Emma's Secret

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘It’s too big for you to carry. Come along, let’s go to the kitchen and we can unwrap it there.’ As she spoke Tessa stood up, took hold of Adele’s hand, and the two of them walked across the glassy, black granite floor in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs. Longden,’ the young nanny said, closing the dishwasher door and swinging around as mother and daughter walked in together.

  ‘Good evening, Elvira,’ Tessa replied, ushering Adele towards the small breakfast area which opened off the spacious modern kitchen. ‘I’ve brought a present for Adele, and now we’re going to open it, aren’t we, darling?’

  Adele nodded, her face full of smiles, her eyes sparkling.

  ‘Aren’t you a lucky girl?’ Elvira said and then addressed Tessa. ‘I’m sorry I’ve got to take the night off, Mrs. Longden, but as I told you on the phone my mother’s fall was a bad one. Fell off a stepladder, she did. A broken arm and a broken leg, both in casts. Thank goodness her next-door neighbour happened to come in to see her about something. Mrs. Abel found her and was able to get Mum to the hospital. But now she’s sort of…well, stranded there at home alone.’

  ‘I understand, Elvira, and I’m sorry this happened to your mother. Do you know how long you’ll be gone?’

  ‘Oh, only tonight, Mrs. Longden. I’ve been on the phone and my sister Pearl is driving up from Sussex. She’ll be arriving about midnight, and she’ll stay with Mum until my other sister, Moira, comes back from her holidays in Spain. Between them, Pearl and Moira can handle everything.’

  ‘As I said, I’m sorry your mother hurt herself, Elvira. Broken bones are a nuisance and very painful. But I must admit that, rather selfishly, I’m relieved you’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘I know you need me to look after Adele; you work so hard, Mrs. Longden. I should be here by lunchtime. But you’ll have Mrs. Jolles in the morning, and she loves Adele. She can look after her until I arrive.’

  Tessa nodded, and followed her daughter into the breakfast area. After placing the package on the table, Tessa lifted Adele into a chair, and said, ‘Come on, let’s untie the ribbon and take off the paper.’

  Eagerly, the child pulled at the bow of ribbon, tore off the paper, and Tessa helped her to finally reveal the golden cardboard box. Lifting off the lid, Tessa then tipped the box up on its end so that Adele could see its contents.

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ she exclaimed a little breathlessly. Her face was a picture of delight. ‘A doll, Mumma! Pretty doll!’

  ‘Yes, it is pretty, just like you.’ Tessa took the exquisitely crafted and beautifully dressed porcelain baby doll out of its box and handed it to Adele, who immediately kissed its cheeks and hugged it to her.

  ‘Do you like her?’ Tessa asked, sitting down in a chair opposite her daughter.

  ‘Yes,’ Adele said, nodding, smiling at her mother and patting the doll’s head.

  ‘What’s her name?’ Elvira asked, as she came to join them.

  Adele looked from Elvira to her mother. ‘Name, Mumma?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a name, not yet. You have to choose one for her, Adele.’

  ‘Oh.’ Adele’s silver grey eyes opened wider, and she looked at her mother in a puzzled way, then dropped her eyes to the doll she clutched in her arms. She stroked its bright blonde hair and touched its face and then she looked up at her mother and said, ‘Daisy.’

  ‘That’s a pretty name for a pretty doll,’ Elvira said, smiling at her young charge, who was such a beautiful child she was breathtaking.

  ‘Gan-Gan’s name,’ Adele suddenly announced.

  ‘Gran-Gran Daisy will be pleased,’ Tessa murmured, somewhat startled that the child had chosen the name of her great-grandmother. But of course Daisy did have blonde hair and a pretty face. She spent part of her time in England again, after the death of her husband Jason Rickards in Australia. And she was a frequent visitor here to see her granddaughter and her great-granddaughter, especially adoring little Adele the way she did.

  Glancing at her watch, Tessa rose. Turning to Elvira, she remarked, ‘It’s well after six, so you must have given Adele her supper.’

  ‘Yes, I have, and I thought I’d start getting her ready for bed in a short while. I was just waiting for you to come home so you could spend a bit of time with her.’

  ‘Thanks, Elvira, I do appreciate that. Will you help me to bring the shopping bags into the kitchen, please? Mr. Longden’s getting back from his trip later this evening, and I’m going to cook dinner for him.’

  ‘That’s nice, Mrs. L. What’re you going to make?’

  ‘Coq au vin, it’s one of his favourite dishes.’

  It was peaceful in the kitchen.

  The only sound was the music playing on the radio, turned low so that it was merely a background hum. Pleasant but not distracting.

  Tessa moved between the stove and the long central island, where she had prepared most of the ingredients for the chicken dish, one of her specialities. After browning the chicken and frying the chopped bacon and chopped onions, she brought all three pans to the island counter, and emptied the contents into a large enamelled pot. She liked cooking, and she worked easily, as always relaxed when she was preparing food.

  Once she had opened a bottle of Beaujolais, she poured herself a glass and then added half of the bottle of wine to the pot. Into this also went a tin of tomato paste, a small jug of chicken broth and two cupfuls of sliced mushrooms. The bouquet garni she had made earlier and tied with a piece of cheesecloth was added, and then she carried the pot to the stove and turned on the gas, setting it at medium.

  Tessa stood stirring the contents of the pot with a wooden spoon and, when everything was well mixed together, she put the lid on and went back to the island. After taking a sip of red wine she glanced at the ingredients to be added later–a small bowl of pearl onions and another one of button mushrooms. She began to clean up after herself, being a very tidy cook. Within seconds all of the dirty dishes, pans and utensils were stacked in the dishwasher, and finally Tessa sat down on a stool at the island to enjoy the glass of wine.

  Her eyes roamed around the kitchen, taking everything in. She liked this spacious room with its high-flung cathedral ceiling and the skylights cut into each end, the wide French doors opening onto the patio and the garden beyond. It was light-filled and airy, and the perfect space for cooking because it was properly planned and its proportions were excellent.

  To Tessa the kitchen was the best room in the house. She thought the rest of it was cold, a little banal even, and far too modern for her liking. But that was Mark’s great claim to fame: ultra-modern buildings soaring upward, with great empty spaces inside. Cold, empty spaces without colour or life and a minimum of furniture. Uncomfortable furniture, she thought, and poured herself a little more wine, focused on the home she shared with Mark. She hadn’t realized until she moved into this house that she truly detested it. She had watched Mark strip the lovely old Edwardian house down to its bare bones, and then rebuild the interiors the way he wanted. It was not what she wanted, she had vociferously protested, but he had swept her concern and opinions to one side, telling her she would love it once it was completed, that she had no vision.

  But she had not loved it, and the upsetting thing was that her mother had bought the house for her and it belonged to her, and not to have a pleasing place to live affected her badly at times. And the money he had spent remodelling had been enormous–her money.

  She had been brought up at Pennistone Royal and her mother’s Belgravia house, which had once been Emma Harte’s, and she was used to the warmth and comfort of both places. Pennistone Royal, stately home though it was, with so many huge and soaring spaces, nevertheless had its smaller rooms which were intimate, charming and cosy, and lovely to be in, to live with.

  There were those who thought Mark was a genius. Of late she had come to understand this was not the case at all; she had suddenly realized that much of what he designed was plagiarized from other more famous archite
cts, most of them dead. These designs he modified and changed until they were bastardizations of the originals. Thus he could claim them as his own, although Tessa often wondered why he would want to do so. She thought that most were monstrosities.

  Recognizing that he was not what she had originally thought him to be had come as something of a shock. And yet hadn’t she always known deep down inside that he was a bit of a fraud, a blowhard and a boaster? Good looking yes, but not as good a catch as she liked to make out to others. And if she were really truthful with herself, their marriage was suddenly not working quite so well any longer. However, there was Adele to think of, who adored her father; anyway, she did not want to leave him, even though he was becoming increasingly difficult and at times verbally abusive. The ridiculous thing was that she still loved him.

  What was that remark her mother had made this afternoon? ‘Marriage is relentless,’ she had said.

  Well, yes, that was true. Absolutely true. And he was relentless, forever on her back about so many things to do with her mother and the stores, her power, her inheritance, her future in the hierarchy, and her money.

  Tessa sighed to herself and got up, carried the remainder of the ingredients over to the stove. Her eye caught the clock on the kitchen wall, and she was startled to see it was well past eight. But then she had taken a long time preparing the various ingredients for the coq au vin. She wondered where Mark was as she added the rest of the items to the pot, stirred them, poured in the additional chicken broth and a bit more of the Beaujolais.

  The coq au vin smelt delicious. It was going to come out well and Mark would be pleased. Replacing the lid, she set the table in the breakfast area before returning to the island in the middle of the kitchen.

  Sitting down on the stool once more, Tessa poured the last of the red wine into her glass and took a sip absently, thinking of her mother and other aspects of their conversations of earlier that day. It suddenly struck her that Paula had looked upset, rattled when they had been discussing the succession, and she reflected on this for a while.

  Tessa could not deny that Paula had been a good mother to her, because she had, and to all of her children, in fact. But there were times when she resented her attitude. How easy it would be for Paula to make her life easy by simply naming her as the heir apparent…the Dauphine, as she liked to call herself. How she loved that word; it sang with power. But obviously her mother was not going to do this. She had made that clear. But at least she wasn’t going to name Linnet. Or anyone else for that matter.

  But wasn’t her mother being a bit unfair? After all, she was the eldest of Paula’s children and also a Fairley. It was family lore that Emma Harte had taken much of what had once belonged to the Fairleys, and so in her opinion she was entitled to oversee those family businesses later, just as her mother did now.

  The problem was her mother favoured Linnet above all others, because she was her child by Shane…their love child. Tessa blew out air in a whoosh, suddenly irritated. Her mother blamed her for the sibling rivalry that existed between them, but it actually emanated from Linnet, aided and abetted by India Standish and Gideon Harte. They egged her on, as they always had.

  But she had Toby on her side, and they had their plans well laid, and one day…

  The sound of the front door slamming brought Tessa up with a start, and she looked eagerly towards the kitchen door, which stood ajar.

  In spite of his difficult personality and the problems he now created between them, Tessa was determined to save the marriage, make it work…because that was what she wanted.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘Hello, darling,’ Tessa said as Mark walked into the kitchen. Giving him her most brilliant smile, she went on, ‘I was beginning to worry, you’re so late.’ Sliding off the stool, she went to meet him, gave him a hug, but he was so unresponsive she let her arms fall to her sides, suddenly deflated. ‘Where have you been?’ she now asked, her voice very quiet.

  Pulling away from her, he answered gruffly, ‘On a bloody train, where the hell do you think I’ve been?’ Making a face, he added, ‘Public transport is diabolical in this country these days.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tessa murmured, retreating to her stool at the island counter, realizing he was in one of his belligerent moods.

  His dark eyes followed her and instantly settled on the bottle of Beaujolais. He was at the island in two or three long strides, and he picked it up, shook it. ‘This bottle’s empty! You’ve been drinking again!’ he exclaimed, staring at her, his eyes suddenly full of icy disdain.

  ‘You say that as if I’m an alcoholic, for heaven’s sake. All I’ve had is a glass and a half. Most of that bottle of wine is in the coq au vin.’ Hoping to avert another outburst of nastiness, she flashed her winning smile again, and explained, ‘I’ve made a big pot. I know how much you like it, darling.’

  Ignoring her words, he waved the bottle in front of her face rather dangerously and intoned in a dire voice, ‘It’s a Fairley problem, drink. You don’t want to end up like your father. Or worse still, your great-grandmother, Adele Fairley. She was so soused one night she fell down the stairs at Fairley Hall and broke her bloody neck.’ He shook his head, his expression more disdainful than ever. ‘What a family I’ve married into.’

  Tessa was gaping at him, totally taken aback. ‘Where on earth did that particular story come from? I’ve never heard it before, and if it were true I would have. So come on, who told you such a terrible lie about my great-grandmother Adele? And who impugned my father’s reputation?’

  Mark Longden ran his hand through his already rumpled brownish-blond hair, and shrugged carelessly. A look of sudden indifference crossed his disgruntled face, and he muttered. ‘I don’t know. I heard it from someone. But it doesn’t matter who told me, it’s a well-known fact the Fairleys were huge tipplers, renowned across the county for their drinking, apparently. So just watch yourself, do you hear? I won’t have my daughter brought up by a drunken mother.’

  ‘Mark, stop this! And immediately. I’ve not even had two glasses of wine, and I rarely drink. And you know it. So stop it right now!’ Tessa was on her feet, regarding him intently, aware of some kind of implied threat behind his words. She was alerted to trouble, suddenly on her guard, asking herself if he had been drinking. And where had he been? This morning he had told her he was going out of town for the day. But where had he been exactly? And who with?

  Mark had seated himself on one of the other stools, and he glanced at her, and said in a lighter and more normal voice, ‘I’d like a vodka. Please fix one for me, darling.’

  Wanting to be conciliatory, Tessa smiled in relief, nodded and hurried across to the drinks cupboard at one end of the kitchen where the liquor was stored. She returned with a bottle of Russian vodka, put it on the counter, took ice from the refrigerator, then stood at the island mixing a drink for him.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said as he lifted the glass to his mouth and took a long swallow.

  ‘Cheers.’ Tessa picked up her glass which was now empty except for a few drops of wine. ‘Who was the client you went to see today?’ she asked, trying to sound casual, not wishing to start another row.

  ‘A chap up North,’ he muttered, staring into his drink absently, as if preoccupied.

  ‘Up North. Were you in Yorkshire?’ she asked, instantly suspicious, especially after his ramblings about Adele Fairley and her father.

  ‘No, I meant the Midlands,’ he corrected himself, looking across at her. ‘I’m designing a house for him. Lots of money in it. For the firm.’ A strange ironic smile struck his mouth and he asked, ‘And what about your day? How did it go? Any quarrels with little sister? Did you talk to your mother? About the bloody succession? I know the answer to those questions. Rows with Linnet, I’m certain, just as I’m certain you haven’t spoken to your mother. About when you’re taking over as CEO.’

  Tessa was on the verge of telling him what had transpired, and instantly changed her mind. It would cause trouble, she was
suddenly very sure of that. He was in a strange mood, and if he had not been drinking then he was definitely on something. His eyes were slightly glazed, and although he was not at all slurred or unsteady, she detected a change in him. It was ever so slight but it was there. He was not quite himself.

  Clearing her throat, she lied when she said, ‘My mother had important meetings with the board today. I didn’t get to see her at all. But I will, darling. Anyway, there’s no problem, really, it’s obvious I’m going to be the boss. I’m the eldest.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ He swilled some of the vodka, then put the glass down, and looked at her intently. ‘Is something burning?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Tessa ran to the stove, lifted the lid on the pot and peered inside. ‘No, nothing’s burnt. It’s all right. And the coq au vin looks great. You’re going to enjoy it,’ she said, turning to him.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Come on, Mark, you must eat something. You’ve been gone since dawn, and if I know you, lunch got skipped.’

  He did not respond. He simply stared at her morosely, his eyes glassy.

  It took her a few minutes, but Tessa cajoled him with a certain adroitness, and finally he went into the breakfast area and sat down at the table, nursing his vodka with both hands.

  As she served spoonfuls of the coq au vin onto the plates which had been warming on top of the stove, he called out, ‘Bring a bottle of Beaujolais and I’ll open it.’

  Muttering under her breath, she did as he asked and then continued to serve their dinner. Once she had put the plates on the table, she went into the kitchen again for the bread basket and butter dish. Finally she sat down with him.

  He was struggling with the bottle opener but managed, awkwardly, to pull out the cork at last. He poured the wine sloppily, splashing some of it onto the table as he did, his hand a trifle unsteady.