Hold the Dream

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Yes, Grandmother,’ Amanda murmured meekly.

  ‘What do you want us to wear?’ Francesca asked, eyeing Emma boldly, giving her a cheeky grin.

  Quite unexpectedly, Emma wanted to laugh, but she controlled herself, said sternly, ‘You can put on your red velvet frock, Francesca. And you, Amanda, had better wear your blue silk. That should do it. If nothing else, at least I’ll be able to distinguish you from each other. Now run along.’

  Emily, who had witnessed this little scene, laughed when her half-sisters were out of earshot. ‘Thanks, Gran. They’ve been extremely bolshy these last few days. I almost threatened to send them to Paris to join our mother, but it would’ve been an idle threat. I wouldn’t have the heart to do that to them – as tiresome as they are.’

  ‘They’re just trying the two of us on for size, you know, seeing how much they can get away with.’ Emma chuckled.

  ‘I know. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Why not, Emily. Perhaps you can ask Winston or your brother to open a bottle of champagne. I think I’d like a glass. And let’s have some music.’ Emma swung around as Emily hurried off to fetch the wine, and called across to David Amory, ‘Please pop a record on, David dear, one of those selections of Christmas carols. No, not the carols just yet. I rather like that Bing Crosby…White Christmas I believe it’s called.’

  ‘Right away, Emma. And it’s certainly appropriate this year.’

  Emma turned to the box of tree decorations, started to dress the lower branches which were relatively bare and unfinished. She had been working only a few seconds when she felt a hand touch her arm tentatively. She swivelled, found herself face-to-face with Edwina.

  ‘May I help, Mother?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Emma said, camouflaging her surprise. ‘Root around in the other box. Perhaps you’ll find something sparkling and pretty for these low branches. It seems to me that the most beautiful ornaments generally end up on the top of the tree.’ Emma’s eyes roved over her eldest daughter. She nodded. ‘Blue has always suited you, Edwina. You look lovely tonight, and that’s a beautiful frock.’

  ‘Thank you…Daisy talked me into buying it.’ Edwina hesitated. ‘You look very elegant, but then you always do, Mother.’ Edwina offered her a smile that was as tentative as her touch had been.

  Emma smiled in return, wondering what to make of the unprecedented compliment, then reached for a gold papier mâché pear, hooked it on to a branch, frowning to herself. Edwina was certainly most cordial all of a sudden. Still, she had to admit she was pleased at this show of friendliness.

  After a moment, Edwina tapped Emma’s arm, held out a blue glass star. ‘Here you are, Mother, would you like to hang this one? Maybe over there, next to the angel. Or wherever you think it would look right.’

  Taking it from her, Emma searched her daughter’s face.

  For a split second she was transported back in time…to a Christmas long, long ago. December of 1915. Joe Lowther had still been alive. It was the year before he had been killed in the Battle of the Somme. They had lived in the avenue called the Towers in Armley. In her mind’s eye the memory flashed so vividly Emma caught her breath. Edwina had been nine years old and exceptionally pretty with her long blonde hair, her silvery eyes so like Adele’s, her delicate features inherited from Edwin Fairley, her father. But the little girl had believed Joe to be her father and she had adored him. Worshipped him really.

  The three of them had stood in front of a giant fir, very similar to this one, and on a snowy Christmas Eve such as this. Dim echoes of their joyous laughter reverberated in Emma’s head. But it had been the child and the man who had laughed, shared the delight and fun of dressing the splendid tree. She had been the interloper, unwanted by her daughter. Edwina had spurned her, slighted her every time she had offered that beautiful but disdainful child a pretty bauble to hang on the tree. And she had left the room, her heart almost breaking. She had put on her coat and run down the short avenue to Blackie’s and Laura’s house, and her dearest Laura had comforted her, helped to take the sting out of the child’s spitefulness.

  Edwina said, ‘Are you feeling all right, Mother?’

  Emma blinked. The memory dissolved. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Oh yes, I’m fine. I was just remembering something.’

  ‘What were you remembering?’

  ‘Oh a Christmas…so long ago now you’ve surely forgotten it.’ Emma smiled faintly. ‘But I’ve never forgotten it – not really.’

  ‘You were thinking about the Christmas of 1915, weren’t you?’ Edwina moved closer to Emma.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mother…’ Edwina looked deeply into Emma’s old wise eyes. ‘I’ve not forgotten that Christmas either.’ She paused, seemed to consider and then reached out and took hold of Emma’s hand impulsively. ‘Forgive me, Mother, please, please forgive me for that terrible Christmas,’ she whispered.

  Emma stared back at her daughter in stupefaction. And then she instantly knew what Edwina was trying to say. She wanted to be forgiven for all of her transgressions over the years and not just that particular Christmas. Emma said slowly, ‘You were such a little girl, so young. You didn’t understand…understand how things were in an adult world. You had no conception of pain or heartbreak.’

  ‘Please say you forgive me, Mother,’ Edwina begged, her sincerity evident. ‘It’s become so very important to me.’

  ‘Why of course I forgive you, Edwina. You are my daughter, my first born child. And I told you months ago that I’ve always loved you. My love has never wavered or changed, though you have doubted me.’

  ‘I don’t any more.’ Tears swam in Edwina’s pale eyes. ‘Can we be friends at last – so late in our lives – do you think?’

  ‘I know we can.’ Emma smiled her incomparable smile that always filled her face with radiance. ‘Why we already are, my dear,’ she said, clasping Edwina’s hand tightly.

  Jonathan Ainsley was beginning to realize how dangerous the conditions were after he left the main Ripon road and manœuvered his Aston Martin down a narrow side lane, taking a short cut to the village of Pennistone Royal.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come this way,’ Sarah complained. ‘The lane twists and turns too much. We’ll have an accident if you’re not careful.’

  ‘This is the fastest route,’ Jonathan replied. A cold smile touched his mouth. ‘I don’t want to miss anything tonight, I think it’s going to be –’ He broke off as he felt the wheels sliding on the ice. The car was going into a skid. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, turning the car into the skid in an effort to avert it, gently pressing his foot on the brake as he did.

  Sarah, stiffening with fright, grabbed his arm.

  Angrily Jonathan shook off her hand, managed to right the Aston in the nick of time, shouted, ‘You’ll have us in a bloody ditch!’ He slowed his pace to a slow crawl. ‘For God’s sake don’t ever do a thing like that again, Sarah. It’s very dangerous.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It was a silly reaction. Don’t be angry with me. You know I can’t bear it when you lose your temper.’

  ‘Okay, okay, let’s forget it,’ he muttered, pushing his annoyance to one side. The last thing he wanted was to upset Sarah. He needed her too much to incur her disfavour. He peered ahead, watching for new ice patches in the glare of the headlights.

  Neither of the cousins spoke for a while.

  Sarah shrank into the corner of the seat, pulling her silver fox coat around her, hoping his good humour would soon be restored.

  Jonathan concentrated on the road, driving now with the utmost care. The Aston Martin was new, not even paid for yet. A bashed up hood or a damaged fender would be costly. He relaxed a fraction as he hit a clear stretch, but still he did not increase his pace, determined to be cautious. His mind swung to his cousin sitting next to him. He wondered how to persuade Sarah to put up more money, invest another few hundred thousand pounds in the company he secretly owned with Sebastian Cross. Sarah was their partner now. Her
money was vital to them. Urgently needed. They had had a lot of bad luck lately. And Sebastian had made some disastrous deals, which negated the good ones he had closed. But they would pull out of it. One good deal would do the trick.

  A grimness settled on his face as his duplicitous brain continued to turn at a rapid rate. Maybe he would have to steer one of the deals he was handling for Harte Enterprises into Stonewall Properties, his own company. Why not? The thought tickled him. Jonathan Ainsley was aware that he had larceny in his heart, accepted that he was avaricious, greedy for the good things in life, hungry for power. He also knew he was not a good sport, despite his grandmother’s efforts to instil in him the importance of playing the game. Who wants to play the game? he now asked himself. He was a bad loser. He didn’t care. But he would be damned if he would ever be the loser again. He was going to be the winner…

  Sarah said, ‘We’re almost at the end of the lane, Jonny.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Jonathan began to ponder her. He had been manipulating Sarah for months, playing on her hatred for Paula, feeding her jealousy, envy and bitterness. But she had every reason to be bitter. Just as he did. Paula was the favourite. The Crown Princess. She was getting everything, damn her. And so was Alexander. A small tremor of fury shot through Jonathan. He instantly curbed it, warning himself to stay cool tonight. He had schooled himself not to show his hand to the family, and least of all to his grandmother. Bloody old witch, he thought. My father’s right. She’s never going to kick the bucket. We will have to shoot her in the end. Poor Dad. He was cheated out of his inheritance. But he’s a great politician and one of the greatest men in England. He might even be Prime Minister one day. He’s so smart. He thought my idea of starting my own business was brilliant. He gave me his blessing. Jonathan wondered if his grandmother suspected him. Never. She was too old, getting senile. Once Emma Harte was dead he would inherit the New York apartment. The bequest to him was in her will. It had to be worth five million dollars at least. And Sarah was to get the Belgrave Square house. I’ll make her sell it, invest the cash with me. The mere thought of this enormous amount of money cheered him. He tingled with excitement. His mood became sanguine. He felt much better all of a sudden, and quite up to facing his boring family. He wished he could park and smoke a joint before they reached the house. He did not dare. Sarah would disapprove. She was such a bore. A pain really. Better cater to her. He needed her support, her continuing friendship. Sebastian had recently had the idea of marrying Sarah. Jonathan was not sure that he should encourage this. He despised Sarah, but Sebastian was a strange bird, and the gambling had grown worse – he was growing ever more reckless. Besides, Jonathan did not want to lose control of Sarah, or, more precisely, her money.

  At the end of the lane Jonathan drew to a standstill, flicked his lights, then pulled out on to the main road. He said, ‘That was a bumpy ride, but like all bumpy rides it was worth it. At least we won’t be all that late.’

  ‘Why are you so anxious to get to Grandy’s early? What are you afraid of missing?’ Sarah asked, filled with curiosity.

  ‘Family dramas.’ Jonathan chortled. ‘And there are bound to be some, with that motley crew in attendance. There’ll be our peer of the realm hovering over his pregnant mistress. Christ, Sarah, Anthony’s been lucky. He’s just missed standing trial for murder, and by the skin of his teeth. I hear Sally Harte’s blown up like a helium balloon, got his bun in her oven all right, and for all the world to see.’

  ‘Do you always have to be so crude?’ Sarah said with her usual primness.

  He glanced at her quickly out of the corner of his eye and, undeterred, said ‘And there’ll be our two lovebirds, billing and cooing inanely. I always knew Emily was itching to get into Winston’s trousers when we were kids. She’s a bloody little sex pot if you ask me, just like her randy mum.’

  ‘Allison Ridley’s devastated about Winston,’ Sarah remarked as evenly as she could, brushing aside his vulgarity. ‘She’s moving to New York in a few weeks. I can’t say I blame her. Our crowd is too close-knit…she’d always be running into Winston.’

  ‘He’s certainly riding high at the moment, got his hands on the newspaper company because of Jim’s accident.’ Instantly Jonathan saw a way to inflame Sarah, added swiftly, ‘That plane crash was a bit odd, don’t you think?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It struck me at the time that Jim might have been trying to do himself in – you know, end it all in one dramatic moment.’

  Sarah was shocked. ‘Jonathan! That’s a terrible thing to say! Why would Jim want to kill himself, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Who wouldn’t – being married to the Ice Queen?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah muttered. ‘She is a cold bitch. Probably frigid.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that – ’ Jonathan stopped, waiting for Sarah to take the bait.

  ‘I thought you hated Paula as much as I do?’

  ‘I haven’t changed,’ he reassured her.

  ‘But you just implied that she’s not cold, Jonny.’

  ‘I heard something about her that leads me to think otherwise – ’ Again he broke off, wanting to further intrigue Sarah.

  ‘Oh! Tell me the gossip.’

  Jonathan sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have started this conversation with you, Sarah dear. The last thing I want to do is upset you on Christmas Eve.’

  Sarah said, ‘I won’t be upset…come on, don’t be mean, give me all the dirt on Paula. I’m certainly all ears.’

  ‘No, I’m positive I oughtn’t to continue.’ He smothered a gleeful laugh, enjoying this cat and mouse game. He always did. It gave him a sense of power.

  There was a small silence.

  ‘On the other hand, you’re a big girl – ’ He patted her hand. ‘And of course it might not be true at all.’

  ‘For God’s sake tell me…this is driving me crazy,’ Sarah cried.

  ‘Paula was in Barbados in November, as you know. But were you aware that Shane O’Neill was there at the same time?’

  Sarah tensed. She sucked in her breath, obviously taken aback. ‘So what?’ she managed after a moment. ‘He was down there when I went out to supervise the opening of the boutique. His presence on the island doesn’t mean a thing.’

  ‘Perhaps not – on the surface. But you were the one who told me you’d seen him ogling her, looking all hot eyed and turned on at the christening.’

  ‘He was!’

  ‘Well, Rodney Robinson, my old school chum from Eton, was in Barbados at the same time as Paula. He was staying at the Sandy Lane Hotel, and he told me he saw her having lunch at the hotel. She was with a man – ’

  ‘It may not have been Shane,’ Sarah said swiftly. She could hardly bear to think of Shane with her cousin. It made her physically ill.

  ‘It was Shane,’ Jonathan said steadily. ‘Rodney thought he looked familiar. After they’d left, old Rod spoke to the head waiter, asked him if he knew the name of the man with the tall, dark, striking young woman. The head waiter told him it was a Mr O’Neill who owned the Coral Cove Hotel.’

  ‘Having lunch together isn’t anything unusual. They’ve always been close friends,’ Sarah protested, willing the pain in her chest to go away.

  ‘Oh I agree, love. Except for one thing. Rodney told me they were looking extremely cosy. Intimate, was his word. In fact, he said Shane was practically getting it off with her at the table.’

  ‘P-p-please,’ Sarah stammered, ‘y-y-you know I loathe it when you’re vulgar.’

  ‘Oh sorry, love.’ He patted her hand again. His glee spiralled. ‘They were drooling all over each other and in the most disgusting way. So Rodney said. Obviously our Ice Queen isn’t so icy after all, nor is she the little Miss Goody Two Shoes she pretends to be. Poor Jim. I’m not surprised he almost plunged to his death.’

  Sarah swallowed. She was overwhelmed by jealousy, hardly able to breathe.

  Jonathan, aware of her feelings for Shane O’Neill, continued relentlessly, ‘
Yes, methinks there’s something rotten in the state of Denmark, to quote old Will Shakespeare. Adultery perhaps? Rocking the House of Fairley.’ He chuckled sarcastically.

  ‘They can’t be having an affair,’ Sarah moaned. ‘Paula wouldn’t dare. She’d be too scared that Grandy would find out. Anyway, she’s in love with Jim.’

  ‘A hundred to one that you’re entirely wrong, Sarah, my poppet.’

  ‘I don’t think we should talk about this any more. I am getting upset after all. Actually, I feel rather queasy.’

  ‘I do hope you’re going to be all right,’ Jonathan murmured softly, pretending to be concerned. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you. But you’ve always been able to twist me around your little finger. Thank God we have each other, Sarah. We’ll fight those cousins of ours and to the bitter end. We’ll come out on top, you’ll see. Sebastian and I have the company really rolling now. You’re going to make millions with us, and be as rich and powerful as Paula bloody Fairley.’

  There was no response from Sarah, who sat hugging herself, fighting back the tears. She loved Shane so much it was painful hearing these things about him and Paula. She did not doubt Jonathan.

  Jonathan said, ‘Cheer up, love. And remember one thing – Shane is a Roman Catholic. He’d never marry a divorced woman. And if he is involved with the lady he’s bound to tire of her soon. He’s a real stu – ’ Jonathan cleared his throat, quickly corrected himself by substituting, ‘Ladies’ man.’ He continued, ‘And he’s still sowing his wild oats. That’s what this affair with Paula is – Shane’s bound to calm down soon. And voil&! You’ll be there waiting for him. Rich, too, as you walk to the altar with him. By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re looking very beautiful these days, Sarah, since you lost so much weight. Shane won’t be able to resist you. I’m going to help you, don’t worry. I’m going to make certain you get the man you love.’