To Be the Best (33 page)

‘Do what?’ she asked, her eyes swivelling around the room, making sure Elwin was fully occupied elsewhere for a few minutes.

‘Procure for me,’ Jonathan replied, and surreptitiously ran his hand down her back, let it rest in the hollow above her buttocks.

‘Don’t do that, Jonny, someone might see you,’ she whispered.

‘Come on, confess. It turns you on, doesn’t it?’

‘Of course not!’ she hissed. Sudden anger made her swing to face him. Then catching herself swiftly, she adopted a bland expression, took a deep breath, said in a steady voice, ‘Perhaps it’s because I still feel guilty about ending our affair the way I did. I want to make it up to you, Jonny. You’ve always been very special to me, and you were such a wonderful lover. The best I’ve ever had. Besides, this is the first time I’ve procured for you, as you so crudely put it. I prefer the word
introduce.’

He grinned, said nothing, wondering what it would be like to take the two of them to bed together. Arabella and Susan would be quite an interesting and exciting combination. But he knew neither of them would go for it. English women were not a bit adventurous when it came to sex. And especially these two – the daughters of an earl and a doctor. No way.

Susan was saying, ‘I was right though, wasn’t I, Jonny? Arabella is perfect, isn’t she?’

‘Outwardly, yes.’ He waited for a second, eyed her carefully, continued softly, suggestively, ‘However, I can’t really give you an assessment, a truthful answer, until I’ve stripped off those elegant clothes and bedded her.’

His gaze had not left Susan’s face and he saw the sudden flicker, the expression at the back of her eyes. Jealousy? Anger? Or a mixture of both, perhaps? The idea that he might have hurt her, if only ever so slightly, pleased him. He had not wished to become involved in a marital scandal, but deep down it rankled that she had dumped him the way she had.

There was a painful silence.

Eventually she said in an amused voice, ‘What a pity I won’t be in Hong Kong to hear your report.’

‘You probably will be.’

‘Oh.’ Now her eyes were surprised.

‘I’m going to see Arabella’s antique shop tomorrow. In the late afternoon. And then I’m taking her to my flat for drinks: before dinner…an intimate little dinner at home. And perhaps we’ll get down to something even
more
intimate later in the evening. I have high hopes. I really do.’

‘Bastard,’ she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

‘But my love, you started all this,’ he retorted, grinning, now understanding that he was glad she had. Arabella Sutton was a challenge. He had not had a challenge for a long time.

Much later that evening, Jonathan sat near the window in his bedroom, brooding and still, his eyes focused on the cloudless night sky sprinkled with countless stars. The room was in total darkness, the only illumination coming from the very bright full moon that cast a silvery sheen over everything.

He held a pebble of mutton-fat jade in his hands, turning it over and over, rubbing it between his fingers occasionally. It was his talisman, his lucky piece, and he had owned it since he had first come to the British Crown Colony.

He was contemplative for a long while, considering the two women he had encountered today.

His cousin, Paula O’Neill.

The stranger, Arabella Sutton.

In their different ways they haunted him now. He separated the images in his head, and as he did he made two promises to himself.

The first woman he would destroy.

The second he would conquer and own.

The vows made, he sighed deeply, filled with a curious sense of satisfaction. Rising, he slipped off his blue silk Chinese robe, walked slowly over to the bed, and he could not resist smiling to himself. There was not the slightest doubt in his mind that he would succeed.

It was only a question of time.

A lure more strong, a wish more faint, Makes one a monster, one a saint.

W
ALTER
L
EARNED

‘Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.

W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

Riches and power are but gifts of blind fate, whereas goodness is the result of one’s own merits.

H
ÉLOISE

Success was in the air.

From the moment the dance had begun, Paula had known the evening was going to be magical.

Everything was exactly right.

The grand ballroom at Claridges had been decorated by the design staff of Harte’s to her specific instructions, and it was stunning. Extraordinary, really. Forsaking the staid, the traditional, she had had them create a colour scheme of silver and white crystal, developed with silver lamé tablecloths, white candles in silver sticks, crystal bowls filled with mixed white flowers. More white flowers – lilies, orchids, chrysan-themums and carnations – were banked around the room in great masses, and spilled out of huge urns standing in various corners.

To Paula the ballroom looked like a winter ice palace, all silvery and glittering, yet it had a neutrality that made a splendid backdrop for the guests in their finery – the women in their colourful, stylish evening gowns and fabulous jewels, the men in their impeccable, well-cut black dinner jackets.

She was delighted that everyone she had invited had come to this very special party. In attendance were a mixture of family and close friends, executives from the Harte stores and Harte Enterprises, honoured guests and celebrities.

Glancing about yet again, she could not help thinking that in particular the women in the family looked especially beautiful tonight.

Her cousin Sally, the Countess of Dunvale, lovely in delphinium-blue taffeta and the famous Dunvale sapphires that exactly matched her eyes…Emily, a vision in dark ruby silk and a superb ruby-and-diamond necklace and
earrings Winston had given her for Christmas…Emily’s half sisters, the twins Amanda and Francesca, pert and pretty in magenta chiffon and scarlet brocade respectively…her vivacious red-haired sister-in-law, Miranda, a law unto herself when it came to fashion, striking in a russet-satin column, stark, simple, strapless, worn with a long matching stole and an antique topaz-and-diamond necklace that fell down from her neck in a lacy cobweb of a bib.

Paula’s gaze shifted over to the three sisters.

They were sitting at a nearby table, talking amongst themselves. Her mother, Daisy, dramatic in dark-green chiffon and the magnificent McGill emeralds that Paul had bought for Emma almost half a century ago…Aunt Edwina, the Dowager Countess of Dunvale, in her seventies, white-haired, frail, yet regally elegant in black lace and the Fairley diamond necklace, presented to her by Emma the last Christmas she had been alive.

These two, the youngest and the eldest daughters of Emma Harte, both born on the wrong side of the blanket, bonded together, more than likely, by similar circumstances of birth, and by her mother’s deep compassion for the older woman. And seated between them, the legitimate daughter, the middle one…Aunt Elizabeth. Still a raven-haired beauty and looking half her age, she was positively stunning in silver lamé and a king’s ransom of rubies, diamonds and emeralds.

The three sisters were the only children of Emma Harte who were present tonight. Paula had not invited Emma’s two sons, Kit Lowther and Robin Ainsley, and their wives. They had been
persona non grata
for years because of their treachery to Emma, and the treachery of their children, Sarah and Jonathan.

A nest of vipers, she thought, remembering something her grandmother had said to her once. How horribly true that statement had turned out to be. Paula pulled her
thoughts away from those despicable family members and lifted her glass, took a sip of champagne.

The evening was drawing to a close, and it suddenly struck her that this dinner dance, the first of the celebrations she had planned to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the opening of the Knightsbridge store, was going to be the talk of the town tomorrow. The newspapers would be full of it. The stunning backdrop, the delicious food, the fine wines, the designer clothes and fabulous jewels, the celebrity guests, Lester Lannin and his orchestra…all added up to glamour with a capital G, something the press and the public could not resist.

Paula was pleased. Good publicity was a tremendous boost for the store. She smiled inwardly. It was New Year’s Eve. The end of 1981. The beginning of a New Year. And, she hoped, the beginning of a new and brilliant era of retailing for the chain stores founded by her grandmother.

Leaning back in the chair, she silently made a new year’s resolution:
the stores were going to be greater than ever in the coming decade.
She owed that to her grandmother, who had had such faith in her, and to her own daughters, who would one day inherit the chain from her.

Shane, who had been chatting to Jason Rickards and Sir Ronald Kallinski, cut in to her thoughts, when he suddenly turned to her, murmured, ‘You look as though you’re miles away, darling.’ He took hold of her hand, leaned closer. ‘You can relax. The evening’s an assured success, and everyone’s having a wonderful time. It’s a smashing party, Paula.’

She gave her husband a radiant smile. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it! And I’m so glad I decided on the ballroom at Claridges, rather than a series of private rooms at the Ritz. This has worked so much better.’

Shane nodded. Then he half groaned, half laughed, and exclaimed, ‘Oho! Here comes Michael! Obviously I’m
about to lose you again, and you only just sat down a few minutes ago.’

‘They are keeping me busy tonight, aren’t they? Actually, it’s a bit exhausting, but I
am
the hostess, Shane, and I have my duty to do.’ Her mouth curved up with laughter. ‘I’m doing enough dancing to last me for the whole of 1982. I hope this is it, that we won’t be going to any more dances for a long time. Remind me not to plan any, darling.’ Despite these words, her face was still covered with smiles and her eyes were sparkling.

Shane gazed at her, loving her. Admiration flooded his face. He thought she had never looked more ravishing than she did tonight in all the years he had known her. She wore an elegant evening gown of midnight blue velvet, beautifully cut, but understated with long sleeves, a round neckline and a straight skirt. It had been designed by Christina Crowther especially for her, and it was flattering, emphasized her height and her slenderness. Pinned to one shoulder was the large pansy brooch he had commissioned Alain Boucheron, the Paris jeweller, to make for her. Composed entirely of sapphires, it echoed the bright blue of her eyes, as did the matching sapphire earrings. He had given the set to her on Christmas Eve, had known from the look on her face how much she liked them, how thrilled she was, even though she protested he had been overly extravagant. ‘After all, you had the orchid greenhouse built for me. That is enough,’ she had said. He had grinned, had told her the greenhouse was a present from the kids as well. ‘They all chipped in, darling,’ he had explained.

Michael drew to a standstill next to Paula’s chair. ‘Come on, shake a leg, Paula…you promised me the first slow number, and I have a feeling this one’s it. Possibly for the rest of the evening.’ He grabbed Shane’s shoulder. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Not half I don’t,’ Shane shot back swiftly, but in a jocular tone. ‘However, since it’s you, okay.’

‘Philip’s wife is a beautiful woman,’ Michael said as he steered Paula around the ballroom floor. ‘He’s a lucky chap.’

‘Yes, he is,’ Paula agreed.

‘But his gain is your loss.’

Paula laughed. ‘Too true, Michael, in some ways.’ She looked over his shoulder, focusing on Philip and his new bride gliding ahead of them to the strains of
Strangers in the Night.
‘But I’ve never seen him so happy. He adores her. As she does him. I may have lost the best personal assistant I’ve ever had, but I’ve gained a lovely and very loving sister-in-law.’

‘Mmmm,’ Michael murmured, moving nearer to Paula. Instantly he checked himself, pulled back, realizing that he was taking chances, holding her in such an intimate way. Her presence continued to inflame him, and being entwined on the dance floor was dangerous. Physically dangerous, for him at least. Their proximity was far too close. Also, it might cause tongues to wag. And besides, joke though Shane might, his eyes seemed to have been on
him
all evening. If Shane suspected him of being enamoured of Paula,
she
certainly did not. She was blithely unaware of his romantic interest in her, continued to treat him like an old shoe, the childhood friend, familiar, dependable, trustworthy. And that was the way he wanted it.

Paula was saying, ‘Anyway, Maddy’s going to continue working when they return to Sydney. I’ve made her the managing director of the Australian division of Harte’s. She’ll be supervising the running of the boutiques in Shane’s hotels out there. But I
will
miss her in New York, no two ways about that, Michael. On the other hand, their happiness is so important to me…it must come first.’ Leaning away
from him, she smiled into his face, finished, ‘Those two are madly in love, you know.’

‘That’s patently obvious.’

They danced in silence for a few minutes.

Michael grimaced to himself. He wished he had the same kind of private life and personal happiness as Philip Amory. But he had not been so fortunate. Valentine had been a strike-out as a wife, and he had never found anyone else who had the necessary attributes. He wondered then if he was in love with Paula, or merely turned on by her. There was no doubt in his mind that he was sexually attracted to her, and would like to take her to bed. But love? He wasn’t sure.

Immediately squashing this thought, clearing his throat, he said, ‘Daisy seems to be over the moon about Philip and Madelana.’

‘She is. Of course, she was disappointed they got married in New York at the beginning of December, and only told the family after the fact. We all were, actually. But Mummy’s relief at knowing her wayward, playboy son is finally hitched has cancelled out the disappointment, I’m absolutely sure of that.’