‘Oh God, I had forgotten about Easter! I have the same problem as you I’m afraid, so I’ll have to stay put, too.’
‘Oh.’ Puzzled, she frowned, asked, ‘Are you planning a trip to the States, Michael?’
‘I thought I should be there in case you need me,’ he explained, his voice vibrant with enthusiasm, his face lighting up. ‘After all, I’m the one who introduced you to Harvey Rawson, found the Larson chain for you, set everything in motion.’ He gave her a small, confiding smile. ‘Besides, I have to be in New York on business sometime this month, and if I go when you’re going I can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.’ When she did not initially respond, he asked, ‘What do you think?’
‘Well… yes… I suppose so.’ She realized how hesitant she sounded and rapidly nodded her head. ‘Yes, yes, why not,’ she added in a more positive tone.
‘Good, it’s settled then,’ he exclaimed, looking delighted, congratulating himself on his adroit little manoeuvre. The thought of being alone with her in New York excited him. But he said in the most neutral voice, ‘Now we’d better concentrate on Dad’s exhibition. He’s been giving us peculiar looks for the last ten minutes. I have a feeling he’s a bit miffed.’
Paula laughed. ‘I’m sure he is. We have been rather rude, standing here in the middle of the floor deep in conversation. Not only ignoring him and everyone else, but all these priceless art treasures as well. Come on, we must go and join him at once. He wants to show me around the exhibition himself, tell me about each piece of Fabergé he owns. And I must admit, I am rather staggered by all this. His collection is much larger than I ever imagined it to be.’
‘Not every piece on display belongs to him,’ Michael was quick to point out. ‘The Queen and the Queen Mum have loaned some of their Fabergé objects, and so has Kenneth Snowman, the great British expert on Peter Carl Fabergé, and Malcolm Forbes, the American publisher, who’s another avid collector, like Dad.’
‘I know. Your father explained. Still, he does have a superb collection.’
‘I’ll say. Not only that, it’s given him a truly consuming interest other than business these last few years.’
They moved together down the long salon, one of two in the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House where the reception for the opening of the Fabergé exhibition was in full swing on this April evening. The event had been organized by Sir Ronald Kallinski to benefit one of his favourite charities, and the gallery was packed.
A waiter drew to a standstill in front of them.
Michael took two glasses of champagne from the silver tray being proffered, murmured his thanks, and handed a flute of Dom Perignon to Paula.
When Sir Ronald spotted them coming towards him, he extricated himself from a small group of people and hurried to meet them.
‘I know you two are committed to business and rarely think of anything else, but do you really have to have a confab during my reception?’ he asked, obviously quite put out. But then his eyes became warm with affection and twinkled brightly as he took Paula’s arm and led her along the gallery, his irritation instantly forgotten.
‘Now, my dear,’ he said, ‘let me take you around. I have many new acquisitions, none of which you have seen. Neither have you, Michael,’ he added, glancing over his shoulder at his son.
‘I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,’ Michael replied in all sincerity. ‘And I’m sorry we got caught up with our business discussion the way we did. My apologies, Dad.’
‘Accepted, accepted, my boy,’ Sir Ronald answered briskly, striding down the salon with Paula, Michael dutifully in tow. Suddenly he came to a stop in front of a display case.
Turning to Paula, he said, ‘This is not one of my pieces. Sadly, I might add. It was graciously lent for the exhibition by Her Majesty The Queen. And it happens to be a particular favourite of mine. It’s called the Mosaic Egg, and I think it’s perhaps the most poignant of all the Imperial Easter Eggs. It was presented to Czarina Alexandra Feodorovna by Nicholas II on Easter morning of 1914. As you can see, it’s a gossamer platinum shell which has been “embroidered” with flowers made of precious stones… rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds, the whole encircled with bands of pearls. And look, there on the little gold stand are the miniature sepia profiles of the Imperial children.’
‘It’s exquisite,’ Paula said admiringly, leaning forward, peering at the egg. ‘And the stand is concealed inside the egg, isn’t it, when not on display?’
‘Correct.’ Sir Ronald took her arm, and the three of them progressed down the gallery slowly, pausing to admire other treasures in the show. ‘That’s the beauty and genius of the Fabergé objets,’ he went on, ‘those extraordinary, and very often magical, surprises contained within the egg itself. Like that dazzling little golden chanticleer which emerges from the translucent blue enamelled Imperial Easter Egg your grandmother once owned,’ Sir Ronald reminded her, smiling.
Paula smiled back at him. ‘Oh yes, that egg is the most beautiful—at least that’s what I think, Uncle Ronnie. And I’m glad it’s in your collection, that you won it at the auction. At least it’s still in the clans.’
He chuckled. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day at Sotheby’s. There was such competitive bidding for the egg. But it was exciting. And gratifying when I suddenly realized I owned it. Naturally it’s on display tonight. Let’s go and have a look at it, and then we can go through into the other salon. There are more breathtaking examples of Fabergé masterpieces, which were made for the Imperial family before the Romanov dynasty came to its tragic end…’
***
‘I didn’t know Amanda was coming to the exhibition!’ Michael exclaimed in surprise a short while later when he spotted her standing in the doorway, glancing around, obviously looking for them.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ Paula murmured. ‘I sent her a ticket and she said she would do her best to make it.’
‘I’ll go and get her, bring her over to join us,’ Michael said, hurrying across the room.
Paula’s eyes followed him and she smiled to herself, then looked at his father and winked.
Sir Ronald regarded her closely for a moment, then said slowly, ‘I’m not wrong in thinking you’re playing shadchan am I, Paula? Matchmaking?’
‘And why not?’ she answered, laughing. ‘Anyway, she has such a crush on him… wouldn’t it be lovely if Michael reciprocated her feelings, Uncle Ronnie?’
Sir Ronald seemed initially startled, then suddenly pleased, and he nodded. ‘It would indeed. Amanda’s a lovely young woman. Clever, too. Emily and Alexander have trained her well. She’s certainly made our takeover of Lady Hamilton Clothes very smooth. But of course you know that, my dear. As I was telling Emily the other day, my people are terribly impressed with her. We’re all sorry she won’t be staying on to run the company for us. Emily explained she’s needed at Harte Enterprises and I do understand that. Still—’ He cut himself short, and a look of infinite sadness crossed his face fleetingly.
Paula, aware that he was thinking of Alexander, experienced a little rush of sadness herself. Sandy had retired at the beginning of March, and now Emily was chairman of the board and chief executive officer. Amanda had moved over to become head of Genret, whilst Winston continued to run his own division, the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company and its subsidiaries, of which he was a part owner. They had become a close-knit triumvirate and Harte Enterprises was running as efficiently as it always had, but Paula knew that Alexander was terribly missed by them. She missed him herself now that he was living quietly at Nutton Priory, although they did speak a lot on the telephone.
‘Hello, darling,’ Paula said, greeting Amanda warmly as she and Michael joined them. ‘You look stunning.’
‘Thank you, Paula,’ Amanda said, smiling at her cousin, pecking her on the cheek. ‘Hello, Uncle Ronnie. Sorry I’m late, but the traffic was ghastly tonight.’
‘No problem, my dear,’ Sir Ronald said, taking her
hand in his, giving her a quick kiss. ‘Now, Michael, do the honours, my boy, and get a glass of champagne for Amanda, would you please?’
‘I certainly will. Be back in a jiffy.’
Amanda turned to Paula, began to say something about her twin, Francesca, and it gave Sir Ronald a chance to study her surreptitiously, appraisingly, for a brief moment. Tall, slender and blonde, Amanda was a lovely looking young woman who bore a strong resemblance to her half-sister, Emily. Tonight she was wearing a smartly tailored red silk suit with a diamond Victorian bow brooch pinned onto one lapel and antique diamond earrings. Chic but discreet, Sir Ronald thought, and very well bred. Suddenly he saw her through new eyes. As a potential daughter-in-law. The idea strongly appealed to him. Amanda was perfect for Michael, an intelligent, charming and outgoing girl with perfect manners, like all of Emma’s granddaughters. Just the sort of wife his son needed. The possibility that the Kallinski and Harte clans might finally be united in marriage thrilled him. He would encourage this friendship, as apparently Paula was intending to do. Yes, Amanda and Michael must become husband and wife. He would have a long chat to Paula later, together they would map out a plan of action. Michael needed to be gently guided into this relationship. His son tended to vacillate when it came to women. And he had been single far too long since his divorce.
Chapter 31
The garden was still her most magical place.
Ever since childhood Paula had found satisfaction and reward in planting and weeding, pruning and hoeing, and working outdoors was therapeutic, soothing to her, never failed to put her in the best of moods.
Also, she had discovered long ago that she often did her best thinking in her gardens at Pennistone Royal, and today was no exception. It was a bright April afternoon, just after Easter, sunny and brisk with a light breeze, and a powder-blue sky that was cool and cloudless.
As she worked on the new rockery she was creating, she focused her thoughts on business, in particular the Larson chain in the United States. The deal was already in the first stage of negotiation, and Millard Larson was expecting her in New York next week, when they would sit down at the conference table and hammer out the terms and conditions of the sale.
When she had first had the idea of expanding her operations in the States, long before the possibility of Larson’s had come up, she had made the decision to purchase any new retailing company that caught her eye with her own money.
Six hundred and fifty million dollars, she thought now, mulling the figure over in her mind whilst concentrating on the alpine plants she was sorting through. It was a lot of money, no doubt about that, and she had been wondering for several days which financial combination would work best for her.
Paula sighed under her breath. If her mother had agreed to sell the Sitex stock last year her problem would have been solved. Under the terms and conditions of her grandfather’s will, she and her brother Philip would automatically have received one third of the proceeds of that sale—hundreds of millions of dollars each. But her mother had refused to sell the oil stock and continued to be quite adamant about not doing so. Paula had acknowledged months ago that she would have to raise the necessary cash another way, once she found the right department store chain to buy.
She ran several possibilities through her mind, then dismissed each one as convoluted and complex, went back to her original idea. To her way of thinking, the best solution was to sell ten per cent of her Harte shares which Emma had left her. They would realize between two hundred and three hundred million dollars on the market, but without making much of a dent in her holdings. She would still be the majority stockholder with forty-one per cent, as well as chairman and chief executive officer of the Harte chain. The remainder of the money she could easily raise from the banks, by borrowing against the retail chain she was acquiring, pledging its assets, in particular its real estate holdings which were valuable.
Suddenly, after days of indecision, she made up her mind. She would go that route. And she would put everything in motion at once. First thing on Monday morning when she got to her office in the Leeds store she would speak to her stockbroker.
A bright smile broke through, expunging the worried and preoccupied expression she had worn all day, and she continued to smile to herself as she finished planting the small alpine species in the narrow crevices of the rocks.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’
Paula lifted her head alertly at the sound of Patrick’s voice. He and his sister, Linnet, were running as fast as their legs would carry them along the gravel path that sloped down from the long terrace at the back of Pennistone Royal.
They both wore sweaters and jeans under their duffel coats and mufflers, and she could not help thinking how healthy and fit they both looked today. Especially Patrick. That vacant expression which so often dulled his eyes was absent, as it had been for some weeks. This pleased her, raised her hopes that he was improving mentally, if only ever so slightly. She loved her sensitive, damaged and beautiful child so very much.
‘Patrick! Do be careful! You’re going to fall!’ She called out. ‘And you too, Linnet! Do slow down, both of you! I’m not going anywhere, you know.’ She rose as she spoke, picked up the basket full of her gardening tools and carefully climbed down from the top of the clustered rocks.
Patrick hurled himself against her body, clinging to her, panting hard and trying to catch his breath.
She pushed his dark hair away from his temple and clucked quietly. ‘Dear, dear, you are a one, aren’t you? Running so hard, I—’
‘Puffed, Mummy,’ he interrupted her, raising his solemn little face to hers. ‘Linnet puffed too.’
‘I’m not!’ Linnet protested fiercely, glaring.
Ignoring her, Patrick went on, ‘Horsey, Mummy. Patrick wants horsey.’
Puzzled, Paula swung her eyes to her six-year-old daughter, as she so often did when Patrick spoke in riddles and she wanted edification. She gave Linnet a questioning stare.
Linnet explained, ‘The horse in the attic, Mummy. That’s what Patrick wants. I said he couldn’t take it, not without asking Daddy. And Daddy said to ask you.’
‘Horse in the attic. What on earth are you talking about, darling?’
‘The cresel horse… the one that goes round and round and round and round. To the music, Mummy.’
‘The carousel, the horse on the carousel. Now I understand.’ Paula smiled at them both. ‘But I don’t remember there being a carousel in the attic. I suppose it must be, since you’ve apparently seen it.’
‘It’s in a trunk,’ Linnet rushed on excitedly. ‘We saw it just now. Daddy let us play in the attic after our walk this afternoon.’
‘Did he now.’ Paula pulled off her gardening gloves, threw them on top of the basket, and taking a small hand in each of hers, she led her children back to the house.
A short while later the three of them were rummaging in the old trunks which had been stored in the attics of Pennistone Royal for many years. Patrick had already taken possession of the carousel, which Paula had immediately given to him, and he was turning the small key, making it work in the way she had shown him.
The horses on the merry-go-round were moving up and down to the strains of the Carousel Waltz, and the little boy was fascinated, his happy, eager face a pleasure for Paula to witness.
Linnet and Paula left him to play with the carousel on his own, and they soon had their heads and their hands in another trunk which Paula had pulled out and opened.
Busily they sorted through the toys that brimmed to the top, taking out a large, painted wooden soldier, a box of bricks, a scruffy teddy bear with one arm and no eyes, several stuffed animals, various jig-saw puzzles, a box of tin soldiers and various rag toys.
Paula’s hands finally came to rest on a beautiful china baby doll at the bottom of the trunk, and lifting it out she caught her breath in surprise and pleasure. She remembered it very well. Her grandmother had given it to her, and she had taken great care of it, had loved this
doll more than any of her other possessions. Years ago she had packed it carefully away when she had moved from Long Meadow to Pennistone Royal after Jim’s death. She had meant to give the doll to Tessa but had somehow forgotten all about it during the troubled year after the avalanche.
Sitting back on her haunches, she held the doll up, smoothed its golden curls, straightened its dainty ecru-coloured lace dress. She was amazed that the doll was in such good condition.
Linnet was watching her closely, her eyes lingering with longing on the doll. ‘Was it yours, Mummy?’ she asked at last.
‘Yes, darling, it was. My grandmother gave it to me when I was your age.’
‘You mean Grandy Emma?’ Paula nodded.
‘So you wouldn’t want to give that doll to anybody then, would you? Not if Grandy Emma gave it to you,’ Linnet said gravely, her eyes still fastened on the doll.
Paula laughed. ‘Well, perhaps I would give it to a girl whom I knew would look after it, would take good care of it, as I did.’
‘Tessa,’ Linnet said a trifle sadly in a small and quiet voice.
‘No. I think her name’s Linnet.’
‘Oh Mummy! Mummy!’
‘Here you are, my darling, it’s for you.’ Paula held out the doll. ‘I used to call her Florabelle.’
‘Then I shall, too.’ Linnet struggled to her feet, took the doll, her eyes shining, her smile brilliant.
‘Thank you, Mummy, oh thank you.’ Hugging the doll tightly in her arms, she leaned into Paula, nuzzled her nose against her cheek. ‘I love you, Mummy,’ she whispered. ‘Oh you do smell nice. Like a bunch of flowers.’ Linnet put her head on one side and observed Paula thoughtfully. Then she reached out, touched Paula’s cheek gently with her small hand. ‘You won’t get lost, will you, Mummy?’ she asked, her voice unexpectedly wistful, almost fretful.
Paula’s brows puckered together into a jagged line. ‘What do you mean, lovey?’