‘Oh phooey!’
‘Well, she was his grand passion, that I know for a fact – because he once told me so. I believe he’s carrying a torch for her.’
‘That’s a bit farfetched, Emily, they’ve been divorced for donkey’s years.’
‘Even so, he could have remained shackled to her emotionally.’ Emily tilted her blonde head to one side and wrinkled her nose. ‘Unrequited love, and all that. Why are you looking so sceptical, Grandma? Don’t you believe that’s possible?’
‘Possible. Not very practical. And I’m quite certain your father has more common sense than to yearn after Elizabeth. He had her pegged years ago.’
‘I hope you’re right. I’m sure that being in love with someone who doesn’t care in return is most unsatisfactory, not to mention painful. Very impractical in the long run, as you just said.’ A faraway expression flickered in Emily’s wide green eyes, and she said, almost inaudibly, ‘If only Sarah would recognize that.’
As quiet as her voice had been Emma had heard her. She put down her coffee cup with a loud clatter and gaped at Emily, frowning. ‘Our Sarah. Is she in love with someone who doesn’t love her?’
‘Oh gosh, Gran, I shouldn’t have mentioned Sarah. It’s really none of my business,’ Emily muttered, her face flushing and filling with chagrin. ‘Please don’t say anything to her, will you? She’d be ever so upset.’
‘Of course I won’t say anything. I never do, do I? Who’s she carrying a torch for? That’s what you implied, you know.’
Emily hesitated. She was suddenly tempted to fib. But she had never lied to her grandmother in her whole life. Still, perhaps in this instance she ought to resort to a white lie.
Emma pressed, ‘Who is it?’
There was a moment of silence. Emily swallowed, and knowing herself to be trapped, she mumbled, ‘Shane.’
‘I’ll be damned.’ Emma leaned back and focused her keen old eyes on her granddaughter, ‘Well, well, well,’ she said, and a slow smile spread across her face.
Emily shot up in her chair, her eyes flaring open, and she cried, ‘Oh Grandy, don’t look like that! Please don’t look like that!’
‘And how am I looking?’
‘Gratified. And ever so conspiratorial. I know you and Uncle Blackie have long had hopes that one of us, or one of the Harte girls, would marry Shane O’Neill, and unite our families. But he’s not interested in any of us, except for – ’ Emily bit off the rest of her sentence abruptly, instantly wishing she could also bite off her tongue. This time she really had said far too much. She jumped up and went to the Hepplewhite sideboard, where she hovered over the silver bowl of fruit. ‘I think I’ll have a banana,’ she said, attempting nonchalance. ‘Would you like one too, Gran dear?’
‘I certainly wouldn’t, thank you very much.’ Emma swung her head and studied her granddaughter’s back. ‘Except for whom, Emily?’
‘No one, Gran.’ Emily wondered how to extricate herself, and adroitly, without arousing her grandmother’s suspicions further. She sauntered back to her chair, flopped down, and attacked the banana with her dessert knife and fork, her head studiously bent.
Emma watched her, knowing that Emily was avoiding her eyes. And avoiding answering.
‘I know you were about to tell me who Shane is interested in, Emily. If anyone knows, it’s you.’ She laughed lightly, endeavouring to be casual. ‘You’ve always been my conduit for information about everyone in the family. And out of it for that matter. So come along, finish your sentence.’
Emily, who was still cutting the skin off the banana with painstaking care, finally lifted her head. Her face was a picture of innocence as she said, ‘I wasn’t about to reveal a thing, really I wasn’t. I’m not in Shane’s confidence – I don’t know anything about his love life. What I was going to say, before, is that he isn’t interested in any of us, except for a one-night stand.’
‘Really, Emily!’
‘Sorry.’ Emily dropped her eyes, then coyly looked up at Emma through her long lashes. ‘Have I shocked you, Grandma?’
‘At my age I’m shock resistant, my girl,’ Emma replied tartly. ‘But I am rather surprised by your remark about Shane. It wasn’t very nice. Extremely unkind, in fact.’ A new thought struck Emma, and she gave her granddaughter a fierce stare. ‘Has he ever suggested anything of the sort –’
‘No, no, of course not,’ Emily burst out peremptorily before Emma could finish. And then she was swift to qualify her previous statement about Shane. ‘It’s just a feeling I have about him,’ she mumbled, hating herself for maligning Shane, who was the nicest person imaginable. ‘I didn’t mean any harm, Grandy, honestly I didn’t. Besides, who can blame him for being a bit of a lady-killer, when women fall at his feet like ninepins. That’s hardly his fault.’
‘True,’ Emma acknowledged. ‘But getting back to Sarah, I hope this crush she has on him is going to pass soon. I can’t bear to think that she’s miserable. How does she really feel, dear?’
‘I don’t know, Gran,’ Emily replied in all truthfulness. ‘She’s only discussed Shane with me once, ages ago, and I think she’s regretted mentioning him ever since. But I know she’s smitten with him, just through my own observation. She always blushes furiously whenever his name comes up, and she gets all self-conscious and sort of dopey when he’s around.’ Emily levelled her gaze at Emma, and it was direct and candid, as she added, ‘No, she’ll never say anything to anyone about her feelings. Sarah’s basically much too secretive to confide.’
This last comment further surprised Emma, but she decided not to pursue it for the moment. Conscious of the girl’s stricken expression, she hastened to say, ‘You don’t have to be apprehensive about me, darling. Have no fear, I won’t mention Shane to Sarah…I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing her. And she’ll come to her senses, if she hasn’t already.’ Emma’s eyes rested on the bowl of spring hyacinths in the centre of the table, and she ruminated briefly on all that had been said. When she raised her head she smiled kindly at Emily. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m questioning your powers of observation, or your judgement, but you do have a tendency to be overly imaginative at times. You could be wrong about Sarah. Perhaps she has forgotten Shane by now, in view of his lack of interest in her. She does have her feet on the ground, you know.’
‘Yes, Gran,’ Emily said, although she did not agree with her grandmother’s assessment of her cousin. Sarah might look as if her feet were firmly planted on the ground but her head was most definitely in the clouds. Emily bit her lip, and she wished more fervently than before that she had never mentioned Sarah in the first place. Embarking on this kind of conversation with her canny grandmother had been a horrible mistake. The trouble was, she was constantly doing it. Emma had always been the most dominant and important person in her young life, and confiding everything in her was a childhood habit which was difficult, if not impossible, to break. But Emily was thankful for one thing – she had caught herself in the nick of time, had managed not to reveal the truth about Shane to Grandy, who doted on him as if he were one of her own.
The realization that she had protected him made Emily feel better, for she liked and admired Blackie’s grandson. She smiled to herself as she toyed with the banana in front of her, filled with sudden self-congratulation. For once she had been rather clever, side-stepping Grandy’s probing so skilfully. And thankfully Shane O’Neill’s secret was still safe. It would always be safe with her. Poor Shane, she thought with a twinge of sadness, what a terrible burden he has to carry. Stifling a sigh, Emily finally said, ‘I don’t think I want any more of this,’ and she pushed her dessert plate away, making a face.
Emma, anxious to bring the lunch to an end, nodded quickly, and said, ‘I’d better get back to my desk. What are your plans for this afternoon? You’ve finished at the Harrogate store, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, Grandy. I completed the stock inventories you wanted, and selected the clothing for the sales,’ Emily explained, relieved that Em
ma had apparently now dismissed Shane and Sarah Lowther from her mind. ‘I’m going to potter around in my room. Hilda asked one of the maids to unpack my suitcases when I arrived, but I prefer to arrange my things myself.’
‘Suitcases in the plural, Emily? How many did you bring?’
‘Ten, Gran.’
‘For the weekend?’
Emily cleared her throat and gave her grandmother one of her most engaging and persuasive smiles. ‘Not exactly. I thought I’d stay with you for a while, if that’s all right with you. It is, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ Emma answered slowly, wondering what this unexpected move on Emily’s part was all about. ‘But what about your flat in Headingley?’ she thought to ask with a small frown.
‘I want to get rid of it. I have for some time, actually. I decided to sell it, or rather that you should ask Jonathan to do so. Anyway, last night I packed a lot of my clothes and other things, because I’d convinced myself you’d be sending me to Paris next week. Now that I’m not going, I might as well stay here at Pennistone Royal. I’ll be company for you, Gran. You won’t be so lonely.’
I’m not lonely, Emma thought, but said, ‘I’m probably being dense, but you seemed awfully taken with that flat when I bought it for you last November. Don’t you like it any more, Emily?’
‘It’s a very nice flat, really it is, but – . Well, to be honest, Gran darling, I have felt rather isolated there by myself. I’d much rather be here. With you.’ Emily flashed her beguiling smile again. ‘For one thing, it’s a lot more fun. And exciting.’
‘Personally, I find it pretty dull here. Pretty dull indeed,’ Emma muttered and stood up, headed for the dining room door. Over her shoulder she said, ‘But you’re quite welcome, Emily,’ and she hoped she had not sounded too grudging. First the twins, and now Emily, she sighed under her breath. Suddenly they’re all moving in on me. And just when I thought I was going to get some peace and quiet for once in my life.
As she walked briskly across the vast Stone Hall and mounted the staircase, with Emily trailing in her wake, Emma had another thought: maybe she would take Blackie up on his little proposition after all.
Paula talked and Emma listened.
They sat together in the upstairs parlour, facing each other across the Georgian silver tea service which Hilda had brought up a few minutes after Paula had arrived.
Emma had poured tea for them both, but she had hardly touched her own cup. She sat so still on the sofa she might have turned to stone, and the familiar mask of inscrutability had dropped down over her face as she concentrated on Paula’s words, absorbing each one.
Paula spoke well, recounting the meeting at Aire Communications with precision and careful attention to the smallest detail, and her narration was so graphically descriptive Emma felt as though she had been present herself. Several times she experienced a spurt of anger or annoyance, but not an eyelash flickered, not a muscle moved in her blank, impenetrable face, and not once did she interrupt the flow of words.
Long before Paula came to the retelling of the final scene in the board room, Emma’s mind, so agile and astute, leaped ahead. She knew without having to be told that John Cross had reneged on the deal. For a moment she was as startled as Paula had been earlier in the day, but when this initial reaction passed with some swiftness she realized she was not so surprised after all. And she came to the conclusion that she knew John Cross better than she had believed. Years ago she had spotted him for what he was, an egotist, puffed up with his own self-importance, a foolish man with immeasurable weaknesses. At this time in his life he was between a rock and a hard place, dealing from fear and desperation and propelled by increasing panic, and it was patently clear that he would be capable of just about anything. Even a dishonourable action, for apparently he was a man without scruples. And then there was that disreputable son of his, goading him on. A pretty pair indeed, she thought disdainfully.
Paula came to the end of her story at last, and finished with a tiny regretful sigh, ‘And there you have it, Grandy. I’m sorry it ended in a debacle. I did my best. More than my best.’
‘You certainly did,’ Emma said, looking her fully in the face, proud of her, thinking how she had progressed. A year ago Paula would have blamed herself for the breakdown in the talks. ‘You’ve nothing to reproach yourself for, and just chalk this one up to experience and learn from it.’
‘Yes, Grandy, I will.’ Paula regarded her closely. ‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked, continuing to study that impassive face in an effort to gauge her grandmother’s feelings about the Cross situation.
‘Why, nothing. Nothing at all.’
Although she was not altogether surprised by this statement, Paula nevertheless felt bound to say, and a bit heatedly, ‘I thought that might be your attitude, but I can’t help wishing you’d give John Cross a piece of your mind, tell him what you think of him. Look at all the effort we put into this deal. He’s not only wasted our valuable time, but played us for a couple of fools.’
‘Played himself for a fool,’ Emma corrected, her voice low and without a trace of emotion. ‘Very frankly, I wouldn’t waste my breath, or the tuppence, on a phone call to him. There’s not much to be gained from flogging a dead horse. Besides, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m put out. There’s another thing…indifference is a mightily powerful weapon, and so I prefer to ignore Mr Cross. I don’t know what his game is, but I won’t be a party to it.’ The look Emma gave Paula was full of shrewdness and her eyes narrowed. ‘It strikes me that he might be using our offer to jack up the price with another company. He won’t succeed, he won’t have any takers.’ A cynical smile glanced across her face, and she laughed quietly to herself. ‘He’ll come crawling back to you, of course. On his hands and knees. And very soon. Then what will you do, Paula? That’s more to the point.’ Settling back against the cushions she let her eyes rest with intentness on her granddaughter.
Paula opened her mouth to speak, then closed it swiftly. For a split second she hesitated over her answer. She asked herself how Grandy would act in these particular circumstances and then dismissed the question. She knew exactly what her course of action was going to be.
In a resolute tone, Paula said, ‘I shall tell him to go to hell. Politely. I know I could hammer him down, get Aire Communications at a much lower figure, because when he does come back to us, and I agree that he will, he’ll be choking. He’ll accept any terms I offer. However, I don’t want to do business with that man. I don’t trust him.’
‘Good girl!’ Emma was pleased with this reply and showed it, then went on, ‘My sentiments exactly. I’ve told you many times that it’s not particularly important to like those with whom we do business. But there should always be an element of trust between both parties in any transaction, otherwise it’s begging for problems. I concur with what you think about Cross and that son of his. Their behaviour was appalling, unconscionable. I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot barge pole myself.’
Despite these condemning words and the stern expression lingering on Emma’s face, her overall reaction had been so understated, so mild, Paula was still a trifle puzzled. ‘I thought you’d be much more annoyed than you are, Grandy, unless you’re not showing it. And you don’t seem very disappointed either,’ she said.
‘My initial anger soon changed to disgust. As for being disappointed, well, of course I am in some ways. But even that is being replaced by an enormous sense of relief. As much as I wanted Aire Communications, now, quite suddenly, I’m glad things turned out the way they did.’
‘I am too.’ There was the slightest hesitation on Paula’s part before she remarked quietly, ‘Sebastian Cross has become my enemy, Grandmother.’
‘So what!’ Emma exclaimed in a dismissive tone. ‘If he’s your first, he’s surely not going to be your last.’ As she spoke Emma became aware of the concern reflected in the lovely, deep-violet eyes fastened on hers, and she sucked in her breath q
uickly. Making an enemy troubles Paula, she thought, and she reached out and squeezed the girl’s arm, adopted a gentler tone. ‘As unpleasant as it may be, you’re bound to make enemies, as I myself did. Very frequently it happens through no fault of ours, that’s the sad part.’ Emma let out a tiny sigh. ‘So many people are jealous and envious by nature, and you will always be vulnerable to that kind, and a target, because you have so much. Wealth and power through me, not to mention your looks, your brains and your immense capacity for work. All very enviable attributes. You must learn to ignore the backbiting, darling, rise above it. As I have always done. And forget Sebastian Cross. He’s the least of your worries.’
‘Yes, you’re right on all counts, as usual, Grandmother,’ Paula said and pushed away the dismaying memory of those hard eyes which had filled with loathing for her that morning. She felt a shiver trickle through her. Sebastian Cross would do her harm if he could. This unexpected thought immediately seemed silly, farfetched and overly imaginative, and Paula laughed silently at herself, and dismissed such an idea.
Rising, she crossed to the fireplace and stood warming her back for a moment or two. Her eyes swept around the lovely old room. It looked so peaceful, so gentle in the late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the many windows, with every beautiful object in its given place, the fire crackling merrily in the huge grate, the old carriage clock ticking away on the mantelpiece as it had for as long as she could remember. She had loved the upstairs parlour all of her life, had found comfort and tranquillity here. It was a room abundant with graciousness and harmony, where nothing ever changed, and it was this timelessness which made it seem so far removed from the outside world and all its ugliness. It’s a very civilized room, she said to herself, created by a very civilized and extraordinary woman. She looked across at Emma, relaxed on the sofa and so pretty in the pale blue dress, and her eyes became tender. Paula thought: she is an old woman now, in her eightieth year, yet she never seems old to me. She could easily be my age with her vigour and strength and zest and enthusiasm. And she is my best friend.
Hold the Dream Page 8
