Emma's Secret

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  It was a vast, airy space, almost the length of a football field, and it was filled to overflowing with clothes. Some hung on racks aligned side by side, from rods affixed to parts of the ceiling, and some were laid flat on white sheets on top of long trestle tables running the length of one wall.

  He could see at a quick glance that all of the clothes which had been assembled were beautiful and obviously costly; the other thing he noticed immediately was the perfect order that reigned within the storage room. No sign of mess or chaos here. It struck him that somebody on this team had good organizational abilities, more than likely India Standish. She had been annoyingly neat and tidy as a child, he suddenly recalled.

  ‘Why are these dresses laid out on tables?’ he asked Linnet, as they walked down to the far end of the storage area.

  ‘Because they’re beaded. Gowns with beading are never hung on hangers. You see, the weight of the beads pulls the dress out of shape. Also, it’s easier to check for loose beads and damage when the dresses are laid flat. We have a specialist in this kind of beaded embroidery who checks and also does repairs.’

  ‘I thought Evan did that,’ Tessa said, a blonde brow lifting quizzically.

  ‘Some of it, but Miriam Flande is the expert who helps out when we need her,’ Linnet responded with a small smile.

  Glancing around, Tessa suddenly said, ‘There’re so many clothes here I can’t imagine why you want my poor bits and pieces.’

  Toby grabbed her arm on hearing these words, and squeezed it. Quickly, she glanced at him, saw his warning expression, and added, ‘But of course you’re welcome to them, as I said, and naturally I’m flattered.’

  Linnet looked at her sister oddly but made no comment.

  ‘Oh hello, India,’ Toby exclaimed as his cousin appeared quite suddenly from behind a rack, wearing the white cotton coat favoured by couturiers to protect the new clothing, part of an outfit in her hands. For once he was glad to see her; Tessa could be aggravating at times.

  ‘Hello, Toby,’ India answered, then turning to Tessa she went on, ‘I’m so glad you came to visit us. This is all quite something, isn’t it?’

  Tessa simply nodded, fully aware of Toby’s presence right behind her. She did not want to say anything out of place, but inside she was seething with jealousy, envious of what they had accomplished. They were going to pull it off, damn it; contrary to what she had believed, the retrospective was probably going to be a big hit. And this maddened her. Competitive by nature, and extremely so with Linnet, any number of comments flew to the tip of her tongue. But she did not utter any of them. They were all hostile, snide, or critical, and were better left unsaid, she understood that. And so she made an effort to keep her irritation in check, her face neutral.

  India hung up the jacket she was holding, then turning to Tessa, she said, ‘Come and look at Emma’s clothes. Evan’s been working on them for the last few weeks and they look brand new–as if they’d been bought yesterday, not fifty years ago.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Tessa muttered, and fell into step with India, the two of them walking behind Linnet, who was leading the way.

  Toby followed behind the three women. He couldn’t help thinking how much Tessa and India resembled each other, at least as far as their delicate features and colouring were concerned. That they were related to each other was transparent. The Fairley strain runs through them both, he thought; from Jim to his daughter Tessa, and from Aunt Edwina to her granddaughter India Standish. He sighed under his breath. What a strange, muddled-up mixture his family was.

  These thoughts fled when he came face to face with Evan Hughes, and he found himself thinking at once that she was a true beauty. Suddenly she was standing in front of him, dressed in the white couturier’s coat like India, and having appeared from behind a rack just as India had done a moment before. In fact, he almost ran slap bang into her, pulled back just in time, quickly apologizing.

  ‘My fault, suddenly appearing like that,’ she said, and thrust out her hand. ‘I’m Evan. We met briefly in Harry’s Bar the other night.’

  He shook her hand, nodding, and then found himself smiling at her. ‘Nice to see you again, Evan. Linnet’s just been singing your praises.’

  ‘That’s kind of her, but she’s the one who’s responsible for all this–she and India, that is. I haven’t done all that much, I’ve only been here a few months.’

  ‘I know the retrospective has been underway for a year, the planning of it, but Linnet obviously values your contribution,’ Toby told her.

  She nodded, then explained, ‘Today we’ve been putting some of Mrs. Harte’s clothes on the fibreglass mannequins. I think that’s where Linnet’s leading Tessa. Shall we join them?’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ he answered, and together the two of them headed down the centre of the room between the many racks of clothes. Whatever anyone else said, Toby still held to his opinion that Evan Hughes resembled his aunt only at first glance. Up close, as he was now, he could see they were quite different. But, nonetheless, she was a knockout, and extremely well put together. Just as Paula O’Neill was; yes, that was part of the illusion: the stylishness. They had that in common, he realized.

  Linnet, India and Tessa were waiting for them at the bottom of the storage area. It was here that the team of three had created a makeshift office on the spot, with desks, lamps and telephones. A lot of charts, sketches of the auditorium, lists and photographs of clothing were pinned on several cork bulletin boards, and in general there was an air of high efficiency here.

  Tessa realized at once that they were going to give a show. Linnet and India had always been good at that; both rather theatrical in nature, they revelled in presenting projects as if they were on a stage entertaining an audience. She sighed. Well, she supposed they were this afternoon. But it was an audience of two, herself and Toby.

  She stole a look at him. He was watching the three young women attentively–or rather, he was watching Evan Hughes. He was obviously fascinated by her, although she knew this was mostly because of Gideon’s involvement with her. Her cousin had a reputation for being flighty, and it was deserved, and so not unnaturally the family were intrigued by his sudden and unexpected steadfastness with the American. They all wondered how long it would last. Wouldn’t he soon get tired of her as he usually had in the past? She herself didn’t particularly care; she had her own problems to contend with.

  Linnet, India and Evan were now moving the racks around, swiftly and with great expertise, and as they finally parted them they revealed a series of fibreglass mannequins. There were five of them altogether, and each displayed some of the loveliest clothes she had ever seen. Tessa knew at once that these were her great-grandmother’s clothes, and she was stunned by their stylishness, taste and elegance. But then Emma Harte was legendary for her chic appearance, and she asked herself why she was surprised. She ought to have known the clothes would be haute couture and gorgeous.

  Stepping forward, Linnet explained, ‘Tessa, Toby, these are just a few of Emma’s outfits. We’re going to be displaying fifty altogether, maybe even a few more, and her collection is actually the main feature of the retrospective…she was the real inspiration behind it.’ Linnet looked at India, and said, ‘Tell them about the ball gown, India.’

  India walked over to the mannequin, explaining, ‘We’re showing this gown with the back facing out, because very obviously the back is the most spectacular part of the gown.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Tessa said, moving forward to inspect it closer.

  ‘It is,’ India agreed, and continued: ‘It’s made of cotton tulle, masses of it in the skirt, as you can see, and it’s a peculiar green, a sort of greyishgreen I would say. It’s by Christian Dior. It’s from his 1947 collection, created just after the Second World War, which became known as the New Look.’ India turned to Evan and beckoned her to come forward.

  Evan explained, ‘You can see that the narrow, pale green silk belt defines the waist, then comes
around to the back and essentially grows into the huge bow. This is, in a way, a kind of bustle with the ends falling to the hem. And it’s the trail of pale creamy, slightly pink cabbage roses that give the gown its great style. It was in almost perfect condition,’ Evan now remarked, looking directly at Tessa. ‘As were most of Mrs. Harte’s clothes. Very little needed real cleaning or repairs. She took care of her things.’

  ‘Well she would, wouldn’t she?’ Tessa said. ‘Since she came up the hard way, from nothing.’

  Whatever Tessa had intended by the remark, it fell into the middle of the group like a large lump of heavy lead. Linnet looked appalled, Evan appeared embarrassed, but India took it in her stride.

  With a huge smile, her expression one of immense pride, she said in a smooth and loving voice. ‘Our great-grandmother was known to be a perfectionist, Tessa, and it was her nature to take care of things well. Just as I do. I am thrilled I inherited that trait from her. Emma loved beauty and beautiful things, whether it was clothes, jewellery, antiques or furnishings. Paintings were her joy, as we all know from her many homes and the great art displayed there. So naturally she took care of all of those things…’ India stared at Toby, who seemed as embarrassed by Tessa’s remark as Evan, and then focused on her cousin Tessa. ‘And it is because she came from nothing yet created our great business empire and family dynasty that she is an icon, a legend, not only in the family but in the world. Not for nothing is Emma Harte known as a woman of substance.’

  Tessa, whose light blonde colouring and delicate features echoed India’s, flushed scarlet. ‘You don’t have to reprimand me in that way, India my dear! I didn’t mean anything rude by the remark…actually, I was being complimentary.’

  ‘It didn’t sound that way,’ Linnet muttered, filled with disgust. ‘Well, let’s get on with it. We don’t want to be here all day, and Toby’s got to get back to his office. This emerald green cocktail dress is also by Dior, from the fifties. It has a bouffant skirt, shorter at the front to show the legs, and Emma seemingly selected it to wear with her emerald collection.’

  Moving to another outfit, Evan said, ‘Here is a Balenciaga cocktail dress from 1951. Mrs. Harte liked bouffant skirts, and this is made of black tissue taffeta with a ballooning sash.’

  It was now India’s turn, and she walked over to yet another mannequin, and pointed to the jacket. ‘This is Schiaparelli, 1938. It’s from her Circus collection, and the amusing pattern of prancing horses reflects this. The pink jacket particularly stands out because it is partnered with a narrow black skirt. Our great-grandmother loved tailored day suits, and this one here in a light herringbone tweed is by Hardy Amies. He designed it in the early sixties for her.’ India indicated the suit, then stepped away.

  Linnet came forward, saying, ‘This is one of Emma’s most famous evening gowns. Your mother found it stored away in the attics at the Belgravia house quite a number of years ago, Toby. Aunt Emily pointed us in the right direction, and India and I finally found it up at Pennistone Royal. Look at the beading, Tessa, all these different green and blue bugle beads. The gown is the colour of the sea in the south of France. She also wore this with her emeralds, and we even found emerald green silk shoes from Pinet of Paris to go with it. Evan, come and explain about the restoration of the beading.’

  Evan joined Linnet, and took over. ‘At first glance, the gown seemed to be in perfect order, as were all the other couture outfits. But then on closer examination I discovered some of the bugle beads were hanging by a thread, and others were missing. It was Madame Flande who did the repair work, and she made a beautiful job of it. The shell of the gown is composed of silk and chiffon, and it was designed by Jacques Heim in the 1940s.’

  ‘Such a lot of evening clothes,’ Tessa said. ‘She must have led quite a social life, even after Paul McGill was dead.’

  Again the three women exchanged startled looks, but said not one word. It was Toby who jumped into the breach, exclaiming, ‘This is all wonderful. I’m sure the retrospective will be a smash. Thanks for showing it to me, to us, but I’ve got to go, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, it’s been very interesting,’ Tessa added quietly, realizing her last remark had not gone down well. ‘And I have to go, too.’ Inclining her head, looking at the three of them, she took Toby’s arm, led him away, saying, ‘I’ll take you down to the David Morris shop. I know you’ll find interesting watches there for Shane and your father. They have a great selection.’

  ‘Thanks for your help, Tessa,’ Toby murmured, and hurried her away. Once they were outside the storage room he turned to her, and said in a quietly vehement voice, ‘My God, Tessa, sometimes you say the worst things! I don’t know what gets into you!’

  ‘I wasn’t being critical when I said she came from nothing,’ Tessa protested, sounding very earnest.

  ‘But it came out that way, and that comment about Emma leading a big social life after Paul’s death was just awful. Your mouth is always open and your foot’s always in it. You’ve got to learn to be more diplomatic’

  ‘I’m trying,’ she answered, sounding on the verge of tears.

  After introducing Toby to the manager of the David Morris watch shop on the first floor, Tessa went back to her office. On the way up in the lift she thought about the presentation the women had given and envy and jealousy surged through her. But it was envy of their relationship with each other, rather than anything else. What she had seen was their easy way of working together: three young women totally geared to each other’s working needs and in perfect sync.

  Also, she had picked up on the camaraderie between them, and the loving friendship. Linnet and India, who had been close all their lives, and Evan, a comparative stranger, were obviously on the same wavelength. She had witnessed their knowing glances, their affection, and their devotion. They were a team, and this frustrated her and made her angry. But the most upsetting thing of all was their obvious happiness with their lives. She had wanted to be happy with Mark, to have a good marriage. But both seemed to be eluding her right now. Her sudden bitterness was like a sharp pain in her chest: dismaying, frightening even.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sarah Lowther was irresistibly drawn to Harte’s of Knightsbridge whenever she was in London. Today was no exception. She felt its over whelming pull as she hurried towards the greatest emporium in the world, founded by her grandmother Emma Harte long ago. Once, she had worked at Harte’s for Emma, before taking over Emma’s fashion business, Lady Hamilton Clothes, which she had run with great success.

  But Sarah had always believed that retailing was in her blood, and over the years she had opened six stores of her own in France. They were actually boutiques selling antique furniture, objets d’art, paintings, porcelains, and fabrics of all kinds. She specialized in lovely old silks and brocades, antique toile de Jouy and the finest of tapestries, and she had become quite well known for her taste and style in home design and decor.

  In fact, the boutiques were now a huge success, and she was very proud of her busy little company, which she had created all by herself. It was apparent to her that her talent for selling had truly been inherited from her grandmother; she was even noticing that same trait in her twenty-five-year-old daughter, Chloe, who was currently running the boutique in Paris where they lived.

  Yves Pascal, Sarah’s husband and the father of Chloe, had recently remarked about this tendency himself, laughingly adding, ‘She takes after you, cherie, not me.’

  Sarah had had to agree with him. Although Chloe had an artistic bent and a very good eye, she had not inherited her father’s extraordinary talent and brilliance as a painter. Today Yves Pascal was considered to be one of France’s greatest living artists, renowned throughout the world for his contemporary Impressionist paintings, and in Sarah’s eyes he was a true genius.

  She glanced around as she walked along Knights-bridge making for the store. It was a beautiful spring day, surprisingly mild for early May and sunny, with a pale-blue canop
y of a sky shimmering overhead.

  Although she loved Paris, where she had lived even before her marriage to Yves some twenty-seven years ago, Sarah was happy to be back in the country of her birth, if only for a short while. Everything was familiar, and so many fond memories abounded; particularly happy memories of her grandmother, her father Kit, Emma’s eldest son, and her mother June. All three of them were dead but they lived forever in her heart, and were very frequently in her thoughts.

  As she approached the main doors of Harte’s she felt a rush of anticipation, and once she was inside, standing in the middle of the cosmetics department, she experienced a marvellous sense of coming home. It was a combination of excitement, relief to be back in the store, and an awareness of belonging to a greater whole. Walking through her grandmother’s renowned emporium was the next best thing to being part of the family.

  Leaving cosmetics behind, entering jewellery, Sarah’s thoughts were on Paula O’Neill. She had no doubt that her cousin was sitting upstairs in her office, if she was not at one of the stores in Yorkshire. Sarah had to resist the temptation of going up to the executive suite to see her. It was a feeling that frequently overtook her when she was here.

  Better not, she cautioned herself–as she generally did–and walked on, admiring everything she saw. The store looked wonderful, as it always had. Nothing had changed…except perhaps for the better. It was the greatest in the world, and Paula was obviously carrying on the grand tradition of excellence started by their grandmother.

  For years now Sarah had wanted to write a letter to Paula, not one of apology but of explanation. She had long needed her cousin to understand that she hadn’t done anything wrong all those years ago, that she hadn’t been treacherous to the family.

  What she had done was simply invest some of her money in a company called Stonewall Properties, following the advice of her cousin Jonathan Ainsley. He had not told her that Stonewall was his own company, run by his straw man, Sebastian Cross. Nor had she been aware that Jonathan was cheating the family, diminishing their property interests by funnelling deals which belonged to Harte Real Estate to Stonewall instead.