Emma’s Secret (4 page)

‘And what do you think, mavourneen?’ Bryan probed, his dark eyes resting on her with great interest.

‘I don’t know what my mother plans to do. But Tessa
is
the eldest of Paula’s children, and I suppose she’s entitled to inherit my mother’s job when she retires.’

Bryan shook his head vehemently. Then, taking hold of her arm, he led her towards the sofa placed nearest to the fire. ‘Let’s sit down,’ he murmured, and after settling himself in a corner against the tapestry cushions, he continued: ‘Your mother doesn’t operate that way, she’s not into those kind of rules, or the law of primogeniture as far as inheritances are concerned. I’m certain Paula will choose someone
she
wants to be her successor in the family business. After all, she is the largest single stockholder, not to mention CEO.’

When Linnet made no comment, Bryan added, ‘Let’s not forget she was trained by Emma Harte for many, many years, and that was
her
policy.
She
gave the key jobs to those who deserved them and could handle them. Paula will do the same.’

‘I guess you’re right, Gramps, but Tessa does very well at Harte’s, you know. She’s a pretty good executive.’

‘Could she run the store in Knightsbridge? And the whole chain as well?’ Bryan asked, looking at her keenly.

Linnet bit her lip and glanced away, acutely aware of her grandfather’s penetrating gaze, thinking of the discussions she’d had with Gideon about this very subject. And with her cousin India Standish, who worked at Harte’s. They believed that Tessa would never be able to cut it, but she fully acknowledged they were prejudiced, having suffered at Tessa’s hands in the past. Especially when they were children.

Clearing her throat, Linnet said, ‘As an executive Tessa’s very good, well organized, practical, and she handles the daily problems with skill…’ Linnet’s voice suddenly trailed off as she thought of the rows her mother had with Tessa about the future and planning ahead. She stared at Bryan, then sighed. ‘Oh gosh, Gramps, Tessa’s my sister and I love her…’

‘There’s a big
but,
I suspect, when it comes to certain things to do with her work.’

‘I think so. She’s great on a day-to-day basis, as I said. But Tessa never considers the future or plans ahead.’

‘No real vision, perhaps,’ Bryan pronounced. ‘There’s got to be vision in any business, but especially in retailing, otherwise the stores will go nowhere. Except down the drain eventually. That’s always been one of your mother’s strong suits, Linnet. Paula has had tremendous vision over the years, still does, and Emma often commented on it to me. It made your great-grandmother very proud, and she felt secure about leaving Harte’s to her.’

‘Mummy’s a genius in so many ways. You know, she’s really been annoyed about Tessa’s attitude regarding my project. Tessa thinks my idea for a fashion retrospective is ridiculous, that it won’t succeed. But I know it will, and Mummy’s given me her blessing.’

Bryan frowned and shook his head, his expression startled. After a moment’s thought he murmured, ‘But your fashion retrospective is a natural. It’s bound to bring in hundreds of women, and when they’re in the store they’ll spend money on the fashion floors.’

‘Exactly, Gramps! That’s the whole idea, but Tessa doesn’t get it.’

Or doesn’t want to, Bryan thought, but said, ‘The main thing is that it’s going to be a big success. You mustn’t worry about what Tessa says or thinks…only your immediate boss, and that’s your mother.’

She nodded. ‘Mummy’s thrilled I’m using such a lot of Grandy’s
haute-couture
clothes. Vintage clothes are very
in
these days, and the retrospective does cover eighty years. It’ll be fabulous and will pull in a lot of young women. India agrees.’

‘I do too, as I just said. And tell me, how is little India working out?’

‘Very well, grandfather, and she’s not so little either. She’s quite the dashing young woman.’

‘So I noticed on New Year’s Eve.’ He chuckled. ‘I always think of India as being little. You know, in the sense of petite, dainty, very delicate and feminine.’

‘That she is. But getting back to Tessa, Gideon says she doesn’t know how to handle people, that she has no empathy or compassion.’ Linnet sat back and made a small grimace. ‘Mummy’s always said it’s important to feel compassion for people if you’re an employer, and Gideon thinks Tessa lacks that quality.’

‘Do you?’

When Linnet was silent, Bryan knew the answer. But she was a fine young woman and he knew how much she disliked criticizing others. Deciding not to press for an answer, he leaned back against the cushions once more, and studied her for a moment, and quite unexpectedly his throat tightened with emotion. For he saw not Linnet O’Neill, his twenty-five-year-old granddaughter but Emma Harte when she was twenty-seven and his surrogate mother. He had been born in December 1916, and his biological mother Laura O’Neill had died almost immediately after his birth. With his father Blackie away fighting in the First World War, there was only Emma Harte, his parents’ best friend, to look after him. And so she had taken him home from the hospital and brought him up as her own. And it was
her
face he had gazed up at from his crib,
her
face he had learned to love at such a tender age.

And now, eighty-four years later, he was staring into that same face at this very moment. Of course it was not Emma he was looking at, it was Linnet, but to him she was Emma Harte reincarnated, and the resemblance between them was uncanny.

‘Gramps, are you all right? You’ve got such a funny look on your face,’ Linnet said, sounding concerned about him.

Sitting up straighter, Bryan blinked several times, then smiled at her. He coughed behind his hand, and after a moment replied, ‘I have some photographs at home of your great-grandmother when she was about your age, maybe a couple of years older than you are now. And you
are
her, Linnet. Why, it’s as if Emma has been reborn in you. It’s not only that you’re the spitting image of her physically, as everyone tells you these days, but you have so many of her facial expressions and her gestures, and you think like her. Certainly you have her drive, energy and talent for retailing, and you’re a good businesswoman. You’ll get even better, too, with a bit of age on you.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re the best, in my opinion.’

‘You’re prejudiced, Gramps.’

‘Perhaps. But nonetheless, you’re going to be fine…another Emma Harte.’

‘I’ll try to live up to all of the things she was, and stood for. I know she had great integrity, that she was a most honourable woman, one who knew right from wrong, and was just and fair in all her dealings.’

‘That she was indeed, and you’ll do her justice. I’ve no qualms about you, mavourneen.’ He reached out, took her hand in his. ‘My money’s on you, Linnet, and in my opinion it’s
you
who should take over from your mother when she retires. Harte’s should be yours.’

‘I’d like that very much, but it really is up to my mother.’

She’s probably chosen you already, Bryan thought, but for once he did not confide in his granddaughter. Instead he said, ‘I want you to have those photographs of Emma. I’ll bring them with me the next time I come over.’

‘Oh, thanks, Gramps, I’d love to have them. I’ll treasure them.’

A moment later Margaret came hurrying into the Stone Hall, and in her usual quiet and efficient way, she said, ‘Lunch is ready, Mr. O’Neill…Linnet. If you’d like to come into the morning room, I’ll serve it in there, it’s much cosier than the dining room, with the fire an’ all.’

‘Thanks, we’ll come right away, Margaret,’ Bryan said, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Linnet did tell me that you’d be rustling up something special for me. Well, that’s the way she put it. So what’s for lunch?’

Margaret laughed and explained, ‘Oh, some of your
real
favourites, Mr. O’Neill. I had a crock of Morecambe Bay potted shrimps put away for lunch tomorrow, but I thought you’d like to have them today with some of that nice thin brown bread and butter of mine, and I’ve made your real favourite, a cottage pie with fresh ground beef and a crust of mashed potatoes, puréed parsnips and peas. And for pudding you can either have freshly baked apple crumble with warm custard, just the way you like it, or trifle.’

‘Goodness, Margaret, you’ve done me proud! Everything sounds delicious,’ Bryan answered, smiling at the housekeeper. Then, turning to Linnet, as they walked together across the hall, he added, ‘I’m seriously thinking of moving in here.’

‘I wish you would, Gramps!’ Linnet exclaimed, tucking her arm through his, meaning every word she said.

‘The idea is tempting, mavourneen, but I think it’s best I remain in Harrogate. After all, Blackie built that house, and I’ve lived in it forever it seems, and I’m keeping it warm for Desmond, so to speak. It’ll be his one day, when I’m gone.’

‘Let’s not talk about you going anywhere!’ Linnet cried, bustling him forward in the direction of the morning room. ‘You’ve got lots of years ahead of you.’

‘I hope so, Linny, but as Blackie used to say, when you get to be over eighty, a man’s living on borrowed time.’

The two of them sat down for lunch at the round walnut table which stood in the bay window of the morning room. Until very recently this had been an office, rarely used, which Paula had considered wasted space. A few months before Christmas she had turned it into a spot for intimate casual meals, such as breakfast and light lunches, or tea in the afternoon. Now everyone used it.

The morning room had a springlike feeling because of Paula’s decorative scheme based on pale apple-green and white: green walls, green-and-white-striped balloon shades at the windows, green-and-white-checked fabric on the chairs around the table. Accentuating this look were a collection of thirty-six botanical prints hanging on one wall and jugs of yellow and white chrysanthemums which stood on a long, carved wooden sideboard and a Queen Anne chest placed in a corner of the room. Adding a welcoming, cosy touch on this snowy day was the blazing fire in the hearth; a small loveseat and armchairs covered in rose-coloured linen were arranged around a coffee table in front of the fire, and it was here that tea was often served.

As always, Bryan admired Paula’s decorating. His daughter-in-law had a way of making a room look elegant, but it was never intimidating because she had the happy knack of creating a sense of comfort in the midst of the elegance.

Linnet said, ‘A penny for your thoughts, Gramps.’

He smiled at her. ‘Wasn’t thinking of anything much. But…’ He paused, leaned across the table and asked in a conspiratorial voice, ‘Any more information about Paula’s plans for Shane’s birthday?’

Linnet nodded. ‘Mummy spoke to me about it the other day. Uncle Winston’s also going to be sixty in June, and she said she was considering making it a joint birthday party for the two of them. Actually, she told me she was going to speak to you about it, Grandfather.’ Linnet gave him a hard stare and her brows pinched together in a frown. ‘I guess she didn’t.’

‘No, she—’ Bryan broke off as Margaret came hurrying in with a tray; a moment later she was placing a plate of potted shrimps in front of him, then brought one over for Linnet. ‘The brown bread and butter is already on the table, Mr. O’Neill,’ she said, then glancing from one to the other, she asked, ‘Do you need anything else?’

‘We’re fine, Margaret, thank you,’ Linnet replied. ‘Thanks very much.’

The housekeeper nodded, then flashed a smile and disappeared.

Bryan picked up a fork and plunged it into the tiny pale-pink shrimps encased in the round of hardened butter. ‘Mmmm. They’re delicious,’ he said after a moment. ‘A
joint
party, eh? And where does your mother plan to have it?’

‘Here at Pennistone Royal…’ Her voice faltered as she noticed that his expression seemed to change. ‘Don’t you like the idea of a party for the two of them?’

‘Sure an’ I do, I think it makes great sense, Linny, darlin’. Your father and Winston have been best friends all of their lives, since they were boys, and then as young men they shared Beck House in West Tanfield. What rascals they were when they were little,’ he said, chuckling, ‘
and
when they were young spalpeens chasing after the girls. Handsome they were, too.’

‘They still are,’ she shot back, laughter echoing in her voice.

‘True, only too true. But they got their wings clipped all right, that and they did! And by Emma’s favourites…your mother and Emily.’ Bryan grinned at her. ‘Fell like ninepins, the two of them, when those beautiful Harte girls batted their eyelashes.’ He shook his head, still smiling, and continued to spear the blush-pink shrimps with his fork.

Linnet confided, ‘Mummy wants to make it quite a fancy bash, Grandpops. You know, a marquee in the garden, dancing under the stars, and all that stuff. I suppose the only thing that’s really worrying her is the weather. June can be cool, and sometimes rainy.’

‘Yes, it can, but the house is big enough for a grand party, sure an’ it is, mavourneen,’ Bryan murmured. ‘Emma gave a dinner-dance here in the fifties and it was wonderful.
She
did the whole bit with a marquee outside, just like your mother is planning, but Emma used it for cocktails, and dancing later. It was the Stone Hall that was set up for dining, and, as I recall, there was another band indoors in case of rain. It all worked well…such a lovely night it was.’

‘Mummy said she’d heard Grandy talk about that party once. She thought you’d know all about it and that you’d be able to help her do something similar.’

‘I will that,’ Bryan replied, a look of pleasure settling on his face. ‘I do believe I have some photos from way back then. I must look them out.’ He stared off into the distance for a moment, recalling this event of long ago, and obviously he was filled with happy memories from the beatific smile on his face.

Margaret cleared their plates, served the steaming hot cottage pie and vegetables, and then slipped out of the room quietly. Linnet and her grandfather went on to discuss her brother Desmond and his many talents, but eventually they fell silent as they finished lunch. These two had always been comfortable in each other’s company, were at ease with each other, and words weren’t always necessary.