Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
Sarah and her daughter now moved in the direction of the door; Paula followed them. Sarah turned around, just before leaving, and said, ‘The room hasn’t changed. It’s exactly the same as I remember it. It’s full of wonderful memories for me, especially of Grandy.’
Returning her very direct gaze, Paula saw the tears in Sarah’s eyes, and she was filled with compassion for the cousin she had banished so many years ago. Had she been too harsh? Perhaps. But at the time she had thought she was doing the right thing. She had truly believed that Sarah had betrayed the family. Her view of things had slowly changed over the years, but she had done nothing about bringing Sarah back into the fold.
‘I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done today, Sarah. I’m so very grateful to you. As our grandmother used to say, forewarned is forearmed. Now that I’m alerted I’ll be on my guard.’
‘That’s wise, I think.’
‘I hope we’ll see each other again soon. I want you to know, you’re very welcome…’ Paula’s sentence trailed away as she stepped forward and embraced her cousin.
Sarah clung to her, swallowing her tears. ‘And I don’t know how to thank
you
…It makes me so happy to know I’m welcome…in the family again.’ Stepping away from Paula, Sarah shook her head. ‘Just as long as Mr. Ainsley doesn’t know.’
Once she was alone, Paula tried to reach Tessa. She rang her at the Knightsbridge store only to discover she had been in her office earlier, but had suddenly left. She tried the house in Hampstead and was surprised that there was no answer. Finally, she punched in the numbers of Tessa’s mobile phone. Still her daughter did not respond, so she left a message and hung up.
Paula looked at the carriage clock on the desk, and was taken aback to see that it was only noon. Tessa was probably out to lunch, and Elvira had more than likely taken Adele for a walk on Hampstead Heath. She must try not to worry about Tessa’s whereabouts; she knew her daughter would call her back as soon as she had read her message. In the meantime, in order not to become hysterical about Mark Longden and his mistreatment of Tessa, she would concentrate on the plans for the weekend. But first she must straighten those picture frames on the library table. Chloe had moved them around to pick up Sarah’s photograph and now they looked muddled. She hated mess.
It struck her that Sarah had been so proud her picture was still so prominently displayed at Pennistone Royal, when she herself had been in disgrace for years. I just hadn’t noticed it was there, Paula muttered under her breath as she crossed the room, began to move the frames around. Soon order reigned; Sarah’s photograph was back in its given place.
The phone began to ring and Paula rushed to her desk, knocking a photograph onto the floor as she did. She heard the glass shatter as she grabbed the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Mummy! It’s Tessa.’
‘Darling, where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you?’
‘I know, I got your message. I’m in a limousine. Just leaving London. With Adele and Elvira. I’m being driven to Yorkshire. I’m too exhausted to drive myself. Mummy, I’ve left Mark.’
‘Thank God for that!’
‘I’m never going back to him. I’m getting a divorce.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it. When will you arrive here at Pennistone Royal?’
‘It’ll take us a good four hours, maybe a little bit more.’
‘I’ll be here waiting for you, darling.’
‘Bye, Mummy.’
‘See you soon, Tessa.’ Paula hung up, filled with relief. Thank God her daughter was out of that house and away from Mark Longden’s presence. And thank God for her cousin Sarah and her sense of decency and duty.
Paula got up and returned to the library table, picking up the photograph frame which had fallen on the floor as she had brushed against it.
The glass was broken. She tried to slide the pieces out without success, and so she went and sat at her desk and carefully took the frame apart. As she slid the velvet-covered back out of the frame and then the piece of cardboard, she noticed two envelopes taped to the inside part of the cardboard. She wondered what they contained and opened one. Inside was a silver key. Paula knew at once that it belonged to the fruitwood casket scrolled with silver. It had never been lost, but hidden. She felt a sudden rush of excitement, and opened the second envelope. It contained a photograph of a young woman, probably taken in the middle of the fifties. She was holding the hand of a small boy. Her grandmother held the child’s other hand. Paula turned the snap over. On the back was written:
Glynnis, Owen and me.
Paula placed the snapshot on the desk, and finally took out the eight-by-ten photograph, one she had looked at so many times over the years. And with a small shock she knew at last who the father of Owen Hughes was.
P
aula put the snapshot in her desk drawer, and then walked over to the Queen Anne chest where the fruitwood casket embellished with silver had stood for her entire life. So many times she had asked her grandmother what had happened to the key, and so many times Grandy had told her it was lost. But it had been carefully hidden, not lost at all.
With shaking hands Paula put the elaborate silver key into the equally elaborate silver escutcheon, and turned it. The casket opened easily. Lifting the lid she looked inside, almost afraid of what she would find. She saw at once that the casket contained a bundle of letters tied with blue ribbon. All of them were addressed to Mrs. Emma Harte at Pennistone Royal. Turning one over, she read the sender’s name: Mrs. Glynnis Hughes, New York City.
After reading a number of the letters, although not all of them, she had a fairly good understanding of everything, and she knew what she had to do. Locking the letters in the casket which had kept them safe for over forty-odd years, and pocketing the key, Paula ran downstairs.
Crossing the Stone Hall to the kitchen, she put her head around the door and told Margaret that Tessa, Adele and the nanny Elvira would be arriving in time for tea. ‘I’m going out for a while, Margaret,’ she added. ‘I should be back within an hour or so, if anyone should call.’
Margaret nodded her understanding. ‘What time will Mr. Longden be arriving? Or isn’t he coming tonight?’
‘No, Margaret, he can’t make it this weekend,’ Paula replied. Or any other weekend, she thought, as she headed towards her car parked in the cobbled yard near the stables, trying to douse her anger towards him. The bastard, she thought, cursing him under her breath.
Thirty-five minutes later Paula was driving through the tall, wrought-iron gates of Lackland Priory in Masham. She had always liked the appearance of this old stone manor, once a priory before the Dissolution of the Monasteries, that period when Henry VIII had destroyed so much church property because of his anger against Papal Rome.
Fortunately, Lackland Priory had not been destroyed. It had gone into private hands, and so had avoided being turned into a ruin like Fountains Abbey.
It was a graceful house made of local grey stone, with a series of beautiful windows perfectly aligned across the front façade. It was symmetrical, and she liked its simplicity and its plainness. It stood in the middle of perfectly flat green lawns; it was not surrounded or backed by stands of trees as so many manor houses in Yorkshire were.
After parking in the cobbled yard near the kitchen, she walked around to the front door and rang the bell. She had only a moment to wait before Bolton, the butler, appeared at the door, staring at her in surprise from the threshold.
‘Miss Paula! Good afternoon. Are we expecting you?’ As he spoke he opened the door wider and ushered her inside.
‘No, you’re not, Bolton,’ she answered, offering him one of her most charming smiles. ‘I thought it would be nice to give him a surprise. He once told me he had always liked surprises.’
‘Indeed he does. Come along, Miss Paula. I’ll take you to him. He’s in the library.’
‘How is he?’ she asked, following the butler across the polished parquet floor.
‘I’m pleased to tell you he’s a lot better. Still not quite his old self, but he will be in a week or two. He’s made wonderful progress.’ Opening the library door, Bolton said, ‘Sir, it’s Miss Paula, she’s driven over to see you.’
The man, who had been sitting reading by the window in a wing chair, put his book down and stood. ‘My dear Paula, what a lovely surprise.’
Paula glided across the Savonnerie carpet towards him, thinking how marvellous he looked. Bolton had been right: he had made a wonderful recovery. She had known him all of her life, but now she tried to see him through objective eyes, assess him, giving him an appraising glance as she finally drew to a standstill. He was still good-looking; he must have been quite devastating when he was younger.
She gave him a radiant smile, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He held her against him for a moment, his face against her hair, and then as they drew apart he said, ‘Your hair has always had the most lovely smell, ever since you were a child, Paula.’ He smiled at her, and indicated a chair. ‘Now, to what do I owe this honour, my dear?’
‘I haven’t heard a word from you about the birthday party for Shane and Winston. You are going to come, aren’t you?’
‘I do believe I am. I think it would be rather jolly to see all of you. We might even have a turn on the dance floor, you and I.’
Paula leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, studied him for a moment.
Becoming aware of her rather fixed scrutiny, he said, ‘Is there something wrong, Paula? You’re giving me rather sharp looks.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something I recently discovered. I was reading my grandmother’s diaries and I discovered she started a canteen during the Second World War. In the Fulham Road.’
He nodded, his eyes lighting up. ‘That’s true. She did.’
‘Did you ever go there?’
‘Indeed I did. We always had a lot of fun.’
‘Did you meet your wife there?’ she asked, her head on one side, watching him closely.
‘No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. But why do you ask this, Paula?’
‘I know you met a young woman there, and I wasn’t sure exactly who she was. This young woman…she was very beautiful. My grandmother thought she was so glamorous…’
He sat back in the leather wing chair rather suddenly, jerkily, and he turned his head, looking out across the lawns. He did not speak, merely sat there, staring through the window as if he could see something quite unique that was not visible to her.
What a marvellously patrician profile he has, and such a splendid head of white hair, Paula thought. And she waited. Waited for him to speak.
At last he turned back to face her, and she thought his face was sad, sorrowful. He seemed to ponder for a moment, and then he said, ‘Her name was Glynnis…Glynnis Jenkins. And she was beautiful, and glamorous, just as you said a moment or two ago, quoting your grandmother’s diaries, I’ve no doubt. But Glynnis was much more than that…’ He stopped speaking, shook his head. ‘She was very loving, passionate, sensual.’
‘You loved her.’
‘Oh yes, I did.’
‘And you made her pregnant.’
‘Yes. That’s true, Paula, I did,’ he answered without hesitation.
‘But you didn’t marry her.’
‘No.’
‘But why not?’
He let out a long sigh. ‘Our relationship was passionate, but it was also highly charged and extremely volatile. We could fight as quickly as we could make love. In the vernacular of today, it was over the top. I was aware that a passion like that could just as easily burn out as fast as it had flared. Or it could consume me. And—’
‘You couldn’t afford that,’ she cut in peremptorily. ‘You had to protect yourself, didn’t you, Uncle Robin? Because of the career you planned.’ She spoke softly, kindly, and finished, ‘I do understand.’
‘You are quite correct in your assessment, Paula. But let me explain…I broke up with Glynnis before I knew she was pregnant. And soon after that I became engaged to Valerie Ludden, a young woman I’d known for a while and of whom I was very fond. Of course, it was not the same kind of relationship I had with Glynnis. It was much calmer, more stable. I loved Valerie in a different way, and we were ideally suited. She was right for me, for my future in politics. Whereas Glynnis and I would have been consumed by each other, destroyed by each other.’
‘But Glynnis was pregnant, and in those days that was a terrible stigma.’
‘I’m aware of that, and I offered to support Glynnis. But she refused any help from me.’
‘I see.’
There was a silence between them, and then Robin Ainsley said, ‘So you found Emma’s old wartime diaries. Apparently she wrote about my love affair with Glynnis?’
‘No, she didn’t, Uncle Robin. There is one entry in October of 1943, about Glynnis’s predicament. But you are not mentioned as the father. No one is named, actually. Your mother protected you and she protected Glynnis. Anyway, Glynnis Jenkins never wanted you named as the father of her child either.’
‘Then how do
you
know?’ he asked, frowning, giving her a baffled look.
‘Because today, utterly by chance, I found some old letters from Glynnis Hughes, as she had become, to Grandy. I read several of them in which you were mentioned as being Owen’s father. She wrote to Emma for years, you know, and Emma even met your son by Glynnis.’
‘My mother supported Glynnis for a long time…sent her money on a regular basis, even after Glynnis had gone to America,’ Robin said. ‘So I’m not surprised Glynnis wrote to her. I’m just surprised my mother kept the letters.’
Paula nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’
Leaning towards her, Robin now asked, ‘Why have you come to tell me about this today, Paula? What’s this visit really all about? I know you very well, and there’s a reason behind it.’
‘You have a granddaughter called Evan Hughes…she’s the daughter of your son Owen. And she’s living in London, Uncle Robin. I thought you might want to know that.’
‘A granddaughter…’ He paused, his expression becoming thoughtful, and he was silent for a while, once more staring out of the window, his eyes suddenly full of sadness, perhaps even regret.
Watching him, waiting for him to say something, Paula thought of his long career in politics. He had been a popular Member of Parliament, had served in the British government several times, and Emma had always been proud of him. He had lived the life he had envisioned for himself, and he had been successful. So perhaps he had made the right choice.
Finally, Robin shifted in his wing chair and gave Paula a long, penetrating look. ‘How do you know this young woman…did she come looking for me?’
‘No, she didn’t. She didn’t even know about you. Let me explain everything.’
Robin listened to Paula attentively as she spoke at length, his expression revealing nothing. When she had finished he said, ‘And so you want me to meet her, is that it?’
‘That’s up to you, Uncle Robin.
You
must decide.’
‘I think I would like to meet her. From what you’ve just said she sounds very nice. Very appropriate.’
Paula laughed. ‘Indeed she is, and beautiful. Oh my God! I’ve just realized who she has a look of: Aunt Elizabeth, your twin. And everyone has been saying she resembles me.’
He smiled. ‘Then she must be quite lovely. Elizabeth is a beauty. Perhaps you should arrange a meeting, Paula.’
‘Whenever you want. At the birthday party, perhaps. She will be coming with Gideon.’
‘Gideon?’ He stared at her, puzzled. ‘Why Gideon?’
‘Because she has been seeing him…they’re involved.’
‘I wonder why it is that Hartes are always attracted to Hartes.’ He shook his head, nonplussed for a moment. ‘It’s like the pharaohs in ancient Egypt, don’t you think?’
Paula burst out laughing. ‘Oh Uncle Robin, you are a hoot at times.’
‘Anyway, that is a good idea. I could meet her at the party for Shane and Winston. Yes, indeed, most appropriate.’
Nodding, Paula then leant closer to her uncle, and said in a low voice, ‘I don’t think you should mention anything I’ve told you to Jonathan. It might upset him. He
is
your only son, and heir, and since he’s never given you grandchildren he might resent Evan.’
‘Oh my goodness,
yes.
You are quite right, Paula. He might regard her as some sort of threat.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Jonathan has been a great disappointment to me. I know he has no love for me, nor does he care a jot about my health, my life today. I’ve hardly seen him since his mother died; he didn’t come much when she was alive either, though Valerie was the best mother in the world. You’d think he’d pop by occasionally; after all, I am eighty, you know. But he never does, not even when he goes to see his fancy woman in Thirsk.’
Taking a deep breath, Paula plunged in. ‘I think Jonathan is dangerous, Uncle Robin. I want to warn you about him.’
He listened as she recounted everything Sarah had told her.
‘I’m not at all surprised,’ he said quietly, when she had finished. ‘I have begun to think, recently, that he’s a sociopath. He has no morals; actually, he’s
amoral,
and he believes he’s above the law. He never thinks he is doing anything wrong. He is indeed dangerous, Paula, you are right there. He will not hear about Evan Hughes from me.’
It seemed to Paula that the next two days were hectic, between settling Tessa in, calming her, and listening to her dreadful stories of life with Mark Longden. She backed her daughter to the hilt as far as a divorce was concerned, but purposely did not mention Sarah’s visit. She had to protect her cousin against Jonathan Ainsley’s wrath. And they had enough evidence of mistreatment; plenty of grounds for divorce without involving Sarah.
Then there were the plans for the weekend to finish: menus for the meals from Friday through Monday morning, plus seating plans for the lunches and dinners. But as usual she pushed ahead determinedly, and Tessa helped her by writing the place cards and doing other small tasks.
By the time Linnet, India and Evan arrived on Friday afternoon, Paula was just about finished with everything, and ready to relax with them over tea in the upstairs parlour. They had lots to recount to her: the success of the retrospective, the number of people visiting the exhibit, the great press coverage, the accolades, and a sudden surge in business on the fashion floors.
‘It’s a triumph for you all,’ Paula said, smiling at them when they had finally finished. ‘I have a feeling the retrospective is going to be a permanent fixture in the store for quite a long time. Well done, all of you. Now I want you to relax, forget work, and enjoy the weekend.’