Just Rewards

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “Is she in London with him?” Linnet probed.

  “She’s actually in Paris. But then, so is he,” Jack answered, throwing her a pointed look. “One of my London operatives was tracking her from the moment she stepped off the train at King’s Cross. We know everything she did on Monday. She checked into the Thomases’ hotel off Cadogan Square, then went to the hairdresser’s around the corner, later spent an hour or so shopping at Harvey Nichols. That evening, she went to Jonathan Ainsley’s apartment in Grosvenor Square around seven and stayed until ten-thirty. Obviously having dinner, or whatever. She went back to see him at his apartment on Tuesday afternoon for an hour only. That night she had dinner with her parents, and George and Arlette Thomas, at the hotel. Elayne was present as well. Angharad went shopping again on Wednesday afternoon, ate alone with her mother on Wednesday evening, and flew to Paris this morning. Very early. When she arrived, she checked into the George V Hotel. My Paris operatives have her under permanent surveillance now.”

  “So J.A. was already in Paris, eh?”

  “He was, Linnet. He flew in on a private jet early Wednesday morning. He’s been ensconced in his flat on Avenue Foch ever since.”

  “Something’s going on between them, that’s patently obvious,” Linnet now ventured. “I think they must have planned to meet in London when she saw him at Thirsk on Friday. They made a date, probably because he couldn’t spend any time with her then.”

  “Correct!” Jack agreed. “He had just stowed away his luggage in the car and was ready to leave the house when she drove up. But she didn’t stay that long, as I said, half an hour maybe.”

  Paula interjected, “What transpired between them, whatever it was, made them want to see each other again. They clicked in some way, that’s what I think. He was rushing up to London, and she knew she was going back there, so they made a date. And during their encounters in London, he decided to invite her to Paris, and she probably was thrilled to go.” Pausing, Paula stared hard at Jack. “That’s the way I see it, anyway. Don’t you?”

  “I think you’ve pretty much got it right, Paula.” Jack glanced at Linnet and then back at Paula. “I must pose a question to you both. Is it personal? Is it a sexual liaison? Or is he using her to get information about Evan and Gideon? Or about Owen and Marietta? Or the entire Harte family? What’s he up to, in other words?”

  “Maybe it’s both—business and pleasure,” Linnet muttered. “Certainly she could be very useful to him. It’s like having a spy right in the bosom of our family. And Owen’s. Don’t forget, he hates all of us.” Linnet leaned back against the cushions. Angharad was such a gross, gushing, vulgar woman, Linnet couldn’t bear her. Nor could Tessa and India. Angharad had tried, during the short time she was in Yorkshire, to make friends with them, ingratiate herself, to infiltrate their little group, but without success. Even Evan had distanced herself from Angharad. Linnet was well aware that Natalie and Emsie had also been turned off, fled whenever they saw Angharad on the horizon.

  Paula said, “She’s useful to him. Dangerous to us, Jack. Let’s face it, she knows everything that’s going on in her own family, and also ours probably Because Evan and Marietta are in constant contact. And no doubt there’s a lot of chitchat passing back and forth, there usually is in families.”

  “Mummy, Evan doesn’t like Angharad! She confided in me. She’s not close to her, never was, in fact, not even when they were children. If you want my opinion, Evan actually hates her. I know it’s a strong word to use, but I think she does. Gideon can’t abide her either. I know he blames her for Evan’s fall. He told me.”

  “Does Gideon think she pushed Evan? Something like that?” Paula asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “No, because Evan says Angharad never touched her. However, Gid believes she managed to get Evan so worked up, so agitated that she missed the chair. He is convinced that if Evan had been alone in her office, the accident wouldn’t have occurred. He has this idea—that somehow Angharad goaded Evan, yes, that’s what he believes, even if we don’t.”

  “So, as far as we know, those two dangerous people have become cohorts … but for what reason?” Jack wondered out loud. “We must find that out. How? Who can help us?” He sat back on the sofa, rubbing his chin with one hand, looking thoughtful.

  “I would say there is only one person. Marietta,” Paula pointed out. “Neither of her sisters likes Angharad, apparently, so there’s only the mother left. That’s the one person Angharad would confide in anyway.”

  “Don’t you think, under these circumstances, she might be wary of talking to her mother? Anyway, she’d never admit to plotting something diabolical with Jonathan Ainsley. Would she?” Linnet asked.

  “Damn right she wouldn’t!” Jack exclaimed. “But you have a point, Paula, about Marietta. Angharad would more than likely see her, especially if she were having an affair with Ainsley. She just might want to boast she’s snagged him, because she undoubtedly sees him as a catch.” Jack jumped up, walked over to the window, stood looking down at the busy traffic in Knightsbridge. But he was oblivious to everything; his mind was working in the strange ways it often did as he tried to envision what Angharad would do. What would motivate her to boast to her mother? Spite? Jealousy of Evan? Dead-on, he thought.

  After a few seconds, he swung to face Paula and Linnet. “Listen to me. She won’t confide in Marietta if Ainsley’s plotting something bad. She probably will confide in her mother if she’s having an affair with him. She won’t be able to resist doing so. She’ll feel more competitive with Evan than ever.”

  “So what do we do?” Linnet asked. “In the meantime?”

  “Get Marietta on our side,” Paula suggested, a dark eyebrow lifting.

  Jack smiled for the first time that morning. “I don’t think that will be very hard, do you, Paula? All we have to do is explain the situation to Marietta, tell her that Evan and the twins might be in serious danger. I don’t think she’d want anything to happen to her biological daughter and her first grandchildren, do you?”

  Paula shook her head. “No woman would take that risk.”

  Linnet said, “Marietta has to be told how dangerous Angharad actually is if she’s hooked in with J.A. And then she’ll help us, I’m sure. Perhaps she knows Angharad has gone to Paris, and maybe she’ll go over, too. To visit her.”

  “Only Marietta can get to the bottom of the situation,” Jack murmured. “We must find out what’s going on.”

  “Evan and Gideon have to be told about Angharad and Jonathan. They can’t be left in the dark,” Paula interjected. “Maybe we can invite them for drinks this evening, and Marietta as well.”

  Linnet nodded. She did not trust herself to speak. She suddenly had such a dreadful foreboding of trouble ahead.

  19

  Linnet and Jack left the executive suite, and Paula turned to her work, taking a manila folder off the top of a pile at one end of her desk.

  She attempted to study the first page of the current balance sheet but found it hard to concentrate. Images of Jonathan Ainsley intruded. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she sat up straighter; her mind had unexpectedly focused on her cousin Sarah. She used to be close to Ainsley but was now more inclined to take the family’s side. And wasn’t she a better judge of his current situation than Marietta Hughes? The latter would have to rely on her daughter, but would the girl really tell her mother the truth? And what if she didn’t actually know the truth? There were a variety of elements involved here, and in Paula’s opinion, Angharad Hughes was no match for Jonathan Ainsley. Evil though he might be, he was a brilliant man, and a past master of dissimulation.

  To her way of thinking, Sarah Lowther Pascal, whom Paula truly believed was now on the side of the family, was the one person who would see everything as it really was. Sarah had convinced Paula last year that she was opposed to their cousin because she had come to understand how dangerous Jonathan was, and that he fully intended to do the Hartes harm if he could.

  R
eaching for the small red book that contained all of the family phone numbers, Paula found Sarah’s direct line at her Paris office and punched in the numbers.

  Sarah answered within seconds, and Paula said, “Hello, Sarah, it’s Paula.”

  “Paula, hello!” Sarah exclaimed. “How are you?” Her mellifluous voice was very warm.

  “I’m fine. We were all sorry you couldn’t make it to the wedding, especially Emily, but we understood your problems. How is your daughter doing? Is Chloe feeling better?”

  “Yes, she is, thanks for asking. Bed rest and the right antibiotics seem to be doing the trick against her viral bronchitis. She really wasn’t well enough to come to Yorkshire, and frankly I just didn’t want to leave her. Also, Yves was snowed under. He’s preparing a new exhibition, and he always gets so involved himself with the mounting of it. Anyway, I’m sure it was a lovely wedding, and everything went well.”

  “It did, thanks to Linnet.” Paula took a deep breath and plunged in, told Sarah about the secret early morning ceremony, then gave her details of the explosion. “Thank God nobody was hurt, because there was nobody in the church,” Paula finished.

  Sarah, aghast, cried, “But he’s gone mad! Why on earth is he so determined to hurt the family? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s because of the past, Sarah. He feels cheated of what he thinks is rightfully his. That will never change. He’s obsessed.”

  “Our grandmother did what she thought was right, what she believed to be the best. It had nothing to do with you or me or anyone else. None of her children or grandchildren were involved in the making of her will. Why can’t he get that through his head?”

  “I don’t know, and quite frankly I think he’s delusional,” Paula responded. “He’s sick in the head as far as I’m concerned. And he’s being grossly unfair. He still gets his dividends from Harte Enterprises, as we all do, Emily sees to that. He has the trust fund Grandy made for him, and he’s a talented businessman who’s made millions for himself because of Emma’s legacy to him. So why this vendetta?”

  “You said it yourself, Paula … he’s sick.”

  “And a loose cannon. Jack Figg has absolute proof he’s hooked up with Evan’s sister. Angharad Hughes. Apparently she ran into him in the newsagent’s shop in Pennistone Royal village, and according to Evan’s mother, who was there, they kind of … flirted with each other. Since then Angharad has visited him at his house in Thirsk, has met him twice in London. And now they’re both in Paris. They flew separately, and she’s staying at the George V, but she’s there because of him, no two ways about that in my mind, and Jack’s also.”

  There was silence at the other end of the phone, and then Sarah said, “So that’s who it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He phoned me early this morning, suggested dinner on Saturday. He said he wanted me to meet a protégée of his. I wasn’t sure what he meant by protégée, but anyway, I put him off because Yves is so busy with the exhibition.”

  “Could you go? Would you go? For me? For the family, Sarah? We simply need to know if he’s using her, pumping her for information in order to get to us. Or is it simply a middle-aged man’s lust for a much younger woman? A twenty-three-year-old platinum blond with a pretty face and sexy body.”

  “Twenty-three. Good God, he’s cradle snatching!”

  “That he is … if it’s a sexual involvement. But it might be all business. Linnet believes Angharad is one of those women who is hungry for everything. Men, money, the good life. It’s possible he has a business arrangement with her. She’s rather envious of Evan; there’s no love lost there from what Linnet has told me. Nothing like envy, is there?”

  “Only jealousy perhaps,” Sarah murmured, thinking unexpectedly of Shane and how much she had loved him once, and how jealous she had been of Paula long, long ago.

  Paula said, “So, Sarah, what do you say? Will you consider going to dinner with him on Saturday? Just to make an assessment of their relationship?”

  “I’ll not only consider it, I’ll do it!” Sarah exclaimed with sudden vehemence. “I need to know for myself what he’s up to.”

  Tessa was happy that they had come to Clos-Fleuri after spending three days in Paris. She had grown to love Jean-Claude’s lovely old country house, and it was the perfect place for Adele to roam around in, with so many odd nooks and crannies. Elvira liked it here, too, and enjoyed tramping around the grounds with Adele in tow.

  Now, as she sat at the dressing table in her bedroom, putting on makeup, Tessa thought about the next few days. Jean-Claude’s only child was coming to spend the weekend with them before Jean-Claude flew off to fulfill his assignment in Afghanistan and she returned to London.

  Tessa was looking forward to meeting Philippe Deléon. He was thirty-one and an artist who lived in the South of France, not married and something of a loner. He was a talented painter, according to his father, and was finally beginning to get the recognition he deserved. She had spoken to him several times on the phone, and he sounded nice. She found herself wanting him to like her. Jean-Claude had chuckled when she had said this to him yesterday, and he had answered, “Mon Dieu, chérie, how could he not like you? Please, do not worry so much.” After that there had been no further discussion about Jean-Claude’s son. Tessa knew he had been brought up by his mother in a little town called Beaulieu-sur-Mer, between Nice and Monte Carlo, visiting his father in Paris during the school holidays.

  Picking up a comb, Tessa ran it through her silver-blond hair and then walked over to the armoire. Within seconds she was dressed in a white silk blouse, white wool trousers, and a white cashmere jacket with hand-embroidered front panels. Stepping into high-heeled beige suede shoes, she walked over to the window, parted the draperies, and looked out.

  It was a very clear night, with a huge full moon floating low in the ink-black sky. It cast a silver sheen across the frost-covered lawns and the bare trees, skeletal in the moonlight. Bereft, she thought, the garden looks bereft arid very eerie in this light. An involuntary shiver ran through her as she lingered, staring at the ghostly landscape. Then she stepped away quickly, letting the drapery fall from her hands, and returned to the dressing table; after spraying herself with perfume, she put on pearl earrings and slipped her engagement ring onto her finger. Looking at it for a moment, she thought of Jean-Claude and his impending trip to Afghanistan.

  How it worried her, this assignment covering the war. All she could think about were guns and destruction and death. She dared not let him know how concerned she was because it would upset him, and that was the last thing she wished to do. She wanted him to go off with a clear head; she did not want him worrying about her while he was away—he needed to be totally concentrated on what he had to do—but she did have her moments when panic overwhelmed her. She had had so many losses in her life, and she could not bear another one.

  Jim Fairley, her father, taken from her when she was just a toddler. Killed in an avalanche in Chamonix; David Amory, her grandfather, who was also killed in the avalanche. And then there was her half brother, Patrick, such a dear sweet boy, who had died of a rare blood disease when only in his teens. And even the failure of her marriage to Mark Longden was a loss in a sense, because to her any kind of failure was a loss.

  A sigh escaped her, and she bit her lower lip nervously. She must be strong and courageous, and hold positive thoughts, keep a cool demeanor. Nothing was going to happen to Jean-Claude. He would be away for only a month at the most, and he was an experienced war correspondent, used to dodging bullets. He had told her that he never took risks, that he wore a flak jacket, as did most journalists and war photographers, and that he had every intention of staying alive … so that he could come back and marry her.

  Marriage. The word bounced around in her head. She wasn’t even divorced yet from Mark Longden, and she was engaged to another man and prepared to start a new marriage, a new life with him. But she was sure of Jean-Claude, knew full well how
much he loved her, just as she loved him with all her heart. And she knew that this time the marriage would work, because of who Jean-Claude was, what he was as a man. Brilliant, a writer and philosopher of no mean repute, he was also kind, loving, generous, compassionate, and strong of heart. And he had a loving soul, a gentle soul.

  Mark Longden had been falling her soul, destroying her spirit, just as he had hurt her physically. And she was relieved that he was gone from her life. He was now in Australia, thanks to the extraordinary deal her mother had made with his lawyers, and he could not come back to England for a very long time. Not if he wanted to keep the money Paula had given him in the divorce settlement.

  And within the next couple of weeks her divorce would be final, and she could marry Jean-Claude whenever she wished. He was anxious for them to marry as soon as possible, and her inclination was the same. The thought of being with him permanently now filled her with a rush of happiness, and she swung away from the dressing table, hurried across her bedroom, which served as a dressing room in actuality. Gliding through the open door into Jean-Claude’s bedroom, which she shared with him, she glanced around.

  At this exact moment he came hurrying out of his own dressing room, struggling into a tweed sports jacket. His face lit up at the sight of her, and he exclaimed, “Tessa, you look beautiful, chéríe.”

  “Merci beaucoup, monsieur.” As he came to a stop in front of her, she leaned forward, kissed his cheek, added, “I’m going to see what Adele is doing.”

  Jean-Claude laughed, his warm brown eyes sparkling. “A moment ago she was sitting in the kitchen with Elvira.”

  Smiling, Tessa began to edge out of the room. “I’ll just pop downstairs and see her,” she said and went on, “She must be feeling tired, she’s had such a busy day for a small child.”

  “I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Jean-Claude murmured, walking over to the small desk in a corner of the room. “I have a business call to make, but it won’t take long.”