taut shoulders relaxing. A small sigh escaped. He tried so hard not to have favourites amongst his grandchildren – he loved them all – but there was no denying he loved this one the best, even though Desmond happened to be the apple of his eye, the long-awaited male heir-apparent.

Linnet was a wonderful young woman in so many different ways, but then so were his other granddaughters. However, there was a special reason why she was close to his heart and precious to him, and it was bound up with so many of his memories and his childhood.

Bryan strode across the room and went out into the corridor, making for the central landing. In December he had celebrated his eighty-fourth birthday, but he looked nowhere near that old. Vigorous and strong, and in robust health, he was a fine figure of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of silver hair and the same merry black eyes his father Blackie had had, and which his son Shane had inherited from them both.

As he headed towards the grand staircase, Bryan heard the front door slam, and by the time he reached the top of the stairs Linnet was standing in the Stone Hall, struggling out of her coat and scarf.

Unobserved, he watched her as she put them away in an antique armoire near the front door.

It was her colouring, of course, that so captivated, so drew the eye to her: the glorious red hair shot through with golden lights, the translucent skin, the oval-shaped face with its fine, chiselled features, the wide-set eyes of a green so deep their colour appeared almost unnatural. She had been endowed with the famous Harte colouring, the famous Harte looks, and he thought she was the embodiment of true beauty.

Unexpectedly, in the inner recesses of his mind, he heard Edwina’s voice reverberating, and he instantly fell down into the past as he recalled her comments uttered thirty years ago or more. ‘All the Hartes have is pots and pots of money. Oh, and their looks, of course. There’s no denying they are a good-looking family. Each and every one of them.’

Bryan had never forgotten what she had said that day, and with such awful disdain it was chilling to the bone. It had been at the party after the christening of Lorne and Tessa at Fairley Church, in the little village at the foot of the moors. He had been shocked by her tone, and truly angered by her attitude.

Edwina was a Harte herself, Emma’s first-born child, and yet all she had ever wanted was to be a Fairley. Blackie had frequently said that her attitude was an insult to Emma, and Bryan had fully agreed with his father.

Yet what Edwina had said all those years ago did have a certain ring of truth to it, inasmuch as their looks were concerned. The Hartes were good looking, and they had been for four generations. Even the men were beautiful, and there were others in the family with Linnet’s colouring. But it was she who resembled Emma Harte exactly, was the spitting image of her right down to the widow’s peak so dramatic above her broad, smooth brow.

‘Grandpops! What are you doing here so early? You weren’t expected until tea time!’ Linnet cried, having suddenly spotted Bryan on the landing. As she spoke she ran to the bottom of the staircase, stood looking up at him, her face ringed in smiles. These two had been confidants since her childhood, and they were still close.

‘I was bored and lonely rattling around in that big old house in Harrogate all by myself, don’t you know,’ Bryan answered, and started down the stairs towards her, his step firm and steady as he descended.

‘There’s nobody here but us chickens! Well, except for Desmond, who’s still sick in bed,’ she informed him, laughing. ‘Paula and Shane are out.’

It still startled him when she called her parents by their first names, even though she’d been doing it for years, and he asked, ‘And where are your mother and father?’

‘Dad’s gone to Harrogate to meet Uncle Winston for lunch—’

‘At the Drum and Monkey, I’ve no doubt,’ he interrupted.

She grinned. ‘That’s right, and Mummy’s at the Harrogate store.’

‘I looked in on Desmond,’ Bryan said. ‘Your father told me he was under the weather, but where’s Emsie on a nasty day like this? Margaret said she was out too.’

‘Emsie went down to the village to see her friend Anne’s new horse, and she mumbled something about staying there for lunch. But you’ve got me, Gramps, and we can have a nice cosy lunch together. Margaret will be able to rustle up something special for you.’

Smiling, his black eyes sparkling, Bryan stepped into the hall and pulled his granddaughter to him, gave her a big bear hug, holding her close, loving this girl. Releasing her, he held her away from him for a moment, and said, ‘You’re looking especially bonny today, mavourneen.’

Linnet smiled up at him, linked her arm through his, and led him across the Stone Hall to the grand fireplace where a pile of huge logs were blazing up the chimney back.

‘Now, Gramps, how about a drop of your favourite Irish whiskey before lunch?’ she asked, patting his arm, giving him a wide, warm smile.

‘I wouldn’t say no, Linnet, thanks, me darlin’.’

‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart … just what you need on a day like this,’ she remarked, gliding across to a chest in one corner, where an array of bottles, glasses and an ice bucket had been lined up on a tray.

Bryan remained standing with his back to the fire, enjoying the warmth from the logs. His eyes followed Linnet, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself at the way she mothered him. She had been doing it since she was a child, just as she had been a little mother to her brother Patrick. It was instinctive with her, he supposed, and came quite naturally. One day, when she married, she would make a wonderful parent.

Instantly his thoughts veered to Julian Kallinski. Good-looking young man. Clever, too. Heir to the Kallinski empire. Now if he and Linnet did tie the knot, then Emma’s greatest wish would be fulfilled. The three clans would finally be united in marriage. He wanted that, so did Ronald Kallinski and the rest of the Kallinskis, Hartes and O’Neills.

It would be a perfect match, and he was just about to ask her about Julian when he remembered Shane’s warning of only last week. Apparently there had been too much pressure put upon them, and they were ‘cooling it’, to use Shane’s expression. No, better not mention Julian today, he decided. No point in fanning the fire.

Instead, he shifted his stance and glanced around the Stone Hall. It was large with a high ceiling criss-crossed with dark wood beams. It took its name from the local grey stone which was used everywhere – on the walls, the ceiling, the floor and the fireplace façade.

He had been sixteen years old when he had first stepped into the Stone Hall with Emma and his father. She had wanted to show them the house, which she had just bought, and they had been impressed with its grandeur. ‘Wasted space,’ she had muttered to Blackie that day, glancing around the great hall. And in the end she had turned it into one of the most splendid living rooms he had ever seen.

Despite its grand size, it had warmth and intimacy, because Emma had used large pieces of handsome Jacobean and Tudor furniture made of dark mellow woods, and comfortable oversized sofas and chairs.

To Bryan it looked exactly the way it had the day Emma had finished it, although he knew Paula had done a lot of refurbishing over the years. But she had kept Emma’s basic style, as she usually did in these things. And like Emma she had filled the room with flowering plants, which were housed in blue-and-white pots and copper buckets. Today, the tops of the polished wood tables and consoles were alive with pink, amber, and yellow chrysanthemums, orange-red amaryllis, and many of the white orchids that Paula loved and nurtured in the greenhouse.

A moment later Linnet was back with his whiskey and a small glass of sherry for herself. After handing him the whiskey, she clinked her glass to his. ‘Cheers,’ they said in unison.

Bryan took a sip, then murmured in a reflective tone, ‘I suppose you were up on those Godforsaken moors because something is troubling you.’

Linnet nodded, but did not volunteer anything.

He wondered if she was worrying about her relationship with Julian, and he asked, as casually as possible, ‘Want to talk about it?’

Linnet hesitated fractionally, then answered in a slightly hesitant voice, ‘It’s Tessa. I’m worried about her. What I mean is, I’m concerned about her attitude towards me, Gramps. She’s so hostile these days.’

‘Nothing new about that, is there?’ he asked, a snowy brow lifting quizzically.

‘Not really … I suppose. She’s often been odd with me at different times. Somewhat bullying when I was little, as you well remember. And bossy since we’ve been working at Harte’s.’

‘Competitive with you, Linnet, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed finally.

Bryan was silent for a moment, ruminating, and then he remarked softly, ‘Ants in her pants, I’m afraid.’

Linnet threw her grandfather a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Mentally she has ants in her pants; can’t be still in her mind. And I’m quite sure that’s because she’s full of anxiety about her position at Harte’s. She desperately wants to be reassured that she will one day succeed your mother.’

Linnet nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely. She thinks she will. She expects to, actually.’

‘And what do you think, mavourneen?’ Bryan probed, his dark eyes resting on her with great interest.

‘I don’t know what my mother plans to do. But Tessa is the eldest of Paula’s children, and I suppose she’s entitled to inherit my mother’s job when she retires.’

Bryan shook his head vehemently. Then, taking hold of her arm, he led her towards the sofa placed nearest to the fire. ‘Let’s sit down,’ he murmured, and after settling himself in a corner against the tapestry cushions, he continued: ‘Your mother doesn’t operate that way, she’s not into those kind of rules, or the law of primogeniture as far as inheritances are concerned. I’m certain Paula will choose someone she wants to be her successor in the family business. After all, she is the largest single stockholder, not to mention CEO.’

When Linnet made no comment, Bryan added, ‘Let’s not forget she was trained by Emma Harte for many, many years, and that was her policy. She gave the key jobs to those who deserved them and could handle them. Paula will do the same.’

‘I guess you’re right, Gramps, but Tessa does very well at Harte’s, you know. She’s a pretty good executive.’

‘Could she run the store in Knightsbridge? And the whole chain as well?’ Bryan asked, looking at her keenly.

Linnet bit her lip and glanced away, acutely aware of her grandfather’s penetrating gaze, thinking of the discussions she’d had with Gideon about this very subject. And with her cousin India Standish, who worked at Harte’s. They believed that Tessa would never be able to cut it, but she fully acknowledged they were prejudiced, having suffered at Tessa’s hands in the past. Especially when they were children.

Clearing her throat, Linnet said, ‘As an executive Tessa’s very good, well organized, practical, and she handles the daily problems with skill …’ Linnet’s voice suddenly trailed off as she thought of the rows her mother had with Tessa about the future and planning ahead. She stared at Bryan, then sighed. ‘Oh gosh, Gramps, Tessa’s my sister and I love her …’

‘There’s a big but, I suspect, when it comes to certain things to do with her work.’

‘I think so. She’s great on a day-to-day basis, as I said. But Tessa never considers the future or plans ahead.’

‘No real vision, perhaps,’ Bryan pronounced. ‘There’s got to be vision in any business, but especially in retailing, otherwise the stores will go nowhere. Except down the drain eventually. That’s always been one of your mother’s strong suits, Linnet. Paula has had tremendous vision over the years, still does, and Emma often commented on it to me. It made your great-grandmother very proud, and she felt secure about leaving Harte’s to her.’

‘Mummy’s a genius in so many ways. You know, she’s really been annoyed about Tessa’s attitude regarding my project. Tessa thinks my idea for a fashion retrospective is ridiculous, that it won’t succeed. But I know it will, and Mummy’s given me her blessing.’

Bryan frowned and shook his head, his expression startled. After a moment’s thought he murmured, ‘But your fashion retrospective is a natural. It’s bound to bring in hundreds of women, and when they’re in the store they’ll spend money on the fashion floors.’

‘Exactly, Gramps! That’s the whole idea, but Tessa doesn’t get it.’

Or doesn’t want to, Bryan thought, but said, ‘The main thing is that it’s going to be a big success. You mustn’t worry about what Tessa says or thinks … only your immediate boss, and that’s your mother.’

She nodded. ‘Mummy’s thrilled I’m using such a lot of Grandy’s haute-couture clothes. Vintage clothes are very in these days, and the retrospective does cover eighty years. It’ll be fabulous and will pull in a lot of young women. India agrees.’

‘I do too, as I just said. And tell me, how is little India working out?’

‘Very well, grandfather, and she’s not so little either. She’s quite the dashing young woman.’

‘So I noticed on New Year’s Eve.’ He chuckled. ‘I always think of India as being little. You know, in the sense of petite, dainty, very delicate and feminine.’

‘That she is. But getting back to Tessa, Gideon says she doesn’t know how to handle people, that she has no empathy or compassion.’ Linnet sat back and made a small grimace. ‘Mummy’s always said it’s important to feel compassion for people if you’re an employer, and Gideon thinks Tessa lacks that quality.’

‘Do you?’

When Linnet was silent, Bryan knew the answer. But she was a fine young woman and he knew how much she disliked criticizing others. Deciding not to press for an answer, he leaned back against the cushions once more, and studied her for a moment, and quite unexpectedly his throat tightened with emotion. For he saw not Linnet O’Neill, his twenty-five-year-old granddaughter but Emma Harte when she was twenty-seven and his surrogate mother. He had been born in December 1916, and his biological mother Laura O’Neill had died almost immediately after his birth. With his father Blackie away fighting in the First World War, there was only Emma Harte, his parents’ best friend, to look after him. And so she had taken him home from the hospital and brought him up as her own. And it was her face he had gazed up at from his crib, her face he had learned to love at such a tender age.

And now, eighty-four years later, he was staring into that same face at this very moment. Of course it was not Emma he was looking at, it was Linnet, but to him she was Emma Harte reincarnated, and the resemblance between them was uncanny.

‘Gramps, are you all right? You’ve got such a funny look on your face,’ Linnet said, sounding concerned about him.

Sitting up straighter, Bryan blinked several times, then smiled at her. He coughed behind his hand, and after a moment replied, ‘I have some photographs at home of your great-grandmother when she was about your age, maybe a couple of years older than you are now. And you are her, Linnet. Why, it’s as if Emma has been reborn in you. It’s not only that you’re the spitting image of her physically, as everyone tells you these days, but you have so many of her facial expressions and her gestures, and you think like her. Certainly you have her drive, energy and talent for retailing, and you’re a good businesswoman. You’ll get even better, too, with a bit of age on you.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re the best, in my opinion.’

‘You’re prejudiced, Gramps.’

‘Perhaps. But nonetheless, you’re going to be fine … another Emma Harte.’

‘I’ll try to live up to all of the things she was, and stood for. I know she had great integrity, that she was a most honourable woman, one who knew right from wrong, and was just and fair in all her dealings.’

‘That she was indeed, and you’ll do her justice. I’ve no qualms about you, mavourneen.’ He reached out, took her hand in his. ‘My money’s on you, Linnet, and in my opinion it’s you who should take over from your mother when she retires. Harte’s should be yours.’

‘I’d like that very much, but it really is up to my mother.’

She’s probably chosen you already, Bryan thought, but for once he did not confide in his granddaughter. Instead he said, ‘I want you to have those photographs of Emma. I’ll bring them with me the next time I come over.’

‘Oh, thanks, Gramps, I’d love to have them. I’ll treasure them.’

A moment later Margaret came hurrying into the Stone Hall, and in her usual quiet and efficient way, she said, ‘Lunch is ready, Mr O’Neill … Linnet. If you’d like to come into the morning room, I’ll serve it in there, it’s much cosier than the dining room, with the fire an’ all.’

‘Thanks, we’ll come right away, Margaret,’ Bryan said, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Linnet did tell me that you’d be rustling up something special for me. Well, that’s the way she put it. So what’s for lunch?’

Margaret laughed and explained, ‘Oh, some of your real favourites, Mr O’Neill. I had a crock of Morecambe Bay potted shrimps put away for lunch tomorrow, but I thought you’d like to have them today with some of that nice thin brown bread and butter of mine, and I’ve made your real favourite, a cottage pie with fresh ground beef and a crust of mashed potatoes, puréed parsnips and peas. And for pudding you can either have freshly baked apple crumble with warm custard, just the way you like it, or trifle.’

‘Goodness, Margaret, you’ve done me proud! Everything sounds delicious,’ Bryan answered, smiling at the housekeeper. Then, turning to Linnet, as they walked together across the hall, he added, ‘I’m seriously thinking of moving in here.’

‘I wish you would, Gramps!’ Linnet exclaimed, tucking her arm through his, meaning every word she said.

‘The idea is tempting, mavourneen, but I think it’s best I remain in Harrogate. After all, Blackie built that house, and I’ve lived in it forever it seems, and I’m keeping it warm for Desmond, so to speak. It’ll be his one day, when I’m gone.’

‘Let’s not talk about you going anywhere!’ Linnet cried, bustling him forward in the direction of the morning room. ‘You’ve got lots of years ahead of you.’

‘I hope so, Linny, but as Blackie used to say, when you get to be over eighty, a man’s living on borrowed time.’

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

‘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.

When Evan had told her father she was considering going to London for a year, he had been instantly enthusiastic about it. But almost immediately she had noticed the look of sorrow enter his eyes, saw a sudden dulling of their brightness, and she had realized at once that he, above all others, would be the one to miss her the most. Her mother wouldn’t miss her. Marietta hadn’t even noticed her absence after she had left home and moved to New York, and that had been nearly ten years ago.

But on that day in the middle of December she had quickly backtracked, had told her father that perhaps she wouldn’t go after all. But he had insisted she take this sabbatical, as he called it, reminding her that he had done the same thing himself over thirty years ago, had gone back to visit London, where he had been born during the Second World War. It was at this time that he had met her mother, then an art student studying at the Royal College of Art. Marietta Glenn. A beautiful blonde girl from California with whom he had fallen madly in love. He had married Marietta in London. ‘And don’t forget, you were born there,’ he had reminded Evan that particular afternoon.

After they had talked about London and her impending trip, Evan had then confided her grandmother’s last words to her father. He had been just as startled and baffled as she had been. ‘But Emma Harte must be very old now. I vaguely remember my mother once saying that she had met her during the war, just before she married her wonderful GI Joe, as she called my dad, and came to America. As you well know by now … it’s family history. I doubt my mother’s name will mean anything to her, Evan, so don’t be disappointed, honey, if you don’t get a reaction.’

She had promised him that she would not let anything disappoint her on this trip to England, and she meant it. Her father had hugged her and told her how important she was to him. He had then explained that she would have no problem working in London because she had dual nationality, as he did. Born in England to a British-born American father and an American mother meant that she was a legal citizen on both sides of the Atlantic.

Finally a date had been set for her departure and her father had made all of the arrangements with his old pal George, and he had gone on to say that she should think of George and Arlette as family, but without infringing on their time or abusing their good will. ‘Have fun, and most of all be happy, Evan,’ Owen had said with a big smile, hugging her to him again. ‘Life’s too short for misery.’

That day she had thought what a wonderfully courageous and positive man her father was. He was cheerful, and had an even temper most of the time, despite the burden of her mother, a woman who might as well be dead for all she cared about living. What had gone wrong in her mother’s psyche? How often Evan had asked herself that, for years now, but she had no answers for herself. There were women, she knew, who enjoyed being ill, but surely no woman could enjoy this. There were so many things Evan didn’t understand. After all, her mother had doctors, and they prescribed medication all the time, and her mother took them. Yet she was still wrapped in a cloak of depression. Or was she?

Evan had often asked herself if her mother faked it at times, in order to retreat from her husband, from them all, from responsibility, from the world. What an awful thing, if that were true.

I want to live my life to the fullest, Evan thought. I want to follow my dreams, fulfil my ambitions. I want a career in fashion, just as I always dreamt of having. I want to meet a wonderful man, get married, have children. I want a life. My own life.

Evan, curled up under the duvets, half dozed, half drifted with her thoughts.

Her father had wondered out loud if she would be happy in London when they had discussed her impending trip in December. She wasn’t sure, but it was worth giving it a try. That was why she had come: to meet a challenge, seek her destiny.

This was the city of her birth, and she had lived here until she was almost four. It was then that her parents had returned to New York; soon after they had settled in Connecticut, where Elayne and Angharad had been adopted, just a year apart.

And it was there that Owen Hughes had raised his family in a rambling old house in Kent, sometimes with the help of his mother, whilst launching himself into his own antique business. He was following in the footsteps of his father; Richard Hughes had taught his son everything he knew, and Owen had studied on his own, learning more, enhancing his knowledge to the fullest.

It was her grandparents who had brought her back to London when she was twelve years old. Her grandfather, Richard, had been coming to London on a buying trip, and he had invited Glynnis and Evan to accompany him.

Part of the time she and her grandmother had gone with him in search of beautiful antiques, for his shop on East Tenth Street, making trips to the country towns just outside London, or driving down to Gloucestershire and Sussex in search of all manner of precious things. It had been an adventure for her and she had loved every moment.

The two of them, she and her gran, were sometimes alone, when Grandfather was off making important transactions with other dealers. It was then that Glynnis had taken her out to see Windsor Castle, Hampton Court and Kew Gardens. And she had learned about British history, especially Welsh history, from her grandmother, who knew a lot and was articulate in the telling of it all.

It had been lovely weather that particular summer, and the three of them had enjoyed the time they spent together. Her grandfather loved the theatre, and so they had gone to see plays in the West End, and one night they had even had supper at the Savoy Hotel, in the elegant dining room overlooking the River Thames. Another evening, after a play, Grandfather had taken them to Rules, the old and very famous restaurant which her grandparents had favoured for years. These treats had been special for a girl of twelve, and she had never forgotten them.

After almost two weeks in London they had crossed the English Channel to France, where her grandfather had hoped to find other interesting items and small treasures for the shop. He had been an expert in English Georgian furniture, and had also specialized in English and European china. That was the real reason for their trip to France: the quest for rare porcelains in perfect condition.

It was from his father that Owen had learned all about English and European porcelains, as well as furniture. ‘I studied at the knee of the master,’ he often said, and he was now a leading expert and dealer in the field today. Over the years Owen had made something of a name for himself as an antiquarian; he frequently gave lectures at his shop, and people came from all over to hear him speak, and to learn.

Evan knew how much her father loved antiques, and she was well aware that his work had been his great saviour over the years, especially when they were growing up and their mother was incapacitated.

Angharad, the youngest, had shown a talent for spotting ‘the good stuff’, as her grandmother had called it. Knowing that she had what he called ‘a good eye’, Owen had taken his daughter into the business when she was old enough, and she worked with him at the New Milford shop for part of the week, and on Sundays.

Elayne, who was the middle child, was an artist and painted very well, Evan thought, and she had a small studio near the family home in Kent. Her paintings were shown in a gallery their father had created within his New Milford shop, and sold very well. People liked her evocative landscapes and sun-filled beach scenes, most especially her mother-and-child studies, which touched a chord in everyone.

In a certain way Evan had thought Glynnis was her best friend when she was growing up, and especially when she was in her late teens. She had gone to live with her grandparents in Manhattan at the age of seventeen, and after six months, when she became eighteen, she had enrolled in the Fashion Institute of Technology on West 27th Street, where she had studied fashion design, her true vocation.

Now, suddenly, her thoughts went to her grandmother’s will. She and her father had been taken aback by it. Glynnis had left almost four hundred thousand dollars, and the amount had taken their breath away momentarily.

‘Where did it all come from?’ Evan had asked her father, once they had left the lawyer’s office a few days after Glynnis’s funeral.

Owen had shrugged, looking nonplussed. ‘Damned if I know, honey, but my mother was always frugal, and also a good businesswoman. She kept my father’s books at the shop for years and she had a good head for figures, he told me. I know she liked to dabble in the stock market a bit. Over the years she did quite well, but your gran was prudent, cautious, and she also tended to scrimp and scrape. I guess that’s where her money came from – her own thrift and prudence.’

Her father had received the bulk of the money and his mother’s apartment, which Glynnis had inherited from Richard after his death several years earlier. There had been nice bequests to Elayne and Angharad, and she herself had received the sum of thirty thousand dollars, much more than the other two girls. But she was the eldest grandchild, and they had understood. Their grandmother’s few pieces of jewellery and small trinkets had been left to her sisters and herself. Very generously, Glynnis had passed on several of the really good pieces to their mother, obviously not wanting to leave Marietta out, or slight her daughter-in-law.

Follow your dreams, Owen had said to Evan. She would try. Certainly her grandmother had made that possible. Evan had been able to come to London under her own steam, without asking her father for money, and for this she was grateful.

Her grandmother’s dying words again reverberated in her head, and she couldn’t help wondering why Emma Harte was her future. What had Glynnis meant by that? Evan had no idea. And she wouldn’t know until next week, when she was well enough to go out.

Rousing herself, Evan got up, went over to the chest of drawers near the fireplace. On top of it she had arranged a selection of family photographs. She picked up the one of her grandparents and herself when she was twelve, taken here in London on the famous trip.

She stared at the photograph for a few moments, studying it. In the background were the gates of Buckingham Palace. It had been a sunny day and she was squinting into the sun, and looked sedate in a plaid skirt, a white blouse, white ankle socks and patent-leather shoes gleaming in the sunlight, their shine very visible in the picture.

She half smiled at the youthful image of herself, thinking she looked so gangly and awkward with her long legs and skinny shoulders. Her hair had been cut in bangs, a straight dark line across her forehead, and the hairstyle did not suit her. She recognized that now, but she had known it then as well.

Her grandfather, tall, straight backed, almost military in his bearing, was wearing a dark blazer and grey trousers, and looked very smart with his pale blue shirt and navy tie. His hair was pepper-and-salt, and his light grey eyes twinkled in his lean, craggy face. Still a handsome man, just as he had been in his younger days.

Her grandmother was quite amazing looking in the photograph. She had been sixty-five at the time, and she had stopped tinting her hair long before. It was a cloud of silver around her still-youthful face, and the blueness of her eyes appeared very sharp in the picture. That wide smile Evan had known and loved all of her life was in place on Glynnis’s face, which as usual reflected her loving nature.

Grandparents were important, she was fully aware of that. It was only through them that you really knew who you were, where you came from, what you were all about. In a sense, great-grandparents were of even more importance, for what you gleaned about them gave you considerably more insight into your grandparents, your parents, and yourself. You carried their genes, their blood, and also their hopes and dreams and aspirations. All of these elements were there in you, inherited, flowing down through the bloodlines over several generations. Knowing about your family background gave you a sense of direction, and of purpose, she thought, and told you so much about who and what you could become. It gave you and your life meaning.

It was because of her grandmother that she was here in London. And next week she would come face to face with her future on the day she went to Harte’s in Knightsbridge. If her grandmother was to be believed … She had faith in Glynnis; she had always had faith in her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Once lunch with her grandfather was over, Linnet made her way to the attics in the East Wing of Pennistone Royal. She had been working up there at weekends for several months, and had almost finished cataloguing Emma’s couture clothes.

After opening the door with her key, she stepped inside and switched on the light, then stood for a moment, glancing around, a smile of pleasure flitting across her face.

These attics were special to her, more than ever since she had arranged everything the way she wanted. What made them unique was their size; they were not at all like the small, low-ceilinged rooms usually found under the eaves of most houses.

Spacious, with fairly high ceilings, they had been remodelled by her great-grandmother many, many years before. Emma had had the walls lined with cedar, the floors covered with carpeting stretching wall to wall, and she had installed excellent lighting, comparable to that used in the Harte stores. Cupboards with deep shelves had been specifically designed to hold boxes of varying sizes, where all manner of things could be safely kept free of dust. Emma had created a series of splendid storage rooms for all of her clothes, and for fashion accessories such as shoes, hats and handbags, and costume jewellery as well.

As she moved forward, Linnet couldn’t help congratulating herself on the reorganization she and her cousin India Standish had done in the last few months. When her mother had asked her to sort out the muddle in the attics, it had not taken her very long to realize there was no real muddle. The basic problem was that many racks had been pushed close together and filled with innumerable dresses, gowns, and all kinds of outfits and ensembles.

She and India had decided there was only one way to organize the clothes, once the racks had been properly spaced out. They did it by designer name rather than by category of clothing, as her mother and Aunt Emily had done some years before. Designers now had a rack, or racks, with his or her name posted in bold letters.

It had always been something of a wonder to Linnet that so much had been kept. Even as a child she had liked to roam amongst the racks of clothes, admiring the beading and the embroidery, touching the beautiful fabrics – the chiffons, satins, silks and velvets.

Her great-grandmother had had perfect taste, and everything had been kept in excellent condition by her, and later by Paula and Emily. Some years earlier her mother had installed air-conditioning, which was kept on low the whole year round, so that there was total climate control to preserve the clothing.

Normally the ensembles were kept in dust-proof, zip-up garment bags made of cotton, but she and India had taken many of the outfits out of the bags in order to make decisions about them. She glanced at them now as she walked along an aisle in between the racks; it struck her that she could use almost all of her great-grandmother’s clothes in her retrospective, especially since she was covering eighty years of fashion.

Emma’s ensembles dated back to the 1920s and featured many great designers. In particular she had favoured three French designers in their hey day: Pierre Balmain, Cristóbal Balenciaga and Christian Dior. But she had bought from Vionnet and Chanel in Paris; Hardy Amies in London; the French-American designer Pauline Trigère, based in New York, and the Russian designer Valentina. Her couture house had also been in New York until her retirement in 1957. The clothing aside, there were all those wonderful accessories. It was an enormous treasure trove of elegance and style.

Linnet knew she could easily finish the last of the cataloguing tomorrow. Now she had a specific purpose – finding a missing evening gown which her aunt had told her about last week. Emily had discovered it years ago in Emma’s Belgrave Square flat, and had used it in a display of fashion Paula had once put on in the early 70s, which her mother had called Fashion Fantasia.

‘It’s a must, you have to use it,’ Emily had told Linnet. ‘It’s really not lost, just mislaid. I’ll bet you anything it’s in the attics at Pennistone Royal, since it’s not in London. Look for a very large flat box, a dress box, and I think it has a Harte’s label on it, rather faded. I found it in that box and I put it back there, as far as I remember. As you well know, beaded dresses are heavy, the weight of the beads pulls the fabric down and makes a mess of the shape. So I know it’s not hanging in a dress bag.’

Emily had gone on to describe the dress: ‘A sheath of pale blue chiffon covered all over with thousands of tiny bugle beads of pale blue and emerald green. It’s simply gorgeous. Oh, and there’s a pair of emerald-green silk evening shoes by Pinet of Paris.’

When Linnet came to the end of the first aisle of racks, she headed for the long work table she used for different jobs, and put her shopping basket of tools down on it. Dragging the stepladder closer to one of the tall, built-in cupboards, she opened its doors and climbed the steps. As she leaned forward and pulled out a large box, a number of others tumbled to the floor. Backing down the ladder, she put the box she was carrying on the table. It was very heavy, and when she lifted the lid she saw it contained lots of shoe boxes neatly lined up next to each other.

At this moment her mobile began to ring; reaching into her basket, she grabbed it. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me,’ her cousin Gideon announced.

‘Hi! Where are you, Gid?’

‘At the stables in Middleham. When I phoned the house, Margaret told me to call you on your mobile. Where on earth are you? You sound as if you’re on the moon.’

She laughed. ‘Not quite. But I am up in the attics of Pennistone Royal.’

‘Good Lord, it’s years since we’ve been up there … playing with all those old toys.’

‘Not those attics, silly. I’m in the East Wing where all of Grandy’s clothes are stored. I’m actually looking for an evening gown your mother told me about last week.’

‘Oh gosh, that’s right. Your big project is in the works. Eighty Years of Elegance and Style,’ he said, laughter in his voice.

‘Don’t make fun of me, Gideon. The retrospective is going to generate a lot of traffic in the fashion department, and that means sales.’

He was suddenly chagrined, knowing how seriously she took her work. He would never tease her about that, and swiftly he exclaimed, ‘Now you’re being silly. You know how much I respect you, and your work, Linny. Would I ever do that to you?’

‘I don’t suppose you would, Gid. You are coming to dinner tonight, aren’t you?’

‘Course I am. That’s why I’m phoning, actually … Listen, do you think it will be all right for me to bring a guest? Will your mother mind?’

‘I’m sure she won’t. You know how she likes to play Mother Earth, invites the whole world to partake of her food. Who do you want to bring?’

‘Actually, Linnet, it’s Julian.’

‘Kallinski!?’

‘Is there another Julian in your life?’

‘No, and he’s not either. Mummy won’t mind if you bring him to dinner, but I certainly will.’

‘Oh come on, Linnet, you know how you feel about him.’

‘And how’s that, Gid?’

‘You love him.’

‘Yes, that’s true … in the way I love you. Like a cousin, or a big brother.’

‘Liar!’

‘I’m not a liar, and it’s true. Since we grew up together, as you well know, we have a very fraternal relationship.’

Gideon did not respond, and she was wondering if she had lost him, if the connection had just gone dead, when he said, ‘It’s not the way Julian portrays your relationship.’

‘I think you’re fibbing, Gideon Harte.’

‘No. I’m not. I know he loves you, and in the most romantic, man-woman sense.’

‘Is that what he said to you?’

‘Yes, it is. More or less. Scouts’ honour,’ Gideon answered, sounding suddenly serious.

‘I knew men were worse gossips than women,’ Linnet muttered. ‘What else did he say?’

Ignoring her jibe, he answered, ‘I believe he wants to tell you that himself.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight.’

‘He’s not with you now?’ she asked, riddled with curiosity.

‘No, he went to see his grandfather. Sir Ronald’s not been feeling well, a bit under the weather. But Julian’s staying with us in Middleham.’

She was silent, her mind racing.

‘Well, can he come to dinner or not? Come on, you know you want to see him.’

Linnet hesitated then said, ‘I guess it’ll be all right. My mother’s having a bit of a crowd, I think.’

‘She is?’ Gideon sounded alarmed. ‘Who’s coming?’

‘Well, Gramps is here for the weekend, so that’s another O’Neill, making six of us altogether if Desmond and Emsie join us for sups. And then there’s Emily and Winston—’

‘I know my parents are coming,’ he cut in.

‘India said she might fly up from London to help me with the last of the cataloguing and the packing of the clothes, but she hasn’t appeared so far. Oh, and Mummy said something about Aunt Amanda coming too.’

‘She was supposed to be staying with us, but she’s not arrived either.’

‘The blizzard didn’t amount to anything much after all. So Amanda’s probably just late, not lost in a snowdrift somewhere. Oh, and by the way, Gid, I think Mummy invited Anita Shaw, just to even out the numbers.’

‘Good God, I hope not!’ Gideon exclaimed. ‘I can’t bear that girl … I do wish your mother would stop trying to fix me up with women. I’m quite happy as I am, the proverbial bachelor.’

Linnet laughed. ‘Somebody’s going to catch you one day, Gid.’

‘You will tell your mother about Julian coming, won’t you?’

‘Yes. And listen, I was teasing you about Anita. She’s not invited. I think my mother’s given up on trying to get you married. I suppose we’re going to have to rely on a total stranger to sweep you off your feet.’

‘That’ll be the day!’ he shot back, chuckling. ‘I’ll see you later then, and don’t work too hard.’

‘’Bye, Gid,’ she answered.

Linnet stood leaning against the stepladder for a moment, her mind on Julian. She wondered if she had made a mistake, allowing her cousin to bring him to dinner. In the last year she had felt totally mixed up about their relationship, which is why she had pulled away from him six months ago. Julian had agreed they should have some breathing space, and they had stopped seeing each other by mutual consent.

Despite the closeness of their families, they had only run into each other once since, and that was at Christmas here at Pennistone Royal. But like Tessa, Julian had fled as quickly as he could without appearing rude.

She closed her eyes, saw him in her mind’s eye. Tall, slender, darkly handsome, with the most penetrating blue eyes she had ever seen. His cold blues, she called them, when he got angry.

Linnet felt a sudden and terrible longing for him, and she was momentarily startled. He had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, from the time they were toddlers, and an indispensable part of her existence since she was fifteen. She missed him …

‘I’m sorry I’m so late.’

Linnet snapped her eyes open with a start, and straightened against the stepladder. Her cousin, India Standish, was hovering in the doorway, carrying her own shopping basket, her tortoiseshell glasses pushed up on top of her mass of curly, pale blonde hair.

India was twenty-seven but looked much younger, and was pretty in a soft, delicate way. She had large, luminous, silvery-grey eyes and an expressive, sensitive face, reminiscent of the Fairleys. She had their blood running through her veins. Without a doubt, India was the most popular person in the family. She was considerate, gentle in her ways, and had an understanding heart. Everyone loved her.

Walking into the attic, India asked with a small frown, ‘Is something wrong, Linnet?’

‘No, I’m fine. Why?’

‘You’re rather pale, and you look … well, slightly troubled.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing of any importance, India,’ Linnet answered and, pushing her mobile into the pocket of her loden-green trousers, she continued more briskly, ‘I pulled out that very big box over there on the table, and a lot of others fell down. We’d better pick them up. Maybe the missing dress is in one of them.’

‘Don’t worry, darling, we’ll find it,’ India murmured in her soothing voice which held a lovely lilt, a hint of her upbringing on the estate at Clonloughlin, which belonged to her father Anthony, the Earl of Dunvale.

Placing her shopping basket of tools on the table, India added, ‘I’m quite sure we can finish everything by tomorrow night, so don’t worry.’

‘I hope we can. We have to go back to London on Monday morning. Early. We’ve a lot to do at the store, India.’ As she spoke, Linnet carried one of the larger boxes to the table; India did likewise.

Together, the two great-granddaughters of Emma Harte sorted through the flat boxes which contained so many things that had belonged to their famous forebear. But after an hour’s search the beaded dress had not turned up.

‘It can’t have walked away. It must be somewhere,’ Linnet remarked to India, and then hurried off down an aisle between the racks. ‘Let’s look in that big built-in cupboard in the smaller attic next door. Maybe we’ll be lucky,’ she said, disappearing from view.

India hurried after her. ‘I think that built-in is full of suitcases; old leather suitcases that belonged to Grandy.’

‘I don’t remember seeing any there,’ Linnet answered, sounding puzzled. ‘I wonder who could have put them there?’

‘Who knows. But certainly Aunt Emily might easily have packed the evening gown in one of them,’ India suggested.

‘She was positive she’d put it back in the box she’d found it in, one with a faded Harte’s label on the lid. But she could be mistaken,’ Linnet said over her shoulder. ‘After all, it was years ago.’

‘To be sure it was,’ India murmured.

A moment later the cousins stood in the smaller attic staring at the shelves in the tall cupboard. It was stacked to the hilt with boxes. But just as India had said, there were also a number of leather cases on the lower shelves.

The young women lost no time in taking out all of the boxes, and as soon as Linnet saw one with an old Harte’s label attached to the lid, she shrieked. ‘Voilà! I bet it’s in here!’ At once she pulled the lid off, and was staring down at a glittering mass of pale blue and emerald-green bugle beads. ‘We’ve found it!’ she exclaimed triumphantly, then lifted the gown out of the box, held it up to the light, gazing at it. ‘Isn’t it beautiful, India?’ She pressed the beaded sheath against her body, stood looking down at the dress.

‘Grandy must have been a sensation when she wore it, don’t you think?’ India said. ‘What with her red hair and green eyes. And you don’t look half bad yourself, the way you’re holding it against your body. The colours are wonderful for you. You know, Linnet, it has a sea-like effect, all those blues and greens mingling.’ India gave Linnet a big smile. ‘The gown seems to undulate when you move. Maybe you should keep it for yourself. You love vintage clothes more than anyone I know.’

‘It’s too valuable,’ Linnet responded, laughing. ‘And the beading has been very cleverly worked, that’s why it undulates,’ she explained, then carefully laid the dress on top of the long table. She began to examine the embroidery and the overall workmanship, marvelling at both as she scrutinized the gown intently. She was amazed at its condition, realized how well it had been preserved over the years, which was the reason it looked almost new.

In the meantime, India had made a discovery of her own, and she was excited by her find. She exclaimed, ‘Linnet, come over here and look at this.’

‘What is it?’ Linnet asked without turning around, her attention on the lining of the evening gown.

‘It’s a suitcase that belonged to Grandy. I just opened it up and there’s a smaller case inside marked Private and Confidential. And her name is on the same luggage label. Oh, and here’s a little key attached with a bit of string to the handle.’

‘What’s inside the smaller case?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t looked. After all, it is marked private and confidential …’ India’s sentence trailed off as she untied the small key and opened the case, murmuring, ‘Since our great-grandmother has been dead for many years, I suppose I can lift the lid at least.’

‘Of course you can,’ Linnet said confidently.

‘Linnet, please do leave that dress and come and look at what I’ve found. Please.’

Struck by the excitement and urgency in her cousin’s voice, Linnet jumped up and went to join India on the floor in front of the built-in cupboard.

She crouched down on her haunches next to India and followed her gaze. ‘Oh my God!’ Linnet’s hand flew to her mouth as she stared into the large suitcase. It contained the smaller one, which India had just opened, and Linnet couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Her eyes widened, and she reached out, touched the leather-bound books lying there side by side. What she was seeing made her heart miss a beat. And she was speechless all of a sudden. At last she said in an awed voice, ‘Emma Harte’s wartime diaries. Oh, India, what a find!’ She lifted one out and read the date embossed in gold on the black leather cover. ‘Nineteen thirty-eight. Long before we were born, and even before our parents were born. Gosh …’

‘This is a treasure trove, you know,’ India volunteered. ‘They run right through to nineteen forty-seven. Did you notice that?’

Linnet nodded, then tried the lock on the 1938 diary, which was still in her hands. It opened easily. Linnet was about to look inside the diary, but hesitated, then very resolutely she closed it again.

India, sounding nervous, said, ‘I’m glad you didn’t read anything. I know Grandy’s been dead longer than we’ve been alive, but I think it is rather an invasion of privacy, reading her diaries, don’t you, Linny?’

‘I do, and I think it’s my mother’s decision. After all, she was Emma’s chief heir. My mother should see them first. I’ll take them down to her when we’ve finished up here.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s the wisest thing, to be sure,’ India agreed.

Linnet put the diary back in its given place in the small case, and then slowly smoothed her hand over the ten books, her expression reflective, her eyes suddenly far away, as if she saw something no one else could see. After a moment or two, she focused her attention on the diaries. All of them were bound in black, the year embossed in gold, and she was sure none of them were locked. She could not help being curious about their contents, wondering what secrets they contained, and she longed to read them.

But her integrity, bred in the bone, would not permit her to violate her mother’s trust in her. The golden rule in the family was that anything pertaining to Emma Harte first passed through Paula, head of the Harte dynasty.

Linnet was honour-bound to abide by that rule.

CHAPTER FIVE

Although she was fifty-seven, Paula McGill O’Neill looked younger. Her head of thick, luxuriant dark hair, coming to a widow’s peak above her smooth brow, was still the colour of jet, although she was the first to admit that it got a little help from her hairdresser these days. Her eyes, her most spectacular feature, were still that amazing deep violet, thickly fringed with dark lashes. They had always reflected her intelligence, but wisdom and compassion dwelt there now as well.

She sat in the upstairs parlour at Pennistone Royal with her cousin Emily Harte, but her thoughts were on her daughter Linnet, and Julian Kallinski, whom at one time she had thought Linnet would marry. She wished her daughter had confided in her more; wished that Linnet had not made such sweeping and drastic moves without at least one discussion. But when she herself had been in her twenties she had been headstrong, too; had believed she knew everything.

Oh, what it was to be young and impulsive, and so convinced of the rightness of what one did. She had married Jim Fairley when she was very young, and lived to regret it, as she had come to understand that it was Shane O’Neill who held her heart. But at least things had eventually worked out for her and Shane. They had been married now for almost thirty years, their love growing deeper and deeper with the passing of time.

Eventually, Emily said, as if reading her thoughts, ‘I think Linnet and Julian were made for each other, as you and Shane were—’

‘And you and Winston, too,’ Paula interrupted, as she roused herself from her thoughts of her daughter.

‘True. Anyway, I was going to say I hope those two begin to realize this, and very soon. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a lovely family wedding in the summer with the three clans present?’

‘You see, there you go, Emily!’ Paula exclaimed, shaking her head. ‘Bringing the clans into it. But yes, you’re right, it would be nice. In the meantime, there’s Gideon for us to worry about. He’s still a bachelor.’

‘He doesn’t settle down with any of the women he dates. Brief encounters, I call them,’ Emily muttered.

‘He just hasn’t met the right woman yet, that’s all,’ Paula asserted. She pushed herself up from the chair, walked across the floor of the upstairs parlour where they were sitting.

Emily’s eyes followed her. She thought her cousin looked beautiful tonight with her new short hairdo: sleek, stylish and youthful. She was wearing a long, straight, amethyst wool skirt and a matching turtleneck sweater that brought out the colour of her eyes and was a foil for her dark hair. The outfit was simple, even a little severe in a way, but it suited Paula, who was tall and slender.

Emily wished she had a figure like Paula’s, but try though she did she always looked slightly plump in comparison. No wonder Paula had affectionately dubbed her Apple Dumpling when she was little. She was still fighting the childhood propensity to put on weight.

In all the years of their growing up together they had never exchanged a cross word or had a quarrel, although sometimes the eight-year-old Paula had reprimanded Emily when she was five and they were staying at Heron’s Nest, Emma’s summer home in Scarborough, and she had been what Paula called ‘a pest’. Cousins, best friends and confidantes, they had been each other’s rock in times of trouble and adversity.

For the most part, these two had been brought up by Emma, were trained by her, and today they ran a large part of her empire between them, and did so with great skill. They were devoted to their grandmother’s memory, and in a sense they were the keepers of the flame.

Pausing at the door of the bedroom which adjoined the upstairs parlour, Paula said, ‘There’s something I want to show you before the others arrive.’

‘What?’

‘Linnet and India found it in the storage attics and—’

‘The famous beaded dress!’ Emily declared triumphantly.

‘No, not the dress. Oh, they found that all right, but they came across something else, something much more important.’

‘Hurry up then, I’m intrigued.’ Emily sat back, an expectant look on her face.

A moment later Paula came back carrying the old brown leather suitcase, the small one which contained the diaries. She placed it on the coffee table in front of Emily, and then, leaning forward, she lifted the lid.

‘This is it,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder to look at her cousin.

‘What’s in it, actually?’ Emily asked, full of curiosity.

‘Grandy’s diaries. From 1938 to 1947. Ten of them, and they’re all in the most beautiful condition. I suspect she stored them in this case for years, and that’s why they’re so well preserved.’

‘Oh my God, what a find!’ Emily cried, leaning forward, staring at the set of black leather, gold-embossed diaries placed side by side in consecutive order within the case. ‘But where on earth have they been all these years? And how is it the girls just found them? I mean, why didn’t we?’ She glanced at Paula, frowning. ‘How could we have missed them?’

‘You’re going to have a good laugh when I tell you where they were stored for years, Emily.’

‘Where?’

‘In that walk-in closet in the ground floor office.’

‘Not the one which is now called the morning room?’ Emily asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

‘Exactly. They’d been there for years. This one and five others, all part of a matched set of luggage from Asprey. Grandy used that office every day when she was at Pennistone Royal, and for years and years. So it was definitely she who put them there. This small case was actually inside a larger one, otherwise I would have noticed the luggage label marked confidential. Anyway, I moved them when I revamped that room a few months ago.’

‘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.

Her grandparents had lived comfortably, but there had never been any great wealth. In fact, it struck her that they had always lived rather modestly. Why? They could have indulged themselves a little bit with the kind of bank balance Glynnis had obviously had. On the other hand, perhaps Gran had been hoarding the money for her son and granddaughters.

Suddenly her father’s puzzled expression flashed before her eyes … how truly surprised he had been in the lawyer’s office that day. Startled and confused. Just as she had been. Her grandmother had been a dark horse.

Her father deserved this windfall from his mother, deserved to inherit his parents’ apartment, which Glynnis had left to him. Evan was glad he had finally decided to keep it, rather than put it on the market, something he had been contemplating doing. The apartment was on East Seventy-Second Street and Madison Avenue, a great location; real estate was bringing excellent prices at the moment, so the idea of selling it had been tempting to him.

Evan regarded the apartment as an escape hatch for her father, much to be desired, and she was relieved when he said he planned to use it instead of unloading the place. It pleased her that he now had somewhere to stay overnight when he went into Manhattan; also, it was his own private space, a safe haven away from her mother, and to Evan that was of immense importance. Marietta had become a depressed and lethargic woman, listless and without any interests, and she had turned into a recluse. But why?

Evan bit her lip, shook her head sadly. So many mysteries in her life … so many questions … and no answers. She pushed these thoughts away from her. Mysteries were for another day.

The cup of coffee had warmed her, given her a boost, and she felt much better, more relaxed. And slowly she began to formulate a plan.

She had given up her job in New York, so why go back? There was no reason. Why not stay in London for a few months? The weather would get better soon, and she’d always wanted to come back here … after all, this was the city where she was born.

But what to do, how to occupy herself? Her kind of sightseeing would be finished in a couple of weeks, then what? Get a job, of course. And why not a job here at Harte’s? She liked the look of this grand store. No, it was more like an emporium, she decided, and somehow it had a connection to her gran, however tenuous that was.

So why not go up to the management offices and apply for a position here? There was nothing to stop her, was there? No, nothing at all, a voice whispered in her head; go for it, girl. Evan smiled to herself. Glynnis would have said exactly that, and she would have added, ‘You’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain.’ Another smile flitted across her face as she thought of her grandmother.

If she was absolutely truthful with herself, Evan knew she had seized on her grandmother’s dying words, had taken them to heart – in order to leave New York and her family. She loved them all, most especially her father, but she needed to be on her own. She needed to be free.

London had beckoned her, suddenly beguiling, and she was here. And here she would stay, at least for a while. And you never knew what was going to happen. As her gran had always said, ‘Life is full of surprises, Evan, make the most of the good ones.’ Perhaps her future was here after all, she thought, her face brightening.

Evan stepped out of the elevator on the ninth floor and found herself in a small lobby. To her left was a blank wall, to her right a pair of wooden swinging doors with glass windows set in the upper panels.

Only way to go, she thought, as she turned to her right and pushed through the doors into the vast corridor. Slowly she walked along, looking from side to side at the various doors, reading the different names on each of them.

Halfway down the corridor, arched alcoves on each side broke up the flow of doors, and Evan paused, stood staring at a large oil painting hanging above a narrow side table in one of the alcoves. She stepped closer, marvelling at the beauty of the woman in the portrait, who had red hair shot through with gold that came to a widow’s peak on her forehead. She had expressive eyes, very green, and small hands clasped in her lap.

The woman wore a pale-blue silk dress, with an emerald bow pinned on one shoulder and large, square-cut emerald earrings on her ears. The ring on her left hand was a large emerald which matched the others. There was a lovely warm smile on her face and her eyes were alive and sparkling with intelligence. She looked to be about fifty years old in the painting.

Evan knew exactly who it was before she leaned forward and read the small engraved plaque attached to the elaborate gold picture frame. Emma Harte: 1889–1970.

Momentarily dumbfounded, she read the plaque again. And finally it sank in … Emma Harte had been dead for thirty-one years. Surely her grandmother had known this, if they had once been friends? Someone would have informed her. So what had made Gran utter those words on her deathbed? What had possessed her? Evan shook her head, more baffled than ever, not understanding what her gran had been trying to accomplish.

After several seconds staring at the painting, Evan turned away. It was then she noticed the second painting hanging in the alcove on the opposite wall. As she stepped up to it she thought the woman in the portrait seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place her. The plaque on this simply gave the name of the subject: Paula McGill Harte O’Neill. Emma’s granddaughter, Evan murmured under her breath, looking at it more closely.

She studied the portrait for a few minutes, very taken with it, and struck by the dominant widow’s peak obviously inherited from Emma. But here the resemblance stopped. Paula O’Neill’s hair was jet black, brushed back and worn in a pageboy style that ended at her strong and determined jawline. Her complexion was pale as ivory, and she had a broad brow, high cheekbones, dimples, and large expressive eyes the colour of pansies. Truly beautiful eyes, Evan thought – unusual – and she then decided Paula looked about forty-five in the portrait. She was striking in a dark, exotic way. In the painting she was wearing a silver-grey silk dress and Emma Harte’s emeralds were very much in evidence.

Standing totally still, Evan discovered she was completely mesmerized by this painting; it was extraordinary, an accomplished portrait of—

‘Can I help you?’

Evan almost jumped out of her skin, startled by a male voice, which had broken the silence in the corridor. She swung around, came face to face with a tall, good-looking young man.

A surprised look was flashing across his face as he stared at her and then he said again, ‘Do you need some assistance?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do. I’m looking for the management offices.’

He nodded. ‘They’re at the end of the corridor. I’m heading in that direction, I’ll show you where they are.’ Stepping closer to her, he held out his hand.

Evan took it, smiled up at him.

‘Gideon Harte,’ he announced, shaking her hand.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed and automatically her eyes swung to Emma’s portrait. ‘And that’s your grandmother!’

‘No, it isn’t, actually,’ he answered. ‘That’s my great-grandmother.’

‘I see.’

‘And you are?’

‘Oh excuse me, I’m forgetting my manners. I’m Evan Hughes.’

‘A Welsh name. A boy’s Welsh name, to be precise,’ he responded.

‘My grandmother was Welsh, and she told her son, my father, that she expected him to name his first child Evan. She was sure I was going to be a boy. I turned out to be a girl.’

‘So I can see,’ he said, giving her a swift appraising look.

‘But now I think the name Evan is used for a boy or a girl,’ she went on, ignoring his gaze, and then very gently extricated her hand from his.

He said, ‘Let’s go along to the management offices,’ and began to walk slowly down the corridor.

Evan fell into step with him.

After a moment’s silence, Gideon said, ‘You’re an American, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am. From New York.’

‘Great city.’ He glanced at her. ‘And are you in London on business?’

‘Well, no, not exactly. I decided to come to London for a year or so,’ she quickly invented. ‘And that’s why I’m here at Harte’s today. I’m looking for a job.’

‘Are you now? In what area?’

‘Fashion. I studied design in New York, and worked in the fashion departments of several stores. I also did a year’s apprenticeship with Arnold Scaasi, the American couturier.’

He nodded, seemed about to say something, then merely cleared his throat. ‘Here’s where you want to be … Human Resources,’ he explained, indicating the door. ‘But Miss Hughes …’ He stopped, cleared his throat again, and then said, ‘Do you have a work permit?’

‘No, I don’t, but I don’t need one. I was born in London. I have an English passport and dual nationality.’

‘Well then, that’s fine,’ he answered, giving her a broad smile.

Opening the door for her, he ushered her into a large office. A young woman seated at a desk looked up as they entered.

‘Oh hello, Mr Harte,’ she said.

‘Hello, Jennifer. This is Miss Evan Hughes. She’s come to apply for a job at Harte’s. In fashion.’ Looking at Evan, he added, ‘I wish you lots of luck, Miss Hughes.’

‘Thank you, Mr Harte,’ she answered, smiling up at him again. ‘Thanks for everything.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gideon Harte walked down the corridor, thinking of the young woman whom he had just ushered inside.

Evan Hughes. Unusual name. Unusual woman.

From the moment he had set eyes on her he had been intrigued, instantly struck by her amazingly fine looks, and not the least by her curious likeness to Paula O’Neill. For a second he had thought this uncanny. Their facial characteristics were very similar, as was their colouring, and he had recoiled in surprise when she had swung around to face him.

But then he had realized the likeness between them meant nothing. A lot of people resembled each other without being in any way related. In any case, how could this young American woman be related to Paula, of all people? There was no way.

Moving away from the door, Gideon walked on, heading for Linnet’s office, where he had been going when he had come across Evan Hughes looking lost in the middle of the corridor. But, in fact, she had been studying the portrait of Paula, he realized that now. Maybe she herself had noticed her likeness to the boss of the store.

Opening the door to the executive offices from which this venerable old store was run, he crossed the small central foyer and turned right.

Linnet’s outer office was usually occupied by Cassie Littleton, her secretary, but this morning Cassie was nowhere in sight. His cousin’s office door was wide open and he strode toward it, but paused in the doorway when he saw she was busy.

Linnet was on the phone, staring out of the window as she talked, and he hovered on the threshold, not wanting to intrude on her privacy. Suddenly she swung around, saw him and beamed, then beckoned. Immediately, she hung up the phone, exclaimed, ‘Gid, come in and sit down!’

He hesitated.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, frowning, seating herself behind her desk.

‘I’m not sure where I could sit, nor how I could possibly navigate myself through this—’

‘Don’t you dare say mess,’ she cut in peremptorily.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ Gideon answered, strolling into the room, being careful not to knock over any of the precariously balanced boxes. ‘I was going to call it a minefield, because I know if I did accidentally tangle with something you’d explode.’

‘Ha! Ha! Very funny, Gid. But seriously, just manoeuvre your way through and come and sit here.’ As she spoke, Linnet leapt to her feet, ran around the desk and lifted a pile of manila folders off the chair on the other side. ‘You’ll be comfortable here,’ she remarked as she stacked the folders on the floor near the window.

‘Thanks,’ Gideon said as he stepped warily around the many boxes, sat down, crossed his legs and continued, ‘What did you think about the pictures I had them dig up in the photo morgue at The Gazette?’

‘They’re great. Grandy Emma gave some party in the fifties, by the look of the pictures anyway, and they’ll be helpful to us. So, we’re in charge it seems.’ She threw him a quizzical look.

‘We are indeed, but I don’t mind, do you? Stupid question!’ he exclaimed, answering himself. ‘I can see very well what’s going on here, and your Fashion Retrospective has become somewhat demanding, according to Julian.’

Linnet nodded. ‘Too true. I just haven’t had a chance to see him, and before you start chastising or criticizing me, I will have dinner with him, as I promised I would. But I’ve got to get some of this work under my belt first.’

‘I know that. By the way, where’s Cassie? She’s usually keeping guard out there.’ He half glanced towards the door as he spoke.

‘She has the flu. And so does India. Actually, poor old India sounds awful. Very chesty, and she has a nasty cough. I hope she doesn’t get bronchitis again. She’s prone to that, as you know. It’s a Fairley characteristic, at least that’s what Mummy says. Tessa’s got a weak chest, too. Anyway, not to digress … I’m trying to cope on my own while they’re both off nursing their ailments.’

‘So I can see.’

‘It’s going to be a super show, I can promise you that, and I know my mother’s going to be pleased. It’ll be a great boost for the store.’

‘I know it will, I’ve always said that to you. But listen, Linnet, getting back to the birthday party for our respective fathers for a moment, have you come up with any ideas yet? Ideas about a theme, that kind of thing?’

‘No, not really. But I haven’t had much time to focus on it. Are you going to Yorkshire this weekend?’

‘Yes, I am. Why?’

‘I’m staying in London for once, to work through this lot, and I was thinking we might have supper on Saturday or Sunday, and brainstorm the party. But if you’re going to Middleham …’ Her voice trailed off and she gave a small, dismissive shrug.

‘I’m sorry, but I promised Dad. We have to work on some business papers. I really do have to go, especially since I wasn’t up there last weekend.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘But I promise I’ll put my thinking cap on and brainstorm by myself. We can get together next week, if you can manage it.’

‘That’ll be okay. Is Julian going with you?’

‘No, as a matter of fact he isn’t. But if he were, and he knew you were staying in town, I can assure you he would cancel me out immediately.’

She laughed, then said swiftly, ‘Well, I’m going to have to dig into this pile, no matter what, however long it takes. What I need, actually, is two assistants, and right now.’

Gideon sat up straighter in the chair, a knowing look crossing his face, and he exclaimed, ‘How about one assistant right now? Would that help?’

‘Are you joking, of course it would!’

‘Then I think I might have just the right person for you.’

‘Who?’

‘Evan Hughes.’

‘A man. Oh, I’m not sure—’

‘No, a woman,’ he cut in. ‘And yes, before you say it, I am fully aware that Evan is a Welsh boy’s name. But apparently in America it’s often used as a girl’s name as well.’

‘Oh, she’s an American?’

‘Yes. And well trained, I think. Studied fashion, worked for a well-known American couturier. She comes from New York, and she’s about twenty-six, or around that. And she’s very personable.’

‘And she’s a friend of yours, Gid?’

‘Not exactly.’ He cleared his throat, gave Linnet a faint smile. ‘Actually I just met her in the corridor on her way to the personnel office.’

‘You mean you picked her up in the corridor, you Don Juan, you!’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Linnet. She was looking rather lost, and I asked her if I could help her,’ he shot back in a slightly injured tone, wondering how he had managed to acquire the reputation of being a womanizer in the family. He wasn’t that at all.

‘I bet you did.’ Linnet leered at him, and added, ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, if she grabbed your attention—’

‘What’s that?’ he interrupted.

‘She must be good looking.’

Gideon began to laugh. ‘Well, yes, she is. I must admit that.’

‘And where is she now?’

‘I think she must be in Human Resources.’ He glanced at his watch, nodded his head. ‘Definitely. She has to be still there.’

Linnet, always decisive, picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Jennifer, it’s Linnet,’ she said when the phone was answered. ‘Do you still have a Miss Evan Hughes with you?’

‘We do, Linnet. She’s in with Maggie right now, who wanted to talk to her. Her application read very well, and so did her résumé,’ Jennifer explained.

‘Very good. Transfer me to Maggie, would you, please, Jennifer.’

‘Right away.’

A second later Maggie Hemmings answered her phone with a crisp, ‘Human Resources here.’

‘It’s Linnet, Maggie. I understand Evan Hughes is with you.’

‘Correct.’

‘Jennifer says her papers are good.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m looking for an assistant. Would she fit the bill? Is she worth seeing?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, well, once you’ve finished your interview, I’d appreciate it if you would bring her along to my office. I’d like to talk to her myself.’

‘No problem,’ Maggie said. ‘See you shortly.’

‘I’ll be waiting,’ Linnet replied and hung up. Looking across at Gideon, she remarked, ‘Apparently your Miss Hughes has made a reasonable impression.’

‘She’s not my Miss Hughes. She’s not even an acquaintance.’

Linnet nodded. ‘Don’t be so snarly, Gid. I’m teasing.’

‘I’m not being snarly. Merely factual.’ He smiled at her; his expression was loving.

She stared back at him, also smiling, thinking how well he looked today in his impeccably-tailored Savile Row suit, dark grey with a white pinstripe, pale blue shirt, and a silk tie. There were moments, like now when he was looking serious and intent, that he reminded her of his father, Winston. The Harte looks were predominant in them both, except that Uncle Winston’s vivid colouring had begun to fade. Gideon’s hair was a rich russet colour, his eyes light green, and he had clean, sharply defined features.

She and Gideon looked a lot like each other, and strangers often thought they were brother and sister. Certainly their relationship was very close, and had been since they were small. But then their parents were cousins and best friends, in each other’s company constantly, and in consequence as children they had been thrown together a lot, along with his brother Toby, and Tessa and Lorne. Her other siblings were not yet born at that time.

At the thought of Toby, Linnet winced. He was not one of her favourites in the family, and she had always believed he was her enemy. He had been forever allied with Tessa, one of her half-sister’s sycophants, constantly paying court and drooling all over her, which Tessa blatantly encouraged. Perhaps now that he was a married man things had changed somewhat, although she doubted it.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Gideon said, breaking the silence.

‘I was thinking how smart you looked today. Very dashing, actually.’

‘Thanks for those kind words, my pet.’

‘And then Toby jumped into my head … What’s he up to at the moment? He’s been awfully quiet of late, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes, he has. But he’s very busy with work; he’s got a hugely demanding job, as a matter of fact. I know he’s not your favourite, Linny, and sometimes I have problems with him myself – always did, as you know only too well. Still, I’ve got to say he’s good at what he does. Brilliant. He loves working in television, and Dad’s pleased with the way he’s been managing the television company. None of us can possibly fault him there, you know.’ Gideon shifted in the chair slightly, and continued, ‘And of course, he’s a newly wed … I suppose he’s rather preoccupied with his bride.’

‘You’re right …’ Linnet paused, threw him a direct look, her head on one side. ‘Do you like Adrianna Massingham, Gid?’

‘She’s all right. Not my type, but that doesn’t mean anything really. Even though her appearance is very contrived – it’s all that make-up, I guess – she’s still a beautiful young woman, and pleasant enough, I suppose—’ He cut his sentence off abruptly, and sat back in the chair, looking thoughtful, his face growing more serious than usual.

‘But what? There’s definitely a but here,’ Linnet asserted.

‘True. Look, to be honest, I’m not sure that the marriage will weather the storms that are bound to erupt. Toby’s not easy, we know that, and he wants kids, wants to start a family, whilst Adrianna doesn’t, is very intent on pursuing her acting career. Everyone’s aware of that at home, especially my mother. No children for Adrianna, at least not right now. Maybe her attitude will change in time. What does Tessa think? Whoops, that’s a stupid question!’ he exclaimed. ‘Of course you don’t know what she thinks, because she never confides in you.’

‘No, she doesn’t, she never did. However, I suspect her nose is out of joint because he got married.’

‘But she’s married herself!’

‘Tessa’s a bit odd, Gid. She’s always thought of Toby as her property, from when we were kids growing up together. Have you forgotten that?’

‘Not really, but I was certain she’d outgrown her possessiveness.’

Shaking his head, merriment filling his eyes all of a sudden, he began to chuckle.

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘Don’t you remember, when we were kids I always told you that Tessa had what I used to call ETS.’

Her auburn eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement, Linnet said, ‘I must’ve forgotten. What does it mean, ETS?’

‘ETS means Elizabeth Tudor Syndrome, something I dreamt up. Our famous greatest monarch forever clung to her favourite men, even when she replaced them with new favourite men.’

‘Except for Lord Robert Dudley. She never ever replaced him in her affections,’ Linnet responded, staring at her cousin pointedly. ‘And you were the one who told me that.’

‘Of course I did, come to think of it. Yes indeed, her Robin Two Eyes, as she called him, was always special. She promoted him to be her Master of the Horse, elevated him to the peerage by making him the Earl of Leicester, and he was her only true love. Actually, he was her one true favourite for her entire lifetime, even after he was dead.’

‘And Elizabeth was his one true love, don’t you think?’ Linnet murmured.

‘I do. Even though he did carry on a bit with some of her court ladies – had sexual liaisons, because men will be men you know – it was only Elizabeth he ever truly loved. He may have married Lettice Knollys, but it was his queen he loved and most devotedly.’

‘Funny, isn’t it, when you consider that it was Lettice Knollys’ son, Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, who became a favourite of the queen’s many years later; then he betrayed her most horribly and lost his head on the block for treason.’

‘Very ironic, I’d say,’ Gideon agreed. ‘And even stranger that it all played out within the one family so to speak. Sort of incestuous.’

‘Just like us, all muddled up together and the other two clans thrown into the mix for good measure,’ Linnet pointed out. ‘Anyway, I’d forgotten about ETS. Preoccupation with work.’ A sudden thought occurred to her, and leaning forward, she exclaimed, ‘Gideon, you said your Miss Hughes was an American. So how could I employ her immediately? A work permit has suddenly loomed large in my mind. Oh God, all that red tape to go through!’ she groaned.

‘Not necessary, my pet. I should have mentioned that she was born in London, has a British passport and dual nationality. No work permit required.’

‘That’s good to know, and I must say, you certainly found out a lot about her in only a few minutes.’

He grinned. ‘You are now in possession of the sum total of every blessed thing I know about Miss Evan Hughes.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two things were instantly apparent to Linnet, after Maggie Hemmings had introduced Evan Hughes and then left her office.

Firstly, the young woman was the same type as her mother – slender, willowy, dark-haired, pale of skin and exotic looking, just as Paula was. And, by an odd coincidence, Linnet thought, there was a curious likeness between the two of them.

Secondly, Gideon and Evan were transfixed in the middle of the room, staring at each other as if mesmerized, completely oblivious to her presence. They were very taken with each other, that was patently obvious. But hadn’t she known that because of the way he had spoken about Evan earlier?

Certainly she had never seen this particular look on Gideon’s face before: it was a dazed look, and she felt a sudden twinge of jealousy, of possessiveness. He was her favourite cousin, her best friend since childhood, the closest to her in the family, closer even than India. And he belonged to her.

No, stop thinking like that, she told herself, immediately pushing these unexpected and destructive emotions aside. She wasn’t like her sister Tessa; she did not suffer from ETS, as Gideon called it. For a moment she was stricken that she could be so … petty … so self-involved and selfish, she who took pride in her kindness and understanding, her fair-mindedness and integrity. Silently, she chastised herself.

She loved Gideon, only wanted the best for him, and of course he would meet someone special one day, someone that mattered, and he would get married. It hadn’t happened thus far, and so he was available. And she had come to rely on him more and more of late, ever since she had put her relationship with Julian on hold.

Linnet reminded herself that Gideon had never been jealous of Julian, but then the three of them had grown up together, and Julian was Gideon’s greatest male friend. Her father had called them The Three Musketeers when they were kids, because they were always together, inseparable, and devoted to each other.

Julian. He had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, part of her, and he was always there, hovering at the back of her mind, however much she tried to block him out. Was he her one true love, just as Robert Dudley had been Queen Elizabeth’s soul mate? Had she made a terrible mistake in turning away from him for, well, for so many reasons actually? Perhaps those reasons were not quite as valid as she thought. She couldn’t help wondering about this from time to time. But not now, an inner voice suddenly cautioned. Now it’s time to concentrate on this young woman, to concentrate on work, on the retrospective.

Linnet dropped her eyes to the folder that Maggie had just left on her desk, opened it and looked at the application forms and the detailed résumé.

But, riddled with curiosity as she was, she glanced up after only a split second, focusing her eyes on Gideon and Evan Hughes.

Now he was solicitously shepherding the young American to the chair near Linnet’s desk, the glazed expression having been replaced by a most beatific smile. Evan was looking slightly flushed, a little shy, perhaps even flustered, but her eyes held a distinct sparkle.

Clearing her throat somewhat noisily, Linnet looked directly at Evan as she came over to the desk, and said pleasantly, ‘I’ll finish reading your résumé and application forms later.’

Evan nodded, looking pleased. Inside she was thrilled, excited to be sitting here; she could scarcely believe her luck.

Returning Evan’s steady gaze, Linnet noticed that the young woman’s resemblance to her mother was stronger than she had realized a moment ago. Evan’s face was the same shape as Paula’s, finely sculpted and the dark brows sweeping along the broad forehead were identical. But her eyes were not the colour of pansies, as her mother’s were. Evan’s were a light, bluish-grey, large and translucent. At this moment those eyes were full of eagerness, and there was a sense of earnestness about her that Linnet couldn’t help liking. In fact, there was something truly appealing about Evan Hughes, and Linnet smiled at her warmly, approvingly.

Evan smiled back, and was just about to say something when she was cut off by Gideon.

Hovering behind Evan’s chair, his hand resting on the back, he exclaimed, ‘Well, I’d better skedaddle, leave you both to get down to the nitty-gritty.’ Striding purposefully towards the door, he finally swung around before exiting. Blowing a kiss to Linnet, he said, ‘I’ll give you a ring later, so that we can discuss the big bash in June. And Miss Hughes, I wish you lots of luck at Harte’s.’

Before either woman could make any kind of response, the door closed softly behind him.

‘I’ve been looking to hire another assistant,’ Linnet explained to Evan, once they were alone. ‘I already have one, actually. Her name’s India Standish, and she’s my cousin. We work well together, we run the fashion floors and we have for several years. Unfortunately, India’s off sick right now, she has the flu. So does my secretary, Cassie Littleton.’ Linnett stopped, shook her head helplessly, and then, making a face, she glanced around the room. ‘Hence this mess. It’s not usually like this, I’m a fairly tidy person. Anyway, I don’t think either of them will be in this week. I just hope I don’t come down with it. I can’t afford to be sick right now.’

‘I think there’s a bit of an epidemic,’ Evan warned in a worried voice. ‘I’ve just recovered from a bout of the flu myself.’

‘I’m glad you’re better,’ Linnet murmured. ‘Anyway, not to digress. I understand from Gideon and Maggie that you studied design, and had a career in fashion in New York.’

‘That’s correct. I was a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology in Manhattan, and then later I was an apprentice with the couturier Arnold Scaasi for a year. I even worked in the fashion department at Bergdorf Goodman for a while.’

Evan shifted slightly in her chair, and continued, ‘I also helped Pauline Trigère with a retrospective of her couture which she was putting on. That was about six years ago, when I was still at F.I.T. She’s a friend of my father’s, and he asked her if I could help her with the exhibit, just to gain experience, and she said yes. I learned a lot from simply being around her. She has great personal style, and her clothes are marvellous.’

‘That I know. My great-grandmother was a fan of hers, according to my mother, and the clothes I found in storage are proof of that. There are a number of Trigère gowns, suits and coats in Emma’s vast collection.’

Evan’s face lit up as she exclaimed, ‘That’s wonderful. They will be in the fashion retrospective, won’t they?’

‘Yes, they will. Obviously Maggie Hemmings told you about the exhibit which India and I are planning.’

‘She did touch on it, yes. How comprehensive is it going to be?’

Leaning across the desk, Linnet explained in an enthusiastic voice, ‘Very comprehensive. We’re going to be showing eighty years of fashion, going all the way back to 1920 and coming forward to the year 2000. We’re basing part of the exhibit on the clothes which belonged to my great-grandmother. She was Emma Harte, the founder of the Harte stores.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Evan said, and then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, ‘I saw her portrait in the corridor. You certainly look like a younger version of her.’

Laughing, Linnet opened the centre drawer of her desk, and murmured, ‘Oh yes, I know … everybody tells me that. I just hope I’m a little bit like her in other ways, particularly in character. She was pretty special; a very brilliant woman.’

Bringing out a sheet of paper, Linnet handed it to Evan. ‘These are some of the designers we’re planning to feature. The clothes that belonged to Emma are also listed, and they’re from her haute-couture collection.’ She laughed. ‘Actually, I think I’ve taken all of the collection.’

Quickly scanning the list she was holding, Evan read out some of the names in an awed voice. ‘Pierre Balmain, Coco Chanel, Cristóbal Balenciaga, Christian Dior, Trigère, Lanvin, Vionnet, Hubert de Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Scaasi, Cardin. Heavens, what fantastic names. Your great-grandmother must have had wonderful taste,’ she finished, looking across the desk at Linnet.

‘I think she did.’

‘I notice you’re also listing separately Valentino, Oscar de la Renta, Karl Lagerfeld, Zandra Rhodes, Lacroix, Versace and many other designers. Do you have their clothes already?’

‘Only some. We have Emma’s collection, of course. That’s recently been brought down here from Pennistone Royal, my mother’s house in Yorkshire where they are stored. And we do have a certain number of items by other designers. However, I think we do need to find more clothes, additional vintage pieces, and I was hoping that you could handle that. Naturally I’m assuming that you would like to work on the retrospective, if you come on board at Harte’s.’

Leaning forward urgently, her face full of that engaging eagerness Linnet had noted before, Evan exclaimed, ‘I’d love to work at Harte’s, and I’d be thrilled to be involved with the retrospective. A project like this is always challenging, Miss O’Neill.’

‘And very hard work,’ Linnet pointed out, giving her a direct look. ‘I hope you don’t mind long hours.’

‘Not me. I’ve been told I’m a workaholic by most people I’ve worked with.’

Linnet burst out laughing. ‘That’s good to know, and join the club! India and I suffer from that same ailment, I’m afraid. Though I think I’m worse than she is sometimes! Anyway, do you have any thoughts about where and how to acquire vintage clothes for the exhibition?’

‘Yes, I do. There are several good vintage clothing shops in New York. The best I think is Ken Valenti. He’s a private dealer of vintage couture, and he has about ten thousand pieces, as well as accessories such as shoes, bags, scarves, and jewellery. He has quite a lot of Yves Saint Laurent, I do know that. Anyway, he has an Internet site, and we can pull it up on the computer so you can see some of the clothes. Then there’s Didier Ludot in Paris. He has three shops, but the best is the one in the gardens of the Palais Royal, which is dedicated to vintage haute couture dating from the 1920s up to the 1980s. Your time span for your exhibit.’

‘That’s good to know! We do have to investigate, look at web sites. There are auction houses, of course, such as Christie’s and Sotheby’s here in London. In fact, we’ve already bought quite a lot at auction in the past year, which is how long we’ve been working on the retrospective, putting it together.’

‘The William Doyle Galleries in New York also specialize in vintage haute couture. There’s probably an auction coming up sometime soon.’

‘You mentioned accessories a moment ago,’ Linnet remarked. ‘And I forgot to tell you that we have shoes and bags from Emma Harte’s collection, which we’ll be putting on display.’

‘That’s always a great idea, to give the whole picture,’ Evan answered. ‘Also, some fashion designers are willing to loan clothes from their archives for a retrospective like the one you’re planning. Have you contacted any of them?’

‘Yes we have, and the clothes have already been lent to us. All those wonderful original models the designers have kept for posterity, which is great. And we have a number of current haute-couture pieces in the fashion department which we’re planning to include. But we still need more items to make the exhibit really impressive …’ Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. ‘It’s quite a task, you know.’

After a moment’s thought, Evan said quietly, ‘I have an idea. Why not pick out six or eight, or better still, ten really chic women in London, and honour them at the retrospective as Fashion Icons. They’d be a wonderful vehicle for publicity, especially if they’re well known. And they’d probably agree to lend us some of their own couture clothes to put on display. If we had ten icons and each loaned the store five or six pieces, that would mean we’d have fifty or so garments in one fell swoop.’

‘Brilliant!’ Linnet exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. ‘Let’s take it a step further … why don’t we have a best-dressed list? Create one of our own. That would engender some publicity for the retrospective—’ Linnet stopped abruptly, suddenly looking concerned. ‘I can see from your expression that you don’t like that idea one bit,’ she muttered.

Evan responded swiftly, ‘It’s a good idea, but I must admit I am worried about the use of the phrase “best-dressed list”. I’m not sure whether that’s a registered trademark. The Best-Dressed List was started by Eleanor Lambert in New York, as far as I know, many years ago. It just might—’

‘Belong to her,’ Linnet interrupted. ‘I understand your concern. Point well taken. So let’s skip it then. I don’t want complications, and certainly I don’t want to work on something that might prove to be a waste of time. Let’s go with the Fashion Icons, though. I love it. India will help with the right names, and so will I. We’ll need a long list, a lot more women than ten, because not all of the women we approach will agree to participate. Let’s do some research on that.’

Evan agreed and, encouraged by Linnet’s enthusiastic response to her suggestion, she went on, ‘I can talk to Arnold Scaasi. I’m sure he would lend us a number of his evening gowns. He has a magnificent collection of his own designs, a great archive.’

Linnet nodded. ‘That’d be fantastic. But we will have to buy some of the vintage couture that’s around. Very simply, we just need it, no two ways about that, to round out certain years in fashion.’ She sat back, deciding that Evan Hughes was going to be invaluable to her. How lucky it was that Gideon had noticed her in the corridor. But who could fail to miss her? She was an arresting-looking young woman. Unexpectedly, Linnet felt considerably better about properly completing all of the work on the exhibition. The young American woman had been in her office for what? Only half an hour, at the most. Yet she had a truly good feeling about Evan, a positive reaction to her. And in the most peculiar way she felt as if she had known her for a very long time. There was something vaguely familiar about Evan Hughes.

For her part, Evan, who was quick, intelligent and acute, knew she had made a good impression on Linnet, and now she said in that lovely quiet voice of hers, ‘I guess you’re planning to have the retrospective in June, from what Mr Harte said.’

‘No, no, it’ll be in the middle of May,’ Linnet responded swiftly, and then thought to explain, ‘My cousin was referring to a birthday party we’re helping to plan with my mother. It’s for his father and mine. That’s what Gideon was talking about when he mentioned the big bash in June.’

Evan merely inclined her head, hoping she didn’t look foolish for assuming something, and then voicing it so readily without knowing the facts.

Linnet went on, ‘The retrospective will be on view for about four months, perhaps even six. The longer the better, and so I do want it to be something really smashing. Sumptuous clothes, elegance all the way.’

Evan asked, ‘Where will it be housed in the store?’

‘On the top floor. We have an auditorium up there, which my mother carved out of a number of different defunct departments a few years ago. She demolished and remodelled, she’s very good at that. It holds about eight hundred people, so it’s very spacious, as you can imagine. The clothes will be displayed to great advantage there.’

‘There’s a lot of preparation involved in this kind of show,’ Evan murmured, thinking out loud, her mind racing when she thought of all that had to be done by May. It was the middle of January already. Yes, it was a big challenge indeed.

‘I agree with you,’ Linnet was saying. ‘But the clothes we already have are in perfect condition now. They’ve been cleaned, and repaired, whenever that was necessary, and also steamed or pressed. Touch-ups can be done once the clothes are on the mannequins and in position in the auditorium. But all that aside, there’s still an awful lot to finish. That’s why I need extra help. Would you be interested in the job?’

‘Oh yes, I would!’ Evan’s voice echoed her enthusiasm.

‘When could you start?’

‘Whenever you want me to.’

‘I’ll talk to my mother and get back to you tomorrow morning?’ Linnet said.

‘Thank you, Miss O’Neill.’

Once she was alone, Linnet looked at Evan’s résumé again, and she liked what she read. She also liked Evan. There was something open and honest about her, and certainly she was enthusiastic about working at Harte’s; Linnet had detected in her a desire to work. No shirker here, she thought, as she stood up, and walked out of her office.

Hurrying down the corridor, she headed in the direction of Maggie Hemmings’s office.

Jennifer looked up as she went in, and smiled. ‘Hello, Miss O’Neill. Can I help you?’

‘I was looking for Maggie. Is she in her office? Is she free?’

Jennifer nodded.

Linnet smiled, crossed the room, knocked on the door, and went in. ‘Do you have a few minutes, Maggie?’

The older woman looked up, gave Linnet a warm smile. ‘Certainly.’

Linnet sat down, looked across at the head of Human Resources. ‘I wanted a word with you about Evan Hughes. I thought you seemed a little reluctant about her, not as enthusiastic as I would expect after reading her résumé.’

‘The résumé does read well, I can’t argue there. But I wasn’t sure if she was quite right for Harte’s.’

‘Oh. Why not?’

‘I can’t really put my finger on it …’ Maggie shrugged. ‘It’s just a feeling. And anyway, I thought it was odd, the way she was introduced by Mr Gideon, and then she denied knowing him to me. There’s another thing,’ Maggie leaned over the desk, and added, in a lowered voice, ‘Don’t you think she looks like your mother?’

Linnet laughed. ‘They’re similar types, that’s all. And I don’t think it’s odd, no. As for my cousin, he ran in to her in the corridor when she was looking for this office. He simply guided her here. He doesn’t know her, Maggie.’

‘I see.’

‘And even if he did, why would it matter? I think she has excellent credentials, and certainly she would be very helpful to me at this particular time.’

‘Are you going to hire her?’ Maggie asked, her voice neutral now, her expression cautious.

‘I’m certainly going to think about it,’ Linnet answered, and with a nod and a smile, she rose. ‘Thanks, Maggie,’ she murmured as she left the office.

What was that about? Linnet asked herself as she went back to her own office, baffled by the attitude of the other woman, but determined not to be influenced by anyone. Evan could be of great help to her in mounting the retrospective. Perhaps she would hire her on a trial basis.

The following morning Linnet spoke to Evan on the phone. ‘I’d like you to come in and see me again, Miss Hughes. Around eleven. We can talk some more, and I’ll take you to see the collection of clothes we’ve already assembled.’

Evan was thrilled. ‘I’ll be there, Miss O’Neill, and thank you very much.’

Always punctual, Evan arrived at Linnet’s office exactly on time.

After chatting to Evan about the retrospective and her needs, Linnet said, ‘I’d like to offer you the job, on a trial basis, Evan.’

Evan beamed. ‘I accept, Miss O’Neill. Thank you.’

Linnet took Evan to a storage room on the seventh floor, behind the haute-couture fashion department. Pausing at a large metal-clad door, she took out a set of keys, and turned to Evan. ‘Only India and I have keys to this room. That way we’re the only two people responsible, and only we can be blamed if anything goes wrong. Or goes missing.’

‘I understand.’

Linnet unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped inside. She paused for a moment on the threshold until she found the light switch on the wall. A split second later many overhead lights came blinking on; she beckoned to Evan to follow her and walked into the cool, temperature-controlled storage space.

There were dozens and dozens of racks of clothes hanging in cotton bags, and when Linnet saw Evan’s face she exclaimed, ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to show you everything right now. There’s far too much to look at. But perhaps you’d be interested to see a few choice pieces that belonged to Emma.’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’

Hurrying to the far end of the room, Linnet moved a rack or two around and explained, ‘There are a couple of outfits here that are just knock-outs.’ As she spoke she began to untie the drawstring at the top of a cotton bag which held the garment.

Evan watched her taking out a black suit on a padded hanger, and she remarked, ‘What a marvellous idea these cotton bags are. Did you have them made?’

Linnet swung around. ‘Not these, no. They came from Paris. But we have had similar ones copied for the other clothes hanging here. Actually, the bag is called an “oooss”.’

‘An oooss,’ Evan repeated slowly. ‘What a strange name.’

‘That’s the way it’s pronounced, but it’s spelt h-o-u-s-s-e. It’s the French word for “cover”, in fact.’

‘They’re certainly effective for storage purposes,’ Evan replied, thinking they looked like voluminous tents.

‘Look at this suit.’ Linnet held it out. ‘It’s by Cristóbal Balenciaga. Emma had it made in 1951.’

Evan inspected the suit closely, and nodded her head. ‘There’s nothing like a piece of haute couture, is there? The cut, the shoulderline, the overall silhouette. It’s simply impeccable, a masterpiece of workmanship.’

Linnet pulled a dress out of another cotton bag. ‘And this is a cocktail dress by Balenciaga. Emma also bought it in 1951. I happen to think it’s fantastic. Here, Evan, hold it against yourself.’ She handed her the cocktail gown on its padded hanger; Evan did as she instructed and held it against her body, looking down at the dress, which was made of black tissue taffeta. ‘I love the way the skirt is flounced in tiers and the bodice wrapped around. It’s unique. And the wonderful thing is that, like the suit, it’s not a bit dated.’

‘I agree with you. There’s a picture of Emma in the dress, and it looks as if it was taken only yesterday. Over there –’ Linnet swung her head, gestured toward more racks – ‘are some couture outfits lent by my mother, India’s mother, and my aunts Emily and Amanda. Their pieces will also help to flesh out certain years in design.’

Evan helped Linnet put the two garments back in their cotton covers and, as they stood at the rack, Linnet remarked, ‘I think you’re going to enjoy working on the retrospective, Evan. Even though we have a tough road ahead, I believe that the three of us will be able to pull it together most effectively.’

‘I know we will,’ Evan answered, crossing her fingers, stepping away from the clothes rack and picking up her purse.

‘Let’s go and see Maggie and get you properly hired as my assistant,’ Linnet said, leading the way out of the storage room.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.