Emma's Secret

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘I agree. You know, we’ve really pulled it off,’ India murmured in a pleased voice. ‘It’s simply splendid. And the clothes are divine.’

  ‘Oh look, here’s Linnet with one of the press people.’ As she spoke Evan waved, and Linnet hurried over. She was wearing a black lace dress with green silk showing through the cobweb lace, and when India stared at her, frowning, she said quickly, ‘It’s a copy. The original’s still over there somewhere in Emma’s collection.’

  India and Evan both laughed, knowing she was making a reference to Emma’s Lanvin, and Linnet said, ‘I’d like to introduce you to Ms Barbara Fitzpatrick. She’s the editor of Chic magazine, and she wrote that lovely story about the retrospective, which appeared last month.’

  After the three women had exchanged greetings, India and Evan moved on, leaving Linnet to talk to the editor and escort her around the show. ‘It was really nice of you to come back to see the retrospective finally finished,’ Linnet said, smiling at Barbara Fitzpatrick.

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed seeing this,’ she answered. ‘I think you’ve done a superb job. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so well mounted ever before.’

  ‘Thank you again for saying so. I must say we’ve had some really talented people working on it. Anyway, you’d said on the phone that you wanted to see the Emma Harte Collection again, now that it’s really and truly in place. Properly in place.’

  ‘Yes, I would. I’ve always been a great admirer of your great-grandmother. I think she blazed the way for women in business, in the boardroom. In fact, my mother told me she knew her vaguely in the Second World War. They worked at some charity together. In any case, she was a legend in her own time, everyone knows that. So naturally, I’m interested in the clothes she chose, and wore. Apparently with great aplomb.’

  ‘It’s just over here,’ Linnet murmured, and ushered the fashion editor, renowned in London for her style, down one of the aisles. They came to a stop at the largest display, composed of a dozen or so platforms. Laughing all of a sudden, Linnet said, ‘My cousin India was startled a moment ago when she saw me in this cocktail dress. She thought I’d nicked Emma’s Lanvin. But as you can see, Ms Fitzpatrick, there it is in all its glory.’

  Barbara Fitzpatrick followed the direction of Linnet’s gaze, then stepped closer to look at the black lace dress on the mannequin. Glancing back at Linnet, who stood behind her, she said, ‘Someone made you a wonderful copy of this, I must say.’

  ‘I know. I couldn’t quite get over it myself. The person who made it copied it right down to the last little detail. The emerald bow on the shoulder of the dress on the mannequin is costume jewellery, of course. But my great-grandmother had a real emerald bow.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen photographs of her wearing it. In fact, there it is on that blow-up of her. Oh my goodness! You do look like her, don’t you? You’re the spitting image.’

  ‘That’s what everyone says.’

  At five-fifty exactly, a cadre of good-looking young women, all wearing identical black trouser suits–smartly tailored jackets with slim trousers–moved discreetly through the exhibition. Approaching the members of the press who were attending the Press Preview, they explained that the cocktail reception was about to start in the adjoining area. Would they please move forward into that area to partake of the refreshments.

  Once the exhibition hall was empty, Linnet went out and locked the glass doors herself, and gave the key to her secretary, Cassie Littleton. Then she asked one of the Harte’s security guards to put the red rope in place. Turning to Cassie she said, ‘A little later you can have them put out the “No Food, No Drinks” signs outside these doors, which can be opened again at exactly seven-thirty so that the public can go through to view the clothes. That’s what they paid for, after all.’

  ‘And the cocktail reception too, Linnet,’ Cassie said. ‘The evening’s a total sell-out. We could easily have sold two or three hundred more tickets.’

  ‘But then it wouldn’t have been exclusive, it would’ve been a bun fight,’ Linnet answered, laughing. ‘Limiting the event to four hundred people at a thousand pounds a ticket means that Breast Cancer Care benefits to the tune of four hundred thousand pounds–because Harte’s is absorbing all the costs, don’t forget. It’s going to be a good evening, with a celebrity-filled crowd. Hopefully. They did all finally accept, didn’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes, and Lorne helped with the actors and film stars. We’ve got a whole lot coming–big names, too.’

  ‘I knew he wouldn’t let us down.’ Glancing around, Linnet nodded to herself. ‘Thanks, Cassie, for working so closely with the floral people. I think the reception area looks beautiful with all the orchids and the orchid trees. They’ve done a fantastic job.’

  ‘Everybody’s really got behind the retrospective, Linnet.’ Cassie turned her head when she heard her name being called, and said, ‘Oh, that’s the reporter from the Mail who’s assigned to cover the evening. I’d better go and help him. Excuse me.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll see you later. Oh, and you said I’m to go to the podium at about seven-twenty, to announce the opening of the retrospective?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Cassie hurried away and Linnet meandered around for a few minutes, checking on last-minute details, and then spotting India and Evan on the other side of the room, she went to join them. Over the last five months they had become inseparable friends as well as colleagues, and she wanted to be with them now, to savour the success of the evening.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Jonathan Ainsley considered promptness on social occasions plebeian; he preferred to be fashionably late by at least fifteen minutes. And so it was six-twenty when he nonchalantly sauntered into the charity cocktail reception in the auditorium at the top of Harte’s in Knights-bridge.

  He had not been inside his grandmother’s store for years, and he was only here tonight because of his rampant curiosity. He wanted–no, needed–to see his nemesis, his cousin Paula O’Neill. And her family. After all, he was in the process of destroying them, her husband Shane O’Neill included, and he had the irresistible desire to gloat.

  After a moment or two, moving around the periphery of the room, he realized it was a smart, indeed very fashionable, crowd assembled tonight, quaffing champagne and nibbling on fancy hors d’oeuvres of all ethnicities, including a large variety of Asian tid-bits. That was one of the things he missed about Hong Kong: the food. And certain other aspects of that notoriously tantalizing city of limitless pleasures.

  Jonathan Ainsley now slipped his hand into the pocket of his dark-blue suit jacket, his long fingers curling around the Imperial jade disc. His talisman. Good joss, he thought, this piece will bring me good joss.

  Long ago, he had had another favourite talisman, a smooth pebble of mutton-fat jade. But in the end that had brought him only bad joss, and twenty years ago he had flung it out of the car window as he had sped through the London traffic to Heathrow, on his way back to Hong Kong. And bad trouble.

  He rubbed the Imperial jade piece between his fingers, almost sensually, and he knew in his bones that this special and expensive disc was lucky. It had been blessed in a very unique way by an extraordinary woman.

  A waiter passed by and Jonathan took a glass of champagne, murmured a thank you, but declined a miniature spring roll offered by a delectable Oriental girl in a black cheongsam. He loathed getting his teeth messy at cocktail parties like this; one never knew who one was going to run across. His eyes lingered on the Chinese girl as she proffered her tray to other guests; he wondered what different wares she might be prepared to offer later. He considered trying to get her number, then dismissed the idea. He had better fish to fry.

  Glancing around, seeking Sarah and Chloe, who were his guests tonight, he realized they had not arrived yet. Suddenly, his eyes fell on a tall, handsome young man standing just across the room, only a few feet away. He was elegantly dressed and Jonathan recognized him at once. It
was a well-known and much-loved young actor who trod the boards very regularly in the West End. Lorne Fairley. Paula’s son by Jim, once a friend of his. And there was no question that the woman standing next to him, clinging to his arm, was his twin, Tessa Fairley, Mark Longden’s wife. No mistaking her; she resembled her twin too much for that.

  Appears to be a bit wan tonight, the beautiful Tessa does, he thought. Pale, obviously highly strung, nervous. Poor girl. Was she having marital problems? He’d heard that Mark Longden was a bit of a devil, and on the fast track these days. Pity.

  Now, who’s this? Jonathan asked himself as another blonde young woman joined Lorne and Tessa. He peered at her over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowing. It took him a moment before it hit him. She looked a bit like the other two, like a Fairley. So she had to be India Standish, the daughter of his cousins Anthony Standish and Sally Harte, Winston’s sister.

  Disgusting, he thought, all this intermarrying. He was surprised they weren’t all bonkers by now, stark raving mad.

  And here was the famous Linnet Harte O’Neill arriving. Jonathan had no trouble in recognizing her. She was the reincarnation of Emma Bloody Harte, his sainted grandmother. And by God the resemblance was terrifying. It wasn’t just the red hair, it was everything about her. He was close enough to see the vivid green eyes, the perfect complexion, the shapely figure. She must have looked like this at her age, he thought. And he had to admit that Linnet O’Neill was beautiful. But then his grandmother had been beautiful, and also the devil incarnate. He had ended up hating her.

  So focused, so concentrated was he on his relatives, that he did not see his cousin Sarah Lowther approaching him.

  But Sarah noticed Jonathan. In fact, she paused, her eyes widening as she followed the direction of his intense, unblinking gaze. Immediately she saw Paula’s three children standing with India Standish, the four of them chatting and laughing, obviously enjoying themselves.

  What fine-looking young people they are, Sarah thought admiringly, smiling. Rather like my lovely Chloe. She wished Chloe knew her cousins. That was something her daughter had always missed: siblings, and an extended family. How she longed to give her that.

  Sarah took a few steps towards Jonathan and then unexpectedly faltered. Her eyes were on her cousin, and her blood ran cold when she saw the expression on his face. It was one of pure malevolence. She felt an icy chill run through her, and suddenly she knew what he was going to do, how he would seek revenge on Paula. He would do so through her children. He would hurt them somehow.

  So sure was Sarah of this that she wanted to turn around and leave. But that would be cowardly, she told herself. No, she must stay, play him at his own game, find out everything she could. Be his friend. That was the only way she could help her cousin Paula. And help her she would. More than anything else she wanted to be accepted back in the family, not only for her own sake but also for Chloe’s. Besides, Paula’s children were innocent, and in a way so was Paula.

  ‘Hello, my darling Jonny,’ Sarah said a moment later, touching his arm, smiling up at him.

  Instantly his face changed. The hard and dangerous expression disappeared, was replaced by a warm, friendly smile. ‘Sarah, my dear, as beautiful and chic as always. I like this cocktail dress. Very fetching. Whose is it?’

  ‘Balmain.’

  ‘The royal blue flatters you. Where’s Chloe?’ he asked, looking beyond her, frowning, as he sought out his god-daughter.

  ‘She couldn’t come, Jonathan, I’m so sorry. She sends her apologies. And where’s Uncle Robin?’

  ‘Dad wasn’t well enough to come up to town. He’s stuck in Yorkshire. A bad back. His ticket was a waste of money, and apparently so was Chloe’s, unless you’ve given it away.’

  ‘No, I haven’t, and I’m so very sorry about this. Look, I’ll reimburse you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I don’t want your money.’

  ‘Oh, and I thought you did. I was under the impression you wanted me to invest in your new company, Jonny.’ She made a moue. ‘I guess I was mistaken.’

  His face lit up, and he exclaimed, ‘If you want to, I’d be glad to have you invest, Sarah. You’d be onto a good thing, too; have a very profitable return on your money.’

  Smiling back, she took hold of his arm affectionately. ‘Then we must talk about it over dinner. You can tell me about it, and I’ll make a decision. After all, I was a very good partner in the past, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Certainly. Mind you, I’d only let you in on this deal because you’re family, you know.’

  ‘I understand, and I’m very grateful. I’ve always been grateful to you, Jonathan, for letting me into these little deals of yours. Thank you for the opportunity.’ She wondered if he’d forgotten all the money she’d lost with him.

  He half smiled, and then drew her attention to the family members nearby. ‘See that group over there, Paula’s little gang. And look at the flaming redhead like you…that’s Linnet O’Neill.’

  Sarah merely nodded, and took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

  ‘She’s going to be the one to inherit it all,’ he whispered, leaning closer. ‘Even Pennistone Royal.’

  Startled, Sarah looked at him intently. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘A little dickybird told me,’ he answered with a laugh.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that.’

  ‘Well, well, well!’ Jonathan exclaimed, suddenly grabbing hold of her arm fiercely. ‘Enter a blaze of princes!’

  Sarah stared at him, frowning, and then swung her head towards the entrance. Coming through the double doors, entering the auditorium, were her cousins Paula, Emily, Amanda and Winston. And Shane O’Neill accompanied them, looking more handsome than ever to her. Well, she had loved him once.

  She heard Jonathan sniggering. ‘Who the hell do they think they are?’

  But Sarah paid no attention. She felt a surge of love for them all, and a sudden, long-absent sense of absolute pride. Four of those five people entering the room with such dignity, such elegance, were Hartes. Just as she was a Harte. And she felt herself standing just a little taller. A blaze of princes indeed. Emma Harte’s princes.

  ‘Just look at bloody Paula O’Neill, dripping in Grandy’s emeralds!’ Jonathan muttered angrily. ‘A bit overdone isn’t it, rather vulgar, what?’

  ‘No, not vulgar at all, Jonathan. I think Paula looks beautiful in the white satin jacket and black skirt. That outfit also happens to be a Balmain, and the emeralds are fabulous on the white satin.’

  ‘Oh God, are you getting all sentimental on me, Sarah? Bloody mawkish again?’ he growled.

  ‘No, not at all,’ Sarah answered quickly, and reminded herself to be careful. She did not want to annoy him; she wanted to get as much information as she could from him.

  The moment Paula saw Evan Hughes, she excused herself from the others and hurried over to her. ‘Good evening, Evan,’ she said, smiling at her warmly.

  ‘Hello Mrs. O’Neill. You look fantastic. If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ll be the star of the show tonight.’

  ‘Thank you, Evan, that’s nice of you, but I think there are three genuine stars here. You, India and Linnet. You’ve done quite the most extraordinary job, all of you. And I’m proud of you.’

  ‘We’ve tried very hard…I’m glad you’re happy.’

  ‘Evan, I’ve got some wonderful news for you. There’s no mystery, no secret in my grandmother’s diaries. I’ve read most of them, and Emily helped me by reading some of the others. Yes, your grandmother, Glynnis, did work for Harte’s during the war. She was Emma Harte’s favourite secretary. My grandmother was very, very fond of her.’

  ‘And that’s all? There really is no terrible secret buried in those pages?’ Evan asked, her eyes on Paula.

  Paula shook her head. ‘Just mentions of them working together, at the store, at the house in Belgrave Square, and up at Pennistone Royal. Actually, what I thought was really interesting is
that your grandmother met Richard Hughes, your grandfather, at the canteen for the troops that Emma started in Fulham Road.’

  Laughter flooded Evan’s face, and she exclaimed, ‘That’s what grandfather told me! That they’d met at a canteen. Just imagine, he must have known Mrs. Harte too.’

  ‘I believe he did.’

  ‘So I can relax, Mrs. O’Neill. I’m not a McGill. And I’m not a Harte either.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Paula replied. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Evan, I see my mother standing over there with Grandfather O’Neill. I need to speak to them.’

  ‘Thanks so much for going to all that trouble, Mrs. O’Neill,’ Evan said, and then she exclaimed, ‘Oh, there’s Gideon, I think he must be looking for me.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Evan walked along the beach, kicking a stone, feeling miserable. She had never been one for confrontations, and she loathed them, tried to avoid them whenever she could. But Gideon had been in a terrible mood, not only last night but this morning. And his attitude disturbed her.

  Sighing under her breath, she walked over to an ancient stone wall and sat down, wondering how to bring their relationship back to where it had been before, how to get it on an even keel.

  Even keel, she thought, and suddenly smiled to herself. She hadn’t thought of that phrase for years. Her grandfather had often used it. He had loved boats, and had frequently taken her out on his sailboat when she was a child; she had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of sailing with him.

  The wall she was sitting on overlooked the Irish Sea, and she realized that was why the phrase had popped into her mind. The view was beautiful, and it was a lovely sunny day, pleasantly warm. Not a day for rows or upsets, not at all.

  It had all begun last night, at the retrospective at the store in London. Towards the end of the evening, a strange man had come up to her and engaged her in conversation. He had wanted to know who she was, if she was related to Paula O’Neill, and he had even tried to ask a lot of other questions.