‘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 Pm 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 highhanded 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.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The four of them walked slowly around the perimeter of the estate–Jack Figg, Gideon Harte, Evan Hughes and Desmond O’Neill. Jack had a captive audience and he was in his element. He was talking about his favourite subject, Security with a capital S, and he did so enthusiastically.
‘For years all that’s ever been needed here are burglar alarms, because there are so many people around most of the time…Wiggs and his gardeners, the stable lads, Joe and his estate workers. But it’s very different now. We’re living in dangerous times, things are not the same anymore. England’s changed and
not for the better,’ Jack pointed out.
‘You’re absolutely right in everything you say,’ Gideon answered. ‘It’s the same at Allington Hall, by the way. My father hasn’t got proper security either, except for alarms, and it’s downright neglectful when you think about it…all those horses, valuable horses, for example.’
Desmond said, ‘Uncle Winston has been talking about security with Dad. I heard them wittering on about it a few weeks ago. But I think Dad and Uncle Winston are very trusting.’
‘Perhaps that’s true when it comes to their homes,’ said Gideon. ‘But I know for a fact that your father is extremely high on security for all the O’Neill hotels, and certainly Dad knows it’s a priority at the newspaper offices, the television network and our radio stations.’ He glanced at Jack. ‘I’m hiring you right now to overhaul the security system at Allington Hall. And I’d like you to tackle the newspaper offices, television studios, radio stations as well. Make sure we’ve got the latest.’
‘Thanks for your vote of confidence, Gideon,’ Jack said, ‘but I will be hiring outside companies, if that’s all right. Of course I’ll be working with them, supervising.’
Gideon nodded.
‘One thing’s for sure, the store has huge security in place,’ Evan volunteered, smiling at Jack. ‘And I know you’re responsible for that.’
‘Yes, it was always at the top of my list when I was head of security at Harte’s.’
At this moment Evan’s mobile phone began to ring; she reached into her pocket and pulled it out. Bringing it to her ear, she said, ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Evan honey, it’s me,’ Owen said.
‘Dad! Hi! It’s nice to hear your voice.’ As she spoke she walked away, giving Gideon a wide smile, went to sit on a drystone wall. She watched the three men as they moved on, talking between themselves in an animated way.