Emma's Secret

  ‘Yes, Dad. You know best…’

  ‘Paula is the head of the Harte family and all of the businesses. Emma trained her for this lifetime job, and she is Emma’s great heiress. But Emma told Emily, Amanda and Paula that I was to be second in command…I’ve actually never told you this before, but you really ought to know. Not that I ever expect to be running the family dynasty and its empire. Paula is a young, vital, healthy woman, and she’s going to be around for a long time yet.’

  ‘I am glad you told me though,’ Gideon answered, now suddenly fully understanding how much real power his father wielded in the family hierarchy. It suddenly struck him how foolish Toby and Tessa were, thinking they could buck the system, challenge the old guard, or do whatever it was they were attempting to do.

  Gideon said, in a low voice, ‘Perhaps you should remind Toby that Paula owns fifty-two per cent of our media empire, and is actually just as much in control of his destiny as you are, Dad.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think I have to remind him, Gideon,’ Winston murmured, his brows coming together in a frown. ‘He knows that.’

  ‘I hope he knows he should watch his step,’ Gideon remarked.

  When they arrived at the entrance to the Grill Room in the Dorchester, the maître d’ was at the other end of the dining room. They hovered together for a moment, waiting to be shown to a table.

  On the way to the hotel, Gideon had decided he wanted to pay for dinner tonight; he realized it would give him immense pleasure to entertain his father, who was so generous with him always, and whom he never got a chance to take out for a meal. He felt around in various pockets, seeking his credit-card wallet.

  Preoccupied as he was for a moment, Gideon did not notice that his father had moved closer to the screen that fronted the Grill Room and created a barrier between the room and the entrance. Winston was peering with growing interest into the restaurant through the glass panels of the wooden screen, his eyes widening.

  Gideon only became aware that something was wrong when he heard his father curse quietly under his breath, felt the sudden hard pressure of Winston’s hand on his arm.

  ‘We can’t go in there. Come on,’ Winston muttered. Plucking at Gideon’s sleeve, he guided him out into the hall.

  ‘Dad, what’s wrong?’ Gideon stared at his father, and was instantly struck by the bony pallor of his face, the fierce, dark gleam in his eyes.

  When Winston did not at first respond, Gideon asked again, ‘Dad, whatever is it? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  ‘More like the devil. Jonathan Ainsley, to be exact. He’s dining in the Grill with Sarah Lowther. They’ve always plotted against the family, and their presence together in London doesn’t bode well for any of us. Mark my words.’

  ‘You and Mother have always talked about the trouble Jonathan Ainsley and Sarah Lowther caused the family, and I know they were kicked out of Harte Enterprises. But I still don’t know exactly what it is they did,’ Gideon said, staring at his father.

  The two of them were seated at a table near a window overlooking Green Park in the elegant dining room of the Ritz Hotel on Piccadilly. At Gideon’s suggestion they had come here after they had made a hasty retreat from the Dorchester, Winston in particular being hell-bent on putting distance between his two cousins and themselves.

  ‘Well, it’s a long story–two stories, really. I’ll tell you in a moment, and I’ll make it as concise as possible. But first, let’s order a drink. What would you like, Gideon?’

  ‘White wine, I think.’

  ‘And I’ll have a glass of champagne.’

  ‘Oh that’s a good idea, Dad. I’ll join you, forget about the white wine.’

  Winston nodded, beckoned to the waiter, and ordered two glasses of Veuve Clicquot, then settled back in his chair. Gideon thought his father now looked better, but at the Dorchester he had been struck by Winston’s pallor, worried because he appeared to be so upset.

  Gideon voiced this when he said, ‘You looked so disturbed at the Dorchester, Dad. I was really alarmed.’

  ‘I was angry, Gid. Individually, those two are dangerous. But even more dangerous when they’re in cahoots together.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘I knew Jonathan Ainsley was in London, but I certainly had no idea Sarah was here from France.’ He glanced at Gideon, added, ‘Uncle Ronnie warned Paula that Ainsley had come back to live here. He told her a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘It was the weekend Julian was staying with us, and Aunt Amanda came up too, the weekend of all that snow. And we went to Pennistone Royal for dinner on Saturday. I thought Aunt Paula seemed rather perturbed during the latter part of the evening.’

  ‘Julian gave her a message from his grandfather. I think it shook her up a bit. Uncle Ronnie was concerned about Ainsley’s sudden reappearance after all these years, and when Paula went to see him the next day he warned her to be on her guard.’

  ‘But Julian told me Ainsley can’t actually do anything.’

  ‘Not as far as the Harte companies are concerned,’ Winston said. ‘But, intrinsically, he’s a troublemaker. And he always was. It’s the nature of the beast, and if he could hurt Paula in some way, any way at all, he would. Actually, it would give him pleasure to upset her applecart. He’s vicious, and he always was, even when he was a child and we were all growing up together.’

  Their drinks arrived and, after they had clinked glasses and each taken a sip of champagne, Winston continued: ‘I had a word with Uncle Ronnie, and he told me he’d advised Paula to hire a private investigator to check on Ainsley’s activities. Uncle Ronnie explained that his gut instinct tells him Ainsley is out for blood. Paula’s blood.’

  An involuntary shiver ran down Gideon’s spine and he exclaimed, ‘I hope Aunt Paula is going to put a private eye on him, Dad.’

  ‘Well…she’s not at all keen, I must admit. Let’s say she’s ambivalent at best.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m in favour of it. Uncle Ronnie’s a wise old bird. And never forget that the most valuable commodity of all is information. We all learned this from Aunt Emma, and, as I reminded Paula the other day, forewarned is forearmed, my boy.’

  Gideon nodded his understanding, turned to the waiter hovering and took a menu, as did his father. After a few seconds they ordered Colchester oysters to be followed by grilled Dover sole, choosing exactly the same dishes as they had done for years. Father and son had similar tastes in many things, including food and wine, art, music and books. So much so that Emily had dubbed them ‘my two peas in a pod’ years before.

  After requesting two more glasses of champagne, Gideon turned to his father. ‘Enlighten me about Jonathan Ainsley, Dad…tell me what he and Sarah did.’

  ‘Ainsley headed up the real-estate division of Harte Enterprises in the sixties and seventies, and he ran the company very well. But suddenly business slackened, and he seemed to be missing a lot of big deals. Later we found out that he had been steering these really valuable deals to a company called Stonewall Properties, and—’

  ‘But why?’ Gideon cut in.

  ‘Because secretly he owned Stonewall Properties with his old friend from his Eton days, Sebastian Cross. Ainsley was actually cheating Harte Enterprises out of thousands and thousands of pounds by doing what he did. He undermined the financial stability of the whole division.’

  ‘And Sarah Lowther was involved in this too?’ Gideon asked, a brow lifting.

  ‘Yes, although somewhat indirectly, I think. She had invested money in Stonewall Properties, but to be honest, Gid, I don’t believe Sarah knew of her cousin’s treachery to the family. Once Paula and her father had enough evidence against Ainsley, they confronted him, kicked him out of the company and out of the family. And Sarah as well.’

  ‘They didn’t have any choice,’ Gideon asserted, giving his father a direct look. ‘And then he went to Hong Kong and made a fortune in real estate.’

  ‘That’s true. Ainsley was always quite brilliant at busi
ness, we all knew that,’ Winston explained.

  ‘Julian told me Ainsley came back later and tried to get control of Harte stores. How could that happen?’

  Winston shook his head, his face changing, becoming suddenly saddened. ‘It was actually Paula’s fault. Ainsley did return to London in the nineteen eighties, just around the time she put ten percent of her shares in Harte’s on the market. Naturally he snapped them up. And those shares, combined with what he owned, gave him an advantage.’

  ‘But why did she sell some of her shares?’

  ‘She wanted to buy a chain of stores in the States. Shane and I both understood her desire to create something of her own, but we also knew she was being flawed in her judgement. It’s the only mistake she’s made, to my knowledge. Other than marrying Jim Fairley, of course. That was a disaster.’

  Towards the end of the evening, Winston turned to Gideon and stared at him intently for a moment or two.

  Gideon frowned and leaned towards his father. ‘What is it, Dad? You’re looking perturbed again.’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine. I was actually thinking about the great dynasty that Emma and Winston senior created, and I was hoping you might be the one to continue it…continue the line of descent.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m getting what you really mean.’

  ‘Toby’s not likely to present me with any grandchildren as long as he stays married to the actress. Adrianna doesn’t want any children, and I don’t think Toby will be able to make her change her mind, whatever he believes.’

  ‘But there’s Paula, Dad, she’s got a large brood—’

  ‘True,’ Winston interrupted peremptorily. ‘And she’s a Harte. But her name is O’Neill.’

  Gideon nodded, suddenly understanding what his father was getting at. ‘We are the last of the family to bear the Harte name, that’s a fact.’

  Winston sat back in his chair, pondering for a moment, a reflective look on his face, and he finally said, ‘Far be it from me to prevent you from sowing your wild oats, and admittedly, you’re only twenty-eight. But…well, I was just wondering if there was anyone on the horizon? A girl you might be serious about. A likely prospect, so to speak.’

  ‘Not really, Dad.’ When Gideon saw his father’s crestfallen expression, he added swiftly, ‘Actually, I’ve just met someone, and I like her a lot. But it’s too soon. I don’t want to make any wild predictions and then disappoint you.’

  ‘But is she the marrying kind?’ Winston probed.

  Gideon nodded. ‘I certainly don’t think she’s the type of woman a man would attempt to sow his wild oats with–no, no, not at all.’

  Winston beamed at him. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting her, my boy.’

  Much later that night, Gideon discovered he was unable to fall asleep. He lay wide awake in the darkness, his mind racing, as he thought of all the things he and his father had discussed.

  He had been startled to discover that Paula, the most brilliant person he knew, had actually made such a bad judgement that she had almost forfeited her grandmother’s beloved stores. In the same vein, he had been shocked that a member of their family had resorted to such treachery–and for personal gain when he already had so much. ‘Ego and greed,’ his father had said earlier. ‘A fatal combination that has destroyed many other men as well as Jonathan Ainsley.’

  And finally there had been the conversation he and his father had had about him settling down, getting married and having children. If Winston had been a little obvious, Gideon had not minded, nor had he been put out. He loved and admired his father, and he fully understood where he was coming from, how much he longed for grandchildren. As did his mother. It was only natural they would feel that way.

  Evan Hughes. He had met her only today, yet he had been utterly captivated and a little thrown by his reaction to her. He did not know her, or anything about her, and yet he felt as if he did know her. She was beautiful, and she had been warm, outgoing. He found her sexually attractive, very desirable. And yet he discerned in her a refinement that gave her an added dimension.

  Tomorrow he would phone her, invite her out…He fell asleep thinking about Evan Hughes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tessa Fairley Longden picked up her handbag and carry-all, glanced at her desk, then hurried across the room, snapping off the light as she left her office.

  She was dressed entirely in white, one of her favourite colours; a soft and flowing long cashmere cape was thrown over her shoulders on top of a white wool suit and matching silk shirt. Her boots were a deep cream colour as were her crocodile handbag and the leather carry-all stuffed with files. The all-white ensemble underscored her ethereal appearance, which came from her wonderful head of pale silvery-blonde hair, her silvery-grey eyes and her ivory complexion which was perfect. Her delicately-wrought face looked as if it had been carved by a master sculptor, and to say she was lovely was an understatement. Tessa was staggeringly beautiful, so striking that heads turned wherever she went. She was tall, slender, willowy, and always wore the most beautiful and costly clothes. They were unique, distinctive, and often by lesser-known designers who catered to her wishes and her whims. Tessa knew what she wanted and aimed to get it no matter what, when it came to her clothes, at least.

  She didn’t always get what she wanted in other areas of her life, particularly when it came to her husband Mark Longden. Of late he had been more difficult than usual, bad-tempered, irritable, and extremely impatient with her. It seemed to her that he only kept his temper when their little daughter Adele was around, or in front of her family. He wouldn’t dare be rude or nasty in the presence of her mother and Shane, but he didn’t seem to care how he treated her in front of their friends. Not that they went out much any more; he was always staying late at the office, or going to see clients at weekends. It occurred to her now that he didn’t have much time for her these days, unless it was to rant and rave at her about nothing of any great consequence.

  A couple of times lately she had smelled alcohol on his breath, and he had looked flushed, his eyes glazed. But he had denied he had been drinking too much, and had flown into such a violent temper she had quickly retreated behind the safety of the bathroom door for half an hour.

  He was always contrite after his volatile behaviour, almost slobbering over her, asking, begging, her forgiveness. And, of course, fool that she was, she always forgave him. Until the other day when he had raged at her about some chipped paint in the kitchen. He had been so ridiculous she had abruptly stood away, looking at him objectively, and she had begun to wonder what exactly was wrong with him.

  As she turned the corner, walking rapidly towards the bank of elevators, she saw her half-sister Linnet, and she immediately called, ‘Linnet! I need to talk to you.’

  Linnet paused, swung around, a smile lighting up her face when she saw Tessa. ‘You look beautiful, absolutely gorgeous Tess, in all that white!’ As she spoke Linnet stepped towards her sister, was about to embrace her. Then the smile slipped when she saw Tessa’s face.

  Tessa moved closer to the elevators, and said in a cold tone, ‘How dare you countermand my orders about the auditorium. You had no right to do that. I am the senior executive here, and what I say goes.’

  ‘But I didn’t know—’

  ‘I can’t stand here wasting time with you. I’m late as it is,’ Tessa interrupted in a strident tone, and stepped into the elevator. ‘Just don’t do things without asking my permission,’ she snapped as the door closed, cutting off her view of Linnet.

  That girl goes too far at times, Tessa thought, as the lift carried her down to the ground floor. She was suddenly seething about the younger woman, and once again all of her resentment and jealousy of Linnet rose to the surface. There was no question in Tessa’s mind that Linnet O’Neill was the favourite child of her mother and Shane. Shane O’Neill. In her own way she loved him, he had always been kind, had brought her up as his own. But she was not his biological child, and deep down that rankled. How could
he love her as much as Linnet when she was not of his blood? In a way, though, she was glad she was not an O’Neill…she was a Fairley, came from an aristocratic line that went back centuries. Why, she herself was an aristocrat. Everyone said she looked like the Fairleys, and she knew she resembled Aunt Edwina, who was also part Fairley and a countess. To hell with Linnet, she thought, and pushed her out of her mind.

  As she went through the side entrance of the store, nodding to employees as they, too, left for the evening, Tessa decided to be especially nice to Mark tonight. She did love him, despite his behaviour of late, and she wanted to keep the marriage intact. She had learned that the best way to make sure their time together was absolutely tranquil was to be acquiescent. She had to meet his every demand.

  It was cold, and she shivered as she stepped out into the street, but within a second her driver had pulled over, was getting out of the front seat, coming around to her side of the car.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs. Longden,’ Milton said, opening the door.

  ‘Good evening. I’m going straight home, Milton, thanks,’ Tessa said, as usual scrupulously polite with the help.

  Settling back against the seat, Tessa decided she would make pasta tonight. She had a well-stocked larder, because she often worked late herself, and frequently she and Mark did not sit down to supper before nine o’clock. They would eat earlier; she had made a point of leaving at five-thirty, so that she could start preparing their meal. Mark liked food and vintage wine, and she aimed to please.

  When Milton pulled into the driveway of the Hampstead house where they lived, Tessa saw at once that Mark was already home. His car was parked outside the front door.