To Be the Best (Emma Harte)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Thanks, Philip.’ Shane rubbed his tired face, shook his head with weariness. So much for Blackie’s dream, he thought, remembering how excited his grandfather had been about building the Sydney-O’Neill. It was he who had found and bought the land on a visit to Sydney with Emma years before; he who had decided it would be the flagship hotel in the Antipodes. Blackie had not lived to see it constructed, but he had approved of the first architectural blueprints before he died. Now his dream had gone up in smoke in the space of a few hours.

  ‘I’ll build it again,’ Shane said, as if making a promise to his grandfather.

  ‘I know you will,’ Philip answered. ‘Now, come on back with me to the penthouse to clean up. You’re going to need clothes and the like. It’s a good thing we’re about the same size.’

  Later that morning, showered, shaved and wearing his brother-in-law’s clothes, an exhausted Shane set up head-quarters in the board room of The McGill Corporation.

  It was here that he held his first meeting, began the investigation into the cause of the fire at his hotel. With him were Peter Wood, the night manager who had been on duty when the fire broke out; Lewis Bingley, the general manager; Graham Johnson, managing director of the O’Neill hotel chain in Australia, various executives from the Sydney-O’Neill, and Fire Chief Don Arnold, who had been in charge of the fire-fighters the night before.

  Once introductions had been made, greetings exchanged, Shane went straight to the heart of the matter. ‘We’re looking to you for information at this moment, I’m afraid, Chief Arnold,’ he said. ‘I understand that you and your men have talked at length to many members of the hotel staff. Have you any idea how the fire started?’

  ‘Through carelessness on the part of someone staying in the hotel,’ the chief said. ‘From what we found on the thirty-fourth floor, where it began, and from what we’ve since discovered, we’re certain it was started by a cigarette. One that most probably fell into a sofa in a suite on that floor. One of the private jobs you lease out. In this instance, the suite leased to the Jaty Corporation.’

  ‘Could you go into a few more details, please, Chief Arnold?’ Shane asked.

  ‘Sure thing. One of the room service waiters came forward in the early hours of this morning. He told me that he remembered noticing an ashtray perched on the arm of a sofa in that particular suite. That was when he went to remove the dinner trolley around eight o’clock. I believe that the ashtray remained on the arm of the settee, that it was used several times before the couple occupying the suite went to bed. The ashtray later fell into the sofa, and a cigarette, which was not quite out, set light to the sofa. More than likely, it smouldered for a couple of hours until it actually burst into flames. Only seconds after waking, the two people in that private suite were dead.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Shane asked quietly.

  ‘Two of my firemen found them huddled in the bedroom. They were not burnt. They were poisoned by the fumes from the foam stuffing in the sofa. It’s so highly flammable that within seconds it creates the kind of inferno you had in your hotel last night. And those flames are so hot, so intense they can punch a hole in a wall or a ceiling, and shatter windows. The foam also gives off the most fatal fumes, chiefly cyanide and carbon monoxide.’

  Shane was horrified. He looked at Lewis Bingley, and exclaimed sharply, ‘Discussions about the use of foam in furniture have been going on for ages. I’ve had foam banned in all my hotels for the past year. How come it was used here?’

  Lewis Bingley shook his head. ‘We followed your instructions, Mr O’Neill, we really did. There’s no foam in any of the furniture used in the hotel. You know we replaced all the furniture.’

  ‘But you just heard what Chief Arnold said! That sofa in the Jaty Corporation suite was filled with foam!’

  The general manager pursed his lips nervously. ‘I can only think that it crept past us. Somehow. You see, Mr O’Neill, the president of the Jaty Corporation used his own interior decorators, and they furnished the suite for him.’

  ‘Were they told of our new regulations?’ Shane demanded.

  ‘Oh yes. But they apparently ignored them,’ Bingley muttered.

  ‘That is outrageous!’ Shane exploded. ‘And in any case, we were remiss for not going back, checking that the decorators had heeded our warning about the foam.’ He tried to quiet his boiling anger, turned to the fire chief. ‘Who were the couple who died in the suite? Have they been identified yet?’

  ‘The son and daughter-in-law of the president of the Jaty Corporation.’

  Shane shook his head sadly. His face was grave, troubled. ‘That’s your analysis of how the fire began. But what happened next, Chief Arnold?’

  ‘I think the sequence of events went like this.’ Don Arnold then explained, ‘To quickly recap, the cigarette set the sofa alight. The foam smouldered, eventually burst into flames. That would have been around ten forty-five, ten-fifty, in my estimation. The flames had such intensity they blew out the windows within seconds. The sudden, new supply of oxygen created a wall of fire that burned right through the doors of the suite. Fuelled by the oxygen, the fire gained murderous force as it roared along the corridor of the thirty-fourth floor. It all happened in the space of minutes. Ten or fifteen, I’d say. Fire travels with the speed of light.’

  Shane nodded his understanding. He was unable to speak for a moment. He was shocked by what he had just heard. Negligence, he thought. First on the part of the decorators, and then on the part of my management. They should have had that private suite checked once it was furnished. This tragedy might well have been avoided if they had. He sighed. He had to hold Lewis Bingley accountable.

  ‘One thing’s for sure, Mr O’Neill,’ Chief Arnold was saying. ‘Your safety systems are the very best. The smoke-detectors, the fire doors and the sprinklers all worked like clockwork. If the hotel hadn’t been as perfectly maintained for safety as it was, you would have had an even worse disaster on your hands.’

  Jason said, ‘This places gives me the joes.’

  Shane stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It makes me depressed. It’s so damn gloomy, the shades drawn, the lamps turned low.’ Jason eyed the half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table. ‘And drinking in the middle of the afternoon, that’s not you, Shane. Come on, mate, the booze ain’t going to get you anywhere.’

  ‘I’m stone cold sober. But frankly, I feel like getting drunk. Bloody pissed to the gills, if you want to know the truth.’

  Jason shook his head. ‘You’ve had kronk mozzle, Shane, real bad luck. But you ain’t no jackeroo. You know things like this can happen.’

  ‘I can’t believe the hotel burned to the ground,’ Shane began and stopped. He sprang up, began pacing the floor as he had been doing off and on for days.

  ‘Negligence! Sheer bloody negligence!’ he fumed. ‘If I’m not breathing down their necks every minute of the day, things start to go wrong – ‘

  ‘You shouldn’t be in business if you don’t want the aggro. And aggravation is the key word these days, mate. Still, I know what you mean. The fire’s been a bleedin’ horrible tragedy. I can well understand why you’re angry.’

  Shane exclaimed, ‘I pay the best wages, big bonuses, they get all kinds of benefits and God knows what else, and they can’t check out the furniture in a bloody private suite. It’s criminal, Jason. Criminal. You know as well as I do that the fire would never have happened if they’d been on top of the situation. Those poor people would not have died or been injured, if my managers had done their jobs properly. That’s what makes my blood boil. So much pain and suffering for all those concerned. And I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in lawsuits and lawyers, not to mention insurance company investigators. Now they’re about to start their own investigation into the fire.’

  ‘Well, that’s to be expected, Shane,’ Jason was quick to point out. ‘And you know that. Anyway, they’re going to come to the same conclusions as the Fire Chief, I’m sure. A
nd look, there’s no reason why you can’t start making plans for the rebuilding of the Sydney-O’Neill, get the architects working on the blueprints already.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m going to rebuild.’

  Jason was shocked. ‘You have to build a new hotel, Shane! You owe it to your grandfather. More importantly, you owe it to yourself.’

  Shane made no response. He sat down heavily on the sofa, dropped his head in his hands, full of weariness and despair. Jason looked down at him, suddenly worried. He had never seen Shane like this, so dishevelled and unshaven, still wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown in the middle of the afternoon. What was wrong with these young guys? Didn’t they have any balls? First Philip had fallen apart after Maddy’s death, and now Shane looked as if he was about to go to pieces, too.

  Jason cleared his throat. ‘You were so abrupt with Daisy on the phone earlier, she asked me to come over to see what was going on here. She wants you to come out to Rose Bay for dinner tonight.’

  Shane lifted his head, shook it. ‘I have to work.’ He shoved the pile of folders on the coffee table in front of him. ‘I have all this paperwork about the fire to deal with.’

  ‘It’s Saturday. You’ve got to take a break sometime. And by the way, where’s Philip?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Jason. And if you’ll forgive me, I really can’t worry about him right now. Frankly, I’ve got enough problems of my own to contend with.’

  ‘Yes, I know. That’s why Daisy and I want you to come over for dinner. It’ll do you good to get out, to be with people.’

  ‘No, I want to be alone. And really, it’s best that I am. I’ve a lot to do. And a lot of thinking to do.’

  ‘You know you can come over any time, if you change your mind.’

  ‘Yes. Thanks, Jason.’

  Shane picked up the bottle of scotch and poured himself another drink.

  Jason shook his head sadly as he left the study, crossed the foyer and quietly let himself out of the penthouse.

  Chapter 39

  Alone, he rode across his land.

  He was mounted on Black Opal, his ebony-coloured stallion. Keeping pace at his side was a riderless horse. It was Gilda, the roan he had given Maddy after their marriage. Before leaving the stables he had strapped on Maddy’s favourite silver-chased saddle, and turned the stirrups backwards to symbolize that her owner would never ride her again.

  It was the first time he had been back to Dunoon since he had buried Maddy here four weeks ago.

  When he had arrived on Friday night, Tim and everyone else on the sheep station had welcomed him warmly, and it was apparent they were glad that he had at last returned. So was he.

  Maddy’s death had torn him apart, and he was filled with an unendurable sorrow. He had been afraid that it would be too painful to come here. They had been so happy together at Dunoon. But now, as he rode through the lovely, pastoral countryside on this Sunday afternoon, he felt a certain kind of peace settling over him. He knew that in part it was due to the tranquillity, the gentleness, the stillness that abounded here.

  He followed the Castlereagh River for a long time, then branched off, crossed several meadows, and took the winding track that led through the green hills of Dunoon. When he reached the crest of the steep incline, he dismounted, walked over to the great oak, stood gazing out across the extraordinary landscape.

  How beautiful it looked after two days of rain. Everything was green and shimmering. It was the end of August, almost the end of winter. In a few weeks it would be spring; already the weather was superb, mild for this time of year. Philip lifted his eyes. The sky was a bright, polished blue, radiant with sunlight. The very perfection of the day seemed to underscore his sadness. It was a day to share…with someone…

  Philip turned away, went and sat down under the oak, propped himself against its ancient trunk. Taking off his flat-brimmed hat, he threw it to one side, trying to relax. His thoughts were scattered, chaotic still, his mind fogged by pain. But perhaps here he would be able to find a little ease.

  This was his special place; it always had been since his childhood. Maddy, too, had grown to love it up here on this high land. She had said it was like being part of the sky. He smiled to himself at the remembrance, then recalled the morning he had met her in the portrait gallery, not quite a year ago.

  They had ridden out here, had sat for a while under this leafy old tree. He had said some extremely personal things to her, things which had even startled him at the time. But she had not seemed to mind. She had looked at him for the longest moment, her lovely, intelligent grey eyes so quiet and unwavering, but she had made no comment. And at that precise moment he had known he would marry her.

  Madelana had been the most remarkable woman he had ever met. Right from the outset of their relationship there had been a strange familiarity about her. It was as if he had known her, been separated from her, then reunited with her again. He realized now that he had felt this way because he had been looking for someone like her all his life, that she was the woman he had idealized in his mind. He had found her finally, only to lose her…so quickly.

  Maddy had had such inner grace. That, perhaps, had been the source of her radiance…she had been an incandescent being. A fragment of a poem by Rupert Brooke flashed through his mind…All about you was the light That dims the greying end of night…And, in the flowing of your dress, Undiscerning Tenderness.

  Philip sighed and closed his eyes, allowed himself to drift with his myriad thoughts, and slowly the memories came flooding back. He began to remember every little thing about their relationship…every single moment he had ever spent with her was suddenly crystal clear. He recalled the hours, the days, the weeks, the months. Each and every detail was precise and exactly in place, as if a reel of film was being projected before his eyes. And on that hillside, where he had been taken by Emma Harte as a boy, he found his Maddy again. He saw her as she had been the instant he had first set eyes on her in the gallery, her image intact. He smelled the fragrance of her hair, heard the laughter and joyousness in her voice, felt the gentle touch of her hand on his. And the tears came then, and he wept for her, and he remained on the hillside until the light began to fade.

  And as he rode back to the manor, down through the green hills of Dunoon, the riderless horse at his side, he felt her presence everywhere, and he knew he would never lose his Maddy ever again. She was in his heart, and she would be a part of him for as long as he lived. Shane had been right. Her spirit was in him.

  He flew back to Sydney late that night. Early on Monday morning he went out to Rose Bay.

  His mother was startled to see him standing in the middle of her living room, and her surprise showed as she hurried to greet him.

  Cool sunlight was pouring in through the windows, illuminating Philip’s face most painfully. Daisy felt herself flinching inside and her heart shrivelled. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for weeks. His face was a study in desolation. There was a haggardness about him that startled her, as did the streaks of white in his black hair. It seemed to Daisy that he was a shadow of the man he had once been, his looks gone, his vigour and energy vitiated completely.

  She wanted to take her son in her arms and comfort him, but she did not dare. He had pushed her away, held her at arm’s length since Maddy’s death, and she had respected his wishes, had had no alternative but to leave him alone in his sorrow.

  And so she was further surprised when he took a step forward, wrapped his arms around her. He held onto her tightly, as he had done when he was a small boy needing consolation, and she clung to him, loving him with all her heart. Neither spoke. This long embrace was enough; words were not needed. And Daisy understood deep within herself that the healing process had started for him. And she thanked God.

  Eventually he released her, and said, ‘Well, Mother, I thought I’d better come out to see you…’ ‘I’m so glad you did, Philip.’

  ‘I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved, Ma. I realize I�
�ve been impossible, difficult with you, and with everyone else for that matter. But, very simply, I couldn’t help myself.’

  ‘Oh darling…I understand, truly I do. You’ve been suffering so very much.’

  ‘Yes.’ He hesitated a moment, then continued slowly, ‘Seeing Maddy’s young life cut tragically short has been so heartbreaking for me, and I honestly thought I would never be able to sustain the loss of her. It’s been pure hell, Ma. But then last night, flying back from Dunoon, I began to realize there was also a degree of self-pity in my grief. I was not only mourning for Maddy, but mourning for myself as well…and mourning for the life we’ll never have together now.’

  ‘That’s only natural,’ Daisy murmured softly, her vivid blue eyes filling with sympathy and understanding.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ He moved away from her, edged towards the door, then swung to face her suddenly. There was a little pause before he blurted out, ‘I’ve come to get the baby.’

  Daisy looked at him swiftly. Her heart lifted. ‘Fiona’s with the nanny. The young Englishwoman Maddy engaged before she – ‘ Daisy cut herself off, looked at Philip uneasily.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to mention Maddy’s death, Ma. I’ve accepted it.’

  Daisy could only nod. She was reluctant to speak in case her voice trembled.

  She led the way upstairs. ‘This is Mr Amory. My son,’ Daisy said to the nanny as they entered the room.

  ‘Yes, I know, Mrs Rickards. We met when I went for the interview with Mrs Amory.’

  Philip shook the nanny’s hand, murmured a greeting, then strode over to the crib in the corner of the bedroom which was serving as a nursery.

  He stood staring down at the baby.

  He had not seen her since the day she was born. She was already a month old. After a few seconds, he bent down, reached into the crib, picked her up somewhat tentatively, as though he thought she might break in half.

  Holding her away from him, he gazed into her small face. A pair of solemn grey eyes stared back at him unwaveringly. Maddy’s eyes, he thought. Bringing the baby to his chest, he held her tightly in his arms, close to his heart, one hand on her head protectively. This was Maddy’s child. His child. A wave of love for the baby swept through him.