Читать книгу Unexpected Blessings - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 13

Paula O’Neill stood at one of the windows in the bedroom of the Fifth Avenue apartment, looking out at the view of Central Park. It was sunny and hot but not humid outside, and there was a sparkle to the day. The leafy domes of the trees in the park were brilliantly green against the azure sky, and rising upward beyond the trees the skyline of Manhattan looked superb. Brilliant sunshine glanced off thousands of windows, making the skyscrapers appear to gleam, almost shimmer in the clear light.

There’s no city like it anywhere else in the world, she thought. She had always loved New York ever since she had first come here as a child with her grandmother; Emma had also been addicted to this busy, electric, exciting, whirlwind city – where anything was possible, Emma frequently said to her, adding, ‘The sky’s the limit here, Paula. And don’t you ever forget it.’

Turning away from the window, Paula walked across the bedroom and out into the entrance foyer, her high heels clicking against the black-and-white marble floor as she headed towards the library, one of her favourite rooms in the apartment. It had been her grandfather’s favourite, too, according to Emma, who had once confided that he had loved the dark-wood panelling on the walls, the books bound in red leather, the Georgian antiques she had chosen, the warmth of dark-rose brocade hanging at the windows and used on the sofas. ‘He used to say it was masculine without being stuffy and heavy,’ her grandmother had explained, ‘but then he usually did like the way I decorated our homes.’

Paul McGill had bought the Fifth Avenue apartment for Emma and himself in the 1930s, and it was a spacious and lovely duplex designed by the renowned architect Rosario Candela in 1931. After Paul’s untimely death in 1939 Emma had contemplated selling it but only briefly. There was a war on, and she was far too preoccupied with other matters and the Blitz in London to worry about the apartment in Manhattan. ‘And I’m glad I didn’t sell it,’ Emma had once told her, ‘because it means we can live here in comfort and privacy when we come to the States instead of having to stay in hotels.’

Paula and her brother Philip had inherited the apartment jointly upon Emma’s death, but it was also used by other members of the family whenever they came to America, particularly her cousins Emily and Winston Harte, and Emily’s sister Amanda Linde who flew in all the time. Everyone loved it, took great pride in its uncommon beauty; luxurious and comfortable without being ostentatious, it truly bore Emma Harte’s imprint in every way and was a reflection of her great taste, her critical eye for colour and the finest in antiques and paintings.

Now, as she seated herself at the desk, Paula felt a sudden, unexpected sense of awe when she thought about her grandmother and her most remarkable achievements. It was mind-boggling really when she considered everything that Grandy had accomplished in her life – and she a poor girl from Fairley, a mill village on the Yorkshire moors, who had started working at the age of twelve as a servant for the Fairleys of Fairley Hall.

However did she do it? Paula wondered. Where did it come from, this talent, this infallible taste, this sense of style and scale, this understanding of art, and colour and fabrics? And where did her drive and energy, her strength and stamina come from? How did she summon up that unique will, that indomitability, that desire to scale the mountain tops? How on earth did that little servant girl become such a great lady, such a successful tycoon, so powerful, unbeatable, and absolutely inimitable? Emma Harte almost single-handedly had created a business empire worth many billions of pounds today, and had left her descendants an extraordinary legacy of power, wealth and privilege, not to mention that successful, thriving business empire that circled the globe.

There has never been anyone like her, Paula thought, shaking her head in wonderment, still gazing into space. Emma was a one-off; they threw away the mould after they made her. And again she wondered to herself how Grandy had done it … what extraordinary gifts she had had …

As the phone rang Paula automatically reached for it. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Mummy, it’s me, Linnet.’

‘Darling, what a nice surprise! How’s everyone? How’s the remodelling and revamping of the stores coming along?’ Paula asked, her joy at hearing her daughter’s voice echoing in her own.

‘Oh very well, I’m pleased …’ Linnet paused, took a deep breath, said quickly, ‘Mummy, listen, something happened today. But it’s all right now, everything’s fine. Honestly. But I thought I’d better fill you in. And –’

‘What happened, Linnet?’ Paula cut in swiftly, sensing trouble at once. ‘I hope everyone’s all right?’ As she spoke Paula had a sudden remembrance of the day her cousin Winston Harte had called Shane in Connecticut, to break the news that her father and her husband were dead, killed in an avalanche in Chamonix. Goose flesh speckled her arms and she felt cold all over; she tensed, wondering what bad news was coming now.

‘Yes, yes, all’s okay,’ Linnet exclaimed, and told her what had happened earlier.

‘Oh God, no! Not Adele! But she has been found? You did say everyone was all right?’

‘Yes, she’s safely home at Pennistone Royal again, with Tessa.’ There was a pause and Linnet added, ‘I brought Jack in, and here he is, Mummy. I’ll come back to you in a few minutes. Jack needs to talk to you.’

‘Hello, Paula,’ he said.

‘Hello, Jack, I’m so glad you’re there,’ Paula answered, and she thought her voice sounded unnatural, strangled in her throat.

‘Everybody’s quite safe,’ Jack went on calmly in his most reassuring voice. He had always adored Paula, and there were those in the family who actually believed he’d been secretly in love with her for years. ‘As Linnet just told you, the child is unharmed. Now, Paula, I must insist you do something about security here. You don’t have much at all. Just burglar alarms … it’s downright dangerous.’

‘Shane’s mentioned it several times lately. I don’t think any of us envisioned something like this … kidnapping happening though. But you’re right, security has become extremely important. Can you do it for us, Jack? Can you set it up?’

‘Yes, I’ll get the best security experts on it at once. Tomorrow, in fact.’

‘That’s a good idea, and thank you for everything you’ve done for us. I’ll be forever grateful.’

‘Just know I’m always here for you,’ he said.

‘Can I speak to Tessa, Jack?’

‘Yes indeed, she’s standing right next to me. I’ll talk to you later, Paula.’

‘Hello, Mummy,’ Tessa began and stopped abruptly, choking up.

‘Tessa darling, I’m so sorry this happened, so very sorry. You must have gone through hell today.’

‘I did,’ Tessa answered, her voice tearful. ‘But I’m happy to say Adele is perfectly fine, and she doesn’t seem at all upset, other than she thought she’d lost her rag doll. She’s fast asleep now, and Elvira is sleeping in her room tonight. Mummy, Mark was beastly, so cruel and hateful. He did this because he wanted to get at me, wanted a weapon to use, to gain advantage over me. It was wrong that he used Adele in this way. Oh, and he wants joint custody.’

‘He’ll never get it, Tessa, please be assured of that. When Jack investigated Mark he came up with quite a lot of unsavoury information, and I feel certain he will be viewed as an unfit father by the courts. What did you promise him, darling, in order to get Adele back?’

‘Only those things we’d discussed earlier. The Hampstead house, the cars garaged there, and a financial settlement. Nothing more, and I was wary about the custody. I said the lawyers will have to talk it through.’

‘Good girl. And do let the legal team handle things from now on.’

‘Oh I will, Mummy, but I had to offer something to get him to bring Adele home.’

‘I know you did. I think you did very well indeed. And one thing we must do is make sure the price is right. You don’t want Mark around your neck for the rest of your life like an albatross.’

‘Can I stay up here? Jack says it’ll be perfectly safe, that Mark won’t come around troubling me again. And he has the front and back gates locked tonight. He can make it really secure here.’

‘Yes, I think you should stay, as you’d planned, and of course Jack is right about it being made secure, and also about Mark Longden, who’s probably already regretting that he did this terrible thing. How’re Emsie and Desmond? I suppose they were there when this happened?’

‘They were out riding. But they want to say hello. I’ll pass the phone, Mummy.’

After she had hung up Paula sat for a while at the desk, mulling over everything Jack and her children had told her; she had also spoken to India and Evan, heard their opinions as well. It seemed to be the general consensus that Jonathan Ainsley was involved, somehow, in the events that had transpired at Pennistone Royal earlier in the day.

Jonathan Ainsley. Her first cousin and bitter enemy. Enemy of her immediate family. Enemy of the entire Harte clan. And the O’Neills and the Kallinskis as well, since they were all so closely connected.

Lately he had been clever. He had pulled Mark Longden into his orbit by hiring him to design his new home in North Yorkshire. Mark had taken the bait, flattered; he had quickly been lured into Jonathan’s decadent social life, and, inevitably, he had become Jonathan’s pawn.

Her cousin hadn’t had to do anything himself to hurt her – simply whisper a few choice words in Mark Longden’s ear about Tessa. And the die was cast.

She did not know how to deal with Jonathan at this moment, though she would eventually find a way to outwit him. But she did know how to handle Mark, render him powerless against her daughter and grandchild. And she would put her plans in motion tomorrow.

She glanced at the carriage clock on the desk, saw that it was after five and wondered what had happened to Emily. She couldn’t still be at the board meeting at Harte Enterprises, could she? But of course she could. Emily was diligent and –

‘Sorry I’m so late getting back!’ Emily exclaimed, hurrying into the library looking warm, her face slightly flushed. ‘Oh good, it’s lovely and cool in here. It’s a furnace outside –’ Emily suddenly broke off, staring at her cousin and frowning. ‘What’s wrong, Paula? You look quite awful.’

‘Hello, Emily,’ Paula answered, rising, walking around the desk, kissing Emily on the cheek. ‘I just had a little bit of a shock actually, but everything’s all right. I’ll tell you about it in a moment. Shall we have a cup of tea? Or do you want iced tea?’

Sitting down on the sofa, without taking her eyes off Paula, Emily said, ‘I think I’d like iced tea for a change. Shall I go and tell Alice?’

‘No, no, I’ll do it. And will Winston be back from Toronto or not? I need to tell her how many we’ll be for dinner.’

‘It’s still just you and me, darling. Winston won’t make it out today. Maybe tomorrow, and I’m assuming Shane is coming on Friday as planned.’

‘That’s correct. He’s taking the morning plane from Nassau. So yes, we’re a couple of grass widows tonight.’ As she spoke Paula glided out of the room, went to the kitchen, spoke to Alice, the housekeeper, and returned within seconds.

She went over and sat down in a chair facing Emily, and explained, ‘There’s been a bit of a fuss at Pennistone Royal today.’ Speaking swiftly, and with her usual conciseness, Paula told Emily everything that had happened in Yorkshire.

‘What a ghastly day poor Tessa must’ve had, and thank God it all ended well. Almost anything could have gone wrong, you know. And listen, Paula –’ Emily leaned forward and continued in a much quieter, confiding voice, ‘I tend to agree with Linnet and Tessa, bloody Jonathan probably was involved. He has to be dealt with – somehow.’

‘I agree, but I’m not sure what to do about him at this moment, Em. However, I think I have a way to make Mark Longden toe the line and behave himself. I’ve come up with a plan in the last half hour and I think it will work. I certainly intend to set it in motion tomorrow.’

‘Oh please tell me about it,’ Emily said eagerly, her face lighting up.

And Paula did.

After Emily had gone to her room to relax before dinner, Paula sat for a while at the desk, going over her engagements for the next few days. But at one moment the striking of the clock in the hall made her sit up with a start, and her concentration fled.

Leaning back in her desk chair she sat thinking about Tessa and her granddaughter Adele, and the things that had happened at Pennistone Royal that day. Thank God they were safe. She wished Shane were here. Turning her head, she looked at the photograph on a nearby circular table, rose, and walked over to it.

Seating herself in the adjacent chair, she picked up a silver-framed picture of Shane, and a smile broke across her face. It had been taken many years ago, when he was about twenty-six, and she couldn’t help thinking how wonderful he looked, so handsome, debonair even then. What was it Emma had always said about him? That he had glamour. And that was the truth. She had never known anyone with that kind of glamour, man or woman. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, he was Black Irish through and through, and she had always teased him, said he had kissed the Blarney Stone. ‘Inherited the gift of the gab from my grandfather,’ he answered back, and she responded, ‘Emma says Blackie’s kissed three Blarney Stones!’

It’s funny how life works out, she suddenly thought, her eyes settling on a photograph of Tessa and Lorne with Shane. He had brought them up as his own since they’d been toddlers, and she knew how much Lorne loved Shane, but she sometimes wondered about Tessa’s feelings for him.

Of course she loves him, Paula told herself. Everyone has always loved Shane. Grandy. My mother. Winston Harte, his best friend and sparring partner since they were boys. And Emily. And Sally and Anthony Standish. Shane, if the truth be known, was the most popular person in the three clans, and anywhere else!

Her eyes moved on, and she literally laughed out loud when they fell upon a photograph taken when they were all teenagers: a picture of them at Heron’s Nest one summer, Emma’s house in Scarborough by the sea. It had been taken the year the boys had formed their own band. The Herons they called themselves, and of course it was Shane who was the band-leader. He also played the piano and was the vocalist. Alexander, her beloved Sandy, now sadly dead these long years, had played the drums and cymbals; Michael Kallinski had warbled the harmonica; Jonathan scraped the violin; Philip blew the flute. But it had been Winston who considered himself the most important, the most talented member of the ensemble. He had modelled himself on Bix Beiderbecke, after seeing the film Young Man With A Horn, and thought he was the bees’ knees. They had wondered out loud where he had learned to play the trumpet, and Emma had smiled thinly and said he hadn’t, and that was the trouble. What fun they had had together in those days.

Shane had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, since her childhood. She had become conscious of him when she was four and he was eight, and had tagged along after him.

One summer afternoon, Shane had told her he had a wonderful idea. He said she was to become Queen Boadicea, and he would be her consort, her lord. ‘But we have to look right,’ Shane had confided. ‘How should we look?’ she had asked him, her violet eyes full of love and pride at being his friend even then. ‘We have to be blue,’ the eight-year-old boy had explained. And had then proceeded to paint her blue all over, after he had undressed her. She had insisted on keeping her knickers on, being a modest child. And later Emma had been thankful she had. At least some pores had been allowed to breathe, and so she had stayed alive. Somehow, Shane had coaxed her into painting him blue to match, and there was hell to pay when Blackie came over at Emma’s request to chastise his grandson. ‘Young scallywag,’ Blackie had pronounced.

Remembering all this, Paula smiled, thinking of the turpentine baths Emma and Blackie had given them … worse than any thrashing.

Blue, she thought, seeing in her mind’s eye her lovely blue marbles which Shane had managed to lose. He had presented her with some new ones but they weren’t as nice, and she had been put out with him for a long time.

And then one day, when they were grown up, he had given her a small leather box, and when she had opened it she had been entranced by the sapphire earrings inside.

Leaning down, kissing her, Shane had said, ‘I hope these will now satisfy you … they are in place of those blue marbles I lost when you were all of six.’

And one day much later she had married Shane.

Yes, life is strange, she thought again. They had grown up together, had been inseparable even as teenagers, and then he had gone off to boarding school, later university, and she had seen less of him.

And she had met Jim Fairley, who worked for Emma, and they had fallen in love. Or so she thought. She had married Jim, had had the twins, Tessa and Lorne.

Shane had moved to New York to run the O’Neill Hotel chain on that side of the Atlantic. But he had never married, and one day, when her marriage was falling apart, they had suddenly understood that they were in love with each other, and always had been.

They had discovered this in Shane’s wonderful old barn in New Milford, an oasis of peace in the Connecticut countryside. And they had vowed to be together always. Somehow. Because it was meant to be.

Life plays funny tricks, she murmured to herself. Jim Fairley and her father David Amory, on a skiing holiday in Chamonix, had been killed in an avalanche. Winston and Emily had decided not to go skiing that day, and had narrowly escaped death. Their time wasn’t up, Paula whispered to herself. That’s what Emma always used to say: ‘You go on living until your time’s up.’

For a long time she had grieved for Jim and her father, and suffered the most devastating guilt. She had sent Shane away because of her guilt. But eventually she had realized how much she loved him and needed him, had understood he was her entire life. He still was.

Evan’s mother, Marietta Hughes, was furious.

Once again Owen had behaved in the most high-handed way and she felt like strangling him. But because her mother had always told her no man was worth murdering because of the dire consequences to oneself, she had decided against this rather harsh and drastic solution.

Flight for several hours was the only way she could settle the score and calm herself. And so she grabbed her handbag, picked up the shopping bag she had just taken out of the wardrobe, where it had been hidden behind her clothes for days, and left the suite. She didn’t even go into the bedroom to say goodbye to him. And so he would worry when he discovered she had gone.

As she took the lift down to the hotel lobby she prayed she wouldn’t run into the hotel proprietors, George or Arlette, especially Arlette, who constantly wanted to take her for tea or coffee in order to gossip about Evan. She knew the Frenchwoman adored Evan, had been kind to her, and meant no harm, but Marietta usually felt a degree of discomfort if forced to discuss members of her family, particularly Evan who was very special to her.

Fortunately she was not waylaid, made it safely out into the street, where she stood looking for a cab. It was a nice day, if a little too humid, but she was relieved it wasn’t raining. It had poured yesterday.

A cab slid to a stop in front of her and she got in, gave the cabbie the address of her bank, then sat back. She was relieved that she had escaped from the hotel without having to deal with George or Arlette, and, most importantly, that the shopping bag had gone undetected in its hiding place in the wardrobe.

Marietta placed her handbag on the cab seat next to her, but kept the shopping bag on her lap. The package inside it was precious – ever since finding it she had believed it to be dynamite – and she must keep it safe. She wasn’t sure if she could use it to her advantage, but she certainly was aware of its true value.

It suddenly struck her how wise she had been to keep her account open at Barclay’s Bank. There wasn’t much money in it, because she hadn’t transferred any, but they knew her at this particular branch, and renting a safe-deposit box had presented no problem. How relieved she would be when the package was safely in the bank. Then she would go to Fortnum and Mason’s and have coffee in the restaurant, and perhaps browse around in the store. She might even buy herself a hat, although she knew she wasn’t going anywhere special to wear it. But she’d always loved hats.

Normally she would have gone to Harte’s in Knightsbridge for coffee, but she was afraid of running into Evan. They were supposed to be in Connecticut, not here, were not due in London until next week. Owen had decided to come earlier than planned. ‘To give us time to get over our jet lag,’ he had said, but she knew this was just a ploy. He had wanted to arrive sooner than expected in order to take Evan by surprise, to catch her off-guard.

Marietta hadn’t liked that at all, but she had kept quiet. Long ago she had learned not to argue with Owen. So most of the time she kept her own counsel; however this did not prevent her from drawing her own conclusions and she knew she was right when it came to his attitude towards their daughter.

Owen had always believed he owned Evan. Certainly he behaved as if he did. He had taken their daughter over years ago, when she was very young, and he had pushed her out. She had lost Evan because of his possessiveness, and also because of her own mistakes, perhaps. She gripped the shopping bag tighter, her knuckles whitening over the handles as she thought of the past. Sometimes you did something, just a small thing, and yet it could have the most terrible and far-reaching consequences.

The cab came to a stop, and she alighted quickly, paid the driver and went into the bank. It was all so easy … within minutes she was placing the precious package in the safe-deposit box and putting the key in her handbag. Now no harm would come to it; nor could it be lost or stolen.

It was only much later, when she sat sipping her coffee in Fortnum’s that a terrible thought occurred to Marietta. What if she got sick and died, or was killed in an accident, or became senile? What would happen to the package in the safe-deposit box at the bank? No one but she knew it was there. She would have to tell someone. But who could she confide in?

Marietta’s mouth twitched slightly in a wry smile. There was nobody she could make her confidant because she did not trust anyone she knew.

A lawyer, she thought, I need a lawyer. To make a will. Yes, that’s what I have to do. She had a few things of real value to leave. As well as the package in the safe-deposit box. For her daughter Evan. The person she loved the most in the entire world.

Tomorrow that would be her project. She would set out to find a lawyer. It was imperative.