‘Mummy’s heading this way,’ Paula said laughing and adroitly changing the subject. ‘And she’s looking very determined about something.’
‘Say yes,’ Jim demanded. ‘To everything.’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’
Daisy looked from one to the other fondly and shook her head. ‘Sorry to break up you two lovebirds, but Mother is champing at the bit. She wants to get the photography out of the way as soon as possible now. I’m rounding everyone up. So come along, let’s start assembling in the Grey Drawing Room. Oh, and by the way, Jim dear, I’ve suggested that Edwina be included in one of the family group portraits, and my mother has agreed.’
‘How very nice of you, Daisy,’ Jim exclaimed with warmth and sincerity, thinking how typical it was of her to be thoughtful, and caring about another person’s feelings. That Daisy had shown such consideration for Edwina was doubly commendable.
Emma Harte had never missed a trick in her entire life.
This afternoon was no exception. Her eyes were everywhere, and from her position near the fireplace she had an overall view of the room, and everyone in it. In much the same way that Jim Fairley held himself apart and took in everything, so Emma herself played the observer much of the time these days.
However, unlike Jim, who only saw things on the surface and, moreover, believed exactly what he saw, Emma had an almost frightening perception, one that pierced any façade to comprehend what actually lay behind it. She understood that nothing was ever the way it seemed, and so she was acutely conscious of the undercurrents in the room – the rivalries, the conflicts, the bad blood that existed between some of those present.
A sardonic smile touched her lips. As usual, cliques had formed. It was easy to see who was allied to whom. And she could read them all like an open book.
Edwina was the one who had surprised her the most, in that she had obviously had the intelligence to accept the inevitable. Her eldest daughter was giving off an aura of cordiality, sitting on the sofa near the window, chatting with Sally. On the other hand, Emma had noticed that she was assiduously avoiding any real contact with the other Hartes in the drawing room.
Randolph, Sally’s father, and his two other children, Vivienne and Winston, were most decidedly persona non grata with Edwina, and her intense dislike of them was barely concealed behind the stiff and chilly smiles she had given them earlier. Edwina was also cold-shouldering Blackie, although there was nothing new about that. Once, last year, Edwina had referred to him as the grand seigneur, meaning it disparagingly, her voice ringing with sarcasm.
Emma smiled inwardly. She had rather liked the description then: she did so now. It was apt.
Blackie was indeed behaving like the grand patrician gentleman, strolling around as if he had territorial rights, his manner distinctly proprietary, being gracious and charming, playing the genial host to the limit. And why not? He was her greatest friend, and her escort after all, and this was her house, and she was the hostess at this gathering. He had stood at her side during the toasts and the cutting of the christening cake, and after Randolph had finished speaking he had made a toast himself. To her. He had called her the youngest and most beautiful great-grandmother in the world. Now he had paused, was hovering over Paula, who in turn hovered over her babies. Daisy joined them, her serenity and sincerity and goodness a beacon in this room.
Emma shifted her eyes to the far corner, where they settled on her grandson, Alexander.
Always reserved, Alexander seemed particularly so with Jonathan and Sarah, whom he had briefly acknowledged when he had arrived. Since then he had consistently and carefully ignored them. He had attached himself to Bryan and Geraldine O’Neill at the commencement of the reception, returned to sit with them after the photographs had been taken. She did not understand why he was being cool and distant with Sarah and Jonathan. Could they have had a disagreement? Even a falling out? Or was he simply bored by the company of his cousins, with whom he worked at Harte Enterprises? She turned these possibilities over and then let them go. She would know soon enough if there were any real problems between these three. She wished Alexander would make up his mind about that nice Marguerite Reynolds. He had kept that poor girl dangling for too long. Now where was she hiding herself?
Emma scanned the room. Ah yes, there she was, near the door, laughing with Merry O’Neill and Amanda. Good God, was that child drinking another glass of champagne. Her third? Emily is supposed to be looking after those sisters of hers, and she’s not even in the room, Emma thought, and took a step forward, making for Amanda, then stopped in her tracks. Emily had just returned with Winston and Shane, had spotted Amanda and was about to chastise her little sister, who wore a guilty expression. Emma nodded to herself, amused at the little scene being enacted. Emily, for all her youth and gay disposition, could be very tough when she wanted to be.
Shane had detached himself from Winston and Emily, and was prowling across the floor. Her eyes followed him. He came to a stop next to David, drew Paula’s father to one side, began speaking to him intently. Shane is not himself today, Emma decided. He has a remote air. It occurred to her he might be suffering from ennui at this family function of hers, not to mention preoccupation with his impending trip to New York.
As for Sarah, her auburn-haired granddaughter appeared to be patently uninterested in Shane. Did Emily exaggerate? No, definitely not. Sarah, clinging to Jonathan like a barnacle to a hull, was, by her very actions, proving to Emma that she did indeed care greatly. If Shane no longer mattered to her she would not be huddled in a corner staying out of his way. Was Jonathan a handy convenience? Or had he and Sarah formed some kind of special alliance lately? If so, why? They had never been particularly close in the past.
Emma gave Jonathan a long hard stare, studying that bland and smiling face, noting his insouciant manner. How disarming he could be. He’s clever, she thought, but not quite as clever as he believes he is. He has acquired the knack of dissembling, most likely from me. And because I’m better at dissimulation than he is, he doesn’t deceive me one little bit. I have no hard evidence of his treachery, nothing concrete with which I can nail him, and yet I know he’s up to no good.
When Emma had first arrived at Fairley Church, Jonathan had rushed over to her, and told her he would see her on Monday morning, would bring her his new evaluation of the Aire Communications building. She had merely nodded, kept her face inscrutable. But she had immediately wondered why he suddenly thought the evaluation of the building’s worth was no longer urgent, that it could now wait until Monday. She had been stressing its urgency to him for some time. Emma had not had to think very hard to come up with the answer. Jonathan knew the evaluation was no longer pressing because he was aware that the Aire deal had collapsed. Neither she nor Paula had mentioned the failure of those negotiations, so he could only have acquired his information from Sebastian Cross, and in the last twenty-four hours.
This conversation at the church, coupled with Emily’s revelation of the night before, had convinced Emma that Jonathan was somehow involved with the Crosses, in cahoots with them. But to what purpose?
She did not know. But she would soon find out. She had no intention of confronting Jonathan on Monday morning. It was not her way to show her hand when that hand could be doling out rope, forming a noose. Instead she would go to London next week and start digging. Discreetly. Jonathan’s behaviour today had only served to underscore the nagging suspicion that he was not trustworthy, a feeling that she had harboured for weeks. Without realizing it, he had alerted her further. If he were really smart he would have acted as though the Aire deal were still alive. He had made a small slip – but it was a fatal one in her eyes.
Jonathan happened to turn around at this moment. His glance met hers. He smiled broadly and loped across the room to her.
‘Goodness, Grandy, why are you standing here all alone?’ he asked showing concern for her. Not waiting for a reply he went on, ‘Do you want anything? A glass of champagne, or a c
up of tea maybe? And do come and sit down. You must be tired.’ He took hold of her arm affectionately, and his posture was loving.
‘I don’t want anything, thank you,’ Emma said. ‘And I’m not a bit tired. In fact, I never felt better.’ She gave him a smile as fraudulently sweet as his had been. Extracting her arm ever so gently, she remarked, ‘I’ve been enjoying myself, standing here watching everyone. You’d be surprised what people reveal about themselves when they believe they’re unobserved.’ Her eyes were riveted to his face.
She waited.
He squirmed under her unflinching gaze, returned it, managed to keep his expression open and candid. But he laughed too quickly and too loudly as he said, ‘You are a card, Grandy.’
And possibly you’re the joker in the pack, Emma thought coldly. She said, ‘What’s wrong with Sarah? She’s being rather aloof with everyone, apart from you, of course.’
‘She’s not feeling well,’ he answered with swiftness. ‘Fighting a bad cold.’
‘She looks as fit as a fiddle to me,’ Emma observed dryly, throwing a rapid glance in Sarah’s direction.
Emma suddenly stepped back, moved away from Jonathan, and levelled her direct stare on him again. ‘Did you come up here together? And when did you arrive in Yorkshire?’
‘No, we came separately. Sarah by train last night. I drove up this morning.’ This was said steadily enough, and he smiled down at her.
Emma saw the faintest flicker of deceit in his light eyes. She studied his face briefly. Arthur Ainsley’s weak mouth, she thought. She said, ‘I’m glad Sarah has you to look after her today, Jonathan. It’s most kind of you.’
He said nothing, changed the subject by remarking, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to sit down, Grandmother?’
‘I suppose I might as well.’
He steered her across the room towards Charlotte and Natalie, and Emma smothered a laugh. So that’s where he thinks I belong, with the old ladies, she thought with some acerbity.
He saw her settled on the sofa, spoke briefly to his Great-Aunts, and disappeared, heading back to Sarah.
Emma watched him go, filled with sadness and disappointment. Too bad about Jonathan, she thought with resignation. He surely doesn’t realize it, but he’s as transparent as water. Just like his father. She had always seen right through Robin, and had been several jumps ahead of him all of his life, usually to his perpetual irritation and discomfort. Sighing, Emma pushed herself into the cushions and accepted a cup of tea offered by one of the waiters, then turned to her sisters-in-law. Natalie, Frank’s widow, was unusually garrulous this afternoon, and she soon dominated the conversation, caught up in an endless recital about her only child, Rosamund, who lived in Italy with her diplomat husband. Charlotte and Emma listened, eyeing each other with amusement from time to time, but Emma’s interest rapidly waned. She soon fell into her myriad thoughts.
Emma would never know what prompted her to suddenly put down her cup of tea, stand up, and swing around at the precise moment that she did. And later, when she thought about it in private, she was to wish she had remained seated.
But she did go through these motions, and found Shane O’Neill in her direct line of vision. He did not see her. He stood alone, leaning against the wall in the shadow of a tall Regency cabinet. There was an expression of such unadulterated love and aching yearning on his handsome face Emma had to stifle a gasp of surprise. His face was naked, utterly vulnerable, and it revealed the strongest and most powerful emotions a man could feel for a woman.
And it was Paula whom Shane was staring at with such concentrated intensity and longing.
Oh my God, Emma thought, dismay flooding through her. Her heart missed a beat. How well she knew that look on a man’s face. It signified passion and desire, the overwhelming urgency to possess absolutely. And forever.
But her granddaughter was oblivious to him. She was bending over the nursemaid who sat cradling Tessa, adjusting the child’s christening robe, cooing to her. Paula’s face was tender with a mother’s love and she was completely absorbed in the baby.
Emma was so shocked by what she saw she could not move. She was rooted to the spot, staring at him transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from Shane, who undoubtedly believed he was safe from prying eyes. Emma reached out blindly and gripped the back of the sofa, filled with a terrible shaking sensation.
To her immense relief the expression on Shane’s face was fleeting. In a flash it vanished, was replaced by a studied expression of assumed nonchalance, one she knew so well. He moved out of the shadows without noticing her, and mingled with the crowd again. Distantly she heard his vibrant, throaty laugh, and then Randolph’s voice in response to something he had said.
Endeavouring to marshal her thoughts, Emma shifted her stance, turned to face the room. Had anyone else witnessed this intensely private moment of Shane’s when his guard was down? Where was Jim? Emma’s quick alert eyes darted from side to side, came to rest on Emily, who stood motionless a few yards away, staring back at her appalled, anxiety clouding her pretty young face.
Emma frowned. She pinned Emily with a knowing look, then motioned to the door with a brief nod of her head. Emma went out of the drawing room slowly. She was filled with sorrow, and her heart ached for Shane O’Neill. And as she crossed the Stone Hall everything became crystal clear to her, and her sorrow deepened immeasurably.
Upon entering the library, Emma sat down heavily on the nearest chair. She was surprised her legs had carried her this far. She felt weak at the knees.
Emily came in a split second later, closed the door firmly behind her, and leaned against it speechlessly.
To Emma she looked as if she had seen a ghost. She was unnaturally pale and her face was tight, very strained.
Emma said, ‘You saw it then? The way Shane was gazing at Paula?’
‘Yes,’ Emily whispered.
‘He’s very much in love with her,’ Emma said, her voice husky. Her throat tightened. She paused, got a grip on herself, ‘But then you knew that before today, Emily. In fact, you almost let it slip out yesterday. But you managed to stop yourself just in time. That is correct, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Gran.’
‘Don’t look so scared, Emily. And come here and sit with me. I must talk to you about this. It’s most disturbing.’
Emily ran across the room and took the adjoining chair. She gazed deeply into Emma’s troubled face, which looked oddly fatigued and weary all of a sudden. She said, ‘I’m truly sorry you had to find out. I never wanted you to know, Grandma. I knew it would pain you.’
‘Yes, that’s true, it does. But now that I do know, I’ve a couple of questions. First of all, how did you find out that Shane was in love with Paula in the first place?’
‘Because I’ve seen that look on his face before. It was at Paula’s wedding in London last year…when he thought no one was watching him. Much the same kind of situation as today. He was tucked away in a corner, at the reception at Claridge’s, and his eyes never left her. And then there’s his behaviour…let’s face it, Grandy, he’s been distant and peculiar with her for the longest time. Actually, to be honest, he’s dropped her like a ton of bricks. Obviously he can’t bear to be around her, knowing she’s married to someone else.’
Emily bit her lip nervously. ‘I suspect that’s also one of the reasons he spends so much time abroad. I know he has to travel because of their hotel chain, but Merry recently said something to me about Shane constantly jumping on planes at the slightest excuse. She said he seemed to have ants in his pants these days.’
‘I see,’ Emma said. ‘So Shane has never confided in you?’
‘God no! He wouldn’t. He’s too proud.’
‘Yes,’ Emma said, ‘I know what you mean.’ She was reflective for a moment, then said almost to herself, ‘That seems to be a family characteristic. And it’s false pride, too. What a waste of time that is. So very foolish in the long run. It serves no good purpose.’ She looked away, stari
ng into the distance absently, seeing so much, understanding.
Emily patted her hand in her old-fashioned, motherly way, and urged, ‘Try not to worry, Gran. I know you love Shane like one of your own grandchildren, but there’s nothing you can do about this.’
‘I’m aware of that, darling. But getting back to the incident in the drawing room, do you think anyone else saw what we saw? Jim, for instance?’
‘Jim had gone outside a few minutes before, Gran. I spoke to him as he followed Anthony and Sally out on to the terrace. Then Miranda joined them, and the twins.’ Emily chewed her inner lip again. ‘Sarah. She has been sneaking looks at Shane all afternoon. She might have caught it, I’m just not sure.’
‘I certainly hope she didn’t!’ Emma exclaimed worriedly.
‘So do I.’ Emily took a deep breath, volunteered in a low voice, ‘There was one person who noticed…’
‘Who?’ Emma demanded, looking at her swiftly.
‘Winston.’
‘Well, thank God for small mercies. I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else. Go and fetch him to me, Emily, and don’t discuss a thing. Not in there. Too many nosy parkers around.’
‘Yes, Grandmother.’ Emily flew out of the room.
Emma rose and went to the windows, staring out at her beautiful gardens. How peaceful they look in the radiant sunlight…next door in the drawing room there is a young man who has everything except the woman he loves and who may never know genuine peace in his whole life because of that. Unless his love for Paula ceases to exist. Emma doubted this would happen. The kind of love she had seen etched on his face was everlasting. Its depth and intensity chilled her to the bone. She was absolutely convinced that a man like Shane O’Neill would not be content to worship from afar. His emotions could easily propel him to take more overt action in time. He might try to fight for Paula one day, in the future. And even if Paula was not interested in Shane, the situation still spelled trouble, in Emma’s opinion. Triangles were not only uncomfortable, they were explosive.