To Be the Best (Emma Harte)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Slowly, Philip walked across the floor, still holding Fiona in his arms. He paused at the door, swung around.

  ‘I’m taking my daughter home,’ he said. He glanced at Daisy. ‘Don’t look so worried, Ma. It’s all right. I’m all right.’ A small smile glanced across his mouth. ‘And we’re going to be all right. We have each other.’

  Chapter 40

  ‘I tried to stop you coming over, Emily,’ Paula said as her cousin hurried into the study of the house in Belgrave Square. ‘But I was too late. Your housekeeper told me you’d just left.’

  Emily paused in the middle of the antique Aubusson carpet. She squinted across at Paula, who was sitting on the sofa in a pool of September sunlight. ‘Don’t you want me to go with you to Heathrow after all?’

  Paula shook her head, looking regretful. ‘I just hung up on Shane a short while ago. He doesn’t want me to fly out to Sydney. So I’ve cancelled my trip.’

  Emily was amazed. ‘But why doesn’t he want you to join him? You said he was all for it the other day, when you suggested it, urging you to come, in fact.’

  ‘He was, and I believe I should be with him at a time like this, but he now says he can handle things by himself, insists he’s over the shock of the fire. Anyway, he thinks I ought to be here with the children. You know he’s always had a bee in his bonnet about one of us being at home for their sakes.’

  ‘Winston feels the same way. But then so do we,’ Emily reminded her. She eyed Paula carefully. ‘Let’s not forget that Grandy taught us to be responsible parents. She said that when we had children we should put them first, consider their needs above all else. In fact, she was adamant about it, most probably because she so frequently neglected her own.’

  ‘Emily! That’s not a nice thing to say!’

  ‘But it’s true. And Grandy said so herself. She was so busy empire building, her kids took second place. Except for your mother. Aunt Daisy was the lucky one. Probably because Gran had made it by the time she was born.’

  Paula had the good grace to laugh. ‘Yes, you’re right, as usual, Emily.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘As much as I really want to be with Shane, I’m afraid it has to be his decision.’ A wry little smile touched her mouth. ‘Still, I can’t help wishing I’d missed his phone call this morning. You see, I do think he needs me, despite what he says, if only for moral support.’

  ‘Then why not just go,’ Emily suggested.

  ‘And incur Shane’s wrath! Come on, Dumpling, you ought to know better than that!’ Paula laughed hollowly. ‘Shane would be furious with me – you know how bossy and dictatorial he is – and the trip would then serve no purpose whatsoever.’

  ‘I suppose you’d better do what he says,’ Emily agreed, knowing how difficult Shane could be at times. She sat down in the chair opposite Paula, glanced at the breakfast tray on the antique Georgian coffee table positioned between them, saw that it was set for two. ‘It was jolly nice of you to include a cup for me,’ she said, smiling at her cousin. As she lifted the teapot and poured, she contemplated the basket of fancy French breakfast rolls. ‘You don’t want that brioche, do you?’

  ‘No, I seem to have put on weight in the past week. But you shouldn’t eat it either,’ Paula warned.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t,’ Emily said, and promptly reached for it. She looked thoughtful as she munched on the brioche. After a sip of tea, she sat back, said slowly, ‘Look here, Paula, perhaps Winston ought to go to Sydney. At least he would be able to keep Shane company, and I’m certain he could be very helpful, in innumerable ways. He’s leaving Toronto this afternoon and he’ll be in New York tonight. Instead of going to Rochester to look at that printing plant, he could fly to LA. From there he could continue on to Sydney, take that night flight you always rave about. I’ll phone him right now.’

  ‘It’s four o’clock in the morning in Canada!’ ‘So what. This is an emergency.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, Emily, not any more. Besides, I don’t think Winston should go. Shane will be fine, he’s a very strong person. He was just badly shaken up by the fire. And quite frankly, who wouldn’t be? He was devastated that so many people were killed and injured. He kept repeating that every time he called, and you know he’s hardly been off the phone to me since it happened. I think he went into depression for several days, at least, that’s the impression Mummy gave me. But he’s pulled out of it now, I can tell by the tone of his voice. As I said, I’d prefer to go, to be with him, but I must do what he thinks is best.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emily said slowly, then she added, ‘And of course he does have a lot of strength, you’re correct there. If anyone can cope, it’s Shane.’

  ‘I know he can, Dumps. And remember, it’s not as if he’s alone. There’s my mother and Jason, and Philip, of course.’

  ‘Is Philip better then?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m glad to report. Shane told me Philip went over to my mother’s the other day and took the baby home with him at long last.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that! I was getting a bit worried, I must admit. I had visions of Aunt Daisy and Jason having to raise Fiona. Imagine, at their ages!’

  Paula smiled faintly at this remark. ‘Shane believes the disastrous fire and all it entailed shocked Philip out of his frozen state, brought him back to reality.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s right. Shane’s got a lot of insight into people, knows what makes them tick.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Poor Maddy…dying in that way, so suddenly. It’s been hard for me to accept.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Paula fell silent, thinking of Maddy. There was a dull ache in her heart for her sister-in-law. She missed her terribly, and her own grief had still not entirely abated. There were times when her eyes would fill up, even at work, and she had to excuse herself if she was with people, hurry away to be alone, to regain her composure. Maddy had been a most unusual woman and she had affected all of their lives; it would not be the same without her.

  Paula settled herself against the cushions, gazed off into the distance. Her eyes held a faraway look.

  Emily watched her, but said nothing, not wishing to intrude on her at this moment. She knew Paula was thinking of Madelana, whose death had so shocked her, upset her so badly.

  Out of the blue, Paula murmured in a voice suddenly turned gloomy, ‘I’m beginning to think there’s a curse on this family.’

  Struck by the seriousness of her tone, Emily sat up in the chair and gaped at her. ‘Paula! How superstitious of you! You sound positively Celtic…some of Shane’s Irishness must be rubbing off on you!’

  ‘Well, just consider the past year, Emily. There’s been the regurgitation of that old deception in Ireland, which ultimately led to the death of the estate manager. It was all very upsetting for Anthony and Sally, having to relive Min’s death. And Anthony’s felt responsible for Michael Lamont’s stroke ever since it happened.’

  ‘It’s better Michael Lamont keeled over from a stroke and died, than face trial for murder.’

  ‘Good God, Emily! You fair take my breath away at times, some of the things you say!’

  ‘But it’s true, and I’m not a hypocrite.’

  ‘I know that, but you’re so blunt.’

  ‘Like Gran.’

  ‘Yes, like Gran,’ Paula agreed. There was a short pause before she continued softly, ‘Then there was Sandy’s fatal illness, his shooting accident, followed by Maddy’s brain haemorrhage and death, and last week the Sydney-O’Neill went up in smoke. Surely that’s enough to make anybody think there’s some sort of curse on them. Anyway, look at the terrible things that happened to Grandy throughout her lifetime. And what about the avalanche that killed Daddy, Jim and Maggie? And there’s my little Patrick, who was born retarded.’ Paula gave Emily a pointed stare. ‘It’s as if we’re being punished for something.’

  Not wishing to encourage Paula in these sudden, dire thoughts, Emily exclaimed dismissively. ‘Oh pooh! I don’t believe that! We’re a big, sprawling family – like the Kenne
dys. All sorts of awful things happen to people during their lives, but when there are a lot of you, as in our case, disasters only appear to be so much more numerous than in a small family. And despite everything, I happen to think we’ve been lucky…and in so many ways.’

  ‘Granted, we’re all successful, and rich, but we’ve had more than our fair share of tragedies.’

  ‘And I suppose we’ll have many more.’

  ‘My God, Emily, you sound like Job’s comforter.’

  ‘Oh sorry, darling, I don’t mean to, nor do I mean to make light of the dreadful things that have recently happened in Australia. But I won’t subscribe to superstition, and I’m surprised at you. Cursed indeed.’ Emily grinned, shook her head as if highly amused. ‘I can tell you this – if our Gran were alive, she’d have a real belly laugh.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’d pooh-pooh you, too. She often said that we write our own scripts, live in what we ourselves create, and that we’re ultimately responsible for everything that happens to us.’

  ‘I don’t ever remember hearing her say that.’ Paula stared at Emily, frowning. Her eyes were puzzled. ‘Are you sure it was Grandy who said it?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Paula nodded, and then she changed the subject.

  But later that night she was to recall those words, and as she acknowledged their basic truth she did so with growing apprehension.

  Paula spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon out on the floor of the store in Knightsbridge.

  As she walked back into her private office, just after three-thirty, her private line began to shrill. Hurrying to the desk, she leaned across it, snatched up the phone, half expecting it to be Shane. Sydney was ten hours ahead of London, and he frequently rang her before going to sleep.

  Her voice was therefore light, cheerful, as she said, ‘Paula O’Neill here,’ and clutching the phone to her ear she walked briskly around the desk.

  ‘It’s Charles Rossiter, Paula.’

  ‘Hello, Charles! How are you?’ She was disappointed but she kept her voice gay.

  ‘Er…I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘You got my message then?’

  ‘Message?’ he sounded vague, slightly impatient.

  ‘I telephoned you this morning, to let you know I’m not going to Sydney after all. So we can still have lunch on Friday, as we’d originally planned.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course I received it – ‘

  There was a sudden pause, a hesitation on the part of her banker, and Paula said, ‘That is why you’re calling, isn’t it? To confirm our lunch?’

  ‘No, actually, it’s not.’

  She caught an odd note in his voice. ‘Is there some kind of problem, Charles?’ ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘But I thought those new documents were in order, and that –’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with your usual banking business with us, Paula,’ Charles interrupted. ‘Something very urgent has come up. I think you must come down to the bank for a meeting this afternoon. Say at five o’clock.’

  ‘Why, Charles? What’s going on? You sound very mysterious.’

  ‘I received a telephone call a bit earlier this afternoon from Sir Logan Curtis. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, and of Blair, Curtis, Somerset and Lomax.’

  ‘Of course. They’re a very prestigious firm of solicitors, and Sir Logan is distinguished as one of the foremost legal brains in the country.’

  ‘Quite. Sir Logan requested a meeting today. Here at the bank with me. He wishes you to be present.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘Seemingly he represents your cousin, Jonathan Ainsley. The latter is visiting London from Hong Kong, where he has apparently lived for the past ten or twelve years. According to Sir Logan, it is actually Ainsley who wants the meeting with us. To discuss a matter of business he has with you.’

  Paula was so startled she almost dropped the receiver. She was speechless for a moment, before exclaiming, ‘I have no business dealings with Jonathan Ainsley! As you are well aware, Charles. You’ve been my banker for years, as your Uncle Henry was before you, when my grandmother was alive. My cousin draws dividends from Harte Enterprises, of course, but that is his sole involvement with the family. And with any of our businesses.’

  ‘Not according to Sir Logan.’

  ‘But you know otherwise!’ she cried, her voice rising shrilly. ‘Sir Logan has been misinformed.’ ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Charles, what on earth do you mean?’ Aghast, she sat down in the chair.

  ‘Look here, Paula, I’d really prefer not to go into it any further over the telephone. Quite aside from the confidentiality of the matter, I just stepped out of our annual board meeting to phone you, after I’d made the decision to accede to Sir Logan’s request for a meeting. I’m very pressed. I must go back to the board room at once. However, I will say this, it is imperative that you are present.’ ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Whatever Jonathan Ainsley’s business is with you, seemingly it could affect this bank, the other banks you deal with in the City, and the Harte stores.’

  ‘I’m more puzzled than ever! You must explain in greater detail!’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t, Paula,’ Charles exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down. ‘I’m not being evasive. Please believe me, I’m not. Sir Logan gave me only the broadest outlines. He, too, did not wish to have a protracted conversation about confidential business over the phone. However, he did stress the importance of the matter to all of us. That’s why I’m agreeing to the meeting. It sounds critical. Furthermore, I deem your presence to be crucial.’

  ‘I’ll be there, Charles. At five sharp.’

  ‘Good. One more thing…I must forewarn you, Paula. Jonathan Ainsley will be in attendance this afternoon.’

  ‘I see,’ she answered grimly.

  After she had said goodbye and hung up, Paula leaned back in the chair, pressed her fingers to her eyes. She was so stunned it took her a few minutes to gather her scattered thoughts, to get her mind working properly again.

  She focused her concentration on her cousin. Jonathan Ainsley, she thought. Why has he come back? What does he want? She had no answers for herself. But she did remember the threat he had made against her years before, and her blood ran cold.

  Chapter 41

  It was exactly five minutes to five when Paula walked into the Rossiter Merchant Bank in the City of London.

  Charles Rossiter’s private secretary was waiting for her in the reception area and took her into Charles’s office at once.

  The chairman of the bank, an old family friend, hurried to greet her, kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Have they arrived?’ Paula asked as they drew apart, stood regarding each other worriedly in the middle of the room.

  ‘Yes, about fifteen minutes ago. They’re waiting for us in the board room.’

  ‘Do you know more about all this now, Charles?’

  ‘A little. Sir Logan discussed it with me briefly.’

  ‘Jonathan Ainsley owns shares in Harte’s, doesn’t he?’

  Charles nodded.

  ‘He bought some, or all, of my ten per cent, which I put on the market recently, didn’t he?’ ‘Yes. All of it.’

  ‘I thought so. I figured that much out on the way here,’ Paula murmured, giving the banker a bleak little smile.

  ‘He wants a seat on Harte’s board of directors.’

  ‘He can’t ask that! Owning ten per cent of the shares doesn’t give him the right to ask that! He can go to hell!’

  ‘He’s demanding it, Paula. And in my estimation he’s out to make trouble for you.’

  ‘Obviously, Charles. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way from Hong Kong. Now, shall we go in? Get it over with?’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ Charles agreed, escorting her across the room. He opened the side door which led directly into the oak-panelled board room of the bank.

&
nbsp; Sir Logan Curtis, small, grey-haired, younger looking than she had expected, came forward as they walked in.

  ‘Mrs O’Neill, I’m Logan Curtis,’ he announced before Charles had a chance to make the introduction. He smiled as he offered her his hand.

  Paula took it. ‘How do you do,’ she said in a businesslike tone. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jonathan seated at the conference table. He did not rise, neither did he greet her, and she did not acknowledge him.

  Sir Logan said, ‘Your cousin wishes to speak with you privately, Mrs O’Neill. We will withdraw, leave you alone together.’ He glanced pointedly at Charles Rossiter as he walked over to the door.

  The banker, who did not appreciate being pushed around in his own board room, was seething inside. He turned to Paula. ‘Is that all right with you?’ he asked, his expression one of concern for her.

  ‘Yes, of course, Charles,’ she responded evenly.

  Charles Rossiter could not help admiring her coolness, her extraordinary poise under the circumstances. Nevertheless, he felt bound to add reassuringly, ‘I’ll be next door in my office, if you should need me, Paula.’

  ‘Thanks, Charles, you’re most considerate.’ She smiled at him as he slipped out and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Alone in the room with her cousin, she turned slowly, walked towards the conference table.

  Jonathan’s eyes did not leave her face. He was elated, knowing he had the upper hand, enjoyed playing cat and mouse with her. He had waited a long time to get his revenge on Paula O’Neill, and now at last it was within his grasp. Earlier, he had resolved not to get up or ask her to sit down. He was not going to pay tribute to this cold, calculating bitch, who was the reincarnation of his diabolical grandmother, Emma Harte.

  Paula came to a stop a few feet away from the table. She returned his stare unflinchingly. Her blue eyes were cold, steely.