“It’s perfect, Perry,” Linnet said to the American window designer. “You’ll see, it’s going to do the trick.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Perry answered, and, taking hold of Linnet’s arm, he led her to the windows facing Knightsbridge. “Now, what do you think? We finished them about half an hour ago, and I sincerely hope they do the trick, too.”
The large front windows were as stark as the one on the side street, and Linnet could see the clothes, no longer felt overwhelmed by the decor. “Oh, Perry, they’re great! You’ve done a terrific job!” she exclaimed, her eyes now focused on the pale blue sky filled with puffy white clouds. The sky and a white picket fence with three yellow daisies growing next to it composed the backdrop for the clothes. And only two dresses were displayed in each window, so that they had breathing space.
“Less is more,” Linnet murmured. “And thank you for working such long hours to redo the windows, Perry. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure, and by the way, that was a great slogan you came up with about the bag. Actually, I’ve never heard of the Cholly Chello.”
“Neither had I,” Linnet admitted with a laugh. “But my handbag buyer says it’s the up-and-coming item for the fashionistas.”
Perry laughed with her as they went back into Harte’s, the greatest emporium in the world.
“It’s the Cholly Chello that’s bringing them into the store in droves,” Linnet said to India two weeks later. “We can’t keep it in stock, and the manufacturer can’t make it fast enough. They’ve never had such success with a bag. Ever.”
“It’s strange,” India answered, giving Linnet an odd look. “I’d never heard of it before, had you?”
“No. Still, it is a big hit.”
“You know what, it’s the slogan you thought up,” India suddenly asserted, pushing the fish around on her plate. “You created a market for the bag with your slogan.”
“Oh, really, India, come on, I’m not that clever.”
“Listen, Hermès did it with the Kelly and the Birkin. They cleverly created a market by not producing so many. These days people have to put their names on a waiting list to get either bag, and they wait years.”
Linnet chuckled. “We’ve got waiting lists, too, for the Cholly Chello. And when these smart young women are putting their names on our list for the bag, they notice the Tranquillity Day Spa and wander in, become entranced. And they’re also very taken with my Luxury Boutique, not to mention the Fashion Floors. But I’ve got to admit, this upswing in traffic in the store is happening because of that darn bag.”
The two cousins were sitting in the Bird Cage having lunch and catching up, and it was a relief for Linnet to have someone to talk to about work. Evan was preoccupied with the twins, Tessa was in Paris, and her father still did not want Paula disturbed. During the hour they were together, Linnet went over her plans for the store with India, and they agreed that she would come to London more often. The Leeds and Harrogate stores were now running well, and Dusty’s problems regarding the Cald-wells and Molly’s will were in the past.
“What he has to look forward to now is our wedding in Ireland,” India murmured as they left the restaurant. “As you know, Atlanta is going to be a flower girl along with Adele, and she’s very excited about that.”
“I’m so happy for you, India, and thankful that everything worked out for you and Dusty in the end. And I can’t wait to come to Clonloughlin in June for your wedding.”
36
She had come here to Ireland as a young bride over seventy years ago, the wife of Jeremy Standish, Earl of Dunvale, and it had all been like a dream. Here in this beautiful Georgian house in Clonloughlin she had spent the happiest days of her life.
She wished that he was here today to see this other bride of Clonloughlin, their exquisite granddaughter, India Standish, only daughter of their son Anthony. She’s a mixture of all that’s best and bright, Edwina thought, part Dunvale, part Harte, part Fairley. Oh yes, India has inherited a lot in her genes.
Edwina sat at a table in the ballroom of Clonloughlin House on a glorious Saturday in the middle of June, and she was, as was her way, surveying the assemblage. The guests were mostly family, but there were a few friends present, about fifty people in all. The house had been a whirl of activity for several weeks, but the wedding was not the splashy event it had been meant to be, and for a number of reasons—good taste, death, and security. Bowing to what they deemed her better judgment, Anthony and Sally had agreed to her suggestion of keeping it simple. And so had India and Dusty, who were totally on her side. Robin had died only a few months earlier, and before that there had been the upsetting deaths of Molly Caldwell and her daughter. “Such bad form to have a big, fancy affair,” Edwina had intoned. “Let’s be proper about this.”
The deaths aside, there was the matter of security, plus the specter of Jonathan Ainsley. He and Anthony had quarreled badly. Since then, Ainsley had been vindictive and threatening, especially after Anthony took Paula’s side in the great debacle some years before.
It was a lovely gathering nonetheless.
Edwina had caught her breath in delight and pride when India walked down the aisle in the little church on the estate, holding on to the arm of her father.
Edwina looked across at her now, standing with her parents, talking to Winston, her mother’s brother. What a gorgeous young woman, she thought, there’s no other word to use. The pale ivory taffeta wedding gown, designed by Evan, had big puff sleeves, a scooped-out neckline, and a huge crinoline skirt that floated around her like a cloud. She had removed her veil, but the antique diamond tiara was back in place on her shining silver-gilt hair. Adele Fairley’s tiara, Edwina mused, inwardly smiling, thinking of their lineage, India’s and hers.
India was a dreamlike creature on this, her wedding day; she looked out of this world. And suddenly the bridegroom was standing there, darkly handsome and so proud of his wife. It showed on his face, that pride. A genuine man, honest and true, a dependable man, and, oh, what a talent he possessed.
She would never forget the look on Dusty’s face as India had glided toward him and his best man, Gideon, who were waiting at the altar. It had been one of pure love, pure joy.
After the marriage vows, they had all come back here to Clonloughlin House for cocktails in the main drawing room, where many photographs had been taken by the professional photographer. Two hours later, at six-thirty, they had settled in the large formal dining room for supper. All of the antique Georgian furniture had been removed, the room filled with circular skirted tables partnered with gilded ballroom chairs. Edwina had been pleased with the effect. Almost everything was white, from the organza tablecloths to the flower arrangements. The women in their lovely gowns introduced a splash of color, and, as she had looked around, she couldn’t help admiring the glittering Waterford crystal chandeliers she had chosen years before, which hung from the high-flung ceiling.
After the supper, at which many speeches were given, many toasts made, they had moved in here to dance and enjoy the rest of the evening. There was a trio at one end of the room, and now, much to her pleasure, came the bride and groom. They walked onto the dance floor for their first dance together as man and wife. When the strains of “True Love” filled the air, Dusty took India in his arms and led her into the middle of the floor.
“Are you all right, Great-Aunt Edwina?” Linnet asked, sitting down with her.
“I’m in great form, Linnet, great form.” Peering at her intently, Edwina continued in a low but vibrant voice, “My goodness, in your pale blue gown and those emerald earrings, you have such a look tonight, the look of my mother.”
“So Grandfather Bryan said earlier.” Staring at the couple on the dance floor, Linnet exclaimed, “Oh, Great-Aunt Edwina, isn’t India the most perfect bride you’ve ever seen?”
“She is indeed, but you three girls look wonderful, too. Everyone does in fact, the women in all their elegance, the men i
n their morning suits. It’s just sad for me that Paula and Shane aren’t here.”
“Daddy is very protective of Mummy. He thought the strain of travel, the excitement of the wedding would be too much.”
“But she’s looking so well, I thought.”
“She gets mixed up a lot, and can’t always fathom things out the way she used to,” Linnet explained.
“But she isn’t ill?” Edwina pressed, giving Linnet a keen look.
“No, no, she’s not. It’s all part of the recovery, so I understand.”
“And you’re holding the fort, so to speak?” Edwina asked.
Linnet smiled a little wryly. “Trying to, and I must admit, it’s tough at times, especially without India, Tessa, and Evan. I’m lonely.”
“It is lonely at the top. Always. I know what my mother went through.”
“Can I ask you something, Edwina?”
“Anything you wish, my dear.”
“Once, you said you heard your mother’s voice talking to you. Did you mean really heard it, or was it simply an echo from the past in your head?”
“An echo mostly, I’m sure,” Edwina responded carefully. “But sometimes I thought I did really hear her. Perhaps I was simply remembering … it could have been memories coming back to me. Why do you ask?”
“Because I hear her voice … hear her telling me things. Do you think I’m daft in the head?”
“No. Imaginative.”
Linnet was silent, studying her great-aunt.
Edwina leaned forward, pinning her eyes on Linnet. “You’ve been programmed all of your life, been told you look like her, sound like her, act like her. You’ve grown up believing you’ve inherited her strength, stamina, intelligence, and business acumen. She’s been all around you since the day you were born. She is part of you, just as you are part of her, and you do have her genes. So when you’re stressed and worried and feel utterly alone, you think she comes to your aid.”
“Yes, yes, I do, that’s true!”
“It’s all in your head, in your mind, Linnet. Don’t fret about it, my dear, because if it helps you, so what? No harm done. However, don’t tell anyone else.”
Linnet smiled, and, leaning closer to Edwina, she whispered, “That’s what Julian says. I suppose he’s worried people will think I’m crazy.”
“Perhaps they would. On the other hand, why should you care what the world thinks of you? You are your own woman, and that’s what you must always be, Linnet. Then you really will be the new Emma Harte.”
India and Dusty were suddenly standing at the table, beaming at Linnet and Edwina.
“May I have the honor of this dance, Edwina?” Dusty asked, bowing slightly.
“It will be my pleasure, Dusty. And did I say it before today? Welcome to my family.”
“You did say it, but you can keep repeating it as much as you want,” Dusty responded, leading her onto the dance floor with a show of gallantry.
India put her arm through Linnet’s and murmured sadly, “I miss Paula and Shane.”
“So do I, but it’s better Mummy stays quiet.”
“Is she getting back to normal, though?” India asked softly
“Yes.” Linnet nodded.
“So when is she coming back to the store?”
“I don’t know. Dad’s taking her to Villa Faviola for July and August. Also, Tessa told her the other day that she and Jean-Claude want to get married the first week of September. In Yorkshire. So there’ll be another wedding.”
“I’m happy for her,” India remarked, meaning every word, and glanced around. “Look at her, Linnet, over there, she’s so in love with her lovely Frenchman.”
“I know. What a difference there is between him and the horrible Mark Longden!”
“Has Tessa mentioned what she’ll do after she’s married?”
“I don’t think she’ll work in London, India. Still, Mummy gave me the impression that Tessa wants to keep her hand in by doing our fashion buying in Paris.”
“That might work out well for us all,” India said, throwing Linnet a knowing glance.
“I hope so. India, just look at your grandmother and Dusty! She’s having a rare old time out there, a regular Ginger Rogers.”
“And she’s a rare old bird, don’t you think?”
“There’s no one like her. She’s the jewel in the crown.”
The two of them sat watching Edwina waltzing past with Dusty. Regal and elegant in purple chiffon and diamonds, and truly a miracle at ninety-five.
A short while later, Dusty brought Edwina back to the table and danced off with India; then Julian came to claim Linnet. Suddenly Edwina was alone, watching the festivities, a smile on her face. Within seconds, Gideon and Evan joined her, followed by Grandfather Bryan, Emsie, and Desmond. A moment later Jean-Claude and Tessa arrived and sat down with them, and so did Lorne. Edwina was surrounded by those she loved, and this pleased her enormously.
Touching her arm, Grandfather Bryan remarked, “Well, well, just look over there, Edwina. Marietta Hughes dancing with Jack Figg. They make a grand couple, mavourneen, don’t you agree?”
“Sure I do, Bryan, my lad,” Edwina said, adopting a soft Irish lilt. “I’m all for romance.”
Bryan laughed, and so did the rest of the table.
Edwina glanced around. Her wise old eyes settled on each one of them, and she thought: Most of them are the progeny of Emma Harte. And they are absolutely … the very best. Emma would be so proud of them all, because they do her proud every day of their lives. And Edwina’s heart was full. She felt so glad to have witnessed this day.
A week later Linnet was working late at the Harte’s in Knightsbridge, and she glanced up when her mobile phone rang. Picking it up, she said, “Hello? Linnet O’Neill.”
“It’s India,” her cousin said.
“Hi, darling, how’s the honeymoon going? Is Dusty enjoying being at Clonloughlin?” .
“Oh yes, he’s fallen in love with the place. Linnet?”
“Yes, what is it? You sound odd.”
“Grandma died.”
“Oh, no, not Edwina!” Linnet cried, her eyes filling up. Her throat instantly became tight, but she managed to say, “I can’t believe it, she was going strong at your wedding.”
“She was ninety-five, you know.”
“Everyone thought she’d live to be a hundred, that was her goal, she told me. Oh, India, it’s just awful that she’s gone. The whole family’s going to miss her terribly.” Linnet reached for a tissue, wiped her eyes.
India began to cry. Through her tears she managed to say, “I found her, Linnet. I thought she was dozing on the sofa in her bedroom, but she was gone. And in her hands she had a photograph of herself and Emma when she was a little girl, and she was clinging to her mother’s hand. She must have been thinking of Emma when she died.”
“I have to put the phone down a minute,” Linnet said, tears rolling down her face.
“It’s all right.” India was still weeping herself.
A moment later, after blowing her nose and endeavoring to get hold .of her swimming senses, Linnet finally said, “When is the funeral, India?”
“We’ve buried her,” India replied, also sounding less tearful. “This morning, actually, in the cemetery on the estate. That’s the way she wanted it. She told my father recently that her funeral should be totally private, that she didn’t want the whole family dragging themselves over to Ireland.” India paused, took a deep breath. “She said she didn’t believe in funerals, only weddings and christenings.”
“I would have liked to have been there,” Linnet remarked. “And I bet everyone would have come.”
“You’d all just left, after the wedding. Dad thought it wiser to abide by his mother’s wishes.” There was a pause, and India began to laugh through her tears. “Grandma did say she wanted a memorial service, though. A big one.”
After India had hung up, Linnet sat for a while staring into the distance, thinking of Edwina and al
l that she had been as a woman. How odd that she had been holding a picture of Emma and herself when she was small. But no, perhaps it wasn’t. After all, she had loved her mother.
For a split second Linnet thought of going down the corridor to tell the portrait of Emma that her firstborn child was dead. But she didn’t.
Instead she wrote a letter to Anthony, telling her uncle what a remarkable woman his mother had been, speaking of her own sorrow at this loss, and sending him her condolences.
It seemed to Linnet later, when she looked back, that the summer had just slid by.
She and Julian kept to their routine, working hard at their jobs. Much to her relief, the innovations she had made at Harte’s in Knightsbridge had proved successful. There was heavy traffic all through June, July, and August, with customers flocking to the Tranquillity Day Spa, invading the Fashion Floors, and making the Luxury Boutique their favorite place to buy the most expensive merchandise in the store. Brides had finally taken off, and bridal gowns designed by Evan Harte were the pick of the season.
Every day Linnet prayed that her luck would hold. And it did. The store acquired a lot of new, younger customers and provided better choices to the old core customers who had patronized Harte’s for years. And everyone remarked on the fresh look, the updated merchandise, and the spectacular displays.
Linnet knew she had managed to pull Harte’s of Knightsbridge into the twenty-first century; she was also aware that her work had only just begun. She had to keep improving on everything, launching new ideas to titillate the taste buds of the customers while making sure that her rivals didn’t outsmart her.
India came up to London twice a month, and the two cousins enjoyed being together. Linnet was fully aware how much she needed India running the northern stores; many a time she asked herself how her great-grandmother had run all three stores when it took her all of her time to cope with just one.
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