She touched the white wings of his hair with a fingertip, and half smiled to herself. The twins who were being baptized tomorrow were his first great-grandchildren too, a continuation of his bloodline. Upon his death, the McGill dynasty had passed into her hands for safekeeping, and she had guarded it well and faithfully, just as she had preserved and multiplied his great fortune, which she had solemnly vowed she would.
Sixteen years, she thought. We only had sixteen years together. Not very much time really, in the span of a life…particularly a long life like mine.
Without thinking, she spoke aloud: ‘If only you had lived longer. If only we could have shared our later years, grown old together. How wonderful that would have been.’ Her eyes misted over and she felt a tightening in her throat. Why you foolish, foolish old woman, she admonished herself silently. Weeping now for something gone so far beyond tears. With a swift and darting movement she returned the photograph to its given place.
‘Grandma…are you alone?’ Emily asked in a tentative voice from the doorway.
Startled, Emma jumped, and turned in the chair. Her face lit up. ‘Oh hello, Emily dear. I didn’t hear you come through the parlour. And of course I’m alone.’
Emily ran to her, gave her a resounding kiss, and then looked down at her curiously. She said, with a funny little smile, ‘I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone, Gran.’
‘I was. I was talking to him.’ She inclined her head at the photograph, and added dryly, ‘And if you think I’m getting senile, you can forget it. I’ve talked to that photograph for thirty years.’
‘Gosh, Grandy, you’re the last person I’d ever think of as being senile!’ Emily was quick to reassure, meaning every word. ‘Mummy maybe, but never you.’
Emma fixed her coolly probing eyes on her granddaughter. ‘Where is your mother, Emily. Do you know?’
‘Haiti. Basking in the sun. At least I think that’s where she’s gone.’
‘Haiti.’ Emma sat up in the chair, surprise registering, and then she let out a small whoop of a laugh. ‘Isn’t that the place they practise voodoo. I hope she isn’t having a wax doll made called Emma Harte, into which she can stick pins and wish me ill as she does.’
Emily also laughed, shaking her head. ‘Honestly, Gran, you are a card. Mummy wouldn’t think of anything like that. I doubt she’s ever heard of voodoo. Besides, I’m sure she’s far too preoccupied. With the Frenchman.’
‘Oh. So, she’s done another bolt, has she? And with a Frenchman this time. Well, I must say, your mother is getting to be a regular United Nations.’
‘Yes, she does seem to have developed a fondness for foreign gentlemen, Grandy.’ Emily’s green eyes brimmed with laughter as she stood rocking on her heels, regarding her grandmother with delight, enjoying their bit of repartee. There was no one like her Gran when it came to the caustic jab which got right to the heart of the matter.
Emma said, ‘Knowing your mother, he undoubtedly has an uncertain character, not to mention a dubious title. What’s this one’s name?’
‘Marc Deboyne. You might have read about him. He’s always in the gossip columns. And you’re right on target, regarding his character. But he doesn’t have a title, dubious or otherwise.’
‘That’s a relief. I’m sick to death of all these counts and princes and barons with unpronounceable names, grandiose ideas and empty wallets, whom your mother unfailingly collects. And invariably marries. Deboyne is a playboy though, isn’t he?’
‘I’d categorize him as IWT, Gran.’
‘What on earth does that mean, dear?’ Emma asked, her brows lifting, expressing her puzzlement.
‘International White Trash.’
Emma guffawed. ‘That’s a new one on me. And whilst I get the implication, explain further, please, Emily.’
‘It’s a term for men with murky backgrounds, even questionable backgrounds, who have social aspirations which they can only hope to fulfil in another country. I mean a country not their own. You know, where inconsistencies won’t be spotted. It could be an Englishman in Paris, a Russian in New York, or, as in this instance, a frog in London.’ Emily made a disagreeable face. ‘Marc Deboyne has been flitting around Mayfair’s fashionable drawing rooms for years, and I’m surprised Mummy got involved with him. He’s so transparent. He must have managed to dupe her somehow. Personally, I think he stinks, Gran.’
Emma frowned. ‘Have you met him then?’
‘Yes, and before Mummy too.’ She stopped short, deciding not to mention that Deboyne had made a pass at her first. That would really be inflammatory to her Gran. She finished, ‘He’s quite ghastly.’
Emma sighed, and wondered how much this one was going to cost her daughter. For cost her he would. That type of man always came expensive – frequently emotionally, but always financially. Dismally she thought of the million pounds she had given Elizabeth last year. Cold cash, too. Most of it had probably been frittered away by now. Still, what that foolish woman did with the money was no concern of hers. She had only been interested in buying Elizabeth off, and in so doing, protecting Alexander, Emily, and the fifteen-year-old twin girls. Emma said, with some asperity, ‘Your mother is impossible. Impossible. Where are her brains, for God’s sake? Don’t bother to answer that, Emily. In the meantime, out of curiosity, whatever happened to the current husband? That lovely Italian.’
Emily stared at her in disbelief. ‘Grandy!’ she shrieked. ‘What a switch! You always said you thought he was a gigolo. In fact, you were usually quite unkind about him, and I was certain you detested him.’
‘I changed my mind,’ Emma replied loftily. ‘As it turned out he wasn’t a fortune hunter, and he was nice to the twins.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go into the parlour and have a drink before lunch.’ She tucked her arm through Emily’s companionably, and steered her across the floor. She asked again, ‘So, where is Gianni what’s-his-name?’
‘He’s around. He’s moved out of Mummy’s flat, of course. But he’s still in London. He’s got himself a job with some Italian importing company, antiques, I believe. He often telephones me to ask about Amanda and Francesca. He’s rather attached to them I think.’
‘I see.’ Emma disentangled her arm and lowered herself on to one of the sofas. ‘I’d like a gin and tonic. Emily, instead of the usual sherry. Do the honours, please, dear.’
‘Yes, Grandy. I think I’ll have one myself.’ Always in a tearing hurry, Emily dashed across the room to the Georgian table which held a silver tray of bottles and Baccarat crystal glasses. Emma’s eyes followed her. In the red wool suit and frilly lilac blouse Emily reminded her of an iridescent humming-bird, so small, so swift, so brilliantly plumed, and so full of life. She’s a good girl, Emma thought. Thank God she hasn’t turned out like her mother.
Mixing the drinks deftly, Emily said, over her shoulder, ‘Talking of my baby half-sisters, Gran, are you going to let them stay at Harrogate College?’
‘For the moment. But I fully intend to pack them off to finishing school in Switzerland this September. In the meantime, they seem to be happy at the college. Of course, I realize that’s because of my proximity. I suppose I spoil them, letting them come home so much.’ Emma paused, remembering the fuss and bother and upset the previous year, when her two youngest grandchildren had tearfully begged to come and live with her. Emma had finally succumbed under their constant pressuring, although her acquiescence had been conditional. For their part, they had had to agree to attend the nearby boarding school Emma had selected. The girls had been thrilled, their mother delighted to be rid of them, Emma relieved that she had averted a nasty family contretemps from developing further.
Leaning back against the cushions, she let out a tiny sigh. ‘Anyway, spoil them or not, I do feel those two need mothering, and a chance to lead a normal family life. They’ve had little enough of either with your mother.’
‘That’s true,’ Emily agreed, carrying the drinks over to the seating arrangement in front of the fire. ‘I
feel a bit sorry for them myself. I suppose Alexander and I got the best of Mummy, I mean her better years. The girls have had a rough time of it…all those husbands. It seems to me that ever since she left their father, our mother has been on a downward slide. Oh well, what can you do?…’ Emily’s young breathy voice petered out sadly. She shrugged in resignation, and her whole demeanour reflected her disenchantment. ‘There’s not much you or I can do about your daughter, my mother, Grandy. She’s not likely to change.’
Emily now looked across at her grandmother, her blonde brows meeting in a frown. She said in a fretful tone, ‘The trouble with poor Mummy is that she suffers from the most terrible insecurity about herself, her looks, her figure, her personality…well, just about everything.’
‘Oh, do you think so,’ Emma exclaimed in astonishment at this remark. Her face changed and there was a glint of malice in her flinty green eyes as she remarked, with immense coldness, ‘I can’t imagine why.’ She lifted her glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers, Gran darling.’
Emma settled into a corner of the vast sofa, and, squinting in the sunlight, she focused on the attractive twenty-two-year-old Emily. The girl had a special place in her affections, for apart from being open and uncomplicated, she had a very lovable personality, one that was sunny, cheerful, and perennially optimistic, and she was a dynamic girl, filled with enthusiasm for life and her work. If Emily’s pink-and-cream blonde prettiness had the porcelain fragility of a Dresden shepherdess, it was, nevertheless, deceptive, belying an extraordinary drive that had the velocity and power of an express train running at full speed. Emma knew there were those in the family, specifically her sons, who thought Emily was scatterbrained and flippant. This secretly amused Emma, since she was fully aware that Emily purposely chose to give this fraudulent impression. In no way did it reflect her basic seriousness and diligence. Emma had long ago decided that her sons really disliked their niece because she was far too blunt and opinionated – and truthful – for their comfort. Emma had been witness to more than one scene when the intrepid Emily had made Kit and Robin squirm.
Emma looked into the clear green eyes, a reflection of her own as they had once been, saw the expectancy flickering in them, then noted the confident smile etched on Emily’s mouth. Emily had obviously convinced herself she was going to get her own way. Oh dear. Taking a deep breath, Emma said, with a faint laugh, ‘For someone with a serious problem, you certainly don’t look very troubled, dear. You’re positively glowing this morning.’
Emily nodded, and admitted, ‘I don’t think my problem’s all that serious, Grandy. I mean, it doesn’t seem to be today.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. You sounded as if you had the burdens of the world on your shoulders, when you spoke to me on Tuesday morning.’
‘Did I really,’ Emily laughed. ‘I suppose things seem so much brighter when I’m with you. Perhaps that’s because I know you can always solve any problem, and I just know you’ll – ’ She broke off when Emma held up a silencing hand.
Emma said: ‘I’ve known for some time that you want to go back to Paris, to work in the store there. That is what you want to discuss, isn’t it? That is your problem?’
‘Yes, Gran,’ Emily said, her eyes shining with eagerness.
Emma put down her drink on the butler’s tray table, and leaned forward, her expression suddenly serious. She said carefully, ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you go to Paris. I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Emily, but you will have to stay here.’
The happy smile vanished, and Emily’s face dropped. ‘But why, Grandy?’ she asked in a crushed voice. ‘I thought you were pleased with the way I handled things in Paris all last summer and through the autumn.’
‘I was. Very pleased, in fact, and proud of you. Your performance has nothing to do with my decision. No, that’s not strictly true. One of the reasons I’ve formulated new plans for you is because of the way you performed over there.’ Emma’s eyes did not leave her granddaughter’s face as she explained carefully, ‘Plans for your future. Which, in my considered opinion, is with Harte Enterprises.’
‘Harte Enterprises!’ Emily cried, her voice rising incredulously.
She froze on the sofa, staring at her grandmother dumbfounded. ‘Where would I fit in there? Alexander, Sarah and Jonathan are working in that company, and I’d just be a spare wheel! A dogsbody, with nothing to do. Anyway, I’ve always worked for you. In the stores. I love retailing, and you know that, Gran. I’d just hate, positively hate and detest, being pushed into that organization,’ Emily protested with uncommon fierceness, flushing bright pink. Breathlessly, she rushed on, ‘I really mean it. You’ve always said it’s important to enjoy one’s work. Well, I certainly wouldn’t enjoy working at Harte Enterprises. Oh please let me go to Paris. I really love that store, and I want to continue to help you get it properly on its feet. Please change your mind. Please, oh please, Gran darling. I’ll just be miserable if you don’t,’ she wailed, and her face was as woebegone as her voice as she clenched her hands together in her lap.
Emma made an irritated clucking noise, and shook her head reprovingly. ‘Now, now, Emily, don’t be so dramatic,’ she exclaimed with unusual sharpness. ‘And do stop trying to cajole me. I know all about your wheedling. Sometimes it works, other times, like right now, I am quite impervious to it. And incidentally, the Paris store is on its feet, thanks, in no small measure, to you. So you’re not needed there any more. Very frankly, I need you here.’
This remark, although uttered mildly, caused Emily to sit up swiftly, and she frowned, further taken aback. ‘You need me, Grandy. What for? What do you mean?’ Emily’s eyes widened and filled with worry. She wondered if her grandmother had a serious problem within Harte Enterprises. Hardly. Her health? That seemed unlikely too. But obviously something was amiss.
‘What’s wrong, Grandma?’ she asked, giving words to her spiralling anxiety, all ideas about Paris swept completely out of her head.
‘There is nothing wrong, dear,’ Emma said with a bright smile, detecting the girl’s concern. ‘Before I explain my reasons for wanting you here, I would like to clarify my remark about your future. Naturally I realize you like working at the stores, but you can’t get much further at Harte’s. Paula and your Uncle David have the real power there these days, and Paula will inherit all of my shares one day. Paula respects your ability, and she would love to keep you by her side, but Emily, you’d always be a salaried employee, with no financial interest whatsoever. I do –’
‘I know that,’ Emily interjected. ‘But –’
‘Don’t interrupt me,’ Emma snapped, cutting her off. ‘As you learned last spring, I have left you sixteen per cent of Harte Enterprises, and that’s a huge interest, since the company is so very rich. And solid. As solid as the Bank of England, in my opinion. Your wealth, your future security, will come from your shares in Harte Enterprises, and I have felt for the longest time that you must have a hand in running it. After all, it will belong, in part, to you one day.’
Emma could not fail to miss the worried expression now settling on Emily’s face and she reached across the table and squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘Don’t look so distressed. I’m not implying that I lack confidence in your brother. You must know that I don’t. Alexander will guide, and guard, Harte Enterprises with all of his strength and ability, and with great devotion, I’ve no fear. Nevertheless, I want you to be active there, along with Sandy and your cousins. I really believe that you must direct that considerable energy of yours, and your many talents into the company in which you have such a major stake, and from which you will reap so many benefits.’
Emily was quiet, mulling over her grandmother’s words, and after a longish pause, she said slowly, ‘Yes, I see what you mean, and I know you have my interests at heart, but there’s nothing about the company that appeals to me. Anyway, Sarah has always enjoyed running the clothing end, and she’d resent it if you shoved me in there with her. As for Jonathan, he’d
really get on that high horse of his, if you foist me on him. He considers the real estate division to be his little kingdom, and his alone. He’d be in revolt if I started poking around there. So what would I do at HE? The only thing I understand is retailing.’ Her voice faltered, for she was on the verge of tears, and she looked away swiftly, staring out of the window, her expression exceedingly glum.
The prospect of leaving the Harte chain of stores, and Paula, whom she worshipped, was depressing and distressing to Emily. And she would have to leave. That had already been decided, she had the good sense to recognize. Her opinion wasn’t being sought. She was being told what to do, told what was expected of her, and her grandmother’s authority was unassailable. Besides, that cold and stubborn look was now engraved on her grandmother’s face, and it was a look they were all familiar with, one which left nothing to the imagination. It said, in no uncertain language, that Emma Harte would have her own way no matter what. Emily felt the prick of tears behind her eyes, as she contemplated her miserable future. Mortified, she blinked them back and swallowed, endeavouring to hold on to her diminishing composure. Tears, emotion, and any other sign of weakness in business were anathema to her grandmother.
Emma, observing the girl closely, saw how troubled and upset she was growing, and realized immediately that she must allay Emily’s worries. Adopting her most sympathetic manner, Emma said, ‘Don’t take this so hard, dear. It’s not half as bad as you imagine. And I certainly had no intention of putting you in either of the divisions run by your cousins. That wouldn’t be fair to any of you. Nor am I considering making you Sandy’s assistant – if that idea has entered your agile little brain. No, no, nothing like that. When I said I needed you here, I did mean here. In Yorkshire. I would like you to work at General Retail Trading, and learn everything there is to know about that division of Harte Enterprises. You see, Emily, I want you to run it for me eventually.’
Hold the Dream Page 6
