Читать книгу Power of a Woman - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 8

EVERYONE SAID SHE WAS SPECIAL.

Chloe herself, when she was old enough to understand such things, did not agree, although she did know she was different. She was different because she was illegitimate.

She bore the name Jardine because that was her mother’s name, but she had long understood that she was not actually of the Jardine family.

Her mother had never hidden her illegitimacy from her, and when she was eight years old she had carefully explained the details of her birth to her. It was for this reason that Chloe had always accepted the facts in the most natural way. So did her three brothers. Even Old Bruce, as she and Miles called him, seemed to tolerate her, and obviously he did not object to her using his name. Nor did he seem to mind that she called him Grandfather; as far as they both were concerned he was exactly that, and he had always treated her the same way he did his biological grandsons.

When she was a small girl she hadn’t wanted to be different or special. This only confused her, made her feel self-conscious. She just wanted to be like everyone else—ordinary.

Once, when she was about ten years old, she had asked Miles why people said she was special. He had looked at her closely with his piercing blue eyes, and smiled his warm, gentle smile. “Because you’re such a happy little sprite, Pumpkin, all airiness and golden light. You remind everyone of the summer and sunshine…even in winter, and you’re brimming with laughter, full of gaiety. That’s the first reason—your effervescent personality. Secondly, you’re a very pretty girl, who’s beautiful inside as well as out. And finally, you’re…well, you’re an old soul, Pumpkin.”

She had frowned at him, instantly picked up on this last thing. “What does that mean, Miles? What’s an old soul?”

“Someone who’s been here before, who seems to have a knowledge beyond her years, who is wise…”

“Oh.” She had pondered this for a second or two and then asked, “Is that good?”

Miles had burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he had rumpled her hair affectionately. “Yes, I think so, and be glad you’re all the things you are, little sister. There are too few of you in this ugly world we live in.”

Miles was her favorite brother. He had always been easier to be around than his twin, Gideon, and their elder brother, Nigel. Miles was never too busy for her, even though he was nine years older than she.

Despite the fact that Miles had explained why she was special, to the best of his ability anyway, she never thought of herself in that way. She was merely different, that was all, and then only because of the circumstances of her birth. There was nothing more to it than that.

Chloe had never felt embarrassed or awkward about her illegitimacy, nor had she given much thought to it when she was growing up, other than occasionally to wonder about her father. On her birth certificate his name was given as John Lane. She wasn’t even sure if this was his real name, since her mother was so secretive about him.

Recently, thoughts of her father had insinuated themselves into her mind, and she had been besieged by questions, things she wanted to ask her mother but didn’t dare.

Whenever she had broached the subject of her paternity in the last couple of years, her mother had simply repeated what she had always said: John Lane, her father, had been killed in a car crash.

Because her mother had always looked extremely upset, even on the verge of tears, when they had these discussions, Chloe never did probe further. Of late, she had needed to know more about her father, wanted her mother to describe him to her, tell her other things about him, give her an inkling of his personality and character. And so, on the drive up to Connecticut, she had wondered if she could question her mother at some point during the Thanksgiving weekend.

Now Chloe stood in front of the mirror on the dressing table in her bedroom, staring at herself but not really focusing. Instead, she was thinking of her mother, whom she had always adored. Chloe was absolutely certain there was no one quite like Stevie Jardine. Her mother was a true original, loving, generous spirited, and kind. She usually gave everyone the benefit of the doubt and tried always to see the best in people. Even in Old Bruce, who was such an ogre.

Her mother had brought her up well, given her all the right standards; Old Bruce had once told her that. Her mother and she were very close, pals really, and so many of her classmates at Brearley envied her. “Your mother’s so cool,” her best friend, Justine Seawell, was always telling her, and Justine was correct. Stevie was more like an older sister in so many ways, and yet she was a tough disciplinarian. Chloe had to abide by the rules at all times.

Chloe suddenly knew she wouldn’t be able to summon up the nerve to talk to her mother during the family weekend; it would upset her if she brought up John Lane, dead more than eighteen years. It occurred to her that she could talk to her grandfather, Derek Rayner. She was close to him, and he had always treated her as an adult, even when she was a small child. Derek could enlighten her, if anyone could.

With this decision made she felt more cheerful, and the acute worry she had been feeling miraculously abated. Leaning forward, Chloe picked up a silver hairbrush and smoothed it over her shoulder-length dark hair, then adjusted the cowl neckline of her burgundy cable-knit tunic.

Stepping away from the mirror, she was able to get a better view of herself, a full-length view. She decided she liked the way she looked in the tunic with its matching leggings; she was five feet seven inches tall, and the outfit made her appear taller and more willowy than she already was. This pleased her. After spraying on a light floral scent, she put on a pair of gold-coin earrings, left her bedroom, and ran downstairs.

When she had arrived at the house half an hour earlier, her mother had been making a beeline for the kitchen, and so Chloe headed in that direction.

She found Stevie sitting at the big oak refectory table talking to Cappi Mondrell, their housekeeper and cook. Both women stopped chatting and glanced across at her as she came in.

“Hi, Chloe!” Cappi exclaimed, smiling broadly, obviously glad to see her.

“Hello, Cap!” Chloe responded, and rushed over, gave the housekeeper an affectionate hug. Cappi had been with them for eight years, and was like a member of the family; Chloe was devoted to her, and it was very clear the older woman loved the eighteen-year-old.

Wrinkling her nose, Chloe said, “Do I smell my favorite dish cooking?”

“You do indeed. Chicken in the pot for my favorite girl.”

“You spoil me, Cappi.”

“I know, but it gives me such pleasure,” the housekeeper shot back, laughter echoing in her voice.

“You look lovely in that outfit,” Stevie said with a glowing smile. She couldn’t help thinking that her daughter was beginning to look so very grown-up all of a sudden. And she really was a beautiful girl with her shining dark eyes, luxuriant hair, and creamy skin.

“Thanks, Mom. You don’t look bad yourself. Positively blooming, as I said when I first got here.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“When are the others arriving?” Chloe asked.

“Tomorrow morning, around noon.”

“Is Miles bringing his girlfriend?”

Stevie was so startled, she sat back, surprised. “I don’t think so,” she answered. “He would have mentioned it. Anyway, I didn’t know there was a girlfriend. At least, not anyone special.” She stared at Chloe intently, and when her daughter didn’t answer, she pressed, “Well, is there?”

Chloe shrugged, leaned against the table, and said hesitantly, “Not sure, Mom.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe. He’s been seeing a lot of Allison Grainger, but he’s been really closemouthed about it.”

“Who’s Allison Grainger?” Stevie asked, a dark brow lifting quizzically.

“The costume designer who’s working on the play with him. You’ve met her, Mom. She’s got red hair and lots of freckles.”

“Oh, yes, I remember her now. She’s rather pretty.” Stevie’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Is it serious, do you think?”

“I doubt it,” Chloe responded, and began to laugh. “I guess it will be for about another week or two. And then it’ll probably be over. You know Miles and Gideon, Mom, they’re very alike when it comes to women.”

“What do you mean?”

“When they fall for a woman they get very intense for a few weeks; it’s finally the great love at long last. But it quickly peters out. And they always like to surround themselves with extra girls, just in case. And anyway, Miles says there’s safety in numbers.”

Stevie smiled; how well her daughter knew her brothers. “He’s coming alone apparently, so it may well be over already.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Chloe murmured, and then looked from her mother to Cappi. “Did I interrupt anything? You were very deeply engrossed.”

“No, we were just planning the menus, going over a few things for the weekend. And actually we were just about finished when you came into the kitchen.”

Cappi said, “I’d better set the table for—”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Stevie cut in. “Let’s eat in the little sitting room tonight. It’s much cozier. Two trays in front of the fire will do us fine, thanks, Cappi.”

Later that evening they were halfway through dessert when Chloe put down her fork, looked at her mother, and said, “There’s something I want to talk to you about, Mom.”

“Yes, darling,” Stevie said, swiftly glancing at her daughter, noting the sudden tenseness of her voice. “Tell me.”

“It’s about next year, Mom. I mean about going to college after I graduate from Brearley. And, you see…” Chloe’s voice trailed off, and she gazed at her mother, biting her lip.

“What is it, Chloe?”

“I really don’t want to go…I mean go to college.”

Stevie sat up a little straighter and stared at her daughter. “Do you mean you don’t want to go to college here in America? Or college anywhere?”

“Correct, Mom! I don’t want to go to college.”

“Not even to Oxford? You talked about that so much, and you always sounded very excited. Why, only a few months ago you said you couldn’t wait to go there.”

“I know. But I’ve changed my mind. I’d prefer to go into the jewelry business, Mom. I want to work at Jardine’s.”

Stevie was genuinely surprised by this announcement, even though she had always known her daughter liked the store in New York. She said cautiously, “I like the idea of you working with me at Jardine’s, but I still want you to attend university. You can come into the business with me when you’re twenty-one or twenty-two.”

Chloe shook her head vehemently. “Honestly, Mom, I really don’t want to go to college. What’s the point, when I want to go to work. Surely you of all people understand that. You work like a dog and enjoy every minute of it.”

“That’s true, I do. And I understand everything you’re saying, but nevertheless, I would like you to finish your education. It’s important, Chloe.”

“You didn’t go to college.”

“I wish I had.”

“What could you have learned at college? About the jewelry business, I mean. Nothing. And look how successful you’ve been. You’re a terrific businesswoman, you know all about diamonds and other precious stones. You’re…well…Gideon says you’re a legend in the business. Not going to college didn’t hurt you, or stop you from becoming what you are.”

“True. But then again, I learned a lot from Ralph in the early years of our marriage. And later I had Bruce to teach me. Working with him was like going to several universities. He was the greatest professor there was, and so was Uncle André. I learned a lot from him as well.”

“And I can learn a lot from Gideon in London. That’s where I want to go, Mom, I want to go to London and work with Gideon at the Bond Street store.”

Stevie was taken aback by this statement, and for a moment she made no response. Then she said slowly, a little hesitantly, “But why wouldn’t you want to work with me in New York? I don’t understand…” She did not finish her sentence, just sat staring at her daughter through baffled eyes.

Chloe said quickly, “Oh, Mom, I’d love to work with you in New York. Eventually. But I want to start out in London because Gideon is such a great lapidary and he could teach me so much. And besides, the London workshops are much bigger than the one in New York. I just think I’d get better training there, and Old Bruce is there. I mean, I know he’s semiretired and all that, but he does go to the store twice a week, and, well, I mean, he could teach me a lot, just like he taught you.”

“I see.”

“Are you angry, Mom?”

Stevie shook her head.

“Yes, you are, I can tell. Please don’t be cross with me, Mom. Please.”

“I’m not angry; really, I’m not, Chloe.”

“Then what?”

“Disappointed, I suppose.”

“Because I don’t want to go to college?”

“Yes, there’s that. But I’m also disappointed that you don’t want to work with me in New York. Of course, the workshops are much larger in London, that’s true. But ours is not so bad, you know. And we do have Marc Sylvester and several wonderful lapidaries at the Fifth Avenue store. They could teach you just as much as you’d learn in London.”

“But I want to learn from Gideon.”

“I know you’ve always been close to him.”

“I’m closer to Miles actually, Mom, but I love Gideon and he’s a good teacher. He’s taught me a few things about jewelry already when I’ve gone to see him at the workshops during vacations.”

“He’s certainly patient and painstaking, and a bit of a perfectionist, so I have to believe you when you say he’s a good teacher. Yes, I can see that aspect of him.” Stevie gave her daughter a long, speculative look, and then asked quietly, “Have you discussed this with Gideon already?”

Chloe shook her head. “Oh, no, Mommy, I haven’t! I wouldn’t do that, not before talking to you.” Chloe leaned forward, her young face expectant and eager. “Can I go, then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about this. It’s a big step for you, going to live in London. Alone.”

“But Mother, I wouldn’t be alone. I’ve got two brothers and a sister-in-law there, plus Old Bruce. And my grandparents. Blair and Derek would keep an eye on me for you.”

“If I agreed, and it is an if, I’d want someone to do much more than keep an eye on you, Chloe. You’d have to live with a member of the family.”

Chloe was immediately crestfallen on hearing this, and it showed on her face. “You mean I can’t live in your flat in Eaton Square?”

“Certainly not. There’s no one there to look after you.”

“There’s Gladys.”

“Gladys comes in only a few times a week to clean. No, no, that would be out of the question, if I agreed to this plan of yours.”

“I could live with Gideon. He’d love it.”

“Nonsense. He’d hate it. A single man of twenty-seven who has legions of women friends, according to you, wouldn’t want his baby sister for a roommate. It would cramp his style no end.”

“Nigel would have me. He’s married, and Tamara likes me a lot.”

“Yes, I know she does. But once again, it wouldn’t be suitable. They’re practically newly-weds; they wouldn’t want you around.”

“Oh, Mom, they have two kids!”

Stevie bit back a smile, amused by Chloe’s logic, then she said, “Even so, a young couple like Nigel and Tamara don’t need the responsibility of looking after you. They have their hands full as it is.”

“I wouldn’t want to live at Old Bruce’s house in Wilton Crescent, if that’s what you’re thinking. That place is so gloomy, it would be like being in prison. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, Mom?”

“I haven’t agreed that you can go, Chloe.”

“Grandma would let me live with her and Derek, and you know they love me…a lot,” Chloe volunteered.

“Yes, they do. But you’re putting the cart before the horse. I have to think about this matter, and at great length. I’m certainly not going to make any hasty decisions.”

“When will you decide?”

“I don’t know.”

“But, Mommy—”

“No buts, darling,” Stevie interrupted. “You’ve told me what you’d prefer to do, and now I must give it some thought. I want you to think about it as well, Chloe. Think about what you’d be missing by not going to university. Think about those three years at Oxford and all that they would mean. Not just the education you’d get, but the fun you’d have, and the people you’d meet. Friends you make at university are your friends for the rest of your life. And I must admit, Chloe, I’m a bit baffled; you were always so keen about studying at Oxford. What happened?”

“I’ve changed my mind, Mom.”

“Promise me you’ll think about this.”

“Oh, all right,” Chloe muttered, looking suddenly put out.

Stevie glanced at her quickly and said in a sharp tone of voice, “Don’t sound so grudging about it, Chloe. It doesn’t become you one little bit.”

Chloe flushed at this chastisement, mild as it was, and bit her lip. Then, pushing the tray table away, she jumped up and sat next to Stevie on the sofa.

Taking hold of her mother’s hand, she squeezed it, then reached up and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t be angry with me, Mommy.”

Observing her daughter’s worried expression and detecting the concern in her eyes, Stevie murmured softly, “I’m not angry, Chloe, but I do want to do what’s best for you, and you must try to understand that. After all, you’ve obviously been thinking about this for some time, whilst I’ve just heard about it…so please, give me a few days to get used to the idea. And let me talk to Gideon. And my mother and Derek.”

Chloe nodded and her face brightened considerably as she exclaimed, “So you’re definitely not saying no?”

“No, of course not…” A faint smile surfaced on Stevie’s face. “I’m saying…maybe.”

Stevie had learned long before that when she couldn’t sleep it was far better to get up and keep busy, especially if she had a problem on her mind. To her way of thinking, it was much easier to worry when she was upright and moving around than when she was lying down.

She and Chloe had both gone upstairs to bed at eleven. Stevie had fallen asleep at once, lulled into a deep slumber by the two glasses of red wine she had drunk at dinner.

Then she had awakened suddenly several hours later, at three in the morning. Sleep had proved elusive thereafter; at four o’clock she had slipped out of bed, taken a shower, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a sweater, and gone downstairs.

After making a cup of coffee and a slice of toast, Stevie had walked around the house, collecting her many orchid plants. These she had taken to the plant room next to the laundry; carefully, methodically, she had watered them individually in the big sink, letting the water run through each one, then slowly drain away.

Everyone knew she loved orchids, and so she frequently received them as gifts. In consequence, her collection was quite large; two or three dozen were scattered throughout this house, and there were more in her New York apartment.

Mostly they were various species of the Phalaenopsis, with white or yellow blooms, plus pale, blush-pink cymbidiums. She also collected the miniature slipper orchid with pale green or dark brown blooms, and the dark brownish-wine-colored Sharry Baby with its tiny flowers and delicious chocolate scent.

But of them all her real favorites were the white and yellow Phalaenopsis, and she did very well with them, making them last for months. The house was an ideal spot for them to grow, cool, and full of soft, muted light most of the time.

Now Stevie lifted a pot containing a yellow-blooming Phalaenopsis and carried it through into the sun room, where she returned it to its place.

Stepping back, her head to one side, she admired it for a moment, thinking how beautiful it looked, so elegant against the white walls and standing on the dark wood surface of the antique chest. This was positioned in a corner between two windows, and the orchid had the most perfect light there.

Stevie moved around the house for almost another hour, carrying the plants back to their given spots in different rooms, and then she poured herself a mug of coffee and went back to the solarium.

She stood in front of the French windows, warming her hands on the hot mug, sipping the coffee occasionally. Her eyes scanned the sky. It was cold and leaden, and she could tell already that it would be a gray day, bleak, overcast, sunless. Even the landscape had a bleak look to it, the trees bereft of leaves, the lawn covered with a sprinkling of white frost. Thanksgiving Day 1996 had not dawned very brightly.

Stevie turned away from the window. Seating herself on one of the large overstuffed sofas, she put the mug on the table in front of her and leaned back, resting her head against the soft cushion covered in a faded antique chintz.

What to do? What to do about Chloe? She was not sure. In fact, she was very uncertain, really. Her daughter had surprised and disappointed her when she had abruptly announced she did not want to go to university, most especially since she had been so gung-ho about attending Oxford. Stevie had always wanted Chloe to have a good education, to graduate with a college degree. The last thing she had expected was to hear her daughter express the desire to work at Jardine’s. There had never been any real indication on Chloe’s part that she was keen on the jewelry business, other than a passing interest in the New York store.

Admit it, she’s hurt you badly, wanting to work in London, a small voice at the back of her head whispered. And yes, that was the truth. Chloe’s words had been like a slap in the face.

Stevie knew that Chloe could learn everything in New York. There was no need for her to go to London. Jardine’s was the one store left on Fifth Avenue that had its own workshop on the second floor, and it was excellent. Marc Sylvester, her top lapidary, was brilliant, and Chloe could learn as much from him as she could from her brother Gideon, or Gilbert Drexel, the chief lapidary at the London shop.

Am I being selfish, wanting to keep her with me? Stevie asked herself. Possessive? Over-protective? If she was honest with herself, she had to admit it was a little bit of all three.

But then again, what mother didn’t want to keep her daughter by her side, and for as long as possible? And if not by her side, then at least in the same country. What Chloe wanted was not only to leave the nest, but fly away to distant shores.

Stevie let out a long sigh, thinking of her daughter. Chloe was only just eighteen, and she was so much younger in many different ways, more like fifteen, in fact. For one thing, she had led a very sheltered life, particularly when they had resided in London. She had been surrounded by family…her three brothers, and her grandparents, and had attended Lady Eden’s exclusive private school for young ladies as a day girl. The harsh everyday world had hardly penetrated her consciousness.

Even in the eight years they had lived in New York, Chloe’s life had been somewhat cloistered. She’ll never make it on her own, Stevie thought. She’ll be overwhelmed. She’s too sensitive, too delicate, and just far too young to be away from home, away from me. I’m going to say no. I must. I’m not going to let her go to England. She can go a year from now only if she is enrolled at Oxford.

It seemed to Stevie at that precise moment that a load had been lifted from her shoulders. Just making the decision was a blessed relief. The tight pain in her chest, which had been like a steel band since four o’clock that morning, was beginning to ease at last.