Hold the Dream

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘You do really,’ he murmured, his face crestfallen. He lit a cigarette, sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. He stared past her into space, focusing on the painting above the antique chest on the far wall. He seemed momentarily distracted, as if trying to work something out in his head. ‘And when do you think she will be getting back, in fact?’ he asked eventually, bringing his attention to Paula again.

  ‘She promised me she’d be home in time to have our traditional family Christmas at Pennistone Royal –’ Paula stopped in mid-sentence, struck by a sudden, and appealing, idea. Leaning forward over the butler’s tray table between them, she exclaimed, ‘That’s when you should marry Sally. At Christmas. Gran will love it, and you can stay with her at Pennistone Royal through the holidays.’

  He made no response.

  Paula said in a rush, ‘It’s a marvellous idea, Anthony. Why are you hesitating?’

  Still he was mute, and as she watched him closely Paula saw a pained look cross his sensitive face, which was grey and lined with fatigue. His eyes became anxious, even alarmed. He has eyes like Jim, like Aunt Edwina. Fairley eyes, Paula thought idly. She pushed aside this inconsequential observation, and wanting to pin him down, said, ‘Yes, Christmas would be perfect, ideal. Do say yes. We can try and reach Grandy in Sydney. No, it’s too late now,’ she muttered, thinking aloud about the time difference, glancing at her watch. It was four o’clock. Two in the morning in Australia. ‘Well, we can send her a telex,’ she announced decisively.

  ‘I suppose Christmas will be all right,’ Anthony said slowly, reluctantly. ‘It will have to be a quiet wedding, Paula. Very quiet. Because by then –’ His voice wavered slightly, became a low mumble as he told her, ‘Sally’s pregnant, and her condition will be noticeable by then.’

  Aware at once of his discomfort, Paula adopted a cheerful, matter-of-fact tone. ‘I imagine Sally will be about six months along in December, so we’ll have to make her a really lovely wedding dress that conceals her awkward figure.’

  Startled, Anthony said, ‘You knew?’

  ‘No, guessed. Both Emily and I thought she had put on weight when we saw her in September, and we came to the conclusion she might be expecting. Don’t worry, no one else knows, except Winston.’

  ‘Her father and Vivienne are also aware –’

  ‘I’m talking about the rest of the family, Anthony. And as you said it should be quiet…only a handful of people. The Hartes, of course, Gran, Jim and myself, your mother, and Emily. She’d be hurt if she didn’t come.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m very fond of Emily, and she was such a help…’ He stopped, swallowed. ‘Under the circumstances, do you think it’s indecent – my getting married again? I mean, so soon after Min’s death?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t.’

  Anthony looked at Paula uncertainly.

  She looked back, her gaze direct and penetrating.

  She saw a man under great strain, and this showed in his haggard face, was echoed by his bleak manner, and the apathy she had divined in him the moment he had arrived. That he had aged in the past few weeks was transparent. He was not the same person he had been at her grandmother’s birthday celebration. His fair colouring and very blond, rather English good looks had been most pronounced, and he had appeared more striking than ever in the well-tailored tuxedo, which he had worn with the same kind of panache Jim possessed. That night he had laughed a lot, been so carefree and gay, unusually outgoing, charming them all. Now he was a shattered wreck.

  Paula made a snap decision. She leaned forward, pinning him down with her eyes. ‘Listen to me, Anthony. You were unhappily married to Min, separated from her and about to divorce. You’ve been devastated by her death, the circumstances of it, and understandably so. However, it was not your fault. You must put it out of your mind, otherwise it’s going to come between you and your happiness with Sally, affect your future, perhaps even ruin your life.’ Recognizing she had spoken harshly, she softened her tone. ‘You must think about Sally and the baby from this moment on…they are your priorities.’

  ‘Oh yes, what you say is true,’ he acknowledged. ‘I’m not a hypocrite. Please don’t think I’m mourning excessively for her.’ A quiver entered his voice when he said, ‘But I never wished her dead, Paula. That she had to die in such a terrible way is more than I –’

  Paula stood up, joined him on the sofa. She took his hand, looked into his face, her own filled with immense compassion. ‘I know, I know, Anthony. And please believe me, I’m not being cold hearted, not in the least. And whatever you think, you weren’t responsible. My grandmother, our grandmother, says we are each one of us responsible for our own lives, that we write our own scripts and then live them out to the bitter end. That is true, you know. Min was responsible for herself, her life, not you. Try and draw strength and courage from Grandy’s philosophy.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But it is hard, so very hard.’

  Paula was more convinced than ever that her cousin was in grave emotional trouble, and she racked her brain, wondering what to say, how to jostle him out of his present troubled state. She was not insensitive to his feelings. But she also knew that if he allowed Min’s death to dominate his life he was cutting off his chance of making that brand new life with Sally.

  Speaking so quietly, so gently that her voice was hardly audible, Paula said, ‘It may be difficult for you to believe me when I say that I can comprehend your feelings, but truly I can. You must put this tragedy behind you. If you don’t it will cripple you. You will also be committing a terrible sin – against your own child.’ Purposely she stopped with suddenness, abruptness, sat waiting, watching him.

  He blinked, his eyes wide with shock. ‘What on earth do you mean by that?’ he managed in a strangled voice. ‘I don’t understand…committing a sin against my own child,’ he repeated. He was horrified.

  ‘Yes. If you permit Min’s memory, her suicide, to haunt you, to fill you with guilt, you will not be able to love that child as you should – with all your heart and soul and mind. Because Min will be there, creating a wedge between you, and, let me add, between you and Sally. Also, remember that you and Sally created this baby out of your love for each other…it didn’t ask to be born…it’s an innocent little thing. Don’t cheat it because of your problems. He or she is going to need the very best of you, Anthony. To give the child anything less…well, yes, that would be a sin.’

  He stared at her for the longest moment, blinking, striving to curb his emotions so dangerously near the surface. He leaped up, strode to the window, stood peering absently into the street below. But he saw only the death mask of Min’s face as it had looked when they had brought her back from the lake. He closed his eyes convulsively, needing to expunge the image. Anthony groped for his handkerchief, blew his nose, ruminated on Paula’s words. And then Sally’s voice echoed in his throbbing head. Life is for the living, she had said last night. We can’t change what has happened. We can’t spend the rest of our lives flagellating ourselves. If we do then Min will have won. And won from the grave. The things Sally had said had been rooted in fundamental truths, he might as well admit it. Something else occurred to him, brought his head up with a swift jerk. The woman Min had become in the last few years bore no resemblance to the girl he had fallen in love with. Min had turned sour, bitter and vindictive, and her bitterness and resentment had only served to erode his love. Sally had not broken up his marriage, as Min had so violently asserted. Only bad marriages could be shattered by another person. Those unions that were strong remained inviolate against all outside forces. Now he thought: it was Min who broke up our marriage. For a split second he believed this was a sudden revelation, but then acknowledged that he had always been aware of this in the back of his mind. He had been so busy blaming himself he had not let this fact rise to the surface. The pain in his chest began to ease, and slowly he gathered his self-possession to him. Eventually he turned and went back to the sofa and Paula. Anthony’s pellucid
eyes held hers, and it was his turn to reach out, to take her hand in his. He said, ‘You’re a very special woman, Paula. Wise, and so very compassionate, such a good and loving person. Thank you for bringing me to my senses. I shall give Sally and our child every ounce of love that I have. They will have the very best of me. I promise you that.’

  After Anthony had left, Paula plunged into her work with a vengeance. She was still hard at it when Agnes poked her head around the door at six-thirty.

  ‘How late are we going to be here tonight, Mrs Fairley?’

  Paula raised her eyes, put down her pen and sat back in the chair. ‘Come in, Agnes.’ She rubbed her aching face, picked up the cup of tea, and, realizing it had gone cold hours before, immediately put it down with a grimace. ‘I’ll be about another half-hour, that’s all, but you can leave if you want.’

  ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t dream,’ Agnes said. Conscious of Paula’s drawn white face, she eyed the cup, volunteered, ‘Let me make you a nice cup of hot tea, Mrs Fairley. You look dead beat.’

  ‘Yes, thanks a lot, Agnes. No, wait a minute, let’s have a drink. I could use one tonight, and I’m sure you could too.’

  ‘That’ll be very nice, Mrs Fairley. But what have we got?’

  Paula let out her first genuine laugh that day. ‘Sorry,’ she apologized, observing the hurt and baffled expression on her secretary’s face. ‘You did sound droll just then. And you’re right, what do we have…very little that’s palatable, I suspect. There was a bottle of sherry in the coat closet. Why don’t you see if it’s still there.’

  Agnes hurried to the walk-in closet and Paula started to shuffle her papers, slipping items into the different coloured folders spread before her, quickly bringing order to her desk.

  A second later Agnes emerged from the closet, smiling triumphantly. ‘Bristol Cream, Mrs Fairley.’ She held up the bottle with a flourish.

  ‘Oh good, let’s have a glass, and we can kill two birds with one stone, go over a few final things since it’s Saturday tomorrow. I’ve decided not to come in, Agnes. I want to spend the day with my babies. And you don’t have to be here either, you know.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Fairley.’ Agnes beamed at her.

  Ten minutes later, between sips of sherry, Paula had reduced the pile of folders on her desk. Most of them now sat on the floor at Agnes’s feet.

  ‘You can send these last three to Gaye Sloane in London. The blue folder contains all the final details for the career clothes shop. Incidentally, I’ve decided to use the name Emily came up with, after all. I think it’s the best…The Total Woman says exactly what I want it to say. Do you like it?’

  ‘I do, very much. I told Miss Emily so the other day. She was, well, sort of taking a poll around the executive offices, asking the other secretaries and typists what they thought.’

  ‘Was she now,’ Paula murmured, smiling to herself as she thought affectionately of Emily, her busy little bee forever trying to be of help. ‘The red folder has all the information for the fashion exhibition in January, and this green one has my notes for Trade Winds, plus a list of merchants we’ll be buying from in Hong Kong, India and Japan. Do you have your pad?’ Paula nodded as Agnes lifted it up. ‘Drop a line to Gaye and ask her to make duplicates of the lists. Also, send a memo to –’

  The private phone on Paula’s desk began to ring and Agnes, rising and reaching over, answered it. ‘Yes, just a minute please,’ she said, depressing the hold button. She handed the receiver to Paula. ‘It’s Mr Stevens calling from Odessa, Texas.’

  ‘Hello, Dale,’ Paula said. ‘How are –’

  He cut her off abruptly. ‘Paula, I’m sorry, but I have bad news.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Dale?’

  ‘The worst, I’m afraid. One of our oil tankers is in trouble. It was loading crude oil off the coast of Texas this morning, Galveston, and there was an explosion in the engine room. A very bad explosion.’

  Gripping the phone tightly, striving to hear him through the abnormally bad static, Paula said, with rising apprehension, ‘No casualties, I hope, Dale?’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘Yes, I’m afraid we’ve lost six of the crew…four other crew members badly injured –’

  ‘Oh Dale, this is horrendous!’ Paula exclaimed. ‘How did it happen, for God’s sake?’

  ‘We don’t know. We’re investigating. Blaze ripped through the vessel. It’s under control now. She’s not gone down. I stress not gone down…’

  There was a bad echo on the line and Paula cried, ‘I’m having difficulty hearing you.’

  ‘I’m here,’ he shouted back. ‘Static sure is high today. I said we don’t know what caused the explosion, but there’ll be an inquiry. We’ve lost one and a quarter million gallons of crude, and we’re facing a massive clean up job. The crude’s drifting into Galveston Bay already. Seabirds and wildlife threatened by it, also the shrimp breeding grounds. God knows how much oil spill will wash ashore.’

  ‘This is a disaster,’ Paula said unsteadily.

  ‘I can’t hear you, Paula,’ Dale Stevens bellowed.

  ‘I said it’s a catastrophe. We’re going to have everybody on our backs from ecology people to – I dread to think who else. The families of the crew members – those poor people must be taken care of, Dale, as I’m sure you know without me telling you. Small comfort financial compensation will be. Listen, do you want me to fly over? I don’t know what I could do, though, except give you moral support.’

  ‘No, no, Paula, there’s hardly any point in that. I’m handling everything. I’ve been in touch with the insurance company. It’s going to cost us millions of dollars to do a concentrated clean up.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Don’t know. Depends on the spill, the damage it does. It could be anywhere between five to ten million dollars to do a proper job.’

  Paula caught her breath, aghast at the figure, then said, ‘To hell with what it costs. We have to do it. Stay in touch, Dale. I want to know how such an explosion could possibly happen. We’ve had such a good safety record.’

  ‘Nobody’s immune. That’s the oil business. I’ll call you tomorrow, perhaps even later tonight if I have any further news.’ The line was clearer now, his voice coming over as if he was speaking from around the corner.

  ‘I’ll be home all evening,’ Paula said. ‘And Dale, do everything you can for those bereaved families.’

  ‘It’s already in the works.’

  ‘This is going to be a stain on our record.’

  ‘I know, honey. I’m going to have to hang up. Situation is pressing here.’

  ‘Dale, one more thing…you haven’t told me which tanker it was.’

  ‘Sorry, Paula, but it’s the Emeremm III. I’m very sorry, honey.’

  Paula put down the phone and fell back against the chair, feeling sick inside. Her face was grim.

  Agnes said worriedly, ‘I got the gist of your conversation, Mrs Fairley. One of the Sitex oil tankers sank.’ This assertion came out sounding more like a question.

  Paula shook her head, gave her secretary the details, then explained, ‘The Emeremm III was named for my grandmother. She once owned a company called Emeremm and my grandfather loved the name – it’s a contraction of emeralds and Emma. His favourite stone and his favourite lady.’ She attempted a smile unsuccessfully. ‘It was he who launched the first Emeremm, and then the Emeremm II. Ever since then it’s been a tradition to have a vessel in the Sitex fleet bearing that name…that very special name.’

  ‘I am sorry, Mrs Fairley,’ Agnes sympathized. ‘I know how proud you are of the company’s safety record. This is just awful.’

  ‘Thank you, Agnes,’ Paula murmured. ‘It’s a dreadful blow, especially since there has been loss of lives.’ Pulling herself together, she exhaled, drew her pad towards her. ‘I’d better draft a telex to my grandmother.’ As she picked up her pen Paula shivered, felt a quiver run up her spine. Although she was not superstitious by nature she had a strange presen
timent that disaster loomed. The explosion in the Emeremm III was a bad omen.

  CHAPTER 29

  ‘Didn’t you enjoy yourself, Winston?’ Emily asked, squinting at him in the muted glow emanating from the dying fire in the living room at Beck House.

  Winston put down his brandy balloon and gaped at her, genuine astonishment invading his face. He shook his head in wonderment. ‘Paula sits there looking as if she’s at death’s door, hardly opening her mouth all night. Jim manages to get stewed to the gills between cocktails and the main course. My sister is so pregnant she seems about ready to drop triplets right there at the dinner table. Merry doesn’t stop bemoaning the fact that she’s on the shelf at twenty-three because all of the men she’s grown up with are otherwise involved. Alexander is in a raging snit because of your mother’s sexual antics with half the bloody Government. Maggie Reynolds bores me senseless, droning on about some dilapidated shooting lodge in the Outer Hebrides, and you ask a question like that. Oh yes, Emily, I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I had a wonderful time. It was one of the most exciting, entertaining evenings of my life.’ He began to laugh, suddenly seeing the humorous side.

  Emily laughed with him. She snuggled into the corner of the sofa, tucked her feet under her and said, ‘But Anthony was on good form.’

  ‘Amazingly so. Well, he seems to have his feet on the ground these days and is coping extremely well.’

  ‘Thanks to Paula. She told me she had a long talk with him a few weeks ago, sort of gave him a lecture, advised him to put the past behind him and get on with his life.’

  ‘She’s very good at that,’ Winston muttered, swirling the cognac around in his glass, his face thoughtful.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Giving advice. Mind you, she’s usually right about everything she says. If only she’d take some of her own advice.’