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Emma’s Secret
Barbara Taylor Bradford


The book the fans have been waiting for: the much-anticipated sequel to the phenomenally successful A WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE.The legendary Emma Harte, the heroine of A Woman of Substance, returns in this sweeping saga of power, corruption, love and secrets…Paula O'Neill, beloved granddaughter of Emma Harte and the guardian of her vast business empire, believes all that Emma left to the family is secure. However, beneath the surface tension is mounting and sibling rivalry brewing.Into this volatile mix walks Evan Hughes, a young American fashion designer. Her grandmother's dying wish was that Evan find Emma Harte. But Emma has been dead for thirty years…Troubled by Evan's presence, and her uncanny resemblance to the family, Paula turns to Emma's war-time diaries.Emma Harte comes vividly back to life. It is London during the Blitz. As bombs drop, sirens wail and her sons go off to war, Emma's trademark resilience, will power and strength all come to the fore. And as the pages unfurl, Paula discovers the secret Emma took to the grave.







BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD






Emma’s Secret














COPYRIGHT (#ulink_96ddf002-c1c0-5e14-9f40-8956fe1612e7)


Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2003

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2003

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780006514411

Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780007330638

Version: 2017-10-25




DEDICATION (#ulink_b512d08a-90de-5af9-ad61-fae858338d86)


For Bob, as always, with my love




THE THREE CLANS (#ulink_bcfcc901-e3d5-5e51-8fb2-0350cd14edee)


The Hartes shown in line of descent

Emma Harte: Matriarch: Founder of dynasty and business empire

HER CHILDREN

Edwina:Dowager Countess of Dunvale: Emma’s daughter by Edwin Fairley (illegitimate). First born

Christopher ‘Kit’ Lowther: Emma’s son by her first husband Joe Lowther. Second born

Robin Ainsley: Emma’s son by her second husband Arthur Ainsley. Third born

Elizabeth Ainsley: Emma’s daughter by her second husband Arthur Ainsley. Robin’s twin. Third born

Daisy (Ainsley): Emma’s daughter by Paul McGill (illegitimate). Fourth born

HER GRANDCHILDREN

Shown in line of descent

Anthony Standish:Earl of Dunvale, son of Edwina and Jeremy Standish, Earl of Dunvale

Sarah Lowther Pascal: Daughter of ‘Kit’ and June Lowther

Jonathan Ainsley: Son of Robin and Valerie Ainsley

Paula O’Neill: Daughter of Daisy and David Amory

Philip McGill Amory: Son of Daisy and David Amory; brother of Paula

Emily Barkstone Harte: Daughter of Elizabeth and Tony Barkstone; half-sister of Amanda

Amanda Linde: Daughter of Elizabeth and Derek Linde (Elizabeth’s second husband)

EMMA’S GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN

Tessa Fairley Longden: Daughter of Paula and Jim Fairley (Paula’s first husband)

Lorne Fairley: Tessa’s twin, son of Paula and Jim Fairley

Toby Harte: Son of Emily and Winston Harte II; brother of Gideon

Gideon Harte: Son of Emily and Winston Harte II

India Standish: Daughter of Anthony Standish and Sally Harte, Earl and Countess of Dunvale

Linnet O’Neill: Daughter of Paula and Shane O’Neill (Paula’s second husband)

Chloe Pascal: Daughter of Sarah and Yves Pascal

Fiona Amory: Daughter of Philip McGill Amory

Emsie O’Neill: Daughter of Paula and Shane O’Neill

Desmond O’Neill: Son of Paula and Shane O’Neill

THE HARTES continued

Winston Harte: Emma’s older brother and business partner

Randolph Harte: Son of Winston and Charlotte Harte

Winston Harte II: Son of Randolph and Georgina Harte

Toby Harte: Son of Winston and Emily Harte; Brother of Gideon

Gideon Harte: Son of Winston and Emily Harte

Frank Harte: Emma’s younger brother

Rosamunde Harte: Daughter of Frank and Natalie Harte

Simon Harte: Son of Frank and Natalie Harte; brother of Rosamunde

THE O’NEILLS

Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill (‘Blackie’): Founding father of dynasty and business empire

Bryan O’Neill: Son of Blackie and Laura Spencer O’Neill

Shane O’Neill: Son of Bryan and Geraldine O’Neill

Linnet O’Neill: Daughter of Shane and Paula O’Neill

Emsie O’Neill: Daughter of Shane and Paula O’Neill

Desmond O’Neill: Son of Shane and Paula O’Neill

THE KALLINSKIS

David Kallinski: Founding father of dynasty and business empire

Sir Ronald Kallinski: Son of David and Rebecca Kallinski

Michael Kallinski: Son of Ronald and Helen ‘Posy’ Kallinski

Julian Kallinski: Son of Michael and Valentine Kallinski




Contents


COVER (#ucb5970b0-80de-58a3-8b48-0dbb25447563)

TITLE PAGE (#u796eef0a-9f0b-5a84-a27f-c48c7cfdc311)

COPYRIGHT (#ulink_471832e0-0cb3-548b-8cf9-0c1e99e079f7)

DEDICATION (#ulink_ac376b6d-6679-58da-a6e0-8668447b3857)

THE THREE CLANS (#ulink_f8fffafa-95ec-525e-a787-33cb28d532c8)

PROLOGUE: 2000 (#ulink_de46637a-3ad0-51bf-8f5f-c1fee6e9ed30)

PART ONE (#ulink_3450b0b8-98c9-5a56-b6b3-97a24cd37380)

Dynasty: 2001 (#ulink_3450b0b8-98c9-5a56-b6b3-97a24cd37380)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_0fef3b16-ed1e-543f-9340-fcaf56084021)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_20ce5053-504a-54df-bd14-aad02d6a11a8)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5f7f281b-65a5-57c1-b2b9-895df74f9af3)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_6052564f-aed9-5b65-be06-6a94986335b5)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_f01c9e73-c4b6-5ea2-88af-f7d80483c1f3)

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_9e5b4d95-1f14-5724-bd45-1a67675f1770)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_f83c2356-a0b5-5817-a93c-22aeba90fb14)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_f421fc1b-3a2e-5098-9ff5-8b0eaa8c75c0)

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_0b77018a-f968-5000-9a73-feb48e35b655)

CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_65b5f5e2-a25a-5537-a325-cfe531a598ae)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_b24aa50f-424f-58f4-9678-478c56c3bd4a)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_337e2070-571a-53a6-9eae-71e9131eae59)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#ulink_91161468-746e-564a-9c29-a39cfb8f05d4)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ulink_5d129da1-c753-557d-bb8a-9d1e75704c75)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#ulink_ba26d9dc-ce0b-5616-bca5-6d4058ca9638)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_618dd59f-15e7-5032-b04c-da022b24ac12)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_034fad2a-2272-5ae6-a5b3-053ebe4d2d7d)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ulink_6cd21378-fc1a-5137-ad61-269563424772)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#ulink_12b95e37-436d-576a-b419-d553a36926ba)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#ulink_db93c8c6-75d9-5183-9a65-2938f7d8ea9e)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#ulink_1fc074b3-c77f-56ba-8588-0e0a37a89ca1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#ulink_f2037c4b-b07e-5c52-808d-33d7be34013b)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#ulink_0efa14df-b480-51a5-8d3b-d8aabd295d61)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#ulink_88712e8b-ed8d-5c82-9ad2-b08791fe9e76)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#ulink_55c29c82-a135-5768-b6e8-970946668ee6)

PART TWO (#ulink_19ca1b4e-9463-57df-ae78-2856ce75c96f)

Legend: 1940 (#ulink_19ca1b4e-9463-57df-ae78-2856ce75c96f)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#ulink_fc105f36-ac55-5de6-b6a4-b5f3c165eee8)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#ulink_ab467e08-2236-50ef-8d09-26919f400797)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#ulink_049c5a4a-2174-588f-96e0-87ec5c346306)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#ulink_166be68f-c185-511f-ae16-f4dbf24d0914)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#ulink_36654d3b-2eb2-52c4-9168-0a592be65ac6)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#ulink_997037c6-6536-54e4-9dd9-4670c1ff85e5)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#ulink_25f11a43-9731-587d-97cb-58309de899ae)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#ulink_7cc5187c-dfc1-5720-904f-d2216837eec3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#ulink_4761b018-0560-53f8-a976-dcab476127ec)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#ulink_0bfa68ca-478c-563d-b2e4-4c45369c818a)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (#ulink_56bf988f-ac1f-5bb2-9b2b-8e28eaab2e3e)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (#ulink_947b100e-0bc6-5707-84b4-dc6f5a9eae2b)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT (#ulink_cc0b1beb-b2e6-527a-b742-ad1c209e2e90)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE (#ulink_34c06c64-0459-5a50-a2f6-de4a65644c76)

PART THREE (#ulink_f7e8c6de-ae21-5df0-89ce-98665864ac31)

Legacy: 2001 (#ulink_f7e8c6de-ae21-5df0-89ce-98665864ac31)

CHAPTER FORTY (#ulink_2744b667-b8f3-5c14-ad5e-31c567a625fb)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE (#ulink_9918ccaa-500f-5e28-b90e-c252bfa64648)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO (#ulink_4ac81099-4c93-505c-b8ba-a67eda634160)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE (#ulink_f1b84099-cfb3-5a7a-ab19-a279c2d89a1d)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR (#ulink_d763e42e-ed0c-5a56-b602-d00c94bdb0c5)

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE (#ulink_92accd9f-2fa3-52ab-945d-465f673bfff2)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX (#ulink_3e0e659c-facc-5aef-85e1-ac75cef00647)

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN (#ulink_4e9d6660-68ab-5be7-97e2-8e5744388ae3)

KEEP READING (#uc3d390b4-2dcb-5668-a108-be7754b51a4d)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#ulink_1cb33624-afc1-57f6-a4df-ed53a8ed3ea1)

OTHER BOOKS BY (#ulink_dc4e5436-f97b-59c4-a095-0f963843b018)

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#ulink_4c72f7b7-df75-5d00-a430-688d0d4b944e)




PROLOGUE (#ulink_9c3dfac7-3435-5ffd-9f45-b1890ba2252e)

2000 (#ulink_9c3dfac7-3435-5ffd-9f45-b1890ba2252e)


Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.

T.S. ELIOT

Four Quartets: Burnt Norton




PROLOGUE (#ulink_9c3dfac7-3435-5ffd-9f45-b1890ba2252e)


She sat very still in the chair next to the bed, holding her grandmother’s hand. It was so quiet in the hospital room she could hear her breathing, the breath coming in soft little intakes and exhalations.

The old woman’s face was relaxed, the tension gone from it as she dozed, and she appeared to be younger than her years, younger than she had looked in a very long time.

Perhaps she will get better, Evan thought, her eyes on her grandmother, the person whom she loved most in the whole world except for her father. She wished he would get here. He was driving into Manhattan from Connecticut and had left several hours ago; she couldn’t imagine what was making him this late. Evan glanced at her watch, and when she saw the time she realized he was probably snarled up in the late afternoon traffic of Manhattan … rush hour was imminent and Thanksgiving was next week. Too many cars in the city today, she decided, trying to relax. A moment later Evan focused on her grandmother once more, and a small sigh escaped her; she couldn’t imagine her life without her beloved Gran in it. The prospect was bleak.

She had been suffering with a kidney infection and had gone into kidney failure. It was only a question of time.

Glynnis Jenkins Hughes. The Welsh girl from the Rhondda Valley, who had arrived in America fifty-four years ago as a GI Bride. Come to these shores to join her GI husband Richard Hughes, and bringing with her their small son Owen, conceived and born in England when Richard had been stationed there in the Second World War.

And she’s been as much a mother to me as she has to Dad, Evan decided, leaning back in the chair, closing her eyes, allowing a fund of childhood memories to come flooding back … Gran always there for them … always laughing, full of fun and gaiety, her warmth and love so abundant, her capacity for caring boundless.

Her mother had been ill for as long as Evan could remember, and still was, a manic depressive living in a world of her own, out of reality, out of their lives in a certain sense.

One day, many years ago, her Gran had come up to Connecticut from New York City and had taken over, muttering that they were all too little to fend for themselves. And adding, in a quieter voice, but not so quiet Evan didn’t hear, that a man needed a hot meal to come home to at night, as well as loving arms to hold him, a good woman to give him comfort and warmth and understanding. To boost him, when he needed it, to bolster his confidence.

Gran had spent several years sheltering her and her two sisters, Elayne and Angharad, taking care of them, running their young lives. She had been full of robust energy, enthusiasm and good will, a happy woman, comfortable in her own skin, who wanted only to share her joy in living with them and their father, her only child. Which she did so profoundly, Evan thought, and she is the best part of me. She made me what I am.

Finally opening her eyes, Evan glanced towards her grandmother. A smile broke across her troubled face when she saw that Glynnis was awake.

‘You were dozing, Evan,’ Glynnis said weakly, her voice whispery.

‘Not really. Just resting my eyes and thinking, Grandma.’

‘About?’

‘You, and how you took care of us so well when we were little girls. And Dad, too.’

A smile touched Glynnis’s lips, and quite unexpectedly her rheumy old eyes cleared, became alive, very bright and shining, the blueness remarkable in its intensity.

Squeezing her grandmother’s hand, Evan exclaimed, ‘You’ll be out of here soon! You’ll see.’

‘Where’s Owen?’ Glynnis murmured, her voice querulous, barely audible.

‘Dad’s on his way. He’ll be arriving any minute … he’s probably caught in traffic.’

‘Leave here,’ Glynnis instructed hoarsely.

‘I can’t leave you alone, Gran!’ Evan protested, shaking her head. Wondering what this was all about, she frowned and added, ‘I want to be here to take care of you, and so does Dad.’

‘Leave New York … that’s what I meant … you’re twenty-six … should be out … in the world …’ Glynnis’s voice trailed off wearily. And she sighed, seemed to sink further into the pillows.

Evan leaned closer to her grandmother, her eyes fixed on her unwaveringly. ‘I’m happy here, I love my job at Saks … and anyway, I want to be near you.’

‘I’m dying.’ Glynnis’s lids fluttered, and she stared back at Evan, held her granddaughter with her own steady gaze.

‘Don’t say that, Gran! You’re going to get better. I know you are.’ Evan’s eyes filled, and she tightened her grip on Glynnis’s fragile fingers.

‘Old,’ Glynnis whispered, ‘too old now.’

‘No, you’re not! You’re only seventy-nine, that’s not old these days,’ Evan protested, her voice rising.

Glynnis sighed, and her heart clenched. It was unbearable for her to see her granddaughter’s tears, to witness her pain. My one true love, she thought, well there was the other, but that was so long ago it doesn’t matter any more. Evan was always mine. Like my own daughter, the daughter I never had with Richard. Dearest, dearest Richard. The truest husband a woman could ever want. Such a good man. The best man I ever knew; the right man to spend a lifetime with, after all. So much to say to Evan. So little time left. I must get my thoughts unscrambled … get them straight. I should have told her before … but I was afraid …

‘Gran! Gran!’ Evan cried. ‘Please, Gran, open your eyes!’

Slowly Glynnis’s eyelids lifted, and as she gazed at her granddaughter again, a sudden radiance flooded her wrinkled face. ‘I was thinking of your grandfather, Evan. Such a good man, Richard Hughes.’

‘We loved him too, Grandma.’

‘Do you think he’s waiting for me? Do you believe in an afterlife, Evan? Is there a heaven, do you think?’

‘I don’t know, Gran.’ Evan brushed her eyes with her fingertips, flicked away the tears. ‘I hope so, I really do.’

‘I think perhaps there is … don’t weep for me, Evan, I’ve had a good life … sad at times … painful, too … But I’ve enjoyed it all … there’s always the bad along with the good …’ Glynnis drifted off once more, lost in her thoughts, trying to summon the last vestiges of her strength.

Evan bent closer, touching Glynnis’s cheek very gently. ‘I’m here, Grandma.’

‘I know, dear.’ Glynnis sighed, and a faint smile flickered on her wide and generous mouth.

Evan said, ‘Dad’ll be here any minute now,’ and she hoped that he would. She pushed her spiralling anxiety away.

‘I loved him too much,’ Glynnis muttered suddenly.

‘You can never love a child too much – you said that yourself, Gran.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes, long ago, to me, when I was a little girl.’

‘I don’t remember. Evan?’

‘Yes, Gran?’

‘Go to Emma.’

‘Emma? Who’s Emma?’

‘Emma Harte. In London. She has … the key. To your future. Oh, Evan—’ Glynnis stopped speaking abruptly, stared at her granddaughter with enormous intensity as though committing her face to memory, and then she closed her eyes. A long, fluttering sigh rippled through her before she lay absolutely still.

‘Gran,’ Evan said in a low, insistent tone. ‘Gran.’

There was no response, not even the flicker of an eyelash. Evan glanced down at their hands clasped together on top of the sheet and she saw that her grandmother’s hand had gone slack in hers. She felt her throat closing. Her eyes welled.

Gran’s gone, Evan thought. Gone to another place. She’s out of her pain and suffering, at peace.

Bending forward, Evan kissed Glynnis’s still-warm cheek; the tears spilled out of her eyes and slid down her face as grief engulfed her. So distraught was she that Evan did not hear her father come into the hospital room. It was only when she felt his loving hand resting lightly on her shoulder that she became aware of his presence.

‘She’s gone?’ Owen asked, a catch in his voice.

‘Yes, Dad, but only a second ago.’ As she spoke, Evan smoothed her hand over Glynnis’s silver hair, and then she got up, turned to her father. When she saw the tears in her father’s blue eyes, the anguish on his face, she stepped into his arms, wanting to comfort him and needing his comfort in return.

They clung together for a few seconds. Finally, Owen said, ‘I tried to get here before she died.’

‘I know Dad, and Gran knew that too.’

‘Did she have any last word for me?’

‘She said she loved you too much.’

Her father was silent, a reflective look crossing his face. A moment later he released Evan and went to sit beside his mother, his dark head bent over her, his sorrow apparent.

Evan, watching him, concerned for him, did not immediately think of her grandmother’s last words to her. When she did, she was baffled.

And some time later she went to London. To find Emma Harte. To find her future.




PART ONE (#ulink_af9adbc9-7332-514b-a8ed-29183ed539be)

Dynasty 2001 (#ulink_af9adbc9-7332-514b-a8ed-29183ed539be)


Hold your friends close,

Your enemies closer.

ANONYMOUS

Be not forgetful to entertain

strangers: For thereby some have

entertained angels unawares.

Hebrews 13: 1–2




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_2f96ceb0-13dd-5aab-972e-7e338892ce9f)


It was a blustery morning.

The penetrating wind blowing in from the North Sea was laden with moisture, and the dampness was heavy on the air, and icy. Linnet O’Neill felt as though it were seeping into her bones.

She huddled further into her thick, loden-green wool coat and tied her scarf tighter around her head. Then, thrusting her gloved hands into her pockets, she trudged on, doggedly following the winding path which would bring her to the crest of the moors.

After a moment she lifted her head and glanced up.

Above her, the arc of the sky appeared hollowed out, resembled the inside of a vast, polished bowl. It was the colour of steel, its metallic greyness relieved by a few scudding clouds, pale and wispy in the clear crystalline light so peculiar to these northern climes. It was an eerie light that seemed to emanate from some hidden source below the horizon.

When she first set out to walk up into the high country which soared above Pennistone Royal, Linnet had anticipated rain, but the massed black clouds of earlier had been scuttled by the gusting wind.

Since she had lived here all of her life, she knew about the weather and its unpredictability, knew that the skies of Yorkshire were ever-changing. By lunchtime the sun could easily be creeping out from behind the greyness to fill the heavens with radiance, or rain might be slashing down in a relentless, unending stream.

You took your chances when you went walking on the Yorkshire moors, she knew that. But she didn’t care. Ever since she had been a small child, these moors had been irresistible to her; she had loved to come here with her mother when she was little, to wander amongst the heather and the bracken, content to play alone with her stuffed animals in the vast emptiness surrounding her. It was her world; she had even believed it belonged to her when she was growing up, and, in a way, she still did.

It was quiet on the moors this morning.

In the spring and summer, even in the autumn, there was always the splash and tinkle of water as it tumbled down over rock formations into pebble-strewn becks, and the whistling of little birds, the rapid whirring of their wings, was ever present.

All were absent on this cold January Saturday.

The birds had long ago flown off to warmer places, the becks had a layer of ice, and it was curiously silent as she climbed higher and higher, the land rising steeply.

Linnet missed the sounds of nature so prevalent in the summer months. To her there was nothing sweeter than the twittering and trilling of the larks and linnets as they wheeled and turned in the lucent air.

On those lovely, balmy days it was a treat to come up here just to hear the musical choruses of the linnets, often delivered with gusto from an exposed branch of a bramble bush. They loved those bushes, these little birds, as well as the gorse that grew on the moors where they often made their nests or searched for seeds.

And on those days, in the sunlight and under cerulean skies, there was the scurry of rabbits, the calls of larger birds, the scent of warm grass, wildflowers, bracken and bilberry mingling, all so sweet and redolent on the air. Then the moors were at their most beautiful, except for late August and September, when the heather bloomed and transformed the dun-coloured hills into a rolling sea of royal purple and soft muted greens.

Suddenly the wind became fiercer, buffeted her forward and, taken by surprise, she almost stumbled on the path but quickly regained her balance. No wonder the wildlife has gone to ground, or gone away, she thought, and she couldn’t help asking herself if she had been foolish to come out in this bitter cold weather.

But whenever she returned to Pennistone Royal, even after only a short absence, she usually headed for the moors at the first opportunity. When she was walking across them she felt at peace, tranquil in her mind, and at ease with herself. Up here she could think clearly, collect her thoughts and sort things out. And most especially if she was troubled. These days her troubles centred on her sister Tessa who had become her rival in various ways. And especially at the store where they both worked.

It pleased her to know that she was home again, in the place where she truly belonged.

Her mother also loved the moors, but only in the spring and summer months; Paula did not entirely share her feelings about this wild and desolate landscape in the winter, considered by some to be the bleakest county in England at this particular time of year.

It was her father, Shane O’Neill, who had a deep affinity for the high country all year round, and a rare, almost tender love of nature. She always thought of her father as a true Celt, a throwback to a much earlier century, and it was he who had nurtured her own love of the outdoors, of wild things, and the flora and fauna which abounded in Yorkshire.

She knew from her mother that her great-grandmother had been just as passionate about the moors as she was, and had spent a considerable amount of time on them throughout her life. ‘Whenever she was troubled, Grandy headed for her beloved moors,’ her mother had once told her, years ago. Linnet fully understood why they had given Grandy such solace; after all, she had been born in one of the moor villages, had grown up in the Pennine hills.

Her great-grandmother was the renowned Emma Harte, a legend in her own time; people who had known Emma said she was like her, and made comparisons between the two of them. Linnet simply laughed somewhat dismissively, but secretly she was thrilled. Who wouldn’t want to be favourably compared to that most extraordinary woman, who single-handedly had created a great family dynasty and an enormous business empire circling the globe?

Her mother said she was a chip off the old block and equated her with Emma, because she had considerable business acumen and a talent for merchandising and retailing. ‘Just like Grandy,’ Paula would point out constantly, with a proud smile.

Linnet felt warm inside when she thought about her mother, Paula O’Neill. She was a very special person, fair and just in her dealings with everyone, whatever others might believe. As for her father, he was awesome.

Linnet had always enjoyed a perfect and most harmonious relationship with Shane, and they had drawn even closer after Patrick’s death ten years ago. Her elder brother had died of a rare blood disease when he was seventeen, and they had all mourned the sweet-natured Patrick, retarded from birth but so loving and caring. He had been everybody’s favourite; each of them had protected and nurtured him in their own way, especially Linnet. She still missed him, missed mothering him.

As she tramped on, moving ever upward, Linnet noticed tiny icicles dripping from the bramble bushes. The ground was hard as iron. It was becoming colder now that she was almost at the summit, and the wind was raw and biting. She was glad she was wearing warm clothes and boots, and a woollen scarf around her head.

Just as she knew it would, the path suddenly rose sharply, and she felt her calves tightening as she climbed higher. Within minutes she was puffing hard, and she paused to rest. Peering ahead, she realized she was only a few feet away from the crest; there, a formation of huge, jagged black rocks jutted up into the sky like some giant monolith erected as a monument to an ancient Celtic God.

Once she had suggested to Gideon Harte, her cousin and best friend, that the monolith was possibly man-made, perhaps even by the Celts themselves. Or the Druids. But Gideon, who was well-informed about a lot of things, had immediately dismissed that idea.

He had explained that the black boulders piled so precariously on their limestone pedestal had been carried there by a vast glacier during the Ice Age, long before man had existed in Britain. Then he had pointed out that the rocks had been sitting there for aeons and aeons, and therefore were not actually precariously balanced at all. They merely looked as if they were.

Anxious to reach the top, Linnet now set off again, and suddenly, there she was, stepping onto the plateau to stand in the shadow of the immense monolith floating immediately above her. Its pedestal of limestone, formed by nature millenniums ago, was an odd shape, with two pieces protruding out on either side of a tall, flat slab which was set back. Thus a narrow niche was created, a niche protected from the strong winds that blew at gale force up here on the high fells.

Years ago Emma had placed a boulder in the niche, and this served as a makeshift bench. Linnet sat down on it, as she always did, and gazed out at the vista in front of her. And her breath caught in her throat; whenever she was seated here she never ceased to be awed by this panoramic spread of the land. It was magnificent.

Her eyes roamed across bare, untenanted fells, windswept under the lowering sky, stark, implacable and lonely, and yet she never felt lonely or afraid up here. The wild beauty of the moors captivated her, filled her with such wonder, and she relished the solitude.

Far below her, Linnet could see the fields and pastures of the pastoral Dales, their verdant summer lushness temporarily obliterated in this harsh weather.

The fields and meadows were gleaming whitely, covered as they were with winter frost, and the river flowing through this bucolic valley was a winding, silver rope that glittered in the cold northern light.

And there, in the centre, sitting amidst the peaceful meadows punctuated by drystone walls, was Pennistone Royal, that ancient and stately house acquired by Emma Harte in 1932, almost seventy years ago.

In the years she had lived there, Emma had turned it into the most magical of places. The grounds were extensive and picturesque. Lawns rolled down to the river, and in the spring and summer months the masses of flower beds and flowering shrubs were ablaze with riotous colour.

But there were no roses anywhere in those lovely rambling gardens. It was a family legend that Emma Harte had detested roses, because she had been spurned by Edwin Fairley in the rose garden at Fairley Hall. On that day so long ago, when she was just a young girl, she had told Edwin she was carrying his child. In his panic, and fearing his powerful father, Adam Fairley, he had repudiated her, made it clear she was on her own in her terrible predicament. He had offered her a few shillings; she had asked to borrow a suitcase.

Emma had run away. From her family and Fairley village nestling in the shadow of the Pennine chain of hills. Courageously, Emma had travelled to Leeds to find her dear friend Blackie O’Neill, whom she knew would help her.

And of course he had. He had taken her to live with his friend Laura Spencer, later his wife, who had looked after her until Edwina was born. It was then that Emma Harte had made a vow: she would become a rich and powerful woman to protect herself and her child. She had worked like a drudge to accomplish this, and as it happened everything she touched had turned to gold.

Linnet’s grandfather, Bryan O’Neill, had told her that her great-grandmother had never once looked back. As a young woman she had surged ahead, gone from success to success, reaching even higher, always attaining the impossible, finally becoming a true woman of substance.

According to her grandfather, Emma had apparently never forgotten that horrible day in the rose garden at Fairley Hall. Her senses had been swimming, and feeling nauseous she had vomited violently when she was alone. Emma had blamed her attack of nausea on the roses, and thereafter, for the rest of her life, she had felt overcome whenever she smelled them. The flower held such terrible memories for her she could not abide it.

Out of deference to her beloved Grandy, Paula had never permitted roses to be grown at Pennistone Royal, nor were they ever used in floral arrangements in the house. Emma’s ruling still held: roses were forbidden in her homes.

Linnet had been born in her great-grandmother’s house twenty-five years ago, in the middle of May. Her grandmother, Daisy, Emma’s favourite daughter fathered by Paul McGill, had inherited Pennistone Royal from Emma. But she had immediately gifted it to her daughter, Paula, because she preferred to live in London, and also to save death duties later. Paula had lived there since Emma’s death. The house meant more to Linnet than any other place on earth; even though she worked in London during the week, she came up to Yorkshire every weekend.

This past November Paula had taken Linnet into her confidence about a matter close to Paula’s heart. ‘Grandy made a rule years ago,’ she explained. ‘And it was this … Pennistone Royal must go to the one who loves it the most, as long as that person has the intelligence and the knowledge to look after the estate properly. I know that Tessa, as the eldest, believes I’m going to leave it to her, but I just can’t, Linnet. She doesn’t even like the house and grounds; they’re meaningless to her. She’s only concerned with what they represent in terms of power and prestige in the family. That’s certainly not what Grandy wanted or intended.’ Paula had shaken her head and gone on: ‘Lorne has no interest in the house, and Emsie cares only about her stables.’

A loving smile had crossed her mother’s face as she had continued. ‘I doubt she’ll ever change, bless her heart. And as for Desmond, he’ll have his grandfather’s house in Harrogate one day, when Grandfather Bryan is gone.

At this juncture in the conversation, her mother had reached out and taken her hand, saying, ‘And so I am planning to leave Pennistone Royal to you, Linnet, because I know how much it means to you, how much you really care. But not a word to anyone about this. Understand, darling?’

Linnet had nodded and thanked her mother profusely, and promised not to betray her confidence. She fully understood all of the ramifications involved. But Paula’s words had startled her; it was the last thing she had ever expected. Deep down she was thrilled; on the other hand, she did not like to dwell on anything she might one day inherit, especially if it involved her mother and father. She was very close to them and wanted them to have long lives.

Leaning back against the limestone slab in the niche, Linnet sighed, still dwelling on Paula’s words, the decision she had made. There would be trouble with Tessa if she ever found out about their mother’s intentions.

It was true that Tessa did not have any genuine feelings for the house and the estate, but she did covet them, excessive greed being one of her least attractive traits. And her mother was correct, Lorne wouldn’t care at all. London was his bailiwick, and he rarely if ever came north any more, except for special family occasions and holidays. He was very much caught up in his own world, the world of the West End theatre, where he was a successful and very popular young actor. He was truly dedicated to his theatrical career and, unlike his twin, Lorne was not avaricious or combative. He had a loving, gentle heart and had often been her fierce and loyal champion against Tessa in the past. This did not mean he did not love his sister, because he really did. Like most twins he and Tessa were very close, and saw a lot of each other. Very simply, Lorne was not particularly interested in his mother’s business, nor did he have any desire to inherit any part of it. Tessa was welcome to it.

As for the two youngest of the O’Neill brood, they didn’t figure in the scheme of things, as far as Tessa was concerned. Emsie was a dreamy-eyed girl, rather fey and whimsical with an artistic nature. Linnet thought of her as another true Celt, like their father Shane. Possessions were of no consequence to her; she loved her horses and her dogs more than new dresses and pretty things.

‘Nonsenses,’ she called the latter, rather disdainfully, preferring to muck out the stables in a pair of jeans and an old sweater, rather than dress up to go to parties.

Linnet smiled inwardly, reflecting on her sister, of whom she was extremely protective and whom she loved dearly. Emsie, at seventeen, was a vulnerable, sensitive girl, but also riotously funny when she wanted to amuse the family. Named for Emma Harte, she had become Emsie a few days after her birth, her parents suddenly realizing that there was no room for another Emma in the family. The Emma who was dead still dominated them all from the grave.

The last-born child of the O’Neills was the son her father had yearned for, especially after Patrick’s death. Desmond, who was now fifteen, was the spitting image of Shane: six feet tall, dark haired and ruggedly handsome, he was looking very grown-up already.

Linnet had always thought Desmond was the most gorgeous child, and he was turning into a stunning young man. There was no doubt in her mind that women were going to fall at his feet like ninepins, as they apparently had at her father’s, before he was married to their mother. Desmond was the apple of Shane’s eye, and of his grandfather’s, the much-desired heir to the O’Neill hotel empire founded by Blackie, and built up into a worldwide company by Bryan and his son Shane, who ran it today.

Funnily enough, Tessa had always been rather taken with Desmond, favouring her youngest half-brother more than her other O’Neill siblings. ‘Mostly, that’s because he doesn’t represent a threat to her,’ Linnet had said to Gideon recently, and her cousin had nodded, agreeing with her. ‘But he is irresistible,’ Gideon had thought to add.

For a few seconds Linnet focused on her older sibling, and her face changed slightly, took on a grim aspect. Tessa, her half-sister, had been born to her mother and Jim Fairley, Paula’s first husband. But Jim had been killed when the twins were small. He had died, tragically, in a massive avalanche in the town of Chamonix.

Because Tessa had been born a few minutes before Lorne, she was the eldest, and never allowed him, nor anyone else for that matter, to forget this fact. She forever reminded them she was Paula’s heir apparent as the first of her six children, only five of whom were now living.

Suddenly contemplating Tessa’s competitiveness and rivalry, Linnet cringed inside. She hated confrontation and in-fighting, and was usually the peacemaker in the family. Now perhaps this was no longer a viable role.

She and her cousin Gideon had discussed Tessa’s attitude just the other day, and he had reminded her that Tessa was jealous of her, and envious.

Although she loathed the thought of this, Linnet had found herself in agreement with her cousin. He had pointed out how mean-spirited Tessa had been when they were children. She had also been a troublemaker at times. ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots that easily,’ he had muttered.

A feeling of dismay now lodged in Linnet’s stomach. Nothing had changed really, even though she and her sister were now grown-up. Tessa had bullied her, bossed her around when she was little, and in some ways she was still attempting to do so, however indirectly.

Quite unexpectedly, Linnet remembered how she had stood up to Tessa when she was only five, surprising everyone, herself included, and Tessa most of all. Certainly she had shown her independence, that she was feisty, and had the spirit of Emma Harte in her. Her twelve-year-old sister had finally backed off after Linnet had proved she was a match for her.

Linnet laughed out loud, her laughter floating out across the empty fells, reverberating back to her in a series of echoes. She had just remembered an incident with Tessa’s bright yellow sunhat, of which Tessa had been so proud. It had been ruined in the swimming pool at the Villa Faviola in France, and Linnet could see it now, in her mind’s eye, floating so serenely in the pool. Where she had deliberately tossed it … how pleased with herself she had been.

And how angry Tessa had been with her that day, screaming that she had wilfully destroyed her expensive, brand-new hat, purchased with a whole week’s pocket money at the open-air market in Nice.

On that particular morning, Gideon had roared with laughter, and so had his brother Toby, much to Tessa’s annoyance, since Toby was usually one of her drooling sycophants, yes-ing her to death and fawning all over her. As he still did to this day.

As for Tessa, it had been obvious that she was so startled by Linnet’s courage and audacity that she was totally flabbergasted. Their mother had been secretly amused by these goings-on, and had had a hard time smothering her laughter.

Tessa was now thirty-one and a married woman. Her husband, Mark Longden, was a well-known architect who had made something of a name for himself with his ultra-modern buildings. They had a three-year-old daughter Adele, named in honour of Tessa’s great-great grandmother, Adele Fairley. Tessa was very proud of her connection to that aristocratic family, and this was another point she liked to ram home to people, at least those who were interested and would listen.

In spite of her age and position in the world, Tessa could still be mean, often for no apparent reason. The family was conscious of this, and appalled at her behaviour which they deemed to be immature, and frequently rather ugly.

Linnet and Tessa worked for their mother at Harte’s in Knightsbridge, the chain’s flagship store. But Tessa had a much more important job than she did; her sister managed a number of departments, while she ran only the fashion floors, and assisted her mother with merchandising and marketing. There was no question that Tessa had more power, and yet in the last few months her sister had grown increasingly hostile towards her.

Only the other day, Linnet had experienced a peculiar feeling, a premonition really, that trouble was brewing and would soon erupt. The mere idea of this was alarming, especially since the cause of Tessa’s recent animosity eluded her.

The distant rumble of thunder brought Linnet out of her reverie and, startled, she sat up straighter on the boulder, lifted her eyes to the sky. It looked curdled, suddenly darker, and there was no denying that a storm threatened.

Not wanting to be caught up here in the rain, or perhaps even a blizzard since it was so cold, she jumped up. Turning away from the extraordinary view of the upper fells, she headed down the steep path at once, making for her home just visible below her in the valley.

It had been a long steady pull on the way up, but it was much easier going down, and she moved at a fairly rapid pace. Thoughts of her elder sister continued to preoccupy her. Linnet was baffled by Tessa’s coldness in these last few weeks. Normally she was much friendlier. There seemed to be no good reason for the change in her demeanour … unless she knew, somehow, about their mother’s intentions regarding Pennistone Royal and who would inherit it one day.

But how could she know?

The question hovered there. Linnet pondered on it, casting her mind back to the meeting she had had with their mother in November.

The conversation had been held in private, in her mother’s inner sanctum at the Leeds store. They had been entirely alone, and in any case Tessa was in London at the time. No, she couldn’t possibly have any inkling of it, Linnet decided.

And yet … she thought of the way Tessa had directed some of her hostility towards their mother in December – at least that was the way Linnet had read it, and she was surprised at the time. Unexpectedly, Tessa had announced that she would not be coming to Pennistone Royal for Christmas. This was tantamount to sacrilege in the family, and everyone was taken aback.

For years and years the Hartes, the O’Neills and the Kallinskis had celebrated the important holidays together at Pennistone Royal. It was a tradition that had begun in 1933, just after Emma Harte had purchased the grand house and its vast estate outside Ripon.

‘The gathering of the three clans,’ her grandfather called it, and that was exactly what it was. Emma Harte, Blackie O’Neill and David Kallinski had become friends very early in the twentieth century, and had remained friends throughout their lives, as had their growing families. And the Hartes and the O’Neills were now joined in marriage and by blood.

‘Ninety-five, ninety-six years, Linnet,’ her grandfather had explained to her this past Christmas. ‘That’s how far our relationships go back. Spending Christmas together is mandatory. As David Kallinski used to say, we’re mishpocheh … family.’

Not unnaturally, their mother had been very upset with Tessa when she had learned of her intention to remain in London over the holidays. Dismayed and hurt, Paula had finally laid down the law as only she could, in her inimitable Emma Harte style.

Of course Tessa, in the end, had had no alternative but to acquiesce, commit to the visit, no doubt encouraged to do so by Mark Longden, who knew a good thing when he saw it. Like any smart gambler, he always had his eye on the main chance.

Ever since he had slithered so skilfully into their lives five years ago, Linnet had been scrutinizing him surreptitiously.

And she continued to observe him, saw how obsequiously attentive he was to their mother. It was quite apparent to her that he obviously regarded Paula not only as the matriarch to be kow-towed to, but Mrs Moneybags to be endlessly flattered.

Linnet had been suspicious of Mark from the beginning; had considered him to be an opportunist and a gold-digger. And she had often wondered what the beautiful Tessa had ever seen in him. For beautiful her sister was, and she could exhibit enormous charm and grace when she wanted, and considerable intelligence. And there were many other qualities in Tessa which balanced her less attractive traits. Linnet cared about Tessa; her sister was nobody’s fool, she knew that. And yet she had chosen Mark. It troubled her that Tessa had married someone not quite up to par.

Eventually, and somewhat grudgingly, Tessa had agreed to spend Christmas at Pennistone Royal. Even so, it had been a clever compromise. She had explained that they would arrive on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, in time for tea and the lighting of the tree, and depart after lunch on Christmas Day. Her excuse for such a short visit was the necessity of spending Boxing Day with Mark’s parents in Cirencester.

But in essence, Tessa had given her family only twenty-four hours of her time, and Grandfather Bryan, in particular, had been very put out, mainly on Paula’s behalf. He had made a few adverse comments to Linnet, after Tessa had left with Mark and Adele. He frequently confided his thoughts to her, and in this instance he had said that Tessa was as manipulative now as she had been as a child.

Despite the Christmas activities, and the presence of the other clans as well as the O’Neills, Tessa had acted rather strangely, in Linnet’s opinion. Temperamental by nature, especially in her childhood when she had been prone to throwing tantrums, this characteristic seemed to get the better of her at Christmas. During the short time she was in Yorkshire, she had not even bothered to disguise her moodiness or ill temper, much to Linnet’s surprise. Furthermore, she seemed hell-bent on doing battle.

Now, as then, Linnet wondered why. There appeared to be no valid reason for this curious combativeness, and she thought Tessa was being reckless in the way she constantly annoyed their mother.

Paula had not said anything to Linnet at Christmas, nor since then, regarding Tessa’s questionable behaviour. But understanding her mother the way she did, Linnet knew Paula had not missed a trick. She was merely biding her time. It was unlikely that Paula would put up with Tessa’s moods for very long. She was a practical woman with her feet firmly on the ground, and emotional outbursts for no apparent reason usually left her totally unmoved.

So be it, Linnet muttered to herself. What will be, will be. I’ll just have to tackle things as they come at me … if indeed they do. And in the meantime, I’m not going to worry.

But despite this promise to herself, Linnet did worry as she continued her trek down into the valley. She was far too astute to underestimate her sister, and she also knew that Tessa could fight a mean fight.

She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did she would have to defend herself. She had no other choice.




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_990ecab2-d46d-54d0-8921-bee074fce53c)


Linnet was glad to be off the moors for once, and she experienced a sense of relief as she crossed the long meadow behind Pennistone Royal. It was going to snow, and very soon; she knew from experience that the worst thing that could happen was to be caught on the moors in bad weather.

When she finally arrived at the old, wrought-iron gate that led into the estate she pushed it open, hurried past the vegetable gardens, and only slowed her pace when she came to the parterres cut into the back lawn.

She stood there for a second surveying the intricate designs, as always intrigued by their geometric precision. ‘Best seen from the air, them there parterres,’ Wiggs used to say to her when she was a little girl and he was a young gardener. ‘But I don’t have an aeroplane,’ she would protest, staring at him perplexed. ‘An upstairs window then?’ he would suggest with a big wink. And she would wink back, the way he had taught her, run into the house, up the stairs and into a back bedroom. From there she could see the parterres from high up, just as Wiggs had said. She had always had a soft spot for him; now he was head gardener at Pennistone Royal and in charge of the whole estate.

On this cold morning she thought the parterres looked a bit sad. But in the spring and summer the geometrical patterns would be bristling with tender young leaves and the small, flowering plants that brought vivid colour to the dark earth. And elsewhere on the estate the many fountains would be spraying water high into the bright sunlight, and the famous Rhododendron Walk, which her mother had created over thirty years ago, would be in full bloom. That was the time of year she loved the gardens best of all, when there was such renewal, and everything was bursting with life and the air was fragrant with mingled scents.

Linnet shivered under the sharp wind and hurried on, huddling down into her coat, wanting to get home to stand in front of one of the roaring fires, to warm herself until she was thawed out.

Within a few minutes the front façade of the house loomed up in front of her, and she came to a stop, gazing up at it with admiration. There was a timelessness about it that never failed to move her … how much this house must have seen over the hundreds and hundreds of years it had been standing. The dramas of families and so many lives. Happiness and joy, pain and suffering, death and loss, love and marriage and the bearing of children. An endless, enduring cycle, her grandfather was prone to saying, always adding, ‘If only these venerable old stones could talk, what stories they could tell.’

Rooted in the seventeenth century, Pennistone Royal had a majestic dignity with its mingling of Renaissance and Jacobean architecture. The grey stone walls were intersected with many mullioned windows and topped with crenellated towers, whilst tall chimneys punctuated the roof. When she had been a very little girl she had thought of those chimneys as sentinels standing guard over the house and everyone in it – especially her family.

She smiled at the remembrance; she had been such an imaginative, fanciful child.

As her eyes roamed over it she realized just how much she loved this ancient house. It was her safe haven, her home, just as it had been Emma’s home for so many years of her long life. Linnet felt her great-grandmother’s presence in every corner of it, and this was another reason she cared about it so much. Grandy Emma would want me to have it, when my time comes, Linnet mused, but I hope that’s not for years and years …

She lifted her eyes and glanced up at the sky as she began to walk on at a brisk pace. As usual it had changed yet again: bloated, heavy with cloud, it looked curiously luminous, streaked with pale, silvery light. Suddenly her face was thoroughly wet … it had started to snow and the flakes were whirling around her in great flurries, settling on her scarf and her coat.

Not wasting another moment, Linnet began to run, her loden coat flying out behind her.

Bryan O’Neill had arrived at Pennistone Royal over an hour ago, and once he had looked in on his grandson, Desmond, who was recovering from the flu, he had made his way to the upstairs parlour.

Positioning himself at a window, he had stood there ever since, looking out at the moors, anxiously waiting for Linnet to return, worried about her.

Now, as he saw her sprinting along the path, he relaxed for the first time since entering the house. Convinced that she was going to get lost in a blizzard, as she had once before, he had been on tenterhooks.

With her suddenly in his direct line of vision, his spirits lifted considerably, and he felt his taut shoulders relaxing. A small sigh escaped. He tried so hard not to have favourites amongst his grandchildren – he loved them all – but there was no denying he loved this one the best, even though Desmond happened to be the apple of his eye, the long-awaited male heir-apparent.

Linnet was a wonderful young woman in so many different ways, but then so were his other granddaughters. However, there was a special reason why she was close to his heart and precious to him, and it was bound up with so many of his memories and his childhood.

Bryan strode across the room and went out into the corridor, making for the central landing. In December he had celebrated his eighty-fourth birthday, but he looked nowhere near that old. Vigorous and strong, and in robust health, he was a fine figure of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of silver hair and the same merry black eyes his father Blackie had had, and which his son Shane had inherited from them both.

As he headed towards the grand staircase, Bryan heard the front door slam, and by the time he reached the top of the stairs Linnet was standing in the Stone Hall, struggling out of her coat and scarf.

Unobserved, he watched her as she put them away in an antique armoire near the front door.

It was her colouring, of course, that so captivated, so drew the eye to her: the glorious red hair shot through with golden lights, the translucent skin, the oval-shaped face with its fine, chiselled features, the wide-set eyes of a green so deep their colour appeared almost unnatural. She had been endowed with the famous Harte colouring, the famous Harte looks, and he thought she was the embodiment of true beauty.

Unexpectedly, in the inner recesses of his mind, he heard Edwina’s voice reverberating, and he instantly fell down into the past as he recalled her comments uttered thirty years ago or more. ‘All the Hartes have is pots and pots of money. Oh, and their looks, of course. There’s no denying they are a good-looking family. Each and every one of them.’

Bryan had never forgotten what she had said that day, and with such awful disdain it was chilling to the bone. It had been at the party after the christening of Lorne and Tessa at Fairley Church, in the little village at the foot of the moors. He had been shocked by her tone, and truly angered by her attitude.

Edwina was a Harte herself, Emma’s first-born child, and yet all she had ever wanted was to be a Fairley. Blackie had frequently said that her attitude was an insult to Emma, and Bryan had fully agreed with his father.

Yet what Edwina had said all those years ago did have a certain ring of truth to it, inasmuch as their looks were concerned. The Hartes were good looking, and they had been for four generations. Even the men were beautiful, and there were others in the family with Linnet’s colouring. But it was she who resembled Emma Harte exactly, was the spitting image of her right down to the widow’s peak so dramatic above her broad, smooth brow.

‘Grandpops! What are you doing here so early? You weren’t expected until tea time!’ Linnet cried, having suddenly spotted Bryan on the landing. As she spoke she ran to the bottom of the staircase, stood looking up at him, her face ringed in smiles. These two had been confidants since her childhood, and they were still close.

‘I was bored and lonely rattling around in that big old house in Harrogate all by myself, don’t you know,’ Bryan answered, and started down the stairs towards her, his step firm and steady as he descended.

‘There’s nobody here but us chickens! Well, except for Desmond, who’s still sick in bed,’ she informed him, laughing. ‘Paula and Shane are out.’

It still startled him when she called her parents by their first names, even though she’d been doing it for years, and he asked, ‘And where are your mother and father?’

‘Dad’s gone to Harrogate to meet Uncle Winston for lunch—’

‘At the Drum and Monkey, I’ve no doubt,’ he interrupted.

She grinned. ‘That’s right, and Mummy’s at the Harrogate store.’

‘I looked in on Desmond,’ Bryan said. ‘Your father told me he was under the weather, but where’s Emsie on a nasty day like this? Margaret said she was out too.’

‘Emsie went down to the village to see her friend Anne’s new horse, and she mumbled something about staying there for lunch. But you’ve got me, Gramps, and we can have a nice cosy lunch together. Margaret will be able to rustle up something special for you.’

Smiling, his black eyes sparkling, Bryan stepped into the hall and pulled his granddaughter to him, gave her a big bear hug, holding her close, loving this girl. Releasing her, he held her away from him for a moment, and said, ‘You’re looking especially bonny today, mavourneen.’

Linnet smiled up at him, linked her arm through his, and led him across the Stone Hall to the grand fireplace where a pile of huge logs were blazing up the chimney back.

‘Now, Gramps, how about a drop of your favourite Irish whiskey before lunch?’ she asked, patting his arm, giving him a wide, warm smile.

‘I wouldn’t say no, Linnet, thanks, me darlin’.’

‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart … just what you need on a day like this,’ she remarked, gliding across to a chest in one corner, where an array of bottles, glasses and an ice bucket had been lined up on a tray.

Bryan remained standing with his back to the fire, enjoying the warmth from the logs. His eyes followed Linnet, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself at the way she mothered him. She had been doing it since she was a child, just as she had been a little mother to her brother Patrick. It was instinctive with her, he supposed, and came quite naturally. One day, when she married, she would make a wonderful parent.

Instantly his thoughts veered to Julian Kallinski. Good-looking young man. Clever, too. Heir to the Kallinski empire. Now if he and Linnet did tie the knot, then Emma’s greatest wish would be fulfilled. The three clans would finally be united in marriage. He wanted that, so did Ronald Kallinski and the rest of the Kallinskis, Hartes and O’Neills.

It would be a perfect match, and he was just about to ask her about Julian when he remembered Shane’s warning of only last week. Apparently there had been too much pressure put upon them, and they were ‘cooling it’, to use Shane’s expression. No, better not mention Julian today, he decided. No point in fanning the fire.

Instead, he shifted his stance and glanced around the Stone Hall. It was large with a high ceiling criss-crossed with dark wood beams. It took its name from the local grey stone which was used everywhere – on the walls, the ceiling, the floor and the fireplace façade.

He had been sixteen years old when he had first stepped into the Stone Hall with Emma and his father. She had wanted to show them the house, which she had just bought, and they had been impressed with its grandeur. ‘Wasted space,’ she had muttered to Blackie that day, glancing around the great hall. And in the end she had turned it into one of the most splendid living rooms he had ever seen.

Despite its grand size, it had warmth and intimacy, because Emma had used large pieces of handsome Jacobean and Tudor furniture made of dark mellow woods, and comfortable oversized sofas and chairs.

To Bryan it looked exactly the way it had the day Emma had finished it, although he knew Paula had done a lot of refurbishing over the years. But she had kept Emma’s basic style, as she usually did in these things. And like Emma she had filled the room with flowering plants, which were housed in blue-and-white pots and copper buckets. Today, the tops of the polished wood tables and consoles were alive with pink, amber, and yellow chrysanthemums, orange-red amaryllis, and many of the white orchids that Paula loved and nurtured in the greenhouse.

A moment later Linnet was back with his whiskey and a small glass of sherry for herself. After handing him the whiskey, she clinked her glass to his. ‘Cheers,’ they said in unison.

Bryan took a sip, then murmured in a reflective tone, ‘I suppose you were up on those Godforsaken moors because something is troubling you.’

Linnet nodded, but did not volunteer anything.

He wondered if she was worrying about her relationship with Julian, and he asked, as casually as possible, ‘Want to talk about it?’

Linnet hesitated fractionally, then answered in a slightly hesitant voice, ‘It’s Tessa. I’m worried about her. What I mean is, I’m concerned about her attitude towards me, Gramps. She’s so hostile these days.’

‘Nothing new about that, is there?’ he asked, a snowy brow lifting quizzically.

‘Not really … I suppose. She’s often been odd with me at different times. Somewhat bullying when I was little, as you well remember. And bossy since we’ve been working at Harte’s.’

‘Competitive with you, Linnet, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed finally.

Bryan was silent for a moment, ruminating, and then he remarked softly, ‘Ants in her pants, I’m afraid.’

Linnet threw her grandfather a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Mentally she has ants in her pants; can’t be still in her mind. And I’m quite sure that’s because she’s full of anxiety about her position at Harte’s. She desperately wants to be reassured that she will one day succeed your mother.’

Linnet nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely. She thinks she will. She expects to, actually.’

‘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.

At one moment Bryan sat back and stared across the table at Linnet. In the cool northern light coming in through the bay window her colouring was so very vivid it startled momentarily. Yet there was a paleness, a translucent quality to her skin today, and she looked suddenly quite fragile.

Yet Bryan knew how strong she was both mentally and physically. She had enormous willpower, as well as stamina and energy, even though she was a slender girl.

She is going to need all the strength she has, he thought, just as she’ll need her wits about her. Tessa wants it all, has convinced herself she’s entitled to it all, and she’ll fight for what she believes are her rights. Intuitively, he knew that Paula would give everything to Linnet. This was her child by Shane, the great love of her life, the hero of her childhood, her true soul mate, and Linnet was their love child, very much desired, and conceived in great passion. Furthermore, she was cast in the image of the woman who had founded the Harte family dynasty and a great business empire. Yes, there was no question about it, Linnet was irresistible to Paula. Also, she was best suited to take Paula’s place one day. She was level-headed, steady as a rock, with a cool nerve, and an insight quite remarkable for her age.

All this aside, Tessa did not have Linnet’s business acumen, her vision or her stamina … all necessary attributes required in the person running Harte stores. Paula, shrewd, calculating, and with a mind like a steel trap when it came to business, knew this. She might not discuss it with anyone, but Bryan knew she knew what Tessa’s shortcomings were.

He had been resistant to Tessa’s charms when she was little, long before Shane and Paula were married. Even then he had been wary of Jim Fairley’s child, detecting in her vanity, duplicity and a tendency to lie. And later it had irritated him that she had been so envious of Linnet. Now that they were grown up Tessa was not only envious but she resented Linnet, most especially her looks. Those were simply an accident of birth, to do with genes, and there was nothing anybody could do about them.

Tessa’s other resentments were bound up with the Fairleys, with Shane who had been a loving father to her, but was, nonetheless, still perceived as the stepfather, and with Emma Harte. The last was easy enough to fathom; at least he had fathomed it all out finally.

There’ll be tears before bedtime one day very soon, he thought, taking a sip of his water. His instincts told him trouble was brewing and that Tessa had Linnet in her line of fire. It was going to be nasty. He wished it could be different, but he knew that was not possible.

The die was cast. It had been cast long ago.




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