Unexpected Blessings (46 page)

‘Dad, you look awful!
So white.
Aren’t you feeling well?’ Gideon asked, hurrying over, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder affectionately, immediately concerned about him. They were very close, and Gideon was aware he had always been his father’s favourite, although Winston had never actually
shown
favouritism.

Winston looked up at his son, opened his mouth to speak, to confide, but no words came out. He simply put his hand on Gideon’s resting on his shoulder.

Gideon scanned his father’s face, noted the beads of sweat on his forehead, the chalkiness of his skin. He was now so unusually white the freckles, normally quite faint, seemed to stand out on the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones. And then with a small shock Gideon became aware of the pain in his father’s light-green eyes, the unexpected glitter of tears.

What’s wrong with him? Gideon wondered. He knew his father was too much of a dyed-in-the-wool newspaperman to show his emotions about the tragic events now unfolding in New York, however much he cared. In a sudden flash Gideon understood there was something else troubling his father, that it was serious. And very personal.

Trying to keep his voice even and calm, Gideon asked, ‘Are you ill, Dad?’ As he spoke he peered into his father’s face yet again.

Swallowing several times, Winston endeavoured to steady himself, and slowly, in a voice that was gruff and thick with tears, he answered Gideon. ‘He’s in there. In that lot. He’ll never get out alive.’

‘Who, Dad? Who’re you talking about?’

‘Shane,’ Winston told him in a voice that faltered slightly. ‘He had a meeting at the World Trade Center this morning. That’s why he didn’t come back with us.’ Winston was unable to finish. He shook his head and a sob broke free. Bringing one hand to his mouth, as though he wanted to push the sobs back inside himself, he went on shaking his head, finally mumbled, ‘He’s probably dead already.’

Stunned and horror-struck by what his father had just said, Gideon bent over him, put his arms around him, holding him close to his chest. After a moment or two, he said in a low, very loving voice, ‘Dad, please don’t jump to conclusions. You can’t be sure Shane didn’t get out. At this moment we don’t really know anything, except what we’re seeing on television. I know this is a stupid question, but you have tried to reach him, haven’t you?’

‘I have, and of course I can’t get through on his mobile. Not on any phone, actually. In fact, I can’t get through to New York at all. Not to anyone. The lines are probably
totally
overloaded. Or down.’

Releasing his father, Gideon straightened, and asked quietly, ‘Dad, what about Paula?’

‘I phoned her as soon as I saw what was happening on TV. She was in a meeting. So I asked Emily to go over to the store, to be there for her.’

‘Yes, Mum’s the best person to be with her right now, at a time like this.’

‘Our mothers were close friends, you know,’ Winston volunteered, out of the blue. ‘They used to take us out in our prams together when we were babies. That’s how long I’ve known him. Sixty years.’

‘I know. All your life.’

‘We’ve never had a disagreement, a quarrel.
Never.
Never in all these years. He’s my best friend, the brother I never had…’ Winston stopped, unable to say another word.

‘Let’s try and be positive!’ Gideon exclaimed. ‘Maybe the office Shane went to for the meeting was on a lower floor. Perhaps he was able to walk down the stairs, get out. And listen, Dad, since you couldn’t get through then maybe he couldn’t either. It’s more than likely that’s why you haven’t heard from him.’

‘I pray to God that’s so.’

The ringing phone forced Gideon to hurry to his desk. ‘Gideon Harte here.’

‘It’s Paula,’ she said in a faint voice that shook. ‘Is your father there, Gideon?’

‘Yes, Paula, he is, and–’

‘Give me the phone!’ Winston exclaimed before Gideon could say anything else, and jumped up, went to the desk, took the receiver from his son.

Gideon moved away, in order to give them privacy. But even if he had wanted to eavesdrop it wouldn’t have been possible. After saying her name softly, very lovingly, his father had lapsed into silence, had become the listener, not the one doing the talking.

Moving closer to the television set, Gideon seated himself in a chair, continued to watch the never-ending disaster, knowing that very soon he would have to go, join Joel and later Andy at the editorial meetings. They had to plan tomorrow’s first editions no matter what.

His heart ached when he thought of Shane O’Neill. How would any of them cope if he had been killed? He had no idea. He closed his eyes, visualizing Shane, and silently in his head he said: Please God, let Shane be alive. And he repeated this over and over again, as he waited for his father to get off the phone.

Tessa stood staring at the portrait of Emma Harte, which hung in an alcove in the main corridor of the management floor. Whenever she stopped to look at her great-grandmother she thought she was getting a glimpse of the woman Linnet would become when
she
was middle-aged like Emma was here.

Her sister truly did resemble their great-grandmother. It was actually more than that: Linnet looked more like Emma Harte than anyone else in the family; she was the spitting image of her. She was Emma’s clone…the same clear, pink-and-white complexion, the large sparkling green eyes, the bright red-gold hair coming to a dramatic widow’s peak. There were those in the family who said it wasn’t only her looks Linnet had inherited from her famous predecessor but Emma’s brains as well. And perhaps that was true. Maybe Linnet was the right one to run the department store chain, even though
she
thought of herself as the heiress, the Dauphine. Did she want to be top dog? The boss lady? The queen of the hill? She wasn’t sure how to answer that anymore.

What did she want?

She had a ready answer.
Jean-Claude Deléon.
Lock, stock and barrel. All of him. For always.

Well, that might mean giving up her ambitions. Her career.

Could she do it?

Why not? She didn’t want to sleep in a cold, lonely bed all night, every night, all by herself. As Emma had done after Paul’s death in 1939. They all knew the story of that great love, of his tragic accident and death. Actually, his suicide.

‘You were a beautiful woman, Grandy,’ Tessa whispered out loud. ‘And you were right about everyone having their price. Mark Longden definitely had his price. But you’d say good riddance to bad rubbish, wouldn’t you?’

Mark Longden was a rat. She couldn’t change a thing now, but she still wished her mother had not given Mark all that money, such a big settlement. Ten million pounds. Her mother had told her again, yesterday on the way home from the solicitor’s office, that the money from the sale of the house would be invested, and that it would all balance out in the end; she supposed it would. What an avaricious rat he was. All he wanted was money. He had protested about being banished, exiled as he called it, but in the end he had signed the contract. And willingly. The money was more important than his daughter. He preferred to take the money and run, rather than sweat it out in London so that he could visit Adele, have access to her.

Her mother had been smart, brilliant actually. She had judged him accurately, had bought Mark off. Banishing him to Sydney for five years meant he was off
her
back, and was no threat to Adele. And by the time he could return to England, permanently if he wanted, Adele would be twelve, going on thirteen.

She shivered involuntarily, remembering that he had been in Paris last weekend. How awful it would have been if she had run into him when she was with Jean-Claude.

Turning once again, Tessa walked towards the door which led to the business offices of the store. But before she reached it, the door flew open, and Linnet came rushing out. She was wearing pale blue and looked like a young Emma.

‘Mummy wants you to come.
Now,
Tessa,’ Linnet exclaimed, beckoning to her.

Frowning, Tessa said, ‘What’s the matter? You seem upset about something.’

‘Where have you been, Tess?’

‘In my storage room, going through the inventory. For over an hour and a half. Why?’

‘You don’t know, do you?’

‘Know what?’

‘Terrorists have attacked New York…they’ve flown planes into the World Trade Center. It’s unbelievable–’

‘Oh God, no! Linnet, how awful!
Frightening.’

‘Come on, let’s not waste time. Mummy’s so upset. She needs us at a time like this.’

Shane,
Tessa thought. Her father was still in New York. Oh God, no! Had something happened to him? She was unable to move, stood rooted to the spot, gaping at her sister, now seeing her clearly…the drawn face, the laughing mouth no longer laughing, stern, tight instead. Her dreadful paleness. The startled look in her green eyes…like a deer frightened by headlights.

‘Is Dad all right? He hasn’t been hurt, has he?’ Tessa demanded.

Linnet stared back at her. ‘We don’t know anything. We haven’t been able to reach him. Or anyone else for that matter. I think all the phone lines are down in Manhattan.’ Reaching out, Linnet grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, please, Tess. Let’s go to our mother. She really does need us.’

Tessa allowed her younger sister to drag her through the door and into the foyer which led to the management offices. And she thought: It’s taken me all these years to understand he truly
is
my father. It was Shane who brought me up, loved me all of my life. Helped to make me who I am. Not Jim Fairley. Jim was killed when I was just a toddler…killed in an avalanche. Now she prayed that Shane had not been killed in a terrorist attack…Her mother wouldn’t be able to survive that. None of them would.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-S
IX

L
innet had only seen this look on her mother’s face once before, years ago when her brother Patrick had died.
Devastation.
That was it, pure and simple.

She’s shell-shocked, Linnet thought, as she followed Tessa into her mother’s office; she thinks Dad is dead.

The mere idea of this brought a lump to Linnet’s throat, and she blinked back the tears which had instantly sprung into her eyes. I don’t believe it, I don’t. And I won’t. I would have known. Like Shane, Linnet thought of herself as a true Celt, and that meant she was different, more sensitive, spiritual, and intuitive than most other people. She and her father had a special bond, and if he were dead she would have known.
The moment he died.
Because he would have communicated with her in some way before his death.

He’s not dead. I know he isn’t, she thought again; she also knew she must be strong for her mother. That was imperative.

Linnet hovered near her mother’s desk, not far from the sofa where Paula sat with Emily Harte. These two were first cousins, had grown up together, and Linnet sometimes thought they seemed like sisters, so close were they to each other.

Her sister Tessa sat on the other side of Paula, saying similar things to their mother that Linnet had.

‘Mummy, I don’t believe Dad is dead, I honestly don’t. You said he had an early appointment, around nine o’clock. If that’s the case then Dad would have been arriving at the building just as the first plane was ploughing into it. Look, you can see the time frame there on the TV,’ Tessa pointed out. ‘He wouldn’t have gone into a burning building, now would he?’

Passing a hand over her strained face, Paula tried to steady herself, to stay calm. Bleakly she stared at Tessa, and finally nodded. Gulping air, she said in a low voice, ‘You’re right, Tess. And your sister said the same thing. I just wish I could speak to him…be certain he’s all right.’

Emily said, ‘Darling, he’s probably trying to get through right at this moment. Winston told me when he called a few minutes ago that nobody can get through to New York. It could be a dreadful overload, or it could be some sort of breakdown.’

‘Have you tried to fax Daddy at his office?’ Tessa asked, and then grimaced. ‘Of course you have, I guess you’ve thought of everything.’

‘More or less,’ Linnet volunteered, walking to the sofa, sitting down in a nearby chair. ‘And Uncle Winston has tried to get through to our newspaper offices on Forty-Second Street, and he can’t. I saw another timeline on TV, about ten minutes ago, and by nine twenty-one all of the bridges and tunnels leading into Manhattan had been closed down. The city’s isolated from the rest of the world right now, and who knows what’s happened to the telephone systems.’

‘We just have to hope against hope he’s safe,’ Emily murmured. ‘Look, maybe he never got to his appointment. If he realized something peculiar was going on he might have just turned around, gone back to the apartment or his office.’

Tessa exclaimed, ‘He might not have even been able to turn around, or get to a side street. If there was a traffic problem. All sorts of things could have intervened, you know, Mummy.’

Paula took Tessa’s hand in hers. ‘I know you’re right, but I am going to be on edge until I hear his voice.’

‘Or get a sign,’ Linnet suggested. Noting the odd look in her mother’s eyes, she decided to play it very safe, and added, in a businesslike voice, ‘Such as a fax.’

This comment startled Paula, and she said more energetically, ‘We didn’t try to fax
him,
Emily, maybe we should. Right now.’

‘That’s a great idea!’ Linnet cried, jumping up, rushing to Paula’s desk. She grabbed a piece of store stationery and after addressing the note to her father, she wrote,
Dearest Shane. We know you
had an appointment at the World Trade Center this morning. Please let us know you are safe. Love, Paula, Tessa, Linnet and Emily.
Putting her pen down, she read it aloud to the others.

‘Send it immediately,’ Emily exclaimed.