Читать книгу A Woman of Substance - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 15

Emma lived. Everyone said it was a miracle that a woman of seventy-eight years of age could survive yet another attack of bronchial pneumonia and the varied complications that had accompanied it this time. They also expressed amazement at her incredible recuperative ability which had enabled her to leave the London Clinic at the end of three weeks. Emma, when these comments were repeated to her, said nothing. She simply smiled enigmatically and thought to herself: Ah, but they don’t realize that the will to live is the strongest force in the world.

After two days of enforced rest at her house in Belgravia she impatiently left her bed and, disregarding the advice of her doctors, went to the store. This was not such a foolish act of defiance as it seemed on the surface, for although she could be empirical she was not reckless and she also knew her own body intimately, could gauge her strength with accuracy, and now she knew herself to be fully recovered. She was greeted warmly by her employees, who for the most part held her in affection. They took her sudden return for granted. It was Paula who hovered nervously around her, cosseting, worried and concerned.

‘I do wish you would stop fussing, darling,’ Emma said crisply as Paula followed her into her office, murmuring something about endangering her health. Emma took off her fur-lined tweed coat. She stood for a few moments warming her hands by the fire and then she walked across the room in her usual energetic way, a buoyant springiness in her step, her carriage perfectly straight and autocratic.

The black waves of shock and despair which had engulfed her after Gaye’s revelations of her children’s plotting had subsided, admittedly slowly and painfully, but they had subsided. The sinister imputations that could be drawn from that damning conversation on the tape, and her acceptance of their treachery, had only served to anneal her mind. She saw things with a cold and clear objectivity, exactly as they were, unclouded by needless emotion. During her illness, as she had drawn upon her iron will, ruthlessly fighting to live, she had come to terms with herself. And a great peace came flowing into her one day like a flood of warm bright light and it gave her solace and renewed inner strength. It was as if her brush with death had reinforced her spirit and her dauntless courage. Her vitality had returned, accompanied now by a quiet calm that surrounded her like a protective shell.

She took up her position behind the great carved Georgian desk, back in command of her domain. She smiled lovingly at Paula. ‘I’m quite recovered, you know,’ she said brightly and reassuringly. And indeed she looked it, although this was partially due to the illusion she had rather cleverly contrived that morning. Noting her pallor and the tired lines around her eyes and mouth as she dressed, she had shunned the dark sombre colours she generally favoured and had selected a bright coral dress from her wardrobe. This was made of fine wool, softly cut with a draped cowl collar that fell in feminine folds around the neck. She was fully aware that the warm colour and the softness of the neckline against her face was flattering, and with a few carefully applied cosmetics she had completed the effect. There was a robust healthy glow about her which Paula did not fail to notice.

Paula realized this was created by artifice to some degree, conscious always of her grandmother’s numerous and varied devices when she wanted to delude. She smiled to herself. Her grandmother could be so crafty sometimes. Yet Paula also sensed true vibrancy in Emma, a new energy and purpose. As she scrutinized her carefully she had to admit that Emma appeared to be her old self. Only more so, she thought, as if she had been totally rejuvenated.

She smiled at her grandmother and said gently, although a little reprovingly, ‘I know you, Grandy. You’ll do far too much. You mustn’t overtax yourself the first day.’

Emma leaned back in her chair, thankful to be alive and on her feet again and capable of returning to her business. She was quite willing to acquiesce to anything at that moment. ‘Oh, I won’t, darling,’ she said quickly. ‘I have a few phone calls to make and some dictation to give Gaye, and that’s about it. I shall be easy on myself. I promise!’

‘All right,’ Paula said slowly, wondering if she really meant what she said. Her grandmother could get caught up in the rush of the day’s activities at the store without thinking. ‘I trust you to keep your promise,’ Paula added, a sober expression on her face. ‘Now I have to go to a meeting with the fashion buyer for the couture department. I’ll pop in and see you later, Grandy.’

‘By the way, Paula, I thought I would go to Pennistone Royal the weekend after next. I hope you can come with me,’ Emma called to her across the room.

Paula stopped at the door and looked back. ‘Of course! I’d love to,’ she cried, her eyes lighting up. ‘When do you intend to leave, Grandy?’

‘A week from tomorrow. Early on Friday morning. But we’ll discuss it later.’

‘Wonderful. After my meeting I’ll clear my desk and cancel my appointments for that day. I have nothing on my schedule that is very important, so I can drive up with you.’

‘Good. Come and have tea with me this afternoon at four o’clock and we can make our plans.’

Paula nodded and left the office, a radiant smile on her face as she thought of the prospects of a weekend in Yorkshire. She was also greatly relieved that her grandmother was being wise enough to prolong her recuperation by going to her country house in the north.

Emma was true to her word. She attended to some of her urgent correspondence, had a brief session with Gaye and also one with David Amory, Daisy’s husband and Paula’s father, who was also the joint managing director of the Harte chain of stores. David was a man Emma admired and trusted implicitly, and who carried the heavy burden of the day-to-day running of the stores. She was making her last telephone call of the afternoon when Paula came into the office carrying the tea tray. She hovered near the door and gave Emma an inquiring look, mouthing silently: ‘Can I come in?’

Emma nodded, motioned for her to enter with an impatient gesture of one hand, and went on talking. ‘Very well, it’s settled then. You will arrive on Saturday. Goodbye.’ She hung up and walked across the room to the fireplace, where Paula was sitting in front of the low table pouring tea.

Emma leaned forward to warm her hands and said, ‘She’s the most bolshy of them all and I wasn’t certain she would accept. But she did.’ Her green eyes gleamed darkly in the firelight and the faint smile on her face was scornful. ‘She had no choice really,’ she murmured to herself as she sat down.

‘Who, Grandy? Who were you talking to?’ Paula asked, passing a cup of tea to her.

‘Thank you, dear. Your Aunt Edwina. She wasn’t sure at first whether or not she could rearrange her plans.’ Emma laughed cynically. ‘However, she thought better of it and decided to come to Pennistone Royal after all. It will be quite a family gathering. They’re all coming.’

Paula’s head was bent over the tea tray. ‘Who, Grandy? What do you mean?’ she asked, momentarily puzzled.

‘Everybody’s coming. Your aunts and uncles and cousins.’

A shadow flitted across Paula’s face. ‘Why?’ she cried with surprise. ‘Why do they all have to come? You know they will make trouble. They always do!’ Her eyes opened widely and real horror registered on her face.

Emma was surprised at Paula’s reaction. She regarded her calmly, but said in a sharp tone, ‘I doubt that! I’m quite positive, in fact, that they are all going to be on their best behaviour.’ An expression resembling a smirk played briefly around Emma’s mouth. She sat back, crossed her legs decisively, and sipped her tea, looking nonchalant and unconcerned. ‘Oh yes, I am absolutely certain of that, Paula,’ she finished firmly, the smirk expanding into a self-confident smile.

‘Oh, Grandy, how could you!’ Paula cried, and the look she gave Emma was reproving. ‘I thought we could look forward to a pleasant, restful weekend.’ She paused and bit her lip. ‘Now it’s all spoiled,’ she went on in an accusatory tone. ‘I don’t mind the cousins, but the others. Ugh! Kit and Robin and the rest of them are almost too much to bear all together.’ She grimaced as she contemplated a weekend with her aunts and uncles.

‘Please trust me, darling,’ Emma said in a soft voice which was so convincing Paula’s disquiet began to subside.

‘Well, all right, if you are happy about it. But it’s so soon after your illness. Do you think you can stand a house full of … of … people? …’ Her voice trailed off lamely and she looked woebegone and suddenly helpless.

‘They’re not people, are they, darling? Surely not. We can’t dismiss them like that. They are my family after all.’

Paula had been staring at the teapot, vaguely disturbed. Now she flashed Emma a swift look, for she had detected that edge of cynicism in her voice. But Emma’s face was bland, revealing nothing. She’s concocting something, Paula thought with some alarm. But she quickly dismissed the idea, chiding herself for being so suspicious. She arranged a sunny smile on her face and said, ‘Well, I’m glad Mummy and Daddy are coming. I don’t seem to have seen much of them for ages, with all my travelling.’ She hesitated, stared at Emma curiously, and then asked hurriedly, ‘Why have you invited all of the family, Grandmother?’

‘I thought it would be pleasant to see all of my children and grandchildren after my illness. I don’t see enough of them, darling,’ she suggested mildly and asked, ‘Now do I?’

As Paula returned her grandmother’s steady gaze she realized, with an unexpected shock, that in spite of her soft voice her grandmother’s eyes were as cold and as hard as the great McGill emerald that glittered on her finger. A flicker of real fear touched Paula’s heart, for she recognized that look. It was obdurate, and also dangerous.

‘No, I don’t suppose you do see much of them, Grandy,’ Paula said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, not daring to probe further and also reluctant to have her suspicions confirmed. And there the conversation was terminated.

A week later, at dawn on Friday morning, they left London for Yorkshire, driving out of the city in a cold drizzling rain. But as the Rolls-Royce roared up the modern motorway that had replaced the old Great North Road they began hitting brighter weather. The rain had stopped and the sun was beginning to filter through the grey clouds. Smithers, Emma’s driver for some fifteen years, knew the road like the palm of his hand, anticipating the bad patches, the twists and the bumps, slowing when necessary, picking up speed when there was a clear smooth stretch of road before them. Emma and Paula chatted desultorily part of the way, but mostly Emma dozed and Paula worried about the forthcoming weekend, which, in spite of her grandmother’s assurances to the contrary, loomed ahead like a nightmare. She gazed dully out of the window, troubled as she reflected on her aunts and uncles.

Kit. Pompous, patronizing and, to Paula, a devious, ambitious man whose ineffable hatred for her was thinly disguised beneath a veneer of assumed cordiality. And he would be accompanied by June, his cold and frigid wife, whom she and her cousin Alexander had gleefully nicknamed ‘December’ when they were children. A chilly, utterly humourless woman who over the years had become an insipid reflection of Kit. And then there was Uncle Robin, a different kettle of fish indeed. Handsome, caustic, smooth-talking, and strangely decadent. She always thought of him as reptilian and dangerous and for all his charm and polish he repelled her. She particularly disliked him because he treated his rather nice wife, Valerie, with an icy scorn, a contempt that bordered on real cruelty. Her Aunt Edwina was something of an unknown quantity to her, for Edwina spent most of her time knee deep in the bogs of Ireland with her horses. Paula remembered her as a forbidding woman, snobbish and dull and sour. Aunt Elizabeth was beautiful, and amusing in a brittle sort of way, yet she could be unpredictable and her skittishness grated on Paula’s nerves.

Paula sighed. A picture of Pennistone Royal formed in her mind’s eye, that lovely old house so full of beauty and warmth which she loved as much as Emma did. She imagined herself riding her horse up on the moors in the brisk clean air, and then quite unexpectedly she saw Jim Fairley’s face. She closed her eyes and her heart clenched. She dare not think of him. She must not think of him. She steeled herself against those turbulent, distressing emotions that whipped through her whenever the memory of him came rushing back.

Paula opened her eyes and looked out of the window, determinedly closing her mind to Jim Fairley. Her love. Her only love. Forbidden to her because of her grandmother’s past. A little later she glanced at her watch. They were already well beyond Grantham heading towards Doncaster, and were making excellent time. The traffic was relatively light because of the early hour. She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes.

Half an hour later Emma stirred and sat up, wide awake and fresh. She moved slightly to look out of the window, smiling quietly to herself. She always knew when she was in Yorkshire. This was where her roots were and her bones responded with that atavistic knowledge and sense of place. Her place. The one place where she truly belonged.

They drove quickly along the motorway, bypassing all the familiar towns. Doncaster, Wakefield, and Pontefract. And finally they were in Leeds. Grey, brooding Leeds, yet powerful and rich, pulsating with vibrant energy, one of the great industrial centres of England with its clothing factories, woollen mills, iron foundries, engineering companies, cement works, and great printing plants. Her city. The seat of her power, the foundation of her success and her great wealth. They passed buildings and factories she owned and the enormous department store that bore her name, slowing down as they threaded their way through the busy morning traffic in the city centre, and then they were out on the open road again heading towards the country.

Within the hour they were pulling up in the cobbled courtyard of Pennistone Royal. Emma practically leapt out of the car. It was bitterly cold and a penetrating wind was blowing down from the moors, yet the sun was a golden orb in a clear cobalt sky and, under the sweep of the wind, the early March daffodils were rippling rafts of bright yellow against the clipped green lawns that rolled down to the lily pond far below the long flagged terrace. Emma drew in a breath of air. It was pungent with the peaty brackenish smell of the moors, the damp earth, and a budding greenness that heralded spring after a hard winter. It had rained the night before and, even though it was noon, dew still clung to the trees and the shrubs, giving them an iridescent quality in the cool northern light.

As she always did, Emma looked up at the house as she and Paula walked towards it. And once more she was deeply moved by its imposing beauty, a beauty that was singularly English, for nowhere else could such a house have flowered so magnificently and so attuned to the surrounding landscape. Its beginnings rooted in the seventeenth century, there was a majestic dignity to the mixture of Renaissance and Jacobean architecture, indestructible and everlasting with its ancient crenellated towers and mullioned leaded windows that glimmered darkly against the time-worn grey stones. But there was a softness to the grandeur and even the protruding gargoyles, weathered by the centuries, were now bereft of their frightening countenances. They did not linger long on the terrace. In spite of the clear bright radiance there was no warmth in the sun, and the wind that blew in across the Dales from the North Sea was tinged with rawness. For all its beauty and spring freshness it was a treacherous day. Emma and Paula moved quickly up the steps, past the topiary hedges silhouetted against the edge of the velvet lawns like proud sentinels from a bygone age.

Before they reached the great oak door, it was flung open. Hilda, the housekeeper, was on the stone steps, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘Oh, madame!’ she cried excitedly, rushing forward to clasp Emma’s outstretched hand. ‘We’ve been so worried about you. Thank goodness you’re better. It’s lovely to have you back. And you, too, Miss Paula.’ She broke into more smiles again and hurried them into the house. ‘Come in, come in, out of the cold.’

‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to be home,’ Emma said as they went into the house. ‘How have you been, Hilda?’

‘Very well, madame. Just worried about you. We all have. Everything is running smoothly here. I’m all prepared for the family. Is Smithers bringing the luggage, madame? I can send Joe down to the car if you think he needs help.’ Words tumbled out of her in her excitement.

‘No, thank you, Hilda. I’m sure Smithers can manage,’ Emma replied. She walked into the middle of the great stone entrance hall and looked around, smiling to herself with pleasure. Her eyes rested on the fine old oak furniture, the tapestries that lined the walls, the huge copper bowl of daffodils and pussy willow on the refectory table.

‘The house looks beautiful, Hilda,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘You’ve done a good job as always.’

Hilda glowed. ‘I have coffee ready, madame, or I can make some tea. But perhaps you’d prefer a sherry before lunch,’ she volunteered. ‘I put your favourite out in the upstairs parlour, madame.’

‘That’s a good idea, Hilda. We’ll go up now. Lunch about one o’clock. Is that all right?’ Emma asked, her foot already on the first step.

‘Of course, madame.’ She hurried off to her duties in the kitchen, humming under her breath, and Paula followed Emma up the soaring staircase, marvelling once more at her grandmother’s vitality.

‘I’ll join you in a moment, Grandy,’ Paula said as they walked down the long corridor leading to various bedrooms and the upstairs parlour. ‘I’d like to freshen up before lunch.’

Emma nodded. ‘So would I, darling. I’ll see you shortly.’ She went into her own room and Paula continued down the corridor to hers. Later, after she had changed her travelling suit for a light wool dress and had attended to her face and hair, Emma went through into the parlour which adjoined her bedroom. This was her favourite room at Pennistone Royal. A fire blazed in the hearth and Hilda had turned on several of the silk-shaded lamps, so that the room was filled with soft light. Emma’s swift glance was approving as she crossed to the fireplace to warm herself in her habitual way.

The upstairs parlour of this ancient house was distinguished by a gentle beauty, refinement, and good taste. It was understated and unpretentious, yet this very simplicity was deceptive to any but the most experienced eye. It was a kind of understatement that could only be achieved by great expenditure of money and the most patient and skilful acquisition of the very best in furniture and furnishings. The dark polished floor gleamed against the exquisite Savonnerie carpet that splashed faded pastel colours into the centre of the room. The palest of yellows washed over the walls and gave the whole room a sunny, airy feeling and everywhere sparkling silver and crystal gleamed richly against the mellow patinas of the handsome Georgian tables, consoles, and cabinets and the large elegant desk.

Two long sofas, facing each other across a butler’s tray table in front of the fireplace, were as enveloping and as comfortable as deep feather beds. They were covered in a romantic chintz ablaze with clear vivid flowers of bright pink, yellow, blue, and red entwined amongst trailing green vines on a white ground. The Pembroke tables and small consoles all held rare porcelain bowls and vases filled with fresh spring hyacinths, jonquils, tulips, daffodils, and imported mimosa. The warmth of the fire had opened them up so that the air was aromatic with their mingled scents. A Chippendale cabinet, of great elegance and beauty, was filled with matchless Rose Medallion china, whilst side tables held priceless crystal and carved jade lamps with pale cream shades of the finest silk. In front of one of the soaring leaded windows, a Georgian rent table held a selection of the very latest books and a library table behind one of the sofas was piled high with all the current newspapers and magazines.

The bleached oak fireplace, where Emma stood regarding the room, was ornately carved and upon it reposed lovely old silver candlesticks holding white candles and in the centre rested a seventeenth-century carriage clock. The Turner landscape dominated the wall above the fireplace. Redolent with misty greens and clear blues, its romantic bucolic setting was evocative and poignant to Emma and it never failed to stir a nostalgic longing in her heart, as it did now as she turned to admire it.

Portraits of a young nobleman and his wife, by Reynolds, flanked the Chippendale cabinet and a collection of exquisitely rendered miniatures was grouped on the wall behind the desk. Emma’s unerring eye for colour and form and her skill at placing and arranging furniture were in evidence everywhere and yet this was not an overly feminine room, being devoid of useless clutter and bric-à-brac. It was a handsome and gracious parlour where a man could also feel at ease in the softly diffused beauty and great comfort.

When she felt warmed throughout, Emma went over to the small console that held a silver tray of drinks and crystal glasses. She poured out two sherries and carried them back to the fireplace. As she waited for Paula she glanced at the morning newspapers. Her own paper, the Yorkshire Morning Gazette, was looking much better since she had brought Jim Fairley in as managing director. He had made a great number of changes, all of which had improved the paper. He had revamped the format and the layout looked brighter and more modern, as did her evening paper, the Yorkshire Evening Standard, which was also under Jim’s control. Advertising revenue had increased, as had the circulation of both papers. He had done an excellent job and Emma was more than satisfied. Jim Fairley … Paula … She could no longer think of him without thinking of Paula, too. In Emma’s mind the girl was always fatefully in his shadow. She sighed. The door opened and Emma turned away from her introspection. She looked at Paula with fondness as she walked across the room. ‘I have a sherry here for you, my dear,’ she said, gesturing towards the table.

Paula was smiling cheerfully, having decided in the privacy of her own room to be her most charming self to every one of her unpleasant relatives this weekend. It was the only thing she could do, and under the circumstances her grandmother needed as much support as she could get with the leeches around, as Paula called them, although this was mostly said to herself or her cousins Alexander and Emily, who shared her views.

‘I thought I would go riding this afternoon, if you don’t mind, Grandy,’ she said as she joined Emma by the fire. ‘It’s such a beautiful day even though it is cold.’

Emma nodded, delighted. She wanted to be alone after lunch and she had contemplated sending Paula into Leeds on some invented errand. Now that was not necessary. ‘Yes, you should, darling. It will do you good. But wrap up warmly. I intend to take it easy myself. I have to plan the seating arrangement for the family dinner tomorrow night and then I shall rest.’

‘When are the others coming?’ Paula asked, keeping her voice purposely light and casual.

‘I expect some of them will come tonight. The others tomorrow.’ Emma’s tone was as mild as Paula’s for she had sensed the girl’s unhappiness about the weekend and she did not want her to be more distressed than she already was.

‘It will be quite a houseful, Grandy. We haven’t all been gathered here for years.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Is Aunt Elizabeth bringing her husband?’

‘Does she have one at the moment?’ Emma asked with not a little malice.

‘Oh you are terrible, Grandy!’ Paula laughed. ‘You know very well she does. The Italian count. Gianni.’

‘Humph! He’s as much a count as I’m the Pope,’ Emma retorted disparagingly. ‘More like an Italian waiter to my mind.’ She sipped her sherry. Her green eyes glittered above the glass.

‘Grandy! He’s very nice. Much too nice to cope with Aunt Elizabeth.’

‘You’re right! This one has lasted longer than the others, come to think of it. I’m surprised she hasn’t done a bolt before now. Isn’t it about time?’

Paula laughed again. ‘I don’t know. Who does with her? Anyway, perhaps this marriage will work better than the last.’

‘And all the others before the last,’ Emma commented dryly.

Paula was amused. ‘You’ve had several husbands yourself, Grandmother.’

‘Not as many as Elizabeth and furthermore I didn’t divorce them one after the other. Nor did mine get younger and younger as I got older,’ Emma pointed out. But she had the good grace to laugh. ‘Poor Elizabeth. She has such an idealistic attitude towards love and marriage. She’s as romantic now as she was when she was sixteen. I just wish she’d settle down.’

‘And grow up, Grandy. Anyway, I suppose she will bring Gianni and the twins with her. Emily was at the Bradford store this past week, so I guess she will drive over tonight.’

‘Yes, she’s going to do that. I spoke to her yesterday and she …’

Hilda knocked on the door and bounced into the room. ‘Lunch is ready, madame,’ she announced, and added proudly, ‘Cook has made all your favourite dishes, madame.’

Emma smiled. ‘We’ll be right down, Hilda.’ She was fond of the housekeeper who had been with her for thirty years and with whom, in all that time, she had never exchanged one cross word. Most of Hilda’s life had been devoted to running Pennistone Royal, which she did unobtrusively and with great efficiency, pride, and love.

‘What were you saying about Emily, Grandmother?’ Paula asked as they followed Hilda out of the room.

‘Oh, yes, I spoke to her yesterday and she said she would drive over in time to have dinner with us, and that perhaps Alexander would come with her. Otherwise he will drive over later.’

Hilda was standing in the hall, outside the dining-room door. She held it open for them and followed them into the room. ‘Cook has made that fresh vegetable soup you like, madame, and done a lovely fried plaice.’ She bustled over to the sideboard to serve them, adding, ‘Chips, too. I know you said no more fried food because of your diet, but just this once won’t hurt, madame,’ she said, ladling out the soup into Royal Worcester bowls.

‘If you say so, Hilda.’ Emma laughed, and winked at Paula, who was so startled by this unexpected facial movement in her grandmother she almost dropped the glass of water she was holding.

That afternoon, whilst Paula went riding on the moors, Emma sat upstairs in her parlour, where she always worked and went over all the legal documents which had been prepared by her solicitors before she was taken ill. She spent some time studying them thoughtfully and when she had finished she called Henry Rossiter in London.

She dispensed with the preliminary greetings quickly, as she always did, and said briskly, ‘Henry, where do we now stand on the liquidation of those personal assets of mine?’

‘I have all the papers in front of me, Emma. I was just going over them,’ he replied, clearing his throat.

To Emma his voice sounded suddenly quavering and tired. My dear old friend is getting old, she thought sadly. I shall miss him when he retires. Emma herself had no intention of retiring. She would die upright, sitting behind her desk.

‘Ah, yes. I have them all now, Emma. Everything has been sold and the prices were very good. Excellent, in fact. We realized just under nine million pounds. Not bad, eh?’

‘That’s marvellous, Henry! Where is the money?’

‘Why, right here in the bank. Where did you think it was, my dear?’ He sounded startled, even a little affronted, and Emma smiled to herself.

‘I know it’s in the bank, Henry, but which account is it deposited in?’ she asked patiently.

‘I placed it in your own private business account, E.H. Incorporated.’

‘Please transfer it today, Henry. To my current account. My personal current account.’

It was obvious to Emma that Henry was astounded. There was a silence for a few seconds and she heard him sucking in his breath. When he found his voice at last he said, ‘Emma, that’s ridiculous! Nobody puts nearly nine million pounds in a personal current account. You’ve got about two hundred thousand pounds in that account anyway. Look here, I know you said you needed about six million pounds for some personal project, but the remainder of the money from the sales should be working for you.’

‘I don’t want it working for me, Henry. I want it in my current account.’ She laughed and could not resist teasing him a little. ‘I might want to go shopping, Henry.’

‘Shopping!’ he exploded. ‘Come now, Emma! Not even you can spend that amount shopping! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard you say in all the years I’ve known you.’ He was furious.

‘I certainly can spend that amount of money shopping, Henry, depending, of course, on what exactly I’m buying,’ Emma said acidly, thinking to herself that Henry’s marvellous sense of humour always seemed to evaporate into thin air when he was discussing money. ‘Please, Henry, no more discussion. Deduct the bank’s fee for handling the sales, and the taxes to be paid, and put the rest in my personal current account.’

He sighed in exasperation. ‘Very well. I suppose you know what you’re doing. After all, it is your money, Emma.’

You’re damn right it is, Emma thought.

Emma worked on her seating plan for the family dinner on Saturday night and prepared a suggested menu for Hilda. Then, after locking the legal documents in her briefcase, she went into her bedroom to rest. It was going to be an extremely difficult weekend, of that she was absolutely sure. Yet she felt no apprehension or the slightest twinge of anxiety, simply a cold detachment and a natural distaste as she envisioned the scenes which were bound to ensue after the family dinner on Saturday night.

She had an abhorrence of scenes, which in their inherent violence and futility both repelled and irritated her, and she tried to avoid them at all cost, particularly with her children. In spite of her reassurances to Paula, she knew that a few altercations would be an inevitability during the next few days. She accepted this fact with resignation and steeled herself in preparation. She was not sure whether any of her children, other than Daisy, had lately developed enough inner strength to help them withstand a sudden crisis with a degree of fortitude. If they had, it would be a staggering surprise to her, but she would welcome this development because it might conceivably alleviate some of the unpleasantness. At the same time, she did not have to speculate on how they would at first respond to her news.

Emma understood all of them well enough to anticipate and gauge their reactions. Apart from Daisy, who was not involved, each one of them would, in turn, be shocked and infuriated by the news she would impart. She realized she was going to strike a swift and terrible blow, a blow which would affect all of their lives. But she felt no disquiet or pity, for it would be a blow from the sword they had forced her to take up and wield in defence, through their own foolhardy self-interest and avariciousness.

Neither did she suffer feelings of guilt about the innumerable plans she had made for the future. And she certainly did not have one iota of compassion for those who would be the most badly affected. There was only a heartbreaking sadness buried inside her that at times felt like a constricting steel band around her chest. It was a sadness that sprang from her hurt and her disappointment in her children, and from a chilling horror at the knowledge that they had cold-bloodedly plotted against her. Years ago Emma had ceased to expect their love and she no longer sought their approbation but, in spite of that, she had never imagined she would have reason to question their loyalty at any time. The devastating implications of their scheming had at first left her thunderstruck, but this initial reaction had rapidly been replaced by a numbing anger and finally she had felt only pure contempt. She smiled grimly as she reflected on their duplicity, a duplicity so ill-conceived and lacking in skill and imagination that she had known about it from its very inception.

At least she could have had a degree of respect for them if they had been less transparent and a little more adroit in their plotting. Emma had always had the ability to stand back and admire a strong and cunning adversary, however grudging that admiration was. As far as her children were concerned, she was appalled at their lack of judgement, and their ingenuousness, which had precipitated their reckless and fatal actions and which had apparently led them to underestimate her.

She frowned and turned her thoughts away from the dissident members of her family, focusing her love on Daisy, Paula, and all of her other grandchildren. Eventually the quiet calm was restored and she slept, a deep untroubled sleep.

Afternoon tea had been a ritual at Pennistone Royal for years. It was a ritual Emma enjoyed, but even if she had not, Hilda would have not permitted it to be abandoned. ‘Over my dead body, madame,’ she had cried when Emma had suggested forgoing it a few years ago. Emma had shrugged and laughed helplessly. Hilda was a local woman who had come to work for Emma just after she had bought and restored Pennistone Royal and she was more like a member of the family than a paid servant. She was devoted to Emma, whom she described to anyone who would listen as ‘a good simple woman, with no fancy ideas’, adding with typical bluntness, ‘and a real lady whatever her beginnings were. More so than many who were born such, I can tell you!’ Emma was already a legend in the area, not only because of her power and wealth but for the many charitable deeds she had performed, quietly, with no fanfare and no desire for accolades, as was her way. But whenever Hilda had the opportunity she would proudly enumerate all of Emma’s good works yet again like a litany, not forgetting to mention that her Madame had put her own son Peter through university and had created a series of scholarships for the talented children of Pennistone and Fairley. ‘And what about her Foundation,’ she would continue, with a sniff, arching her neck and narrowing her eyes shrewdly. ‘Now, the Foundation gives away more money than I care to mention. Millions! Yes, millions. There is nothing tight-fisted about Emma Harte, that’s the truth. Which is more than I can say about some of the other rich folk around here. They wouldn’t give a blind man a light on a rainy night, never mind part with a few coppers for the needy.’ And when she wasn’t singing the praises of Emma she was proclaiming the virtues of Paula, whom she had helped to raise and whom she loved just as much as if she were her own daughter.

And so, promptly at four o’clock, Hilda came sailing into the parlour, carrying before her a great silver tea tray set with a beautiful Georgian silver tea service of exquisite design and delicate china which was translucent when held to the light. Following in her wake was one of the two young maids who came daily to work at the house, who also carried another gargantuan tray, this one laden with food painstakingly prepared by the cook.

‘Put that on the desk for a minute, Brenda,’ Hilda instructed, ‘and bring one of the small tables over here by the fire to hold it.’ She put her own tray down on the butler’s table and, puffing and blowing from exertion, she paused to catch her breath, motioning to Brenda where to position the second table for convenience. The two women carefully arranged the trays in front of the fire and then Brenda slipped out of the room, leaving Hilda to make the finishing touches. She surveyed Cook’s handiwork critically and then a smile of gratification slowly spread itself across her plump rosy face. There were hot buttered scones, thin slices of bread and butter, homemade strawberry jam, clotted cream, wafer-like sandwiches of cucumber, tomatoes, and smoked salmon, sweet biscuits, and a fruit cake decorated on the top with almonds. It was a real old-fashioned Yorkshire tea. Hilda carefully folded the fine lawn serviettes, put one on each plate with a small pearl-handled silver knife and fork, threw logs on to the fire, plumped the cushions, and then looked around. When she had reassured herself that everything was to her satisfaction she knocked on Emma’s bedroom door.

‘Are you awake, madame?’

‘Yes, Hilda. Come in,’ Emma called.

Hilda opened the door and poked her head around it, smiling. ‘Tea is ready!’ she announced. ‘And Miss Paula is back from her ride. She said to tell you she’ll be here in a few minutes. She’s changing out of her riding clothes.’

‘Thank you, Hilda. I’ll be there shortly.’

‘Ring if you need anything, madame,’ Hilda added, and then went down to the kitchen to have her own tea and give a word of praise to Cook.

When Paula came in a little while later she stood in the doorway and caught her breath, unexpectedly moved by the beauty of the parlour. It was hushed and still, as if time had passed it by. The only sound was the crackling of the fire that burned in the huge hearth. Sunshine filtered in through the tall leaded windows, dusky and golden, bathing the furniture and paintings in a mellow light, and the air, heavy with the perfume of hyacinths and spring flowers, flowed around her, enveloping her in its heady fragrance. There was something poignant about this great old room. Memories stirred within her, faintly elusive and nostalgic. She glided silently across the floor, almost afraid to move within that stillness, fearful that the rustling of her dress might disrupt and destroy that gentle peace. She sank on to one of the sofas and her eyes roamed around the room. Here it was easy to forget that there was a world outside, a world full of pain and ugliness and despair. She drifted gently on the edge of memory, recalling her childhood in this ancient place, the happy times she had spent here with her mother and father, her cousins and her young friends. And Grandy. Always Grandy. Her grandmother was never far away, always there to wipe away her tears, laugh at her childish pranks, admire her small achievements and to scold and cosset and love her. Her grandmother had made her what she was. It was Grandy who had told her she was clever and beautiful and special. Unique, she had said. It was Grandy who had given her inner security and confidence and strength, who had taught her to face the truth without fear and with a courageous heart …

She did not hear Emma come in, so soft was her step. Emma, too, paused to admire, but her attention was focused solely on Paula. How lovely she looks, Emma thought, like a figure from some old painting, remote and wistful, the maiden with the unicorn.

‘There you are, darling!’ Emma exclaimed. ‘You’re looking beautiful and refreshed after your ride.’

Paula glanced up swiftly, momentarily startled. ‘Oh, Grandy, you made me jump. I was miles away.’

As Emma seated herself opposite Paula her eyes lighted on the tea tray. ‘My goodness, look at all this food. Hilda is too much,’ she murmured, shaking her head in mild exasperation. ‘How can we eat all this! It’s only a few hours to dinner.’

Paula laughed. ‘I know! Perhaps she feels you need building up. You know how she fusses over you. But she’s really gone to town today. It’s like the nursery teas she used to make when I was small.’

‘I’m not hungry at all,’ Emma murmured, ‘and she’s going to be so hurt if we don’t eat anything.’

‘I’m ravenous, so don’t worry,’ Paula remarked, picking up a sandwich. ‘It was cold up there on the moors and I rode for miles. It’s given me quite an appetite.’ She bit into the sandwich as Emma looked on approvingly.

‘I’m glad to see you eating for once. You always seem to pick at your food. No wonder you’re so thin …’

The telephone on Emma’s desk rang. Paula jumped up. ‘Don’t disturb yourself, darling,’ she said, dashing across the room, ‘it’s probably only one of the family.’

She picked up the phone. ‘Yes, Hilda. I’ll take it. Hello? It’s Paula. Do you want to speak to Grandmother?’ She listened briefly and said, ‘Oh, all right. Yes. Fine. Goodbye.’ Paula came back to her place on the sofa. ‘It was Aunt Elizabeth. She’s coming tomorrow morning and bringing the twins … and the husband!’

‘So now we know,’ Emma remarked with a chuckle. The telephone rang again. ‘Oh dear, I do hope they’re not all going to call and tell us when they are arriving. This could go on for the rest of the day,’ Emma exclaimed impatiently.

Paula hurried across the room and took the call, which as always was monitored first by Hilda. ‘Emily! How are you?’ she cried when she heard her cousin’s voice. They were close friends. ‘Yes, of course you can. She’s right here.’ Paula put the phone down on the desk and motioned to Emma. ‘It’s Emily, Grandy, she wants to talk to you.’

‘Knowing Emily, this could be quite an involved conversation,’ Emma said with a smile, and picking up her cup of tea, she took it with her to the desk. Sitting down, she lifted the phone and said briskly, ‘Hello, darling. How are …’

‘I’m fine, Grandmother,’ Emily interrupted in her young breathy voice, in a tremendous rush as always. ‘I can’t talk long! I’m in a frightful hurry! But I just wanted to tell you that Sarah is flying up from London this afternoon. I’m going to pick her up at Yeadon airport at six-thirty, so we’ll definitely be there for dinner. Oh, and Alexander said to tell you he might be late. Uncle Kit’s being truculent about that machinery. He’s had Alexander going over all the figures again. Alexander’s furious! Well, anyway, he thinks he can be at Pennistone by eight o’clock, if that isn’t too late. Also, Jonathan is taking the train up from London to Leeds. But he said not to send Smithers. He’ll get a taxi.’

All of this had issued forth in a steady uninterrupted stream, in Emily’s typical fashion, which Emma was quite accustomed to. She sat back comfortably, an amused glint in her eyes, listening attentively, occasionally sipping her tea. Emily was always pressed for time, even more so than she was herself, and it often occurred to Emma that her voluble and volatile young grand-daughter seemed to speak in a series of exclamation marks. Now she said teasingly, ‘For someone in a rush this seems to be a very long conversation, Emily dear.’

‘Grandy! Don’t be mean! I can’t help it if all your idiot grandchildren make me the repository of their messages. Ooh! I’ve one more. Philip is going to try and come with me; if not, he’ll drive over with Alexander. Grandy dear …’ Emily paused and her voice dropped, was suddenly soft and full of lilting charm. ‘Can I ask a favour?’

‘Of course, darling,’ Emma replied, repressing an amused but loving smile. She knew that cajoling tone of Emily’s only too well, adopted whenever she wanted something.

‘Could I borrow one of your evening dresses, please? I only brought a few things when I came up to Bradford last week. I didn’t know you would be giving a big family party. I’ve nothing to wear. I looked through the store here today and everything is so dowdy! And I simply don’t have time to go over to the Leeds store.’

Emma laughed. ‘If you think the clothes in the store are dowdy, I don’t know what you’ll find here, dear,’ she remarked, wondering what on earth a pretty twenty-one-year-old blonde dynamo could possibly find suitable in her wardrobe.

‘That red chiffon dress! The one from Paris! It fits me. So do the red silk shoes,’ Emily rushed on excitedly. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind me trying it on, so I did last weekend when I was at Pennistone. It looks super on me, Grandy. Please, can I borrow it? I’ll be careful.’

‘I’d forgotten about that dress, Emily. Of course you can wear it, if you wish. I don’t know why I ever bought it in the first place. Perhaps you’d like to keep it,’ Emma suggested generously.

Emily sucked in her breath in delighted surprise but said, ‘Oh, Grandy darling, I couldn’t do that!’ There was another little pause. ‘Don’t you want it, Grandmother?’

Emma smiled to herself. ‘Not really, Emily. It’s far too dashing for me. It’s yours.’

‘Oh, Grandy! Goodness! Oh, thank you, darling! You’re an angel. Grandy? …’

‘Yes, Emily? What else?’

‘Would it be an imposition to ask you to lend me your old diamond earrings. That dress needs a little … well … it needs a little something, doesn’t it?’ Emily cried enthusiastically. ‘It needs good jewellery, don’t you think?’

Emma burst out laughing. ‘Really, Emily, you’re so funny. I don’t know what you mean by old diamond earrings. Do I have such a thing?’

‘Yes! Those drops. The teardrops. You never wear them! Maybe you’ve forgotten them,’ Emily volunteered, her voice rising hopefully.

‘Oh, those. Yes. You can wear them and anything else you want. In the meantime, how are things at the Bradford store?’

‘Thank you, Grandy, for the earrings, I mean. And things here are very good. I’ll tell you about some of the changes I’ve made when I see you. Otherwise it’s all sort of quiet and dull.’

‘Well, you’ll be in Leeds next week, which isn’t so bad,’ Emma pointed out. ‘And we’ll talk about your changes tonight. By the way, it doesn’t matter if the boys are late. Hilda always makes a cold supper on Fridays,’ Emma explained, and went on, ‘Your mother just called. She’s coming tomorrow wi …’

‘Grandmother! Gosh! I forgot!’ Emily broke in. ‘I wanted to alert you to something awful. Mummy has had a furious row with the twins! Something about a statue they’ve made for you. They’re insisting on bringing it and Mummy says it’s simply hideous and won’t fit into the car. But that’s not surprising, with all the luggage she drags around with her. Anyway there’s been a terrible fuss and the twins are upset and they want to move in and live with you! I just thought you should know exactly what to expect!’ She sighed dramatically. ‘What a family!’

‘Thank you for telling me,’ Emma said thoughtfully. ‘But let’s not worry about all that now. I’m sure by the time Elizabeth arrives the twins will be calm again. They can stay with me for a while if they wish. Is that all, Emily?’ Emma asked patiently.

‘Yes. Gosh! I must rush, Grandy. I’m way behind. Goodbye. See you tonight.’

‘Goodbye …’ Emma stared at the telephone and then she laughed. Emily had already hung up. She leaned back in her chair and shook her head, still laughing. ‘It doesn’t surprise me at all that the store managers tremble when Emily arrives on the scene. She’s a whirlwind.’

Paula smiled at Emma, nodding her head in agreement. ‘I know. But she’s awfully good at her job, Grandy. I think you ought to consider sending her to the Paris store for a while. She would be terrific.’

Emma raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘But she doesn’t speak French,’ she said, ‘otherwise I might consider it.’

‘She does, Grandy.’ Paula sat up. ‘She’s been taking lessons,’ Paula explained, cautiously feeling her way. ‘She would love to go and I think she might be the answer you’ve been looking for.’

‘Well, I’ll think about it,’ Emma remarked, rather pleased at Paula’s information. Emily was diligent, she knew that. Perhaps it was the solution. Emily, like all of her other grandchildren who were old enough, worked within the Harte companies and had proved herself to be tireless and assiduous in her work. She would consider it later. Now she turned her mind to more immediate problems. ‘I have made the seating plan for dinner,’ Emma began, and poured herself another cup of tea.

Paula looked at her with interest. ‘Yes, you told me you were going to, Grandy.’ Paula waited expectantly.

Emma cleared her throat. ‘I think I have seated everyone appropriately. I’ve tried to separate the ones who don’t get along too well, although, as I said, I am sure everyone will be on their best behaviour.’ She put her hand in her pocket and her fingers curled around the paper. She was still reluctant to bring it out and show it to Paula.

‘I hope so, Grandy! It’s such a crowd and you know how difficult some of them can be.’ She laughed sardonically. ‘Impossible, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ Emma replied. She leaned back against the sofa and stared at Paula intently, questioningly. ‘I suppose they all thought I was drawing my last breath these last few weeks, didn’t they?’

The unexpected question surprised Paula. ‘I don’t know,’ she began thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps …’ She hesitated and then her exasperation with her aunts and uncles got the better of her. ‘Oh, they’re such leeches, Grandy!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘I don’t know why you bother with them! I’m sorry. I know they’re your children, but I just get furious every time I think of them.’

‘You don’t have to apologize to me, dear. I know only too well what they are.’ Emma smiled thinly. ‘I don’t delude myself that they are coming to see me out of concern. They accepted my invitation out of curiosity. Vultures come to regard the carcass. But I’m not dead yet and I have made no immediate plans for dying,’ she finished, a note of triumph in her voice.

Paula leaned forward quickly, staring at Emma fixedly. ‘Then why did you invite them, Grandy, if you know what they are?’ she asked in a deliberate voice.

Emma smiled enigmatically and her eyes turned cold. ‘I wanted to see them all together for one last time.’

‘Don’t say that, Grandy! You’re better and we are going to take care of you properly this time. To hell with the stores and business,’ Paula cried passionately.

‘By the “last time”, I meant the last time I will invite them here for this kind of weekend,’ Emma declared. ‘I have a little family business to attend to, and as they are involved, they should be here. All of them. Together.’ Her mouth tightened into the familiar resolute line and her eyes gleamed darkly.

Concern clouded Paula’s eyes. ‘You must promise me you won’t let them upset you,’ she said, noting the expression on Emma’s face. ‘And you shouldn’t be worrying about family business this weekend. Is it so important it can’t wait?’ she demanded fiercely.

‘Oh, it’s nothing all that vital,’ Emma said dismissively with a shrug. ‘Just a few details regarding the trust funds. It won’t take long, and of course I won’t let them disturb me.’ A half smile flickered across her face. ‘Actually, I’m rather looking forward to it.’

‘I’m not sure that I am,’ Paula said carefully. ‘May I see the seating plan?’

‘Of course, darling.’ Emma moved her position slightly and put her hand in her pocket. She felt the paper and hesitated, and then, taking a deep breath, she pulled it out. ‘Here you are.’ She handed the paper to Paula, waiting expectantly, holding herself perfectly still, hardly daring now to breathe at all.

Paula’s eyes travelled quickly over the paper. Emma was watching her intently. Paula’s eyes stopped. Opened wide. Moved on. Returned again to the previous spot. A look of total disbelief spread itself across her face. ‘Why, Grandy? Why?’ Her voice rose sharply in anger and the paper fluttered to the floor. Emma was silent, waiting for the initial surprise to disappear, for Paula to calm down.

‘Why?’ Paula demanded, jumping up, her face white, her mouth trembling. ‘You have no right to invite Jim Fairley tomorrow night. He’s not family. I don’t want him here! I won’t have him here! I won’t! I won’t! How could you, Grandmother!’

She ran to the window and Emma could see she was fighting to control herself. Her thin shoulders hunched over as she pressed her forehead against the pane of glass, her narrow shoulder blades sharp and protruding under the silk dress. Emma’s heart ached with love for her and she felt her pain as deeply as if it were her own. ‘Come here and sit down. I want to talk to you, darling,’ Emma said softly.

Paula swung around quickly, her eyes now so dark they looked navy blue. ‘I don’t want to talk to you, Grandmother. At least not about Jim Fairley!’ She stood poised by the window, defiant, reproachful, filled with rage. She trembled and clasped and unclasped her hands in agitation. How could her grandmother have been so thoughtless. To ask Jim Fairley to the dinner was cruel and unfair, and she had never known her grandmother to be either of these things. She turned her back on Emma and laid her head against the window again, looking out at the green treetops yet seeing nothing, pushing back the tears that rushed into her eyes.

To Emma she looked suddenly pathetically young and vulnerable and hurt. She is the one thing of value I cherish, Emma thought, her heart contracting with love. Of all my grandchildren, she is the one I love the most. My hard and terrible life has been worth it just for the joy of her. This girl. This strong, dauntless, courageous, loyal girl who would put my desires before her own happiness.

‘Come here, darling. I have something I must tell you.’

Paula stared at Emma abstractedly as if she were in shock. With reluctance she came back to the fireplace, moving like a sleepwalker, her face blank. She was still fuming, but the shaking had ceased. Her eyes were flat and dull, like hard stones of lapis lazuli in her ashen face. She sat down erect and rigid on the sofa. There was something contained, unyielding about her that was frightening to Emma, who knew she must quickly explain, so that look would leave her granddaughter for ever. Emma had chosen an oblique way of informing Paula that she had invited Jim Fairley to the dinner, because she did not trust herself to do it verbally. But now she must speak. Explain. Put the girl out of her terrible torment.

‘I have invited Jim Fairley tomorrow, Paula, because he is indirectly involved in the family business matters I mentioned to you earlier.’ She paused and sucked in her breath and then continued more firmly, looking at Paula closely. ‘But that is not the only reason. I also invited him for you. And I might add he was delighted to accept.’

Paula was transfixed, incredulous. A deep flush rose up from her neck, filling her face with dark colour and her mouth shook again. ‘I don’t understand … invited him for me …’ She was flustered and confused. Her hair had somehow worked loose from the hair slide in her agitation and she moved it away from her face impatiently. She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘What are you saying, Grandmother? You have always hated the Fairleys. I don’t understand.’

Emma pushed herself on to her feet and went and sat on the sofa. She took one of Paula’s beautiful tapered hands in her own small sturdy ones. She gazed at Paula and her heart tightened when she looked into her eyes, vast caverns in the paleness of her face and full of pain. Emma touched that wan face, smiling gently, and then she said in a hoarse whisper, ‘I am an old woman, Paula. A tough old woman who has fought every inch of the way for everything I have. Strong, yes, but also tired. Bitter? Perhaps I was. But I have acquired some wisdom in my struggle with life, my struggle to survive, and I wondered to myself the other day why the silly pride of a tough old woman should stand in the way of the one person I love the most in the whole world. It struck me I was being selfish, and foolish, to let events of sixty years ago cloud my judgement now.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ Paula murmured, bafflement in her eyes.

‘I am trying to tell you that I no longer have any objections to you seeing Jim Fairley. I had a long conversation with him yesterday, during which I gathered he still feels the same way about you. That he has always had very serious intentions. I told him this afternoon that if he wishes to marry you, he not only has my permission, but my blessing as well. I bless both of you, with all my love.’

Paula was speechless. Her mind would not accept her grandmother’s words. For months she had cautioned herself not to think of Jim, had finally accepted that there was no possible future for them. She had been hard on herself, ruthlessly pushing aside all emotion, all feelings, pouring her energy into her work in her abject misery. Through the blur of her tears she saw Emma’s face, that face she had seen and loved all of her life. That face she trusted. Emma was smiling fondly, waiting, and her eyes were wise and understanding and full of love. The tears slid silently down Paula’s cheeks and she shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you would change your mind,’ she said, her voice choked.

‘I did.’

These two simple words, uttered with firmness and conviction, finally penetrated Paula’s aching brain, her battered heart. She began to sob, her whole body heaving as the smothered and pent-up emotions of months were released. She slumped forward, blindly reaching for Emma, who cradled her in her arms like a child, stroking her hair and murmuring softly to her in the way she had done when she was a little girl. ‘It’s all right. Hush, darling. It’s all right. I promise you it’s all right.’

Eventually the heaving sobs subsided and Paula looked up at Emma, a tremulous smile on her face. Emma wiped the tears from her face with one hand, stared intently at her and said, ‘I never want to see you unhappy again as long as I live. I’ve had enough unhappiness for both of us.’

‘I don’t know what to say. I’m numb. I can’t believe it,’ Paula replied quietly. Jim. Jim!

Emma nodded. ‘I know how you feel,’ she said, and her tired eyes brightened. ‘Now, why don’t you do me a favour. Go and call Jim. He’s still at the paper. He’s waiting for you, in fact. Invite him for dinner tonight, if you wish. Or better still, drive into Leeds and have dinner with him alone. I’ll have Emily and Sarah for company, and perhaps Alexander and the others will arrive in time for supper.’ She laughed, her eyes shining. ‘I do have other grandchildren, you know.’ Paula hugged her and kissed her, and then she was gone, flying out of the room without another word.

Wings on her feet, Emma thought, going to her love. She sat for a while on the sofa, preoccupied with thoughts of Paula and Jim and so many other things. Then she stood up suddenly, abruptly, and walked to the window, stretching her stiffened limbs, smoothing her dress with her hands, patting her silver hair into place. She opened one of the leaded windows and looked out.

Below her in the garden the trees glistened in the cool evening air, and everything was dark green and perfectly still. Not a blade of grass, not a leaf stirred, and the birds were silent. She could see the daffodils rapidly losing their brilliant colour, bleaching palely to white now that the sun had set, and the topiary hedges were slowly turning black. She stood there for a long time in the gloaming, watching the dusk descend as the crystalline northern light faded behind the low hump line of hills on the horizon. The mist was drifting into the garden, wrapping everything before it in a vaporous, opal-tinted shawl, rising suddenly to obscure the trees and the shrubs and the old flagged terrace, until all these images were fused together.

Emma shivered and closed the window, turning back into the welcoming warmth and comfort of the room. She walked across the faded Savonnerie carpet, still shivering slightly from the cold damp air that had blown in through the window. She picked up the poker and energetically pushed the burning logs around, throwing on more of them to build the huge roaring fire she loved.

She sat by the fireside staring into the flames, content and at peace, forgotten memories of her youth invading her mind as she waited for her other grandchildren to arrive. She thought of the Fairleys. All of them were gone now, except for James Arthur Fairley, the last of the line. ‘Why should he suffer, and Paula, for the mistakes of a dead generation?’ she asked herself aloud, and then thought: I was right to do this. It is my gift to her. To both of them.

It was growing darker outside and in the dimly lit room the firelight cast its strange and mysterious shadows across the walls and the ceiling and in amongst them she saw so many old and familiar faces. Her friends. Her enemies. All of them dead long ago. Ghosts … just ghosts that could no longer touch her or hers.

Life is like a circle, she mused. My life began with the Fairleys and it will end with them. The two points have now joined to make the full circle.