Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
At one moment Bryan sat back and stared across the table at Linnet. In the cool northern light coming in through the bay window her colouring was so very vivid it startled momentarily. Yet there was a paleness, a translucent quality to her skin today, and she looked suddenly quite fragile.
Yet Bryan knew how strong she was both mentally and physically. She had enormous willpower, as well as stamina and energy, even though she was a slender girl.
She is going to need all the strength she has, he thought, just as she’ll need her wits about her. Tessa wants it all, has convinced herself she’s entitled to it all, and she’ll fight for what she believes are her rights. Intuitively, he knew that Paula would give everything to Linnet. This was her child by Shane, the great love of her life, the hero of her childhood, her true soul mate, and Linnet was their love child, very much desired, and conceived in great passion. Furthermore, she was cast in the image of the woman who had founded the Harte family dynasty and a great business empire. Yes, there was no question about it, Linnet was irresistible to Paula. Also, she was best suited to take Paula’s place one day. She was level-headed, steady as a rock, with a cool nerve, and an insight quite remarkable for her age.
All this aside, Tessa did not have Linnet’s business acumen, her vision or her stamina…all necessary attributes required in the person running Harte stores. Paula, shrewd, calculating, and with a mind like a steel trap when it came to business, knew this. She might not discuss it with anyone, but Bryan
knew
she knew what Tessa’s shortcomings were.
He had been resistant to Tessa’s charms when she was little, long before Shane and Paula were married. Even then he had been wary of Jim Fairley’s child, detecting in her vanity, duplicity and a tendency to lie. And later it had irritated him that she had been so envious of Linnet. Now that they were grown up Tessa was not only envious but she resented Linnet, most especially her looks. Those were simply an accident of birth, to do with genes, and there was nothing anybody could do about them.
Tessa’s other resentments were bound up with the Fairleys, with Shane who had been a loving father to her, but was, nonetheless, still perceived as the stepfather, and with Emma Harte. The last was easy enough to fathom; at least he had fathomed it all out finally.
There’ll be tears before bedtime one day very soon, he thought, taking a sip of his water. His instincts told him trouble was brewing and that Tessa had Linnet in her line of fire. It was going to be nasty. He wished it could be different, but he knew that was not possible.
The die was cast. It had been cast long ago.
‘I
t’s only the flu, Dad, I’m not dying,’ Evan said, balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder, reaching for the box of tissues on the beside table. ‘I’ll be better in a couple of days,’ she added, then blew her nose several times.
‘It doesn’t sound like it to me,’ Owen Hughes responded swiftly, then exclaimed, ‘Oh, just a minute, honey! A couple of customers have walked in.’ Putting the phone down on his desk, he stepped out from his office into the main room of his antique shop in New Milford, Connecticut, to greet the two women who had entered. But when he saw that his assistant Darrell was already moving forward to look after them, he retreated and returned to his desk. He picked up the phone again and went on, ‘Sorry about that, Evan.’
‘It’s okay, Dad. How’s Mom?’
‘Not much change…’ His voice, suddenly deflated, trailed off.
Instantly she wished she hadn’t asked the question. Her mother had gone into one of her depressions about ten days ago, just before she had left for London, and when her father had come to New York to take her to Kennedy Airport he had been worried about his wife, and down in the dumps himself.
Summoning a cheerful voice, Evan said, ‘As I told you when I called you on Wednesday night, George was so nice when I arrived, and he’s been very kind to me since. As soon as he knew I was ill, on Friday, he had a doctor here to see me within a few hours. So try not to worry about me, Dad.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Owen answered, and then had the good grace to laugh. ‘And I know, before you tell me, that you’ll soon be twenty-seven. But I can’t change the way I feel about you. I guess you’re still my little girl. And listen, honey, I’m glad George is there for you: he’s a great guy, and he thought you were the cutest kid on the block when you were little. He’ll help you any way he can, and so will Arlette. You only have to ask them.’ A small sigh escaped. ‘I just wish you’d waited until spring to go to London. January’s such a lousy month. It’s snowing, I’ve no doubt.’
‘It’s going to be a rainy Sunday tomorrow, Daddy. But I don’t care, I won’t be out in it. And I’m very cosy here in the hotel.’
‘At least I don’t have to worry about you missing meals, not eating. I know George keeps a good kitchen, and the hotel has room service.’
‘It does, but I’m not hungry. Arlette has poured a lot of soup and hot tea down me, though, these last few days.’
‘Just take care of yourself, Evan.’
‘I will, and thanks for calling, Dad. Have a great weekend, and I bet you’ll have a big crowd for your lecture tomorrow.’
‘I hope so, but not
too
big a crowd. As you know, the shop only holds about sixty,’ he answered with a laugh. ‘Don’t go out until you feel better, honey. That English dampness can be treacherous.
Promise.’
‘I promise, and give my love to everyone.’
‘I will. Bye, sweetheart.’
‘Bye, Daddy.’
When she hung up, Evan slid down in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She had started with the flu the night she arrived from New York. That was Wednesday. Now it was Saturday, and she still didn’t feel all that much better, even though the doctor had prescribed various medicines which she had been taking religiously.
But better to be sick
here
than in some awful commercial hotel, Evan thought glumly. Once she had made the decision to come to London, her father had insisted she stay at the small family hotel in Belgravia owned and run by his old friend George. Her father had met George when he had gone to live in London as a young man, and they had been friends ever since. She was glad now that she had agreed. George Thomas, whom she barely remembered from her toddler years, was a lovely Welshman, and his wife Arlette was one of those completely competent, take-charge Frenchwomen who seemed to know everything about everything. They had been warm and welcoming when she had arrived and given her a most comfortable room that was both inviting and full of real charm.
It was on the top floor, one level down from the attics under the eaves of this grand Victorian townhouse, which they had turned into a small but attractive hotel some years before. The room was decorated with lovely, colourful floral chintz fabrics and handsome Victorian furniture, including this wonderful four-poster bed where she now lay cocooned in two feather-light duvets. She felt coddled and cared for, thanks to Arlette’s expert ministrations and motherly interest.
Despite this tender loving care, Evan would have given anything not to be sick. Her plan had been to go to Harte’s department store in Knightsbridge when she arrived without wasting any time. Once there she had intended to seek an appointment with Emma Harte, using her grandmother’s name as an introduction. But the flu had laid her flat. Next week, she thought. I’ll go next week to see Emma Harte.
Ever since Glynnis Hughes had died last November, Evan had felt lost. That cheerful, encouraging, stalwart woman had always been there for her as long as she could remember. Her gran was forever boosting her morale, cheering her on, telling her she could do anything she wanted, as long as she put her mind to it and worked hard. Evan had always believed that Glynnis had been more of a mother to her than her own mother.
An image of her mother suddenly insinuated itself into her mind, and Evan’s thoughts turned to her. Marietta Hughes had been a talented artist once, but something awful had gone wrong, and she had given up, given up on life in so many different ways.
When Evan had told her father she was considering going to London for a year, he had been instantly enthusiastic about it. But almost immediately she had noticed the look of sorrow enter his eyes, saw a sudden dulling of their brightness, and she had realized at once that he, above all others, would be the one to miss her the most. Her mother wouldn’t miss her. Marietta hadn’t even noticed her absence after she had left home and moved to New York, and that had been nearly ten years ago.
But on that day in the middle of December she had quickly backtracked, had told her father that perhaps she wouldn’t go after all. But he had insisted she take this sabbatical, as he called it, reminding her that he had done the same thing himself over thirty years ago, had gone back to visit London, where he had been born during the Second World War. It was at this time that he had met her mother, then an art student studying at the Royal College of Art. Marietta Glenn. A beautiful blonde girl from California with whom he had fallen madly in love. He had married Marietta in London. ‘And don’t forget,
you
were born there,’ he had reminded Evan that particular afternoon.
After they had talked about London and her impending trip, Evan had then confided her grandmother’s last words to her father. He had been just as startled and baffled as she had been. ‘But Emma Harte must be very old now. I vaguely remember my mother once saying that she had met her during the war, just before she married her wonderful GI Joe, as she called my dad, and came to America. As you well know by now…it’s family history. I doubt my mother’s name will mean anything to her, Evan, so don’t be disappointed, honey, if you don’t get a reaction.’
She had promised him that she would not let anything disappoint her on this trip to England, and she meant it. Her father had hugged her and told her how important she was to him. He had then explained that she would have no problem working in London because she had dual nationality, as he did. Born in England to a British-born American father and an American mother meant that she was a legal citizen on both sides of the Atlantic.
Finally a date had been set for her departure and her father had made all of the arrangements with his old pal George, and he had gone on to say that she should think of George and Arlette as family, but without infringing on their time or abusing their good will. ‘Have fun, and most of all be happy, Evan,’ Owen had said with a big smile, hugging her to him again. ‘Life’s too short for misery.’
That day she had thought what a wonderfully courageous and positive man her father was. He was cheerful, and had an even temper most of the time, despite the burden of her mother, a woman who might as well be dead for all she cared about living. What had gone wrong in her mother’s psyche? How often Evan had asked herself that, for years now, but she had no answers for herself. There were women, she knew, who enjoyed being ill, but surely no woman could enjoy this. There were so many things Evan didn’t understand. After all, her mother had doctors, and they prescribed medication all the time, and her mother took them. Yet she was still wrapped in a cloak of depression. Or was she?
Evan had often asked herself if her mother faked it at times, in order to retreat from her husband, from them all, from responsibility, from the world. What an awful thing, if that were true.
I want to live my life to the fullest, Evan thought. I want to follow my dreams, fulfil my ambitions. I want a career in fashion, just as I always dreamt of having. I want to meet a wonderful man, get married, have children. I want a life.
My own life
.
Evan, curled up under the duvets, half dozed, half drifted with her thoughts.
Her father had wondered out loud if she would be happy in London when they had discussed her impending trip in December. She wasn’t sure, but it was worth giving it a try. That was why she had come: to meet a challenge, seek her destiny.
This was the city of her birth, and she had lived here until she was almost four. It was then that her parents had returned to New York; soon after they had settled in Connecticut, where Elayne and Angharad had been adopted, just a year apart.
And it was there that Owen Hughes had raised his family in a rambling old house in Kent, sometimes with the help of his mother, whilst launching himself into his own antique business. He was following in the footsteps of his father; Richard Hughes had taught his son everything he knew, and Owen had studied on his own, learning more, enhancing his knowledge to the fullest.
It was her grandparents who had brought her back to London when she was twelve years old. Her grandfather, Richard, had been coming to London on a buying trip, and he had invited Glynnis and Evan to accompany him.
Part of the time she and her grandmother had gone with him in search of beautiful antiques, for his shop on East Tenth Street, making trips to the country towns just outside London, or driving down to Gloucestershire and Sussex in search of all manner of precious things. It had been an adventure for her and she had loved every moment.
The two of them, she and her gran, were sometimes alone, when Grandfather was off making important transactions with other dealers. It was then that Glynnis had taken her out to see Windsor Castle, Hampton Court and Kew Gardens. And she had learned about British history, especially Welsh history, from her grandmother, who knew a lot and was articulate in the telling of it all.
It had been lovely weather that particular summer, and the three of them had enjoyed the time they spent together. Her grandfather loved the theatre, and so they had gone to see plays in the West End, and one night they had even had supper at the Savoy Hotel, in the elegant dining room overlooking the River Thames. Another evening, after a play, Grandfather had taken them to Rules, the old and very famous restaurant which her grandparents had favoured for years. These treats had been special for a girl of twelve, and she had never forgotten them.
After almost two weeks in London they had crossed the English Channel to France, where her grandfather had hoped to find other interesting items and small treasures for the shop. He had been an expert in English Georgian furniture, and had also specialized in English and European china. That was the real reason for their trip to France: the quest for rare porcelains in perfect condition.
It was from his father that Owen had learned all about English and European porcelains, as well as furniture. ‘I studied at the knee of the master,’ he often said, and he was now a leading expert and dealer in the field today. Over the years Owen had made something of a name for himself as an antiquarian; he frequently gave lectures at his shop, and people came from all over to hear him speak, and to learn.
Evan knew how much her father loved antiques, and she was well aware that his work had been his great saviour over the years, especially when they were growing up and their mother was incapacitated.
Angharad, the youngest, had shown a talent for spotting ‘the good stuff, as her grandmother had called it. Knowing that she had what he called ’a good eye’, Owen had taken his daughter into the business when she was old enough, and she worked with him at the New Milford shop for part of the week, and on Sundays.
Elayne, who was the middle child, was an artist and painted very well, Evan thought, and she had a small studio near the family home in Kent. Her paintings were shown in a gallery their father had created within his New Milford shop, and sold very well. People liked her evocative landscapes and sun-filled beach scenes, most especially her mother-and-child studies, which touched a chord in everyone.
In a certain way Evan had thought Glynnis was her best friend when she was growing up, and especially when she was in her late teens. She had gone to live with her grandparents in Manhattan at the age of seventeen, and after six months, when she became eighteen, she had enrolled in the Fashion Institute of Technology on West 27th Street, where she had studied fashion design, her true vocation.
Now, suddenly, her thoughts went to her grandmother’s will. She and her father had been taken aback by it. Glynnis had left almost four hundred thousand dollars, and the amount had taken their breath away momentarily.
‘Where did it all come from?’ Evan had asked her father, once they had left the lawyer’s office a few days after Glynnis’s funeral.
Owen had shrugged, looking nonplussed. ‘Damned if I know, honey, but my mother was always frugal, and also a good businesswoman. She kept my father’s books at the shop for years and she had a good head for figures, he told me. I know she liked to dabble in the stock market a bit. Over the years she did quite well, but your gran was prudent, cautious, and she also tended to scrimp and scrape. I guess that’s where her money came from–her own thrift and prudence.’