Hold the Dream

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  He turned to get his overcoat out of the closet, gritted his teeth as the familiar longing for her surged through him. He clamped down on the feeling, knowing that the situation was useless, hopeless. She was married to Jim Fairley and very much in love with him.

  All you can be is her friend, as you’ve always been, Shane reminded himself as they left the apartment and went down in the lift.

  Le Veau D’Or was busy, jammed with people, as Shane had known it would be.

  Gerard came forward to greet them, smiling, as usual the genial host. He promised them that their table would be ready in ten minutes, suggested they have a drink at the small bar while they waited to be seated.

  Shane ushered Paula forward, pulled out a stool for her, and without asking her what she wanted he ordered two kir royales. He lit a cigarette, watched the bartender pour the cassis into the large wine goblets, then fill both to the brim with sparkling champagne.

  Once they had their drinks, Shane turned to Paula, clinked glasses with her. ‘To old friendships,’ he said, and looked down at her, his eyes warm.

  ‘Old friendships, Shane.’

  ‘Do you know, the last time I had one of these was at La Reserve in the South of France…with you.’

  She gave him a quick glance, and a smile of recollection glanced across her mouth. ‘I remember…you’d been so unkind to Emily, driving the boat at a crazy speed and with such wildness. She was terrified, poor thing. Then to make amends, you dragged us both off, pouring kir royales into us with a vengeance.’ She shook her head, laughing. ‘It was about four years ago, that summer we all went down to Gran’s villa at the Cap.’

  ‘But the drinks had no effect, if I remember correctly. My escapade with the speedboat cost me dearly…an expensive silk scarf was the price I had to pay for my lack of thought and recklessness. Still, it was worth it, just to bring the smile back to Emily’s face.’

  ‘She’s petrified of water – so is Gran.’

  ‘But you’re not afraid of anything, are you?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ She frowned at him.

  ‘You were intrepid as a child, tagging along after me, doing all the things I did. You were such a tomboy, quite fearless, and you never flinched, whatever the obstacle, or its danger.’

  ‘But I trusted you. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, and you never did.’

  And I never will, my darling, he thought, filled with love for her. A lump came into his throat, surprising him. He took a long gulp of his drink, momentarily averted his face as he placed the glass on the bar, not wishing her to see his eyes. They would reveal too much.

  Paula began to chat about Emily’s engagement to Winston, and once more Shane was happy to let her do the talking. It gave him a chance to marshal his feelings, get a hold on them again before they overwhelmed him. Eventually he was able to join in the conversation in a normal way, and they covered a wide range of topics. They gossiped about their mutual friends, discussed the Harte boutiques in the O’Neill hotels, wondered about Emerald Bow’s chances at the Grand National. And they were still dissecting the difficulties of the Aintree course and the greatest steeplechase in the world when they were finally seated.

  Settling back comfortably on the red banquette, Shane said, ‘All I had for lunch was a sandwich at my desk, so I’m ravenous. Knowing you, you’re going to say you’re not hungry, but I think we should order immediately.’

  ‘But I am hungry,’ she protested truthfully. For the first time in months she was looking forward to dinner. Her violet eyes, resting on him, welled with humour. ‘However, I’ll let you order for both of us. I’ll have the same as you – it’s safer, don’t you think?’

  His mouth twitched. ‘I believe so. Otherwise you’ll want what I have, as you always did when we were kids, end up eating off my plate and leave me starving.’ He winked. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten your bad habits, because I haven’t.’

  After perusing the menu, Shane motioned to their waiter, selected saucisson chaud to be followed by tripes à la mode de Caen and asked for a bottle of burgundy.

  It was the custom at Le Veau D’Or for appetizers to be placed before the diners, to tide them over while they waited for dinner to be served. Two plates instantly materialized in front of them, and Shane exclaimed, ‘Oh good, mussels tonight. They’re delicious. Try them, Paula.’ Dipping his fork into the mound of shellfish, he continued, ‘Will you be going to Texas while you’re in the States?’

  ‘I don’t think so – gosh, you’re right, these are good.’ She munched on a forkful of the mussels, before adding, ‘I hope I don’t have to go to Odessa. I met with Dale Stevens this morning, and fortunately things are relatively quiet at Sitex. Naturally, Harry Marriott is being his usual obstreperous self. That man is singularly without vision. He forever tried to block my grandfather, hated expansion and innovation, and he’s constantly trying to do the same with us. He’s still grousing about Sitex going into North Sea oil. But it’s working extremely well, as you know. The off-shore drilling paid off, and we were one of the first companies to strike oil this year. Once again, Emma Harte has proved that man totally wrong.’

  Shane smiled, nodded, went on eating.

  Paula said, ‘I know Grandy gave you an introduction to Ross Nelson. What do you think of him?’

  ‘Ross is okay. We get on quite well, actually. I suspect he’s a bit of a sod when it comes to women, though. As for business,’ Shane shrugged, ‘he’s above board. Very sharp, mind you, but honest. Obviously he’s always looking out for the bank, that’s only natural. He’s been very helpful, useful to me in a variety of ways.’ He eyed her. ‘And what’s your opinion of Mr Nelson?’

  ‘The same as yours, Shane.’ Paula told him about the meeting with Dale and Ross earlier in the day, confiding all of the details.

  ‘Emma would never sell her shares in Sitex!’ Shane exclaimed, when she had finished. His black brows knitted together. ‘I can’t imagine how Ross could think that or why he is so keen for you to sell out. He can’t make a profit from insider information about stock transactions, trading, it’s against the law. And as a private investment banker of his standing and reputation he would be a stickler about legalities, staying within the law, toeing the line drawn by the Securities Exchange Commission. No, financial gain has nothing to do with this, and anyway he’s as rich as Croesus. Of course, if Ross helped to steer that kind of deal through for one of the bank’s clients, he’d be a big man with that client, now wouldn’t he?’ Not waiting for a response, Shane rushed on, ‘Yes, that’s why he’s interested in Sitex. From all you’ve just told me, his client wants control, or so it seems. Then again, if he’s such a chum of Dale’s, he’s probably looking out for his buddy. He’s trying to kill two birds with one stone.’

  Yes, I reasoned things out the same way as you earlier, after they’d left. Ross Nelson can pester me as much as he wants – I’ve no intention of talking Grandy into selling, which is what he hopes I’ll do, in my estimation.’

  Shane gave her a cool and piercing look. ‘You’d better watch old Ross – he’s bound to make a pass at you.’

  Paula was about to tell him about the roses, the invitation to spend the weekend at Ross’s country home, but for a reason she could not immediately fathom she changed her mind. She said, with a dry laugh, ‘He wouldn’t dare. I’m married. Also, he wouldn’t want to upset Gran.’

  ‘Don’t be so naïve, Paula,’ Shane retorted swiftly. ‘Your marital status and your grandmother’s displeasure would not influence Ross Nelson. Not one iota. He’s bloody unscrupulous, if one is to believe the gossip one hears, and I’m afraid I do.’ Shane did not particularly like the idea of the banker hovering anywhere near Paula, and he brought the conversation around to another subject. He began to speak about their New York hotel, and continued to do so through the first course and as they waited for their main dish.

  She listened with growing interest, enjoying being at the receiving end of his confiden
ces. Earlier, before Shane had arrived at the apartment, it had crossed Paula’s mind that they might feel awkward, perhaps shy with each other, discomfited and restrained even. They had not been alone or spent any time together for ages. But this had not been the case, nor was it now. It was like old times, as she had predicted it would be over drinks. It had not taken them long to get back on their former footing. There was warmth and affection flowing between them, and the camaraderie of their youth was much in evidence.

  ‘So I’d like you to come over to the hotel, take a look round,’ Shane said, ‘whenever you have a spare hour this week. Some of the floors are finished and I can show you a few of the suites. I’d appreciate your opinion about the decorative schemes – I just received the renderings from the interior design firm this afternoon. You have such good taste, I’d like your opinion.’

  Paula’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘Why I’d love to see the hotel. I’ve heard quite a lot about it from Uncle Bryan and Merry. Actually, tomorrow’s an easy day for me. I could meet you there in the late afternoon.’ She leaned closer, looked up into his face, hers full of eagerness. ‘And perhaps you’d come back with me for dinner at the apartment. Ann told me she wants to cook for you. She said something about your favourite Irish stew. And why not tomorrow evening?’

  Because the more I see of you, the more I’ll want you, he thought.

  He said, ‘Thanks a lot, that’ll be nice.’ He was startled that he had accepted her invitation so readily. Then suddenly, with a small shock, he knew that he intended to spend as much time with her as he could during her sojourn in New York.

  He walked her back to the apartment.

  It was a clear, bright evening, cool, but not particularly cold for November. After the warmth and noisiness of the bistro the air was refreshing, their companionable silence restful.

  They were on Madison Avenue, drawing closer to Seventy-Second Street, when Shane said, ‘Would you like to go riding on Sunday?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Paula cried, turning to glance up at him. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been on a horse. I don’t have my riding

  togs with me, obviously. But I suppose I could wear jeans.’

  ‘Yes, or you could go to Kauffman’s. They’re down

  town and they have everything you’d need.’

  ‘Then that’s what I’ll do. Where do you ride?’

  ‘In Connecticut – a country town called New Milford. Actually I own a place up there. An old barn. I’ve been renovating it, remodelling it for the past few months and –’

  ‘Shane O’Neill! How secretive and mean of you! Why didn’t you tell me about the barn before?’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance so far. We’ve had such a lot of other things to talk about over dinner. More important things, such as your business affairs, our new hotel.’ His laugh was deep, throaty. He went on, ‘Would you like to see it?’

  ‘That’s a ridiculous question. Of course I would. But I will, won’t I? On Sunday, I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you like I can fix a picnic lunch, and we can take it up with us. What time would we leave on Sunday?’ Paula asked.

  ‘You ought to leave fairly early. You see, I’ll be there already. I’ve arranged for a couple of our carpenters to be there on Friday to work with me. I’m driving up on Thursday night. I plan to spend the weekend at the barn.’

  ‘Oh. Then how will I get there on Sunday?’

  ‘No problem, I’ll arrange for a car and driver to bring you. Unless –’ he paused, exclaimed, ‘I have a great idea, Paula. Why don’t you drive up with me on Thursday night, stay for the weekend? Surely you can take Friday off.’ He gave her a quick look out of the corner of his eye, added in a jocular tone, ‘I’ll buy you a spade. You can dig to your heart’s content, make a garden for me.’

  She laughed. ‘In this weather! The ground’s probably as hard as iron. But I’d love to come up for the weekend, Shane.’

  ‘Terrific.’ He smiled to himself.

  She linked her arm through his, fell into step with him. They walked on in silence. She was thinking of their childhood days at Heron’s Nest and, although she had no way of knowing it, so was he.

  CHAPTER 34

  Paula awakened on Friday morning to the sound of raised masculine voices and raucous laughter echoing outside.

  She sat up in bed with a start and rubbed her eyes, blinking in the faint light, for a moment disoriented and wondering where she was. Then she remembered. Of course, she was at Shane’s barn in New Milford. Glancing at her small travelling clock on the white wicker bedside table she saw to her surprise that it was almost ten. She found it hard to believe she had overslept and by four hours. Normally she was up and dressed by six o’clock every day.

  Bounding out of bed, feeling rested and filled with energy, she padded over to the window, parted the red cotton twill curtains, looked down into the yard. Just below her, two men stood talking near a pile of lumber.

  Shane was out of her line of vision, but she knew he was there when she heard him say, ‘Listen, you guys, keep the noise down, will you please. My lady friend is still asleep. And when I say lady I do mean lady – so watch your language.’

  Half smiling, she turned away and looked around the bedroom with interest. She had been too tired last night to pay much attention, but now she realized how charming it was, small and quaint, with white walls that stopped at a floor painted bright red. The few pieces of furniture were of white wicker, but it was the brass bed covered with patchwork quilt that dominated the space.

  Gliding into the adjoining minuscule of bathroom, Paula took a quick shower, brushed her hair, put on lipstick and mascara, went back into the bedroom. She dressed in a pair of blue jeans, a pink cotton shirt and a heavy purple sweater, then pulled a pair of knee-high red leather boots on over the jeans. After strapping on her watch, she ran downstairs to the kitchen.

  This was large, country in feeling, with rustic beams and wall-hung copper utensils, but there was every modern appliance, and it was spotless. It looked to her as if it had just been freshly cleaned. The white cabinets and counter tops, encircling the white walls, gleamed brightly in the sunshine that filtered in through two small windows where blue-and-white checked curtains hung in crisp, starched folds. She peered out. Shane and the men were nowhere in sight.

  Paula sniffed. There was a lovely aroma of coffee in the air, and spotting the bubbling percolator, she began opening cupboards, looking for a mug. She found one, filled it, then strolled through into the main living area of the barn.

  She came to a halt halfway down the long expanse of space, her eyes sweeping around, trying to take in everything at once, knowing this was virtually impossible. She needed days to absorb everything Shane had accomplished here. It had looked lovely last night; this morning, filled with sunlight, it was breathtaking.

  Only one room, he had said, as they were driving up from Manhattan. But what a room it was – huge, spectacular in its dimensions, with a high ceiling of exposed rafters intersected by cross beams, a picture window on a long wall, and a gargantuan stone fireplace. A fire already blazed up the chimney, the big logs hissing and spitting in the silence.

  She stepped over to the baby grand and sat down on the stool, sipping the coffee, continuing to glance up and down. He had positioned the piano in the exact centre of the room and she understood why. It created a natural demarcation between the seating arrangement next to the fireplace and the dining area near the kitchen. The colour scheme was primarily white, the coolness warmed by dark wood tones. The walls had been whitewashed; two huge Chesterfield sofas and the big armchairs were upholstered in heavy white twill; the draperies matched; there were white area rugs on the polished wood floor. But pictures, prints, books and plants added splashes of livelier colour against the white background.

  Shane had told her he had gone antiquing in the area, had stumbled on some genuinely good pieces. Now her eyes rested on two handsome chests she had not really noticed
last night, moved on to regard a Coromandel screen that was obviously very old and rare. Its decorative panels made a striking backdrop for the mahogany dining table. I bet that screen cost a fortune, she thought.

  A feeling of dismay trickled through her.

  It was quite apparent that he had spent a great deal of money on the barn, not to mention time and effort. Shane had explained that most of the basic remodelling had been done by Sonny and Elaine Vickers, from whom he had bought the barn. ‘All I did was put in the cantilevered staircase and the plate glass window, and add a few other finishing touches to the basic shell before I furnished,’ he had said.

  Nevertheless, in the last few minutes something had registered and it troubled her. The place had the look of permanence, had been made into a real home for someone who intended to live in it for a long time. Not only that, he was somewhere outside right now with the carpenters, sawing wood for shelves and cupboards. They were intended for the tiny spare room he had shown her and which he had said he was turning into a den for himself.

  Did he plan to stay in America for ever? Was he never coming back to England? And why did that matter to her?

  Paula jumped up abruptly and hurried to the fire. She seated herself in an overstuffed armchair and placed the mug on the hearth. Her eyes fell on his cigarettes and lighter and, although she rarely smoked, she took one, lit it, sat smoking, thinking hard about the previous evening. They had arrived at nine o’clock, just as the thunderstorm had hit the area. They had been drenched after making several trips to the car to collect the bag of groceries and their suitcases, and he had insisted she change into dry clothes, immediately shooing her upstairs.

  Twenty minutes later she had come back down and had stood hovering on the threshold of this room, admiring it. In her absence he had turned on all the lamps, lit the fire. The baronial expanse seemed more intimate, suffused in a warm and welcoming glow and reverberating with the strains of Bob Dylan’s Blowin’ In The Wind. Wandering over to the fireplace, she had swung around to stand with her back to it, an old habit. At that very moment she had been surprised to see him emerge from the kitchen, carrying two drinks, looking spruced up and fresh in a pristine white shirt and blue jeans.