Just Rewards

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  There was a small silence.

  Molly stared at him; her face was unreadable.

  Dusty swallowed, held his breath, waiting for her response. He wouldn’t have even brought this matter up a few days ago, since he had believed her to be at death’s door. But she looked so much better today he had been taken by surprise; since arriving this morning he’d decided that maybe she wasn’t in danger of dying after all, at least not yet.

  Clearing her throat, Molly finally said, “You know I’ll come if I can. It pleases me that you’ve found the right woman to share your life with. It also comforts me that Atlanta will have a mother when I’m no longer here to look after her. Remember, Melinda can never have her, Dusty. I told you that when I first came into Leeds Infirmary.”

  “Yes, you did, but don’t you think Melinda would fight me? I don’t believe she would let me have custody of Atlanta without a struggle.”

  “What you say is true. On the other hand, if you have a good solicitor, I think you would win, perhaps without even having to go into court.” A sudden sadness swept across Molly’s face, and she sighed heavily as she thought of her only child, a young woman lost to her, lost to everyone. A ruined life, a wasted life, she thought; then, getting a grip on herself, she said in a voice laden with sorrow, “You wouldn’t find it difficult to prove she’s an unfit mother, and that is exactly what you must do if … I die. When I die, I mean.”

  “Because of the drugs, the drinking?” Dusty began and then stopped, shaking his head. “You don’t think the detox clinic is working, do you?”

  “Perhaps it is, for the moment. But I know her only too well, and I know she’ll soon be up to her old ways. She has the wrong friends, Dusty, as you well know, and she goes right back to them every time she’s clean. It’s only a matter of days before she’s hooked on drugs yet again.” Molly fell silent for a moment before she finished. “She’s my daughter, and I love her, but I can’t help her, I don’t think anyone can. And so I must think of her child instead, my granddaughter, your child, Dusty. What’s best for Atlanta, that’s all I can think about these days. You have to promise me again that you will fight to gain sole custody of Atlanta.”

  “I promised you before, and I reiterate that promise,” Dusty reassured her. “I’m fully aware that Melinda is a lost cause. If only I could help her—I’ve tried, Molly.”

  “Nobody could have tried harder, and you’ve been wonderful to her, and to your child. And to me as well, and for that I am ever so grateful.” Leaning forward, Molly now took hold of his hand and held on to it tightly. “I want to impress something on you, Dusty, something you must never forget. Atlanta would be in mortal danger if she lived with her mother. Melinda is neglectful, irresponsible, selfish, and undisciplined. And uncontrollable when she’s drunk or doped up. Please don’t ever let that innocent child be alone with her mother ever—” Molly’s voice broke, and she began to weep.

  Dusty put his arms around her, held her close, wanting to give her a measure of peace, to make her understand that he understood all that Melinda was. Molly’s words had been stark in their honesty. He would never forget them, as she had no doubt intended.

  “Please don’t upset yourself so, Molly, you know you can rely on me,” he said, stroking her back, continuing to hold her in his arms.

  After a few minutes, Molly’s weeping became quieter, and eventually it abated. With an effort, she pulled away from him and looked up into his face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to break down like that, Dusty. It’s just that I worry about Atlanta all the time; she’s so vulnerable, so defenseless.”

  “But she has me, and I will never let anything happen to her.”

  Molly nodded, reached for a tissue on the bedside table, and dried her eyes. “I trust you implicitly, and please forgive my tears.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Wanting to change the subject, to cheer her up, Dusty said, “When I spoke to Gladys last night, asked her to join us here today, she told me that she would be available to help me out, do a bit of baby-sitting. That was good news.”

  “The best,” Molly agreed. “Now that her sister has gone back to Canada, and as long as I’m in the infirmary, she’s available. She loves Atlanta, and the child is happy with her, she’s used to being with Gladys. They get on well.”

  “That’s the impression I got,” Dusty replied. “You haven’t told me what the doctors say, Molly. How are you, actually?”

  “Dr. Bloom’s a bit noncommittal; he doesn’t say much,” she answered. “But then he’s my general practitioner, and he put me in the hands of a heart surgeon, as you know. As far as he’s concerned, I’m on the mend. He’s a good man, Mr. Larchmont. That’s my news.”

  Dusty felt a lessening of the tension in him. “What great news it is! I’m thankful you’re going to get better, Molly. To tell you the honest truth, I’ve been worried to death about you.”

  “I know. But it’ll be all right. I’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

  It did Molly Caldwell’s heart good to see her granddaughter interacting so well with India Standish. The young woman who was going to marry Dusty Rhodes was beautiful in a delicate, cool blond way. But her looks were not all that important to the older woman. What pleased Molly, and gave her such reassurance, was the gentleness and kindness she detected in India. That she loved Atlanta was patently obvious, and the feeling was undoubtedly mutual.

  Her mood was one of optimism and relief. Gladys and Atlanta had returned with India, and suddenly her little hospital room seemed crowded, especially since Dusty’s presence was so potent. For a moment she studied him surreptitiously, endeavoring to see him objectively.

  That he was handsome there was no question; his dark good looks were strong and somewhat rough-hewn, as if he had been carved from some great and ancient boulder dragged down from the moors. Heathcliff, she suddenly thought, he has the look of Heathcliff the way Emily Bronte envisioned him. Grandly masculine, carved from granite in great strokes, a thing of nature, mythic, powerful, gypsy dark. It was the eyes of course that bespoke his lightness, his spirituality, his sensitive nature. A blue deeper than the speedwells that grew in the fields below the moors, bluer than the sky that soared above; they were a supernatural blue, uniquely his.

  And then there was his talent. A gift from God. Talent such as his was rare, sublime, transporting in its beauty. Molly Caldwell had always admired artistic talent, whatever field the artist had chosen. Yet she especially loved the visual arts, and Dusty’s paintings had stunned and beguiled her long before she met him, before he had known Melinda and fathered her granddaughter.

  There was no hope for her own child, not anymore. Melinda was on a journey of self-destruction, a journey she had embarked upon long before Dusty Rhodes had strolled casually by and fallen, momentarily, into her sexual trap. He had been wise to move rapidly out and on, Molly understood that. He was a man with a purpose in life, a talent he needed to use, great ambition to fulfill. And so he had wasted little time with the demented woman Melinda had become.

  It was only later, when he had discovered there was to be a baby, his baby, that he had done the correct thing, done an about-face and come back to Melinda. But he had not remained long in that maddening circus of dysfunction, populated with her crazy and crazed friends. Instead he had moved on again, knowing he must save himself, accepting with the best will in the world that he could not save her.

  Dusty had been a good father, diligent, responsible, caring, and loving. He must have Atlanta, she said to herself silently as she watched him now, holding her granddaughter on his knee, turning to talk to India. There was so much love in his eyes for them both. It brought a flush of genuine happiness to Molly’s face, and she looked intently at Gladys, who nodded, understanding exactly what she was feeling, also recognizing that this room, at this moment, was full of unconditional love.

  22

  Linnet knew the moment she walked into Paula’s office that her mother was anno
yed with her. So sure was she of this that she hurried forward, exclaiming, “Hello, Mummy,” and sat down in the chair opposite her, determined to jump-start the conversation before Paula had a chance to say anything.

  “Good morning, Linnet,” Paula replied, looking up from the papers spread out on her desk. “I understand—”

  “Oh, Mummy, I’m sorry to interrupt, but before we get into a discussion about the Easter Fashion Week, I just want to explain something.” As she spoke, Linnet took a sheet of paper out of a folder, continuing, “I’ve written you a memo about a plan I have. I just finished it this morning, and I want you to have it now.” Linnet leaned across the desk and handed the memo to Paula.

  “Thank you.” Paula scanned it swiftly and said, “Well, I’m relieved to have something on paper. Your father mentioned to me a short while ago that he had spoken earlier to Bonnadell Enloe, and she told him in passing you’d been making inquiries about her spas. Do you have an idea about opening one of her spas here at the store? Is that why you called her?”

  Leaning forward, her expression eager, Linnet ex-, claimed, “Yes. I do! That’s what my memo is about.” .

  “But where would we put a spa?” Paula asked, her voice rising.

  “Where the hairdressing salon is now. It’s really quite large and—”

  “And where will the hair salon go? There’s no other available space,” Paula cut in, sounding exasperated and annoyed.

  “I explain that in the memo, but very frankly, I don’t think we need a hair salon anymore. Business has been awfully slack lately. In my opinion, that space would be better utilized as a spa.”

  Paula sat back in her chair, staring at her daughter in disbelief. “What makes you think a spa will do any better than the hairdressing salon?” she demanded in a cold tone.

  “Women love spas. Especially young women who work hard. They enjoy relaxing at a day spa, having a massage, a facial, pedicure, manicure, and other special treatments. I think we’d have a big success if we opened one.”

  “Do you really?” Paula shot back, still sounding sharp. “And have you considered the cost of remodeling the space? It will be enormous.”

  “But it won’t,” Linnet countered. “Once the hair salon equipment is removed, like the banquettes, hair dryers, and sinks, we’ll be left with a large empty space. All we have to do is build wooden cubicles, little enclosed areas for the massages and treatments. I’ve got it all planned out, and I believe that an Enloe spa would work in the store just as well as they all work in Dad’s hotels around the world.”

  “I don’t know about this, Linnet. I think it will be a lot more costly to remodel that space than you do. Furthermore, I’m not sure you’re right about getting rid of the hair salon. And who’s going to run the spa if we build one? The store? Or the Enloe Company?”

  “I’m not sure. I hadn’t quite figured that out. But it might be simpler for us if we did use the Enloe Company. That’s why I put a call in to Bonnadell on Friday.” Linnet gave a little laugh. “She didn’t waste much time in telling Dad, did she?”

  “No, she didn’t. She spoke with him early this morning about something else, but your call came up. Anyway, for what it’s worth, I think she’s very interested in the idea of a spa at Harte’s of Knightsbridge, but—”

  “Oh, Mummy, that’s great!”

  “But that doesn’t mean that I am, Linnet,” Paula pressed on. “I will have to give this considerable thought. I’m not sure you’re correct, you know. And if the Enloe Company are running the spa, how are we going to make money, tell me that. What’s in it for Harte’s? I really think you have to do a great deal of research on this—”

  The shrilling of the phone brought Paula up short, and she picked up her private line. “Paula O’Neill here.”

  “Hello, Paula, it’s Sarah. Sorry I couldn’t phone you earlier. I had some meetings with two of my suppliers, and they went on longer than I expected. Anyway, here I am, reporting in as promised.”

  “I’m assuming you and Yves had dinner with our cousin on Saturday.”

  “No, Paula, we didn’t. But only because Jonathan asked to change the date to Sunday evening. Of course I agreed, because I’d promised you I’d do it, and as it turned out, Sunday was far better for Yves. So … we met him at the Relais Plaza in the Plaza Athénée last night.” There was a pause at the other end of the line, and Sarah sneezed, then said, “Sorry about that,” and went on. “We met for drinks and dinner and—”

  “Was the girl in question with him? Or was it his protegee, so called,” Paula interrupted, anxious and now growing impatient to know.

  “It was Angharad Hughes, she’s his protégée, and do I have a story for you!”

  “I can’t wait to hear everything. But would you mind if I put you on the speakerphone? I have Linnet here with me … Linnet, say hello to Sarah.”

  Taking the phone from her mother, Linnet said, “Hello, Auntie Sarah. Thanks for helping with this. Mummy’s been so worried about J.A. And upset, especially about the church being damaged.”

  “I can well imagine, Linnet. Jonathan’s become more than troublesome. Well, I hope we get to see you when you next come to Paris. Now, may I speak with your mother, please?”

  “Here she is.” Linnet handed the phone back to Paula.

  “So, Sarah, tell me the story. And may I put you on the speaker?”

  “Absolutely. No problem. So here goes. It was definitely Angharad Hughes who accompanied him, but a very different Angharad Hughes than you could ever imagine, I’m quite certain of that.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Paula asked.

  “I think I’d better begin at the beginning,” Sarah announced, her lovely speaking voice echoing around Paula’s private office. “Early on Friday morning I had a call from Jonathan, asking if he could change the dinner date to Sunday. After I’d agreed, he said he needed a favor. When I asked him what that was, he explained he wanted my advice about women’s hairdressers, also where to buy elegant women’s clothes. When I suggested couture houses such as Pierre Balmain, Valentino, and Givenchy, he said he didn’t have time to wait for pieces to be made to measure. He needed the clothes at once.”

  Sarah paused for a split second, and Linnet exclaimed, “Don’t tell me he got her all dressed up in couture! Not Angharad. What a laugh that is. She’s such a strange looking girl, a bit cheap-looking actually.”

  “I know what you mean,” Sarah continued. “Anyway, I agreed to make an appointment with a good hairdresser, either Carita or Alexandre, and told him I would take him to Madame Valencia, the woman who makes some of my clothes. She has an atelier on Avenue Montaigne and usually has a small selection of elegant, handmade pieces in stock. He told me the young woman was of medium height and a size eight. Like you, I was very anxious to find out what their relationship was. I got there early and picked out a few things. When he arrived with Angharad, she was lathered in rather heavy makeup and, oh, dear, that frightful platinum blond hair. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

  “So he bought her some chic clothes and did a makeover on her, is that what you’re saying, Sarah?” Paula asked, instantly understanding that if Jonathan Ainsley was going to all that trouble, he was embarking on a special relationship with Angharad. If he was treating her merely as a one-night stand, he wouldn’t be buying her stylish clothes. She said this to Sarah, who agreed. “He’s spent real money on her.”

  “I’m very curious,” Linnet interjected. “What did he select for her?”

  “A tailored gray flannel skirt suit, which I’d pulled out for him to look at. The jacket had a feeling of Givenchy to it, and there was a silk camisole, which also fit her. He spotted a gray wool overcoat, trimmed down the front with chinchilla. That was another choice, along with a plain black day dress and a cashmere overcoat, as well as a black velvet cocktail suit,” Sarah finished, then added, “That was about it, except for accessories.”

  “And how did she look in the clothes?” Linnet asked. “
I mean, the clothes didn’t change her looks, did they?”

  “No, of course they didn’t,” Sarah replied. “But they fitted her well, and suited her. After buying gray and black shoes, bags to match, and gloves at Madame Valencia’s accessory boutique, Jonathan took her off to Carita to have her hair done.”

  “Just finish up about her appearance,” Paula requested. “What did she wear on Sunday night, and how did she look? Why were you so taken aback?”

  “She looked absolutely stunning. I hardly recognized her, to be honest,” Sarah confided, and then she rushed on. “She was wearing the gray flannel suit, gray overcoat, and the gray accessories. But that wasn’t the point. What stunned me was her hair. It had been dyed a lovely russet brown and had a few blond highlights. All that heavy makeup had disappeared, too. She looked very fresh-faced, with a lot of emphasis on her eyes, well-applied makeup. But just a light dusting of powder and pale pink lipstick.”

  “How very interesting,” Paula murmured thoughtfully. “It appears that he is extremely taken with her, wouldn’t you say, Sarah?”

  “Yes, indeed. Very frankly, he has transformed her, well, at least her appearance. Yves thought she had the look of a young Audrey Hepburn, and, to be honest, so did I. By the way, she was wearing pearl-and-diamond earrings which looked real, but they could have been fake.”

  “To my way of thinking,” Paula remarked, “this kind of attention means he’s sleeping with her and plans on keeping her around. At least for a while. But is it merely a personal relationship, or do you think he is using her as a conduit to us through her mother? That is the crucial question.”

  “It’s hard for me to say whether she’s supplying him with information about the Hartes,” Sarah answered swiftly. “But I will hazard a guess … . I believe it to be more of a sexual liaison than anything else.”

  “What brings you to that belief?” Paula asked, even though she trusted Sarah’s judgment.