Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
Her father had received the bulk of the money and his mother’s apartment, which Glynnis had inherited from Richard after his death several years earlier. There had been nice bequests to Elayne and Angharad, and she herself had received the sum of thirty thousand dollars, much more than the other two girls. But she was the eldest grandchild, and they had understood. Their grandmother’s few pieces of jewellery and small trinkets had been left to her sisters and herself. Very generously, Glynnis had passed on several of the really good pieces to their mother, obviously not wanting to leave Marietta out, or slight her daughter-in-law.
Follow your dreams, Owen had said to Evan. She would try. Certainly her grandmother had made that possible. Evan had been able to come to London under her own steam, without asking her father for money, and for this she was grateful.
Her grandmother’s dying words again reverberated in her head, and she couldn’t help wondering why Emma Harte was her future. What had Glynnis meant by that? Evan had no idea. And she wouldn’t know until next week, when she was well enough to go out.
Rousing herself, Evan got up, went over to the chest of drawers near the fireplace. On top of it she had arranged a selection of family photographs. She picked up the one of her grandparents and herself when she was twelve, taken here in London on the famous trip.
She stared at the photograph for a few moments, studying it. In the background were the gates of Buckingham Palace. It had been a sunny day and she was squinting into the sun, and looked sedate in a plaid skirt, a white blouse, white ankle socks and patent-leather shoes gleaming in the sunlight, their shine very visible in the picture.
She half smiled at the youthful image of herself, thinking she looked so gangly and awkward with her long legs and skinny shoulders. Her hair had been cut in bangs, a straight dark line across her forehead, and the hairstyle did not suit her. She recognized that now, but she had known it then as well.
Her grandfather, tall, straight backed, almost military in his bearing, was wearing a dark blazer and grey trousers, and looked very smart with his pale blue shirt and navy tie. His hair was pepper-and-salt, and his light grey eyes twinkled in his lean, craggy face. Still a handsome man, just as he had been in his younger days.
Her grandmother was quite amazing looking in the photograph. She had been sixty-five at the time, and she had stopped tinting her hair long before. It was a cloud of silver around her still-youthful face, and the blueness of her eyes appeared very sharp in the picture. That wide smile Evan had known and loved all of her life was in place on Glynnis’s face, which as usual reflected her loving nature.
Grandparents were important, she was fully aware of that. It was only through them that you really knew who you were, where you came from, what you were all about. In a sense, great-grandparents were of even more importance, for what you gleaned about
them
gave you considerably more insight into your grandparents, your parents, and yourself. You carried their genes, their blood, and also their hopes and dreams and aspirations. All of these elements were there in you, inherited, flowing down through the bloodlines over several generations. Knowing about your family background gave you a sense of direction, and of purpose, she thought, and told you so much about who and what you could become. It gave you and your life meaning.
It was because of her grandmother that she was here in London. And next week she would come face to face with her future on the day she went to Harte’s in Knightsbridge. If her grandmother was to be believed…She had faith in Glynnis; she had always had faith in her.
O
nce lunch with her grandfather was over, Linnet made her way to the attics in the East Wing of Pennistone Royal. She had been working up there at weekends for several months, and had almost finished cataloguing Emma’s couture clothes.
After opening the door with her key, she stepped inside and switched on the light, then stood for a moment, glancing around, a smile of pleasure flitting across her face.
These attics were special to her, more than ever since she had arranged everything the way she wanted. What made them unique was their size; they were not at all like the small, low-ceilinged rooms usually found under the eaves of most houses.
Spacious, with fairly high ceilings, they had been remodelled by her great-grandmother many, many years before. Emma had had the walls lined with cedar, the floors covered with carpeting stretching wall to wall, and she had installed excellent lighting, comparable to that used in the Harte stores. Cupboards with deep shelves had been specifically designed to hold boxes of varying sizes, where all manner of things could be safely kept free of dust. Emma had created a series of splendid storage rooms for all of her clothes, and for fashion accessories such as shoes, hats and handbags, and costume jewellery as well.
As she moved forward, Linnet couldn’t help congratulating herself on the reorganization she and her cousin India Standish had done in the last few months. When her mother had asked her to sort out the muddle in the attics, it had not taken her very long to realize there was no
real
muddle. The basic problem was that many racks had been pushed close together and filled with innumerable dresses, gowns, and all kinds of outfits and ensembles.
She and India had decided there was only one way to organize the clothes, once the racks had been properly spaced out. They did it by designer name rather than by category of clothing, as her mother and Aunt Emily had done some years before. Designers now had a rack, or racks, with his or her name posted in bold letters.
It had always been something of a wonder to Linnet that so much had been kept. Even as a child she had liked to roam amongst the racks of clothes, admiring the beading and the embroidery, touching the beautiful fabrics–the chiffons, satins, silks and velvets.
Her great-grandmother had had perfect taste, and everything had been kept in excellent condition by her, and later by Paula and Emily. Some years earlier her mother had installed air-conditioning, which was kept on low the whole year round, so that there was total climate control to preserve the clothing.
Normally the ensembles were kept in dust-proof, zip-up garment bags made of cotton, but she and India had taken many of the outfits out of the bags in order to make decisions about them. She glanced at them now as she walked along an aisle in between the racks; it struck her that she could use almost all of her great-grandmother’s clothes in her retrospective, especially since she was covering eighty years of fashion.
Emma’s ensembles dated back to the 1920s and featured many great designers. In particular she had favoured three French designers in their heyday: Pierre Balmain, Cristóbal Balenciaga and Christian Dior. But she had bought from Vionnet and Chanel in Paris; Hardy Amies in London; the French-American designer Pauline Trigère, based in New York, and the Russian designer Valentina. Her couture house had also been in New York until her retirement in 1957. The clothing aside, there were all those wonderful accessories. It was an enormous treasure trove of elegance and style.
Linnet knew she could easily finish the last of the cataloguing tomorrow. Now she had a specific purpose–finding a missing evening gown which her aunt had told her about last week. Emily had discovered it years ago in Emma’s Belgrave Square flat, and had used it in a display of fashion Paula had once put on in the early 70s, which her mother had called Fashion Fantasia.
‘It’s a
must,
you have to use it,’ Emily had told Linnet. ‘It’s really not lost, just mislaid. I’ll bet you anything it’s in the attics at Pennistone Royal, since it’s not in London. Look for a very large flat box, a dress box, and I think it has a Harte’s label on it, rather faded. I found it in that box and I put it back there, as far as I remember. As you well know, beaded dresses are heavy, the weight of the beads pulls the fabric down and makes a mess of the shape. So I know it’s not hanging in a dress bag.’
Emily had gone on to describe the dress: ‘A sheath of pale blue chiffon covered all over with thousands of tiny bugle beads of pale blue and emerald green. It’s simply gorgeous. Oh, and there’s a pair of emerald-green silk evening shoes by Pinet of Paris.’
When Linnet came to the end of the first aisle of racks, she headed for the long work table she used for different jobs, and put her shopping basket of tools down on it. Dragging the stepladder closer to one of the tall, built-in cupboards, she opened its doors and climbed the steps. As she leaned forward and pulled out a large box, a number of others tumbled to the floor. Backing down the ladder, she put the box she was carrying on the table. It was very heavy, and when she lifted the lid she saw it contained lots of shoe boxes neatly lined up next to each other.
At this moment her mobile began to ring; reaching into her basket, she grabbed it. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s me,’ her cousin Gideon announced.
‘Hi! Where are you, Gid?’
‘At the stables in Middleham. When I phoned the house, Margaret told me to call you on your mobile. Where on earth are you? You sound as if you’re on the moon.’
She laughed. ‘Not quite. But I am up in the attics of Pennistone Royal.’
‘Good Lord, it’s years since we’ve been up there…playing with all those old toys.’
‘Not those attics, silly. I’m in the East Wing where all of Grandy’s clothes are stored. I’m actually looking for an evening gown your mother told me about last week.’
‘Oh gosh, that’s right. Your big project is in the works. Eighty Years of Elegance and Style,’ he said, laughter in his voice.
‘Don’t make fun of me, Gideon. The retrospective is going to generate a lot of traffic in the fashion department, and that means sales.’
He was suddenly chagrined, knowing how seriously she took her work. He would never tease her about that, and swiftly he exclaimed, ‘Now
you’re
being silly. You know how much I respect you, and your work, Linny. Would I ever do that to you?’
‘I don’t suppose you would, Gid. You
are
coming to dinner tonight, aren’t you?’
‘Course I am. That’s why I’m phoning, actually…Listen, do you think it will be all right for me to bring a guest? Will your mother mind?’
‘I’m sure she won’t. You know how she likes to play Mother Earth, invites the whole world to partake of her food. Who do you want to bring?’
‘Actually, Linnet, it’s Julian.’
‘Kallinski!?’
‘Is there another Julian in your life?’
‘No, and he’s not either. Mummy won’t mind if you bring him to dinner, but I certainly will.’
‘Oh come on, Linnet, you know how you feel about him.’
‘And how’s that, Gid?’
‘You love him.’
‘Yes, that’s true…in the way I love you. Like a cousin, or a big brother.’
‘Liar!’
‘I’m not a liar, and it’s true. Since we grew up together, as you well know, we have a very fraternal relationship.’
Gideon did not respond, and she was wondering if she had lost him, if the connection had just gone dead, when he said, ‘It’s not the way Julian portrays your relationship.’
‘I think you’re fibbing, Gideon Harte.’
‘No. I’m not. I
know
he loves you,
and
in the most romantic, man-woman sense.’
‘Is that what he said to you?’
‘Yes, it is. More or less. Scouts’ honour,’ Gideon answered, sounding suddenly serious.
‘I knew men were worse gossips than women,’ Linnet muttered. ‘What else did he say?’
Ignoring her jibe, he answered, ‘I believe he wants to tell you
that
himself.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘He’s not with you now?’ she asked, riddled with curiosity.
‘No, he went to see his grandfather. Sir Ronald’s not been feeling well, a bit under the weather. But Julian’s staying with us in Middleham.’
She was silent, her mind racing.
‘Well, can he come to dinner or not? Come on, you know you want to see him.’
Linnet hesitated then said, ‘I guess it’ll be all right. My mother’s having a bit of a crowd, I think.’
‘She is?’ Gideon sounded alarmed. ‘Who’s coming?’
‘Well, Gramps is here for the weekend, so that’s another O’Neill, making six of us altogether
if
Desmond and Emsie join us for sups. And then there’s Emily and Winston—’
‘I know my parents are coming,’ he cut in.
‘India said she might fly up from London to help me with the last of the cataloguing and the packing of the clothes, but she hasn’t appeared so far. Oh, and Mummy said something about Aunt Amanda coming too.’
‘She was supposed to be staying with us, but she’s not arrived either.’
‘The blizzard didn’t amount to anything much after all. So Amanda’s probably just late, not lost in a snowdrift somewhere. Oh, and by the way, Gid, I think Mummy invited Anita Shaw, just to even out the numbers.’
‘Good God, I hope not!’ Gideon exclaimed. ‘I can’t bear that girl…I do wish your mother would stop trying to fix me up with women. I’m quite happy as I am, the proverbial bachelor.’
Linnet laughed. ‘Somebody’s going to catch you one day, Gid.’
‘You will tell your mother about Julian coming, won’t you?’
‘Yes. And listen, I was teasing you about Anita. She’s not invited. I think my mother’s given up on trying to get you married. I suppose we’re going to have to rely on a total stranger to sweep you off your feet.’
‘That’ll be the day!’ he shot back, chuckling. ‘I’ll see you later then, and don’t work too hard.’
‘’Bye, Gid,’ she answered.
Linnet stood leaning against the stepladder for a moment, her mind on Julian. She wondered if she had made a mistake, allowing her cousin to bring him to dinner. In the last year she had felt totally mixed up about their relationship, which is why she had pulled away from him six months ago. Julian had agreed they should have some breathing space, and they had stopped seeing each other by mutual consent.
Despite the closeness of their families, they had only run into each other once since, and that was at Christmas here at Pennistone Royal. But like Tessa, Julian had fled as quickly as he could without appearing rude.
She closed her eyes, saw him in her mind’s eye. Tall, slender, darkly handsome, with the most penetrating blue eyes she had ever seen. His cold blues, she called them, when he got angry.
Linnet felt a sudden and terrible longing for him, and she was momentarily startled. He had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, from the time they were toddlers, and an indispensable part of her existence since she was fifteen. She missed him…
‘I’m sorry I’m so late.’
Linnet snapped her eyes open with a start, and straightened against the stepladder. Her cousin, India Standish, was hovering in the doorway, carrying her own shopping basket, her tortoiseshell glasses pushed up on top of her mass of curly, pale blonde hair.
India was twenty-seven but looked much younger, and was pretty in a soft, delicate way. She had large, luminous, silvery-grey eyes and an expressive, sensitive face, reminiscent of the Fairleys. She had their blood running through her veins. Without a doubt, India was the most popular person in the family. She was considerate, gentle in her ways, and had an understanding heart. Everyone loved her.
Walking into the attic, India asked with a small frown, ‘Is something wrong, Linnet?’
‘No, I’m fine. Why?’
‘You’re rather pale, and you look…well, slightly troubled.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing of any importance, India,’ Linnet answered and, pushing her mobile into the pocket of her loden-green trousers, she continued more briskly, ‘I pulled out that very big box over there on the table, and a lot of others fell down. We’d better pick them up. Maybe the missing dress is in one of them.’
‘Don’t worry, darling, we’ll find it,’ India murmured in her soothing voice which held a lovely lilt, a hint of her upbringing on the estate at Clonloughlin, which belonged to her father Anthony, the Earl of Dunvale.
Placing her shopping basket of tools on the table, India added, ‘I’m quite sure we can finish everything by tomorrow night, so don’t worry.’
‘I hope we can. We have to go back to London on Monday morning. Early. We’ve a lot to do at the store, India.’ As she spoke, Linnet carried one of the larger boxes to the table; India did likewise.
Together, the two great-granddaughters of Emma Harte sorted through the flat boxes which contained so many things that had belonged to their famous forebear. But after an hour’s search the beaded dress had not turned up.
‘It can’t have walked away. It must be somewhere,’ Linnet remarked to India, and then hurried off down an aisle between the racks. ‘Let’s look in that big built-in cupboard in the smaller attic next door. Maybe we’ll be lucky,’ she said, disappearing from view.
India hurried after her. ‘I think that built-in is full of suitcases; old leather suitcases that belonged to Grandy.’
‘I don’t remember seeing any there,’ Linnet answered, sounding puzzled. ‘I wonder who could have put them there?’
‘Who knows. But certainly Aunt Emily might easily have packed the evening gown in one of them,’ India suggested.
‘She was positive she’d put it back in the box she’d found it in, one with a faded Harte’s label on the lid. But she could be mistaken,’ Linnet said over her shoulder. ‘After all, it was years ago.’
‘To be sure it was,’ India murmured.
A moment later the cousins stood in the smaller attic staring at the shelves in the tall cupboard. It was stacked to the hilt with boxes. But just as India had said, there were also a number of leather cases on the lower shelves.