Just Rewards (Harte Family Saga)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  India responded, “Yes, I understand, and it is beautiful, Gran. Perhaps I should try it on to see how it looks.”

  “Yes, why don’t you do that?” Edwina motioned to the end wall. “There’s a looking glass over there, and plenty of light from the windows on either side.”

  India rose, leaned over the table, and lifted the tiara with both hands. Moving across to the mirror, she placed the diamond circle on her head and stared at herself. She saw at once that Edwina was correct. Now that the tiara was on, it didn’t look quite so grand after all, perhaps because of the cloud of hair around her face and the simple design. And it did suit her, no two ways about that; much to her surprise, it was also comfortable to wear. But would Dusty like her in it? He could be odd about things. She smiled, thinking how he had characterized her parents as aristocratic snobs when they weren’t, not at all. But he had refused to meet them until very recently. Now he loved them, just as they did him. For a moment India attempted to visualize herself in her wedding veil and the tiara, and unexpectedly she liked the image floating in her head. And she knew Dusty would, too. She turned around and exclaimed, “What do you think, Gran?”

  Edwina’s answer was to beam at her. “It suits you, India, and it doesn’t look … over the top, as you call it. Your veil will be held in place perfectly. Now, tell me, what is your wedding gown going to be like? You told me Evan was designing it.”

  “Yes, she is, and I’ve seen only the first sketches of it, but I love her design. We’ve chosen the fabric already, a pale ivory taffeta, light in weight, because the dress is going to be worn over an underskirt of layered net, for a very bouffant effect, like an old-fashioned ball gown. The bodice is tightly fitted, and there are big, puffy sleeves, slightly off the shoulder. Actually, it’s Victorian in style, Gran, now that I think about it. I’ve asked Evan to keep it plain and understated, no embroidery.”

  “It sounds as if it will be lovely, my dear, and I feel sure the tiara will be the perfect adornment, since it is Victorian, too. So, are you going to wear it on your wedding day to please an old lady?”

  India smiled at her grandmother, then turned again to the mirror, gazing at herself for a split second. As she swung back around to face Edwina, she exclaimed, “Yes, Grandma, I’d love to wear your tiara, and thank you for thinking of it.”

  Edwina returned India’s smile with one equally loving. “Adele’s tiara, that’s how I regard it. Would you like to take it with you today? Or do you prefer to leave it here for safekeeping?”

  “I think I’d better do that, actually. You have that enormous safe, and I don’t even have a small one in my flat. Besides, it’s only January, Gran. I’m not getting married until June. So yes, it would be much safer here for the next six months, I think.”

  “I understand.” Edwina sat back in the chair and watched India as she walked over to the dining table, took off the tiara, and placed it on the black velvet, thinking what a lovely young woman she had become. She had the finely drawn aristocratic looks and pale blond coloring of Adele Fairley, as did her cousin Tessa Fairley; in fact, the two could easily be mistaken for sisters, and often were by strangers.

  “Shall I put the tiara in its box, Grandma? Or do you want Frome to do it?”

  Edwina laughed. “You’d better do it, he’s far too slow these days. It’ll take him half an hour to get the tiara in its box, never mind into the safe. Old age creeping up, I’m afraid.”

  India’s mouth twitched with laughter. “You are funny, Gran, the way you go on about Frome getting old. He can’t be more than fifty if he’s a day.”

  “Fifty’s about right,” Edwina confirmed, still chuckling to herself. “But he’s dreadfully slow lately You know very well I’m much faster at everything, even though I am ninety-five.”

  “And quite remarkable!” India exclaimed.

  “Imagine, Emma was only sixteen when I was born. She took me off to her cousin Freda’s in Ripon to be brought up, at least when I was a baby—” Edwina stopped abruptly and sat there staring out the window, her eyes full of a curious yearning.

  After a moment of watching her, India asked softly, “Are you all right, Grandmother?”

  “Oh, yes, I am, India, I am. And I hope I remain so. At least until I see you well and truly married to Dusty.” Pushing herself to her feet, she continued, “And shouldn’t we be on our way to have lunch with him at Willows Hall?”

  “Yes, we had better go,” India agreed and put the tiara back in the worn, black-leather box where it belonged, then laid the black velvet cover over it. Closing the lid and fastening the small catch, India looked across at her grandmother and said, “Shall I put it in the safe?”

  “Absolutely. It’ll be quicker, as I just said, if you do it. Come along, my dear, I’ll take you to the safe. And then we’ll be off. It was nice of you to come and fetch me, India. I could’ve been driven over to Dusty’s by Rupert, you know. He doesn’t have much driving to do as it is.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, Grandma. I wanted to come. To see you and spend a little extra time with you.”

  They crossed the hall together and went down a corridor toward the room where an enormous safe was housed. As she followed Edwina, India went on, “I think you’d better wear a warm coat, Grandma. It’s bitterly cold today, and it could snow again.”

  “I will, my dear. I have a lovely quilted coat Paula got for me. From Harte’s, of course.”

  As they drove to Follifoot, India thought about Dusty Rhodes, the way she had fallen in love with him at first sight. She had made up her mind to marry him there and then. They had met at a cocktail party for young painters at the Artemis Gallery in Kensington and been drawn to each other at once. He’d taken her to supper at the Ivy later, and then back to his studio on the Embankment, where they had sipped herb tea and gone to bed. Instant sex. Instant love.

  “Mr. Rhodes, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a Mrs. Roebotham here. With Atlanta,” Paddy Whitaker said from the doorway of the studio.

  Dusty’s head came up with a jerk, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Atlanta?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rhodes,” the house manager confirmed. “They’re in the kitchen at the moment. Atlanta likes Angelina, as you well know.”

  Alarmed though he was by this altogether unexpected news, Russell Rhodes, one of the world’s greatest artists, managed to keep his face neutral. Dusty, as he was commonly known, put the paintbrush down carefully, even though his stomach was suddenly churning; he managed to keep his movements totally controlled. His mind was racing. Obviously something happened to the child’s grandmother. That was why Atlanta was here.

  Turning away from the easel, Dusty asked, “What’s the problem? Did Mrs. Roebotham say?”

  “No, but she has a suitcase. It’s Atlanta’s. And the woman appears to be nervous and worried. However, she wouldn’t say a word to me, Mr. Rhodes. She just repeated several times that she had to speak to you and only you.”

  “I understand. I’ll come up to the house with you right away, Paddy.” Moving across the studio swiftly, Dusty glanced at his watch and asked, “Is everything under control for lunch?”

  Paddy, still framed in the doorway, nodded. “Angelina has finished setting the table in the dining room, and Valetta’s in the middle of cooking lunch. Everything smells delicious, as usual. I have the white wine cooling. Pouilly Fumé. No problems, at least not with lunch, sir.”

  “I’m sure not. Thanks, Paddy. By the way, you’d better make sure the dining room is warm. The countess feels the cold these days, so Lady India tells me.”

  “The fire’s blazing up the hearth, and I turned the central heating on a while ago. Kept it low, though.”

  “That’s fine.” Dusty paused at the door and, doubting that he would be returning to his studio today, switched off all the lights. After grabbing his sheepskin coat from the wall peg, he locked the door and walked with Paddy to the beautiful Palladian house set at the top of the hill just a few yards away.


  Once inside the house, Dusty murmured, “I’d better see Mrs. Roebotham before I greet Atlanta, find out what this is all about. Give me a couple of minutes to freshen up, then bring her to the library.”

  “I’ll do that, sir. And in the meantime, I’ll try to get her to have a cup of tea. She wouldn’t have anything before. But perhaps she will now that she knows you’ll be talking to her in a short while.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Dusty answered, and then he hurried across the marble entrance hall and into the spacious library. The first thing he did was go into the adjoining bathroom, where he washed the paint off his hands, splashed cold water on his face, and then ran a comb through his thick, black hair.

  He stared at himself in the mirror, thinking, suddenly, that he looked tired. And also worried. Taking a deep breath, endeavoring to steady himself, he returned to the library, straightening his sweater as he went to his desk. Lifting the tweed jacket from the back of the desk chair, he slipped it on, then sat down at the desk, his mind in a turmoil.

  Something must have happened to Molly Caldwell, Melinda’s mother, he decided, or why would a stranger be here with his child? Unless it was Melinda who was in trouble and her mother had gone to the detox clinic to see her. But if that were the case, why hadn’t Mrs. Caldwell phoned him? She usually did, wanting to keep him informed of everything that affected his child. She was a good woman.

  Propping his elbows on the desk, Dusty dropped his head into his hands. Why today? he muttered under his breath. Why did it have to be today of all days? India was on her way to have lunch, bringing her grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Dunvale, and he wanted everything to go right.

  But then Melinda Caldwell had spelled trouble from the day he met her, although he hadn’t known it at the time. A top model, she had been young, fresh, beautiful, full of laughter and joy. He had fallen for her looks and gaiety. And then, soon after their meeting, she had rocketed to fame, became the face on every magazine cover. She had begun to earn big money, and it had all gone to her head. Within months she had fallen in with a fast crowd, had started breaking their dates. And he had soon discovered she was sleeping around. Recklessly. Then she had suddenly come back to him, contrite, loving, asking his forgiveness. They’d been together for two months when she became unusually violent, verbally abusive. Knowing he couldn’t take it, and at his wit’s end, he had left. Soon after, she had told him she was pregnant; there had been a DNA test after the baby was born, at his insistence. It was his child. Nevertheless, they hadn’t been able to make it work. He exited Melinda’s life promptly, but generously supported her and the baby.

  Later, when Melinda had become fried on drugs, he had backed her mother, Molly Caldwell, who had taken Atlanta to live with her. And he had tried to help Melinda. But, very simply, she had not wanted help.

  He sighed, lifted his head. Trouble he didn’t want or need.

  But there was no doubt in his mind that trouble was about to come and hit him smack in the face.

  He braced himself. Everything was about to go wrong; his gut instinct told him that, and he trusted his instinct. Always had.

  “Tell me about Emma, tell me about Grandy,” India said as she drove down the driveway of Niddersley House and turned left onto the Knaresborough Road. “You promised you would ages ago, and you never have.”

  “There’s so much to tell, I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Edwina murmured, settling herself in the car seat. “Do you like this car, India?” she then asked, changing the subject. “I gave it to your father, you know.”

  “Yes, he told me. And I love my Aston Martin.” Giving her grandmother a quick look out of the corner of her eye, India asked, “Are you comfortable, Gran?”

  “Very. Thank you for asking,” Edwina answered, glancing out of the window.

  “So, getting back to Emma Harte. Here’s an idea, why don’t I just ask you questions?”

  “That’s a very good idea, India. But surely you know a lot from your father. He was devoted to her.”

  “Oh yes, I do, and from Mummy as well. Daddy always says he was one of the Praetorian Guards.”

  Edwina chuckled merrily for a second or two. “He spoke the truth. He and Paula, Emily and her late brother, Sandy, and Winston felt it was their duty to surround and protect her in every way. I must admit, I did sometimes tease your father, asking him if he and the others were ever tempted to do away with her, as the original Roman Praetorian Guards had often had an urge to slay their leader.” Edwina chuckled again.

  India laughed with her grandmother and asked, “And what did my father say?”

  “He was horrified that I could even countenance such an idea. I’m afraid that my teasing fell flat. He and his cousins were utterly devoted to her.”

  “And you weren’t, were you, Gran?” When Edwina did not answer, India pressed, “You were estranged from her for quite some time. I know that because Daddy told me.”

  A low sigh escaped Edwina, and she remained silent for a moment longer before saying, “Yes, it’s true, I was. I became estranged from her just before I went off to finishing school in Switzerland, and we weren’t very close for a number of years after that.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “It’s such a long story, India dear, and I always get upset when I discuss it. I will tell you the details some other time, I promise. Let’s just say, for now, that I was totally wrong. I was the one at fault, not my mother, and when I finally realized that, I tried to make amends. And we became devoted to each other at long last.”

  “You sound very regretful, Grandma,” India said softly, sympathy echoing in her voice.

  “I am, even to this day. I think what I regret most are the years I missed knowing her, being with her, when I was a young woman. I was married to your grandfather Jeremy, and living with him at Clonloughlin. I was so happy with him, and we were devoted to your father, our only child, and I didn’t give a thought to my mother. Not for a very long time.”

  “My father told me that he went and sought her out, that he didn’t even tell you.”

  “That’s correct. And it was my uncle, Emma’s brother Winston, who told me that the moment they met was memorable. He said it was instantaneous and absolute infatuation between Emma and Anthony.” Turning to India, Edwina finished in a low voice, “I’m glad your father had the guts to defy me and went to meet his grandmother on his own. They remained close for the rest of her life, and they both benefited from the relationship.”

  “You said earlier that Emma sent you off to live in Ripon with her cousin Freda. Was that one of the things that upset you?”

  Again Edwina was silent, as if mulling over her answer, and when she spoke she found herself telling the truth. “No, not really. I was a baby, and I was given a lot of love, care, and attention, and it was a pretty, pastoral place to live. Freda was a loving young woman. I knew deep down, when I was older, that Emma had done the best thing for me. We were poor and she had to work hard to support us; she just couldn’t look after me. Nor was there anyone in Armley who could. Yes, it was the right decision, even though later there were moments when I resented her for doing it. But I was far too young to understand all the ramifications. Later, I did.”

  “You know, Grandma, I really admire you. The way you admit your mistakes, take responsibility for things you did which you now regret. Most people can’t do that … admit they’ve been wrong.”

  “Only too true, India,” Edwina murmured, “and for you to understand that, at your age makes you a very smart young woman indeed. I’m proud of you, my dear. Now, enough of the past and Emma. Tell me about your plans.”

  “Just one more question, Gran, and then I’ll stop,” India pleaded. “I’ll talk about my plans, and anything else you want to talk about.”

  “All right. One more question then. What is it?”

  “Everyone says Linnet is Emma’s clone. Is that true? You’d know better than any other member of the family.”

  “Oh ye
s, she’s the spitting image of her, as Emma looked when I was growing up and living with her. But it’s not only the looks, you know, Linnet is like her in other ways. It’s in the genes, I suppose. She has inherited many of my mother’s mannerisms; she even sounds like her at times. And quite aside from those things, her personality is similar to Emma’s. Linnet can be brusque and blunt, just as my mother was, and she speaks her mind. Very plainly. I’ve always said to Paula that with Linnet what you see is what you get, and Emma Harte was exactly the same way.”

  Edwina sat up straighter and looked at her granddaughter. “You might find this hard to believe, but sometimes when I’m with Linnet, I feel as if I’m a little girl again and actually with my mother. I fall into my memories, and I’m transported back in time. It’s rather strange, I must admit.”

  “I suppose it is, but every time I pass that portrait of Emma in the store, I think I’m looking at Linnet, well, the woman Linnet will be when she’s much older.”

  A fleeting smile touched Edwina’s face, and after a moment she said, “Now come along, you promised to tell me your plans, yours and Dusty’s. And what about his little girl? Will she come and live with you when you’re married?”

  “I don’t think so, Grandma … . Dusty feels she should remain with Mrs. Caldwell, that’s the child’s grandmother. He doesn’t want to uproot her to live at Willows Hall with us. Anyway, he always promised Melinda, that’s the little girl’s mother, that he wouldn’t take Atlanta away from her.”

  “I understand his reasoning. And that’s just as well, wouldn’t you say? Surely she’s better with her mother.” As Edwina said this, she felt a surge of apprehension. She saw trouble on the horizon.

  Part Two

  TRIO