Just Rewards

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “No. However, he is in the process of driving me away.”

  “Is he coming back for the christening?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure he will. And listen, he’s not really all that peculiar with me. Just a tiny bit remote. Let’s move on. Are you seeing Paula today, to discuss all the new ideas?”

  “Yes, I am. So keep your fingers crossed.”

  “Fingers crossed. And I know you’ll be successful.”

  Brilliant sunlight, pouring into the library through the tall windows, slanted across the desk where Tessa was sitting and brought her up with a start. Blinking, she turned her head, looked out one of the stately windows, realizing that the first vestiges of spring were suddenly in evidence.

  Standing up, she strolled over to the window fronting onto the moors and saw, much to her surprise, that the snow which had capped the moors over the weekend had melted. And in the gardens there was a hint of fresh green buds poking out of the ground.

  She had the unexpected urge to get a breath of fresh air, to walk for while. She had been cooped up in the house for several days and had done nothing much but cry and worry, and pester Philippe in Paris. He had been so kind and thoughtful, always ready to talk to her, to soothe her shattered nerves. She had grown to like Jean-Claude’s son more than ever.

  They had taken to each other when they had been at Clos-Fleuri together, and now the relationship had been truly cemented in the sharing of their mutual worry. Although Philippe was not at all like his father in character or personality, he looked like him and had a similar voice. It was a comfort to speak with him, to meet such a generous reception, particularly since he sounded so much like Jean-Claude.

  Jean-Claude, where are you? What has befallen you? Why don’t we hear from you? These questions rumbled around in Tessa’s mind, and her chest tightened at the thought that he might be already dead. There had been total silence since last Monday. A week ago exactly. No one had heard from him.

  Picking up her cell phone from the desk, Tessa went to the kitchen. Pushing open the door, she said to Margaret, “I’m off for a walk, be back in ten minutes.”

  “Wrap yourself up well, Tessa my lass,” Margaret said, her tone, as always, motherly and concerned. “I’m making ever such a nice lunch, and you’re going to eat some of it, even if I have to force it down you.”

  Tessa actually laughed. “I’m not still four years old, you know, and you won’t have to force me, I’ll have something.”

  “Yes, you’d better, now that you’re eating for two.”

  Tessa made no further comment, simply retreated, took one of her mother’s heavy topcoats from the hall cupboard, put it on, went out into the cobbled yard.

  How on earth does she know I’m pregnant? Tessa asked herself, and then shook her head wonderingly. Margaret had always known everything that was going on in the family, and how she found out had always been a mystery. Tessa was not upset that the housekeeper was aware of her condition; in fact she didn’t care who knew. At this moment all she cared about was Jean-Claude’s safety.

  She thought of the baby as she headed down toward the Rhododendron Walk. It had not been planned, and she had been startled when she had realized she was pregnant. But her surprise had turned to happiness; she was thrilled to be carrying Jean-Claude’s child, and she knew that he would be, too, when she told him.

  Now she regretted that she had not confided her happy news before he had gone off to Afghanistan. Of course he would have had to go, because he had a contract with the network; but he might not have undertaken what was probably a dangerous mission had he known he was going to become a father again.

  Last night she had lain awake for hours, mostly worrying about bringing up a child by herself, if the worst happened and Jean-Claude never came back. Eventually she had fallen asleep, and on awakening this morning she had chastised herself. She was already bringing Adele up without a father and knew exactly how to do it. And she wasn’t really alone; she was surrounded by a loving family, and a very large one at that.

  No more negative thoughts, she admonished herself as she tramped on, her hand in her pocket, curled around the cell phone. I’ve got to be positive, get on with my work, attend to Adele. I must be cheerful for her, put up a good front, and I must take care of myself for the baby’s sake.

  Grandy did it all alone, and so can I, if that becomes necessary. After all, I’m a Harte, and the Harte women are tough. We’re also competent and enterprising; we can handle anything.

  With the baby coming, it was obvious now to Tessa that she would have to take time off from Harte’s. For a short while? Or even permanently? And what would she do ultimately about her career? Could she commute from Paris to London? Perhaps it was viable. Maybe she could spend three days in London during the week and have long weekends in Paris. They had discussed all this several times, and Jean-Claude had made it clear it was her decision.

  Could she be head of Harte’s and a commuter? She wasn’t sure. And did she really want that job after all? She had always dreamed of having it, but not every dream came true. And wasn’t a happy marriage with a wonderful man and children the best dream of all?

  31

  Although she was extremely pale, Linnet thought her mother had never looked more beautiful than she did this morning. The pallor enhanced her black hair and violet eyes, made them appear all the more dramatic.

  As usual, Paula was elegantly dressed, in a crisply tailored suit that was a strange but beautiful color—not quite purple, not mulberry, but a mixture of the two. With it she wore a pale pink camisole, a pink silk Chanel flower on one shoulder, and large pearl studs on her ears.

  As Linnet walked to her mother’s desk, Paula looked up and said, with a slight smile, “Good morning, Linnet.”

  “Morning, Mummy You look gorgeous today, and so much better than last week. I thought you seemed quite worn out.”

  Paula nodded. “I felt it, too, but despite everything that happened this weekend, I did manage to get a little rest. Pennistone Royal has always been very restorative for me, as it was for Emma.”

  Sitting down, Linnet remarked, “I spoke to Tessa a short while ago. Still no news about Jean-Claude.”

  “I know.” Paula sighed. “We must be positive, for her sake, help to keep her spirits up. My feeling is that he’s alive. I hope I’m right.”

  Linnet wondered whether to mention Tessa’s pregnancy, decided against it, and, getting down to business, she asked, “Did you get a chance to look at the memos?”

  “I did, and you certainly put an enormous amount of work into them, not to mention detail. I had a lot of reading.” Paula looked intently at her daughter. “A lot more detail than I required, by the way.”

  Linnet gazed back at Paula, thinking that her mother’s face had become a little stern, even disapproving, although her voice was still mild. “I suppose you were a bit overwhelmed,” she began. “I know I—”

  “Not so much overwhelmed as annoyed,” Paula interrupted in an unusually snippy tone. “From what I read, it seems to me you would like to revamp the entire store. Have you ever considered how much it would cost to do that?”

  “Not the whole store, Mummy. I certainly don’t want to do that! But I honestly do think Harte’s needs a big shove into the twenty-first century.”

  Taken aback, Paula exclaimed with a hint of acerbity, “Do you really now?”

  Knowing she had just said the wrong thing, Linnet leaned forward and in a conciliatory voice murmured, “Please don’t be angry. I’ve done a great deal of research into retail marketing and merchandising, and I’ve also trekked around the rival stores this past week. Harvey Nichols, Harrods, and Selfridges were on my agenda. What I saw tells me that our competitors are thinking on similar lines. They’re revamping, opting for a new image, a more modern look, focusing on a younger generation of women shoppers. They’re also going for a whole new brigade of talented young designers, as well as established names like Chanel, Valentino, Armani, and so on. T
hey’re looking ahead, Mother.”

  “We’re so much above those stores,” Paula said in the same snippy tone. “To begin with, Harte’s has become an institution over the years. We also happen to be a tourist attraction and pull a lot of foreign visitors into the store. Those things aside, we give the very best personal services in London, in fact the best of any store anywhere in the world. We can’t be compared … we are absolutely unique.”

  “Everything you say is true, Mummy, I don’t deny that. And yes, we are an institution, but we’re starting to look just a tiny bit staid. We can continue to be an institution, appealing to our core, and very devoted, customer, while being more up-to-date. And yes, we are a tourist attraction, but that doesn’t mean we sell merchandise to them. Most of the tourists just come to look.” Linnet paused, sat staring at her mother before finishing. “And I agree with you that we give the best personal service there is. But what we need for this new world we’re living in is a bit of pizzazz as well. Something a bit extra to back up everything we already are.”

  Paula was carefully studying her daughter, her expression reflective. After a long moment, she answered in a cold, rather remote voice. “You must pull back here, Linnet, be less extreme. I will not permit you to jump into all this revamping … because, very simply, I don’t agree with you, and I certainly do not approve of it.”

  Linnet felt her heart plunge to her shoes, and she experienced an intense rush of disappointment.

  “You mean you don’t approve of anything I’ve suggested?” she asked, thinking of all the time and effort she had put in. But mostly she was distressed because she was certain she was right; if they did not bring a few more up-to-date ideas into the store, a year from now profits could start dwindling.

  “Don’t sound so down in the dumps, Linny,” Paula suddenly said in a kinder tone. “I don’t think I expressed myself very well a moment ago.” Smiling more warmly, she went on. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t approve of this huge overhaul you’ve indicated we need. Because, very truthfully, I don’t think it’s necessary. However, I’m going to give you the go-ahead on several of your ideas.”

  Linnet sat up straighter, holding her breath and filling with immense relief.

  Paula was shuffling through the memos. Looking up, she announced, “The floor devoted to brides is a great idea, and I think it will work well. God knows where you’ll put Mattresses, but then, that’s your problem. Anyway, to continue, you can plan the Tranquillity Day Spa as well. By the way, did you make a deal with Bonnadell yet? A tentative deal?”

  Linnet nodded, regaining some of her enthusiasm, and replied, “I did make a lot of progress with her, and, most important, she’s agreed we can do the remodeling of the hair salon ourselves. That’ll save us money, because we’ll be using Charlie Fromett’s department, his carpenters and other workers, rather than her architects and designers. I said if you approved the spa, she could sell her products in the beauty department as well as the spa itself. That works for her and the store, gives us more profit.”

  “I assume her people would run the spa for us?” Paula said.

  “I talked to Dad, and he thought we’d be better off using her people, who naturally are properly trained therapists and know the benefits of all the products. That’s the way the spas are run in the O’Neill hotels.”

  Paula nodded. “He told me he’d spoken to you, and he seems to think it’s a good idea for us to open a day spa.”

  So that’s why she agreed, Linnet thought but said, “Thanks, Mummy, for letting me go ahead with the spa. I know it will pull young women into the store, and hopefully into the fashion areas afterward.”

  “Who’s going to run the brides’ floor, Linnet?” Paula now asked. “Evan’s on maternity leave for some months, and you have enough to do.”

  “I’ve found the right executive to run Brides.” Swiftly, Linnet told her mother about Marietta’s friend Bobbi Snyder, then thought to add, “And there’s another thing. We don’t need to spend a lot of money to revamp the mattress department. Obviously, the walls need repainting, and we must put down new carpeting throughout, but it’s a face-lift, all cosmetic.”

  “Yes, I realize that,” Paula replied, rising and walking across the office. She stood looking down on Knightsbridge for a moment, then, turning to face her daughter, she continued. “Finally, Linnet, I want you to understand one thing. I will never, and I do mean never, endorse this idea of putting snack bars in the Food Halls. The mere idea makes me shudder; in fact, it is very offensive to me. Those Food Halls are now a legend, renowned worldwide, and I won’t have them tampered with.”

  “But, Mummy, honestly, the snack bars could easily be fitted into a corner here and there, we could find the space.”

  “Please don’t argue with me, Linnet. I will not have those idiotic snack bars in the Food Halls. Harte’s has plenty of restaurants, the Bird Cage, Far Pavilions, London Bridge, and the coffee bar. We don’t need any more. Understood?”

  “But—”

  “I said no!”

  Her mother sounded so angry Linnet shrank back in the chair.

  As Paula started to walk back to her desk, something happened to her. And she was very conscious of it happening. Her office seemed suddenly to fill with white light. It became supernaturally bright.

  Continuing across the room, she felt her steps begin to falter, and she staggered toward a chair, experiencing the overwhelming need to sit down.

  “Mummy, what’s wrong with you?” Linnet shouted. Jumping up, she ran to her mother, helped her to sit down.

  Paula could not speak for a moment. She felt sick, nauseated, and was hit by the most blinding headache. Her hands went to her head. Her neck hurt.

  “Mummy, what’s wrong?” Linnet cried.

  “Don’t know. Call nine-nine-nine. There’s a terrible pain in my head. Oh, God. The pain!”

  Linnet flew to the phone on her mother’s desk. It was programmed to individuals, and she punched in the number two.

  Jack said, “Yes, Paula—”

  “It’s not Mummy, it’s me!” Linnet cried. “My mother’s ill. Get an ambulance. It’s her head. I think she might be having a stroke.”

  “I’m on it.” Jack slammed the phone down.

  Linnet punched in the number one, the direct link to Shane’s office. Her father picked up after three rings. “Hello, Paula—”

  “It’s Linnet.” Her voice wobbled as she continued. “I think Mummy’s having a stroke or something, Daddy. Jack’s calling an ambulance. She’s complaining of pains in her head.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes!” Shane hung up.

  Running to the door, Linnet wrenched it open, startling Jonelle, who glanced up, frowning.

  “Go to my office, please. Get my coat and bag. And hurry. My mother’s ill. There’s an ambulance coming. I think she’s having a stroke or something.”

  Stunned, Jonelle stared at her briefly and then ran out of the executive suite, heading toward Linnet’s office.

  The four of them sat in the hospital waiting room: Shane, Linnet, Emily, and Jack. Each of them looked worried as they waited for news of Paula’s condition. They had been there for two hours, and after talking for part of that time, they had fallen silent, all lost in their own thoughts.

  But Shane suddenly sat up in the chair where he was slumped and exclaimed, “Jack, how terribly rude I am. I forgot to thank you for suggesting to the ambulance men that they bring Paula here to King’s College Hospital.”

  “They would have anyway,” Jack replied. “In my experience, those ambulance men and paramedics know what they’re doing. They were immediately telling me this was where they planned to bring her, explaining that King’s is the best neurological center in London. But I think it’s more than likely one of the best in England, if not the best. They have very advanced practices here, a great reputation.”

  “I’ll be glad when we know what happened to Mummy this morning,” Linnet murmured, her
voice troubled, her expression anxious. “I feel so awful, Daddy. I’d just had an argument with her about the store, and then she fell apart, had the attack or stroke, or whatever it was. It’s my fault,” she whispered, sounding tearful.

  “Don’t be silly, darling,” Shane reassured her gently, taking hold of Linnet’s hand in an attempt to comfort her. His face was anguished, his dark eyes flooded with anxiety. “An argument isn’t going to bring on something like this. It’s a medical problem.”

  Emily, staring across at Shane, asked quietly, “Do you think it was a stroke?”

  “I don’t know, Emily, I don’t even want to hazard a guess. I’m just praying that, whatever it is, Paula comes out of it all right.”

  “In my opinion, Paula’s probably had a brain hemorrhage,” Jack ventured.

  “What leads you to that conclusion?” Shane looked at the security chief intently, his expression puzzled.

  “The symptoms. Linnet told me her mother had complained of a blinding headache, of feeling nauseated. That she had terrible pains in her head. I’m not sure those are the symptoms of a stroke. Also, I noticed when they were lifting the stretcher into the ambulance that Paula’s face had dropped down at one side. That’s supposedly a symptom of brain damage. But I’m just making a guess that it’s a hemorrhage.”

  At that moment the door opened and the surgeon they had seen earlier stepped into the room. “Mr. O’Neill,” he said, “I have some news for you.”

  Shane leapt to his feet. “Please, Mr. Gilleon, come inside. Tell me what happened to my wife this morning.”

  “Mrs. O’Neill has suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage,” he answered in a calm voice.

  “What exactly does that mean, subarachnoid?” Shane asked.

  “This is a specific form of hemorrhage, caused by a weakness in the wall of the vessel which supplies blood to the brain,” Gilleon explained.

  “What caused it?” Shane asked.

  “We don’t know why it happens, we never do really. This weakness in the blood vessel wall is called an aneurysm, which is a word you might be more familiar with.”