“Just that the dreaded Jonathan Ainsley is staying at his house in Thirsk. Jack’s a bit worried about that.”
“I don’t blame him,” Julian muttered, following Linnet out of their bedroom. “That man’s a menace. More than that, actually. I believe he’s a genuine threat. I’ve never told you this, but he once beat Dad up when they were kids. Dad had to go to hospital, have stitches in his head.”
“I knew about it, actually, Jules. Mummy told me a lot about Ainsley’s violent behavior when he was growing up with them. He’ll do something horrible to one of us, you’ll see.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed. “I think I’m going to get you a driver who’s a former policeman. You need protection.”
Linnet did not answer.
7
Dusty jumped up from the desk and went to stand in front of the blazing fire. His face was taut as he stuck his hands in his pockets and warmed his back against the flames.
His mind had been racing ever since Paddy had announced the arrival of his little daughter with Mrs. Roebotham. The fact that the woman had brought a suitcase belonging to Atlanta meant only one thing: The child was coming to stay with him. Which, in turn, meant that it was Molly Caldwell who was out of action, not Melinda.
“This is Mrs. Roebotham,” Paddy said, hurrying through the doorway ushering the woman in at last.
Immediately, Dusty moved forward, exclaiming, “Hello, Mrs. Roebotham. Hello!” Drawing to a standstill in front of her, he stretched out his hand and smiled, adding, “I’m Russell Rhodes.”
She took his hand and shook it, rather timidly he thought, and murmured in a subdued voice, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Rhodes.”
Paddy excused himself and disappeared while Dusty led the woman toward the fireplace. He knew everything about her the instant she entered the room, although he had never met her before. She looked about forty, was scrubbed to shining cleanliness, not a vestige of makeup on her face, neat and tidy in her appearance, her dark clothes plain, simple, but not cheap-looking in any way. Her luxuriant auburn hair was brushed back and formed into a sleek twist at the back of her head to reveal a slender, high-cheekboned face that was rather attractive, and she had light eyes, grayish blue, he thought. She was slim and wiry, and of medium height, and there was something about her that was arresting, a determination, perhaps, an honesty and straightforwardness. He knew immediately that she was a decent woman.
Leeds, he thought. Working-class Leeds. Same background as mine. No doubt grew up in a Victorian terrace house, just as I did. They had a lot in common, although he was quite sure she was not aware of that.
“Let’s sit here, shall we, Mrs. Roebotham?” he said briskly.
“It’s Gladys, everybody calls me Gladys, Mr. Rhodes,” she said, sitting down where he had indicated, crossing her ankles, placing her hands in her lap on top of her bag.
“Very well, it’s Gladys then. Now, would you like some refreshments? Tea? Coffee? Or something else? Something to eat, perhaps?”
“Nothing, but thanks ever so much. Cook made me a cup of tea when I got here, Mr. Rhodes.”
He nodded his understanding and repressed the urge to tell her to call him Dusty. He knew that she wouldn’t, that the mere suggestion would only embarrass her. She was probably overly impressed by this house, undoubtedly intimidated by his fame … the poor Leeds lad who’d made it big. The Yorkshire newspapers were his greatest boosters, always calling him a genius, giving him lavish accolades for his paintings.
As he took the seat opposite her, he asked, “What’s happened to Molly Caldwell?”
“She’s had a heart attack,” Gladys answered calmly, but her hands were twisting together in her lap.
Dismay clutched at him. “How bad is she?” he asked, leaning forward, pinning his eyes on hers.
“It’s serious, but her doctor is very hopeful,” she murmured and tried, without much success, to give him a reassuring smile.
“When did it happen? This morning?”
“No. Yesterday afternoon. It was lucky I was there. I go three times a week to help her, and I was in the kitchen doing the ironing when she collapsed. I called Dr. Bloom immediately. It was him that sent the ambulance. She’s in Leeds Infirmary, that’s where they took her.”
“And before that, before she went to hospital, she told you to bring Atlanta to me?” Dusty said.
“Oh, no, she was … Well, she was sort of out of it,” Gladys explained. “I knew what I had to do, mind you, Mr. Rhodes. Bring Atlanta to you. Molly had drilled that into me. She said if ever she got sick or anything, I had to bring the little girl to you. Nobody else. Only to you. She kept an envelope in the kitchen drawer with your address and money for taxis in it.”
“I’m glad she’d told you what to do in case of an emergency, Gladys. Very glad. And you did well. Thank you.”
“I would have brought Atlanta to you last night. But it had turned seven by the time they took Molly to the hospital. Way past Atlanta’s bedtime. I thought it best to stay the night at Molly’s house, I didn’t want to alarm the child. And so I brought her here today. I spoke to Leeds Infirmary this morning before coming here, and Molly’s doing well.”
Dusty nodded. “What else did the doctor tell you?”
“That her heart attack was not life threatening. Dr. Bloom thinks she’ll be able to come home in a week.”
“That’s certainly good news,” Dusty said, filling with sudden relief.
“By the way, she’s in the ICU, under the care of a heart specialist, Mr. Rhodes. I shall go and visit her on my way back home, even if I can only wave to her,” Gladys announced.
“That’s very kind of you, and I’ll go myself on Monday. By the way, this Dr. Bloom, is he in Meanwood?”
“Oh yes, he’s our local doctor. He’s been there years. And he’s only three streets away from Molly, and not too far from me either. I’ve written his number down for you, Mr. Rhodes. I thought you might want to be in touch with him.” As she spoke, she fumbled in her bag and brought out a piece of paper, handed it to him.
“Thanks, Gladys, thanks again for bringing Atlanta to me. Incidentally, how did you explain her grandmother’s absence to her?” he asked, staring at the piece of paper, then putting it in his pocket.
“It was Atlanta who came to me in the kitchen. She said her grandmother had fallen down, had hurt her leg because she wasn’t getting up. So when the ambulance arrived, I said they were taking Grandma to get her leg made better. She accepted that, and then when I told her I was bringing her to you today, she was so excited that was all she could think about,” Gladys informed him.
Dusty stood up. “Thank you for all you’ve done. I’d best go and see Atlanta without any further delay. I thought it better to get the whole story from you before seeing my daughter. Now come with me to the kitchen, Gladys, and have some lunch. Then we’ll arrange for a car to take you back to Leeds, to see Molly and later to your home.”
“Oh, please, it’s not necessary, honestly it isn’t. I’ll get off after I’ve said good-bye to Atlanta. She’s a good little girl, you know, very grown up in so many ways, Mr. Rhodes.”
“Yes, I know. She’s a treasure,” he said, escorting her out of the room. “I’m very grateful to you, Gladys, and I won’t let you leave here without some food in you, and a car to take you wherever you want to go. And by the way, you’d better give me your phone number so that I have it handy.”
She nodded. “Yes, I will. I don’t live far from Mrs. Caldwell, just a couple of streets down.” There was a moment’s hesitation before she said softly, “Thanks for being so nice.”
He smiled at her but said nothing and led her through the entrance foyer in the direction of the kitchen. He saw her looking around, staring at his paintings. But she didn’t make any comment, and neither did he.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Atlanta cried the moment she saw Dusty, dancing toward him on her tiptoes, her laughter echoing all around them. She was tall for three, and slen
der, “his little bean shoot” he called her, and had enormous grace of movement, much in evidence now.
As she came into his arms, there was no mistaking whose child she was, with her jet-black hair and light blue eyes. It always seemed to him that there was nothing of Melinda in her. After hugging her and kissing her cheek, he put her down on the floor and gave her a huge smile. “We’re going to have a fun weekend together while Grandma gets her leg mended.”
“Does it hurt her, Daddy?” Atlanta asked, staring up at him. Without waiting for his answer, she shook her head and said, “She didn’t cry.”
“No, I don’t think it hurts, darling,” he answered, and then, turning to Gladys, he said, “Please stay for something to eat, it’s already twelve-thirty You must be hungry.”
Before Gladys could respond, Atlanta looked across at her and announced, “Valetta’s made spaghetti, Gladys. It’s got tomatoes in it.”
“I don’t think I can have lunch here, Atlanta, and—”
“Oh, please, please,” Atlanta cut in, and looking at Dusty she went on, “Make Gladys stay, Daddy, please.”
Dusty grinned, gazing down at Atlanta, and said, “I’m having lunch with your friend India, and then this afternoon she’s going to take you out. So why don’t you eat here in the kitchen, and Valetta will make some more of your favorite things, and then we’ll all go for a drive?”
Atlanta nodded. “Can I go and see Indi? I like her.”
“She hasn’t arrived yet, but of course you can say hello to her. She’s bringing her grandmother to see me.”
“Oh. Is she like my grandma?” the child asked, staring up at her father.
Dusty bit back the laugh that rose in his throat and said, “No. I think she’s quite different altogether. In fact, there’s a big difference. But her grandma’s as nice as yours.”
“Oh goody.” Atlanta ran to Gladys and took hold of her hand. “You’ll like Indi. She’s nice. She tells stories and reads to me.”
“I know how much you like that. But I really think I have to go, lovey. I’ll meet your friend India another time.”
“Oh. Don’t go, Gladys,” the child beseeched, clinging to her hand.
“I have to visit your grandmother,” Gladys explained, and then, becoming aware of the tears welling in Atlanta’s eyes, she said, “Well, all right, I’ll stay and have a snack with you.” She managed a small chuckle, adding with a twinkle, “I’m getting a bit peckish.”
“Like the birds!” Atlanta exclaimed, laughing. “That’s what you always say. Peckish like the birds.”
Dusty said, “Then it’s settled. Come on, Gladys, and you too, Atlanta. You can both sit here at the table, and Valetta will bring plates of her delicious spaghetti, and whatever else you want. All right, Valetta?”
“That’s fine, Mr. Rhodes,” the cook said, laughter in her dark eyes. Waving her wooden spoon, she turned back to her pans, stirring the contents of one of them. “I’m almost ready to serve.”
As Dusty was leading his child and Gladys Roebotham to the table at the far end of the large, family-style kitchen, he heard a car on the gravel driveway. Kissing the top of Atlanta’s dark head, he murmured, “Drink some of your water, darling, and I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she answered dutifully, sitting in a chair. She picked up the small glass of water and took a swallow. “Sipping like the ducks,” she said, smiling at Gladys.
Dusty strode across the main entrance foyer, heading for the front door, intent on greeting India and her grandmother on the steps. As he opened the door and went out onto the terrace, he saw them coming slowly toward him.
He knew better than to go and escort them inside. The Dowager Countess of Dunvale was something of a tartar, with a very sharp tongue. She resisted any help from others, and he understood absolutely where she was coming from. He admired her for her extraordinary stamina and fortitude. After all, she was ninety-five and anything but senile. Far be it from him to undermine her confidence in herself.
India waved to him, and he waved back. He wondered how she would react to the news that Atlanta was here for a week at least. He would give her all the details as soon as they were settled in the sitting room having their aperitif. Her grandmother liked a drink before lunch, and her insistence on “a drop of sherry,” as she put it, always tickled him. He would tell India about Molly Caldwell at once, so there was no misunderstanding. Months ago she had accused him of “lying by omission,” and he had no desire to have that accusation leveled at him again.
He knew that India liked the child as much as Atlanta liked her, and her presence would not present any problems, as far as he could see. Angelina, the housekeeper, and Valetta, the cook, would keep an eye on her while he was painting during the morning, and he would spend time in the afternoon with her. After all, since India ran the northern stores, she would be at the Leeds store during the week, and she still lived at Pennistone Royal, spending only the weekends with him here at Willows Hall. No, the child would not be intrusive on them or their relationship, he decided, and then it struck him that Gladys Roebotham could be very useful. It was obvious Atlanta was attached to her, and Gladys seemed to reciprocate the child’s feelings. Perhaps she would consider spending part of the coming week here looking after Atlanta.
“Excuse me, Mr. Rhodes,” Paddy said from the entrance foyer.
Dusty swung around to face the house manager. “Yes, Paddy?”
“I’ve put a decanter of amontillado in the sitting room, and I was wondering, is there anything else you need?”
“I don’t think so, thanks very much. Lunch in about half an hour. Oh, and Paddy, order a car for Mrs. Roebotham, would you, please? It’s to take her back home, with a stop off at Leeds Infirmary to see Mrs. Caldwell. And please tell her I’ll be in to have a word with her in a few minutes.”
“Right you are, sir,” Paddy murmured and was gone on silent feet.
“Good morning, Countess,” Dusty said a moment later as India and her grandmother finally came to a standstill in front of him.
“Good morning, Dusty, and Countess is far too formal. I do keep telling you that. You must call me Edwina.”
“You know I can’t,” he replied, laughing. “That’s not respectful.”
She chuckled with him and then suggested, “Why not call me Great-Aunt Edwina? Or Grandmother. But perhaps you have a grandmother of your own?”
“No, she’s dead.” Turning to India, he smiled lovingly and kissed her cheek. “Hello, darling,” he whispered against her hair before he ushered them both into the house.
Within several seconds he had Edwina settled comfortably in a chair near the fireplace, and India went and perched on the sofa, waiting for him as he poured their glasses and brought the sherry to them.
“Cheers, ladies,” he said, lifting his glass, and sat down on the sofa next to India.
“Cheers,” India answered, as did her grandmother.
Staring hard at Dusty, India now said, “You’ve got a peculiar expression on your face. What’s the matter?”
He threw her a long, thoughtful look, realizing yet again how well she knew him, and in ways no one else ever had before.
Since his new tactic was to tell her everything up-front, he said, “It’s Mrs. Caldwell. She had a heart attack late yesterday afternoon, and the woman who helps her brought Atlanta over here this morning.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” India exclaimed. “I mean about the heart attack. How is Mrs. Caldwell’s condition today?”
“Apparently it’s serious but not life threatening. She’ll be in hospital for about a week, and from what Mrs. Roebotham says, the prognosis is good. I’ll call the doctor later; Atlanta’s here to stay with me for a few days. Until her grandmother’s better, actually.”
India smiled at him. “Don’t look so concerned, Dusty, she’ll be fine with us, and I couldn’t be happier. It’s lovely to have her here for the weekend. We’ll have some fun together. Where is she now?”
> “Having lunch with Mrs. Roebotham in the kitchen, but she’s really looking forward to seeing you later.”
“So am I. And, Grandma, you’ll get to meet Dusty’s little girl. She’s just adorable.”
Edwina simply nodded and took a sip of sherry. No doubt Atlanta was adorable, and certainly India was genuine in her affection for the child, but Edwina couldn’t help thinking that it was a good thing she was only three years old. And still malleable. There was no doubt in the older woman’s mind that Dusty and India would end up raising his child. His former girlfriend was recovering from a serious drug addiction, and her mother obviously had a wonky heart. She might not live long; and who could answer for the daughter? Addictions were hard to kick.
8
Tessa Fairley stood in her room at Pennistone Royal, lost in thought. Of late, there were moments when she couldn’t help wondering what the rest of her life was going to be like. What did the future hold in store? What was her destiny to be? She had no idea.
The one certainty the one steadfast thing in her life, was her devotion to and love for her three-year-old daughter, Adele. Everything else was vague, up in the air, or out of her grasp, at least so it seemed to her lately.
Would she be made managing director of Harte Stores by her mother? Would she then run the stores herself, as she had always wanted to do? Or would her mother decide to make her joint managing director with her sister Linnet? Shared responsibilities had been bruited about in the past few months, startling and disappointing her, putting her on guard. That was something she had never wanted, sharing the top spot with her sister.
Conversely, would she abandon her career, ambitions, and dreams of being the new Emma Harte, and instead marry Jean-Claude Deléon?
She smiled inwardly. There was just one small problem in that regard: he had not asked her to marry him. But if he did propose, and if she accepted, there would be a vast upheaval in her life and that of her child. Since he lived and worked in Paris, she would have to move across the Channel and make a life with him there. Could she be happy in France?
Just Rewards (Harte Family Saga) Page 7