Emma's Secret

  There was a knock on the door and Margaret walked in, looking apologetic. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you Mrs. O’Neill, but there’s a young woman downstairs in the Stone Hall asking to see you.’

  ‘Who is it, Margaret?’ Paula asked, looking puzzled. ‘I’m not expecting anyone today.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me her name. She has a letter for you. She showed it to me but she wouldn’t give it to me. She says she was instructed to put it in your hands and yours only. Very adamant she was.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better see her then.’

  Margaret was staring across the room at the long library table which held a large collection of family photographs, and Paula glanced at the table herself. It had come from Emma’s Leeds office years ago. ‘What is it, Margaret? What’s bothering you?’

  ‘The girl downstairs has red hair. Almost the same colour as Miss Linnet’s. I think she might be a relative.’ Walking across the room, Margaret stopped at the library table and touched the top of a silver frame. ‘She looks a bit like her.’

  Paula was startled and she stood up, shaking her head, nonplussed. ‘It can’t be…why would Sarah Lowther’s daughter be here?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mrs. O’Neill. But she is…she’s downstairs. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Please bring her up. Straightaway, please.’

  Margaret nodded and hurried out, and Paula went around the desk, crossed the room to the library table. It was jammed with Emma’s collection of favourite pictures which Paula had never had the heart to put away. Her grandmother had bought the table from the Leeds store over thirty years ago, and the photographs, all in silver frames, had been her pride and joy. She had often held a picture in her hand and talked about the person in it to Paula. She was always warm, always loving, never critical about any of her children or grandchildren. Except Jonathan Ainsley. Emma herself had removed his photograph just months before her death; she had come to the conclusion he was double-crossing her. And how right she had been.

  Focusing on Sarah’s photograph, Paula wondered if it really was Sarah’s daughter downstairs. She knew Sarah had married a famous French painter, Yves Pascal, years ago, and had made a success of her life and her business in France.

  She wondered if Shane had really spotted Sarah at the retrospective; he had insisted several times that she’d been there. With Jonathan Ainsley. Winston had definitely seen him, and had been outraged. ‘What temerity he has,’ Winston had spluttered to her later at the dinner. ‘How dare he show his face to us!’ Emily and Gideon had managed to calm him down, but he had really seen red the other night, had been apoplectic.

  Turning away from the library table, Paula walked over to the long sofa in front of the leaded window, and stood waiting. A moment later Margaret was ushering the young woman into the room. With a slight nod, her housekeeper disappeared.

  The young woman walked forward, held out her hand and said, ‘Good morning, Mrs. O’Neill. I’m Chloe Pascal, Sarah Lowther’s daughter. Please forgive this intrusion, but my mother wanted you to have this. I’m to wait for your answer.’

  After returning her greeting pleasantly, and accepting the envelope, Paula indicated that Chloe should be seated. Then she walked over to her desk, slit the envelope with a paperknife and took out the letter.

  The stationery was expensive and it had her cousin’s professional name engraved across the top: Sarah Harte Lowther.

  Paula scanned the letter quickly. It said:

  Dear Paula:

  I am sending this note by hand with my daughter Chloe because I want to get it to you quickly, whilst I am still in England. I must see you urgently. I have vital information which concerns you. I am nearby, and if you will see me now, Chloe will come for me.

  Sarah

  Walking back to the seating arranged under the leaded window, Paula lowered herself into a chair and said, ‘Where is your mother, Chloe?’

  ‘She’s sitting in the car further down the driveway, just beyond the curve. You can’t see the car from here.’

  ‘I know. Would you please go and get her, ask her to come and see me. From what she says in her note we have to talk.’

  Chloe jumped up. ‘Right away. I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mrs. O’Neill.’

  Paula nodded, watched her hurry out. The girl looked like her mother, with the same burnished auburn hair that was such a Harte family characteristic. It was a warm June day and Chloe wore a stark black cotton suit and simple gold jewellery, but she had that distinctive French chic which was so hard to imitate.

  Rising, walking across to the leaded window, Paula looked down, saw Chloe heading for the driveway. She turned away, went back to her desk, putting the letter in a drawer. She had a gut instinct that her cousin Sarah wanted to tell her something disturbing about Jonathan. But why? Had they had a falling out? Or had Sarah had a twinge of conscience? It had to be something of vital concern to her or Sarah would never have asked to see her, made these moves. She felt herself tensing, suspecting that Sarah had only bad news. Paula took a deep breath, steeling herself for trouble.

  A few minutes later, Margaret came into the room, escorting Chloe and her mother.

  Walking forward, Paula said, ‘Hello, Sarah. This is a surprise,’ and stretched out her hand.

  Sarah shook hands with her. ‘Thank you for seeing me. And please excuse the way I’ve handled this. But I needed to see you quickly before I return to Paris. And I thought if I telephoned you might—’

  ‘Hang up?’ Paula said, cutting across her. She shook her head. ‘No, Sarah, I would have taken your call. In fact, I’ve often thought you would be in touch over the years…I sort of expected it, actually.’

  This comment startled Sarah, and she exclaimed, ‘If only I’d known. I’ve wanted to speak to you, just to explain one thing. And it’s this. I never knew Jonathan was cheating the family, hurting Harte Enterprises. I did invest in his company, that’s true, but I thought everything was above board. I only found out how wrong I’d been the day your father fired me, and you threw me out of the family. I trusted Jonathan and I shouldn’t have. I think I was rather naive, looking back. But I swear on my child’s head that I never knew what he was doing.’

  ‘I realized that a long time ago, Sarah. I came to understand that you were innocent of any wrongdoing.’ Paula paused, pursed her lips, shook her head sadly. ‘What a waste of the years…Well, that’s all water under the bridge…’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Sarah agreed, and went on swiftly, ‘And I didn’t come here to explain, or to try to exonerate myself. I came to warn you.’

  ‘Let’s sit down,’ Paula murmured, indicating the seating in front of the leaded window. ‘Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Sarah said, sitting down in a chair.

  Chloe, lowering herself onto the sofa, simply shook her head.

  Leaning slightly forward, looking at Paula intently, Sarah began: ‘I’ve suspected for a long time that Jonathan wanted to get back at you, hurt you in some way. He has always believed you were his nemesis, that you destroyed him. He cannot get at you in business any more, you’ve seen to that, but he can hurt you through your children. The other night I was at the retrospective and I saw something that frightened me. It also alerted me. At one moment he was staring very intently at your children, and he had a look on his face of pure malevolence. Evil. I knew instantly that he was up to no good, and I was afraid for you and yours. I didn’t know what he planned, but I made up my mind to find out as much as possible.’

  ‘Did you think he would simply…confide in you, Sarah?’ Paula asked, giving her a long hard stare.

  ‘No, I didn’t, he can be very close-mouthed even with me. But Jonathan likes his wine and he likes to boast…and he has a tendency to boast when his tongue has been loosened by a good French vintage.’

  ‘Are you saying you got him drunk?’ Paula raised an eyebrow quizzically.

  ‘No. But I had invited him to dinner, and I ordere
d a very expensive bottle of Mouton Rothschild, which he loves. And I asked the right questions.’

  ‘What’s he planning to do? How will he hurt my children?’ Paula asked, alarm making her voice sharp.

  ‘He’s already hurt one of them I’m afraid, Paula.’

  Holding herself very still, staring across the coffee table at Sarah, Paula asked, ‘Tell me…tell me the worst. Who has he hurt? And how? Why don’t I know?’

  ‘Indirectly he’s hurt Tessa, through her husband Mark Longden. Mark is Jonathan’s architect…on the house he’s building near Thirsk.’

  ‘My god, none of us knew that!’

  ‘No, you didn’t, because Jonathan and Mark invented a phony name for the new client. William Stone.’ Sarah shifted slightly in the chair, and explained, ‘Mark told Tessa his new client was a tycoon, a very rich tycoon, that his name was William Stone and that he was building a house in the Midlands. Your daughter had no reason not to believe Mark.’

  ‘I understand. But how has Jonathan hurt Tessa?’ Paula demanded.

  Sarah hesitated, and then explained in a quiet voice, ‘I got the feeling the other night that Jonathan is getting Mark hooked on drugs and drink, and other women. And that he’s enjoying doing so. I’ve long suspected Jonathan was a little depraved under that sparkling, gentlemanly exterior of his. I truly believe Mark Longden is now in his clutches in the worst way. Jonathan was laughing about Mark and his weaknesses. He made some remark about that marriage going south sooner than anyone had expected. He even commented on Mark’s mistreatment of Tessa…physical mistreatment.’

  Paula was aghast, and turned very pale. ‘No man would boast of abusing his wife.’

  ‘I don’t think Mark did boast, Paula. I’m putting two and two together. Jonathan told me that Mark had said to him he was teaching Miss Moneybags who wore the trousers in the family; that she’d feel the back of his hand on her if she didn’t behave.’

  ‘I’ve suspected he was abusing her,’ Paula confided in a shaken voice. ‘And thank you for warning me, Sarah. I now know what to do.’

  Nodding her head, Sarah cautioned, ‘If I’m to continue helping you, then you must leave my name out of it. Jonathan mustn’t find out.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘There’s one other thing you must know, Paula. At the retrospective Jonathan made a comment about Linnet. He said she was going to inherit everything, including Pennistone Royal. I was so taken aback I retorted that I didn’t believe it, and asked who’d told him. He said “a dickybird,” and he had a very smug, knowing look on his face.’

  ‘Oh, but he’s completely wrong about that!’ Paula shook her head vehemently. ‘Completely.’ She wondered where the leak had come from, her mind racing frantically.

  It was almost as though Sarah had read her cousin’s mind when she remarked, ‘I think you’ve got a problem in your office. At the Leeds store, I suspect. Jonathan is having an affair with an old friend of his, a woman called Ellie. I think she works there.’

  ‘Eleanor Morrison! That’s who it must be. She’s one of my secretaries in Leeds. But she doesn’t have access to my private papers–and anyway, I told you, it’s not true.’

  ‘Don’t give her the sack,’ Sarah warned.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Paula said. ‘It would only make Jonathan Ainsley suspicious.’

  ‘Just be very careful…about anything confidential, any private papers.’

  ‘I always am,’ Paula answered, wanting to kill any ideas about who would inherit what. But she knew she would have to keep a sharp eye on Eleanor. Sarah was correct, she couldn’t sack her. But she could render her useless to Jonathan.

  Standing up, Sarah said, ‘That’s it. I’ve told you everything I know, Paula. I hope it helps you.’

  Also rising, Paula answered, ‘It does.’ She stared at Sarah in the most penetrating way, and confided, ‘I’ve had an instinctive feeling lately that Jonathan Ainsley would do something to injure my family. Ever since he came back to live in London…even Sir Ronald warned me.’

  ‘Uncle Ronnie was always smart. Grandy said he took after his father. Anyway, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. I usually see Jonathan when I come to London…’ Sarah did not finish her sentence. She glanced around the room and then addressed her daughter Chloe. ‘This is the upstairs parlour I’ve often spoken to you about. My grandmother’s favourite room…everybody’s favourite room actually, Chloe. We had wonderful times here when I was growing up.’

  ‘Mother, there’s your photograph! Over on that long table.’ As she spoke, Chloe hurried to the library table and picked it up. ‘You look so beautiful. Come and look, Maman.’ Walking across the room, Sarah joined her daughter and they stared at the photograph together, then Chloe put it back.

  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.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Paula 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.