A Woman of Substance

SIXTY

Emma sat at her desk in the lovely, upstairs parlour at Pennistone Royal, going over the legal documents spread out before her, her sharp eyes flicking swiftly across the pages. She eventually nodded with satisfaction, returned the papers to her briefcase, snapped it shut, and placed it on the floor next to the desk. Half smiling, she stood up and glided over to a small Georgian table, where she paused briefly to pour herself a sherry. She carried it to the fireplace and stood as usual with her back to the flames, endeavouring to warm her icy limbs.

Emma Harte Lowther Ainsley was seventy-eight years old. At the end of April, just a month away, she would celebrate her seventy-ninth birthday. And yet in old age, as in youth, her looks were still so arresting they startled with their vividness and clarity. Years before, she had stopped tinting her hair and it was a blaze of pure silver around her oval face, immaculately coiffeured and waved, the prominent widow’s peak protruding on to her wide brow as dramatically as always. Those once incomparable green eyes seemed smaller, hooded now by the ancient wrinkled lids, and they were more penetratingly observing than ever, and they missed nothing. Her face was lined and scored by the years, there were folds and creases in her neck, but her excellent bone structure had not blurred with time and her pink-and-white complexion was as translucent as it had been when she was a young woman. Her adherence to a simple diet had enabled her to keep her slender figure: she easily passed for a woman in her early sixties, without consciously wishing to do so, for vanity had never been one of her frailties.

This evening she wore a stunning black chiffon gown by Balmain, cut on loose flowing lines like a kaftan and with long wide sleeves. Emeralds threw off prisms of intense colour at her neck and ears and on her narrow wrists, and the huge square-cut McGill emerald blazed like green fire on her small left hand. In the past ten years she had acquired a different kind of beauty, a beauty that was austere and autocratic, and she looked exactly what she had become-a woman of immense power and substance. She was the true matriarch in every sense, and if she was demanding and imperious, she was also understanding, and even her enemies grudgingly acknowledged she was one of the most extraordinary women of her time. Eleven years older than the century, there was almost nothing she had not seen or experienced. She was a living legend.

She took a sip of the sherry, turned and placed the glass on the mantelshelf, and looked down into the fire reflectively, musing on the evening that stretched ahead. Her children and her grandchildren had all arrived, either last night or earlier that day, summoned by her to Pennistone Royal, ostensibly for a family weekend after her bout of pneumonia, but in actuality for the confrontation she had been planning for several weeks. Her face changed, and the light in her eyes dulled as she thought wearily of her children or, more accurately, of the first four she had borne-Edwina, Kit, Robin, and Elizabeth. The plotters caught red-handed in their scheming, but as yet unaware that she had been apprised of their duplicity and disloyalty, or that she had already circumvented them.

When her secretary, Gaye, had revealed her children’s plotting to her in New York in January, Emma had been shocked. But she had not permitted emotions to obscure intelligence, for it was her vivid intelligence which had saved Emma from disaster many times in her life. She had immediately seen everything with objectivity and without sentiment, and she had moved with speed and with consummate resourcefulness, as was her way when she was facing opponents. Whilst they were still fumbling around, inept in their intriguing, she had taken steps to render them powerless against her.

Emma shook her head sadly. She had lost the taste for battle after she had taken over the Yorkshire Morning Gazette, and had buried the sword years ago. She found it regrettable that her children had forced her to take it up again to protect all that which she had so doggedly built up over sixty long years of purpose and sacrifice. The scene which would be enacted that evening was one she did not relish, but her business and the dynasty she had founded must be preserved.

The door opened and Paula came in, interrupting Emma’s ruminations. Paula halted in the doorway, staring at Emma. She’s up to something, Paula thought. Despite Grandy’s reassurances to the contrary, this weekend was not planned for the reasons she gave me. She’s about to do battle. I know that look in her eyes only too well.

‘Why, Grandy, you look absolutely fabulous,’ Paula exclaimed. She kissed Emma and stood away, her expression admiring. ‘You’re really going to knock their eyes out in that gown and with your jewels.’

‘I wonder,’ Emma said. Her eyes settled on her favourite grandchild, became softer, and the obdurate look disappeared from her face. She nodded approvingly. Paula wore a deep violet-blue silk evening dress that perfectly matched the colour of her eyes and enhanced the translucency of her skin. Her coal-black hair tumbled loosely around her face, giving her a vulnerable quality that touched Emma. She said. ‘You look perfectly lovely, Paula. Like a bit of spring sky.’

‘Thank you, Grandy.’ Paula walked over to the Georgian table and filled a glass with white wine. ‘But just wait until you see Emily. She looks gorgeous in your red chiffon dress and diamond earrings. I noticed her mother eyeing those, and quite covetously.’

‘Elizabeth always was acquisitive,’ Emma said dryly, and picked up her glass of sherry. She took a sip and went on, ‘I suppose they have all assembled by now and are waiting for me to come down. Riddled with curiosity to see how the old woman is holding up.’ She laughed cynically. ‘I really think they thought I was going to kick the bucket this time. But I’m not pushing up daisies yet and it will be a long time before I do.’

Paula said, ‘Yes, they’re slowly straggling into the drawing room, where Uncle Blackie is holding court. It doesn’t seem possible he’s eighty-two and still going strong. He’s a miracle, isn’t he?’

‘He is indeed,’ Emma said. She was filled with a rush of warmth as she thought of Blackie. They had been friends for sixty-four years and he had always been there when she had needed him. ‘My dearest friend,’ Emma added almost to herself, and went on, ‘Has Jim arrived yet?’

‘Yes, he has. The aunts and uncles looked positively flabbergasted to see a Fairley in this house, and for a family gathering, no less. Especially Uncle Robin.’

‘I’m not surprised. He’s not particularly enamoured of Jim, you know. He thinks I’ve given him too much power in the newspaper company, that I let him have his head. I do, to a certain extent. But I’m not going to engage a man to run my papers and then manacle his hands.’ Emma’s eyes turned flinty. ‘Ever since your Uncle Robin has been Member of Parliament for South-East Leeds he has held the misconception that my papers should be vehicles for his socialistic viewpoints. But I’ve never espoused his politics and I have no intentions of doing so now. He misguidedly blames Jim for the Tory policy of the papers, not appreciating that I dictate policy. I always have and I always will. Anyway, Robin’s opinions don’t really interest me,’ she finished dismissively. ‘He’s too damned left-wing for my taste.’

‘Robin’s political pholosophy and his way of life don’t quite dovetail, though,’ Paula remarked. ‘Share and share alike is his motto to his constituents. But that only holds good as long as he doesn’t have to share what he has. He’s a hypocrite and an opportunist, if you want my opinion.’

Emma threw back her head and laughed uproariously. ‘Enough of Robin. Has Jim spoken to your father?’

‘He’s doing that right now. They’re in the library together. Jim said he’d like to see you privately before dinner, Grandy. Is that all right?’

‘Of course. He can come up shortly. I want to see your Aunt Edwina first, but what I have to say to her won’t take long. Now come, darling, sit here with me for a few minutes. There’s plenty of time, and anyway I’m in no hurry to go down.’ She smiled a trifle maliciously. ‘Let them wait.’

Paula joined Emma on the sofa, her violet eyes, so like Paul McGill’s, clouding over. ‘Is there something wrong, Grandmother? You sound serious.’

‘No,’ Emma said. ‘Don’t look so worried.’ She took Paula’s long tapering hand in her small strong one and her eyes swept over her granddaughter’s face searchingly. ‘You are happy now, aren’t you?’

‘Oh yes, Grandy! Very happy.’ Paula’s face was filled with radiance. ‘I do love Jim so much. Thank you for reversing your decision, for giving us permission to marry. You’ve changed my whole life, given me the one thing I truly want.’

‘I’m so glad, so very glad, darling,’ Emma murmured. ‘Your happiness is more important to me than anything else in this whole world. It was a small gift really, in view of what you mean to me. As I told you last night, I decided it was ridiculous, and yes, even wicked, to let the pride and bitterness of an old woman get in the way of your heart’s desire, your future.’ She looked deeply into Paula’s eyes. ‘The Fairley family have touched my life with pain since I was a girl of fourteen. Perhaps now the last of the Fairleys will touch it with joy.’ Emma shook her head bemusedly. ‘It’s odd, when I think about it. I went out of my way to protect my children from the Fairley family, to keep them well out of their orbit, and yet it never occurred to me to protect my grandchildren from them, particularly you. I suppose because there weren’t any Fairleys left, except Jim.’

‘And yet you gave him a job with the newspaper company, Grandy.’

Emma laughed wryly. ‘Yes, that I did. I must admit when he applied for the position I was thrown off balance, and then my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see for myself what he was like. When he came up from Fleet Street for the interview I was impressed with his ability, despite my terrible prejudice. I knew he was the right man, the best of all the candidates. It would have been self-defeating to pass him over.’ Emma’s mouth twitched with amusement. ‘I also suspect I derived a great deal of satisfaction at the idea of a Fairley working for me. But in my wildest imaginings I never thought you two would meet, particularly since you have nothing to do with the publishing side of Harte Enterprises.’ Now Emma leaned forward. ‘How did you meet him? I’ve often wondered.’

‘I didn’t meet him in Leeds, Grandy, if that makes you feel any better. I met him on a plane coming back from Paris. I’d been covering the fashion shows for the stores, and he’d been on holiday.’ Paula grinned. ‘Actually he’d been eyeing me at the airport, and he went out of his way to get the seat next to me. I was aware of him and attracted to him at once. But when he told me his name, and who he worked for, I almost had a heart attack. It’s no great secret you’ve always hated the Fairleys, and I knew you wouldn’t approve if I went out with him. A Fairley in your employ is one thing, courting your grandchild quite another.’

Emma gave Paula a penetrating look. ‘You did go out with him, though, despite your misgivings. But then you’re as stubborn and as self-willed as I am, I suppose.’

Paula returned Emma’s look steadily. Just as you intended me to be, she thought. Aware of Emma’s continuing interest, she said, ‘Looking back, I think I fell in love with Jim the second time we met. He asked me to have dinner with him the following evening. I knew I shouldn’t, that it was asking for trouble, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see him again. And in all fairness to Jim, he didn’t know who I was. I had been rather evasive about myself. We dined at the Mirabelle and your favourite waiter, Louis, spotted me. Naturally he made quite a fuss of me and sang your praises to high heaven. He wanted to know when you would be in town and dining at the restaurant again. Jim became inquisitive about you. He wanted to know who my famous grandmother was.’

As she imagined the scene, Emma’s eyes twinkled. ‘And what did you say?’

Laughter bubbled in Paula. ‘I was a bit naughty, really. I couldn’t resist saying, “My grandmother is the chairman of the board of the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company and your boss.” Jim almost fell out of the chair. He stared at me dumbfounded and then he remarked about us both having a widow’s peak, and said that you must have looked like me when you were young. I know you don’t think we resemble each other physically, but I do. I’ve seen all those old photographs of you, and the likeness is there, Grandy.’

‘Your Uncle Blackie would agree with you, but I’m not so sure. Perhaps because I have always thought you take after your grandfather in appearance. Anyway, what happened after you had dinner together?’

‘I went on seeing Jim, against my better judgement. We couldn’t resist each other. When I realized how involved we were becoming, how serious Jim’s intentions were, I pulled away. You know the rest.’

Emma looked down at her hands, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘So it was a chance meeting. A meeting that would have happened whether Jim worked for me or not. I suppose not even I can control events. It was meant to be, perhaps.’

‘I think it was, Grandy. Jim is my destiny and I am his.’

Emma started and gave Paula a curious look. ‘It’s strange you should say that. Your grandfather told me I was his destiny fifty years ago.’

There was a knock on the door before Paula could respond, and Edwina walked in peremptorily, carrying a glass of scotch. ‘You wanted to see me, Mother,’ she said coldly, and gave Paula a curt, unsmiling nod.

‘I did indeed, Edwina. I see you already have a drink, so come and sit down. Please excuse us, Paula dear. Tell Jim I’ll see him shortly.’

‘Yes, Grandy,’ Paula murmured, and left.

Edwina, Dowager Countess of Dunvale, swept majestically into the parlour and seated herself opposite Emma, her antipathy thinly veiled. She stared at her mother, waiting expectantly, and there was a belligerent look on her face.

Emma regarded Edwina with quickening interest. She thought: If Adele Fairley had lived to be Edwina’s age this is exactly how she would have looked. Edwina was sixty-two and she had not worn as well as her mother. Her exquisite blonde beauty had been too delicate to weather the years, and her looks had faded long ago. Her hair was still a shimmering silver-gold, but its colour now came from a bottle, and the once-lovely argent eyes were dimmed and heavily lidded.

‘That’s a lovely gown, Edwina,’ Emma said, and took a sip of her sherry, peering at her eldest daughter above the glass.

‘Why did you want to see me, Mother?’ Edwina responded with icy disdain. ‘I’m quite certain you didn’t ask me to come up here to compliment me on my dress.’

‘That’s perfectly true,’ Emma said. She smiled faintly. Edwina had not softened with age. ‘Let me ask you a question before I answer yours. Why did you accept my invitation to come here for the weekend?’

‘Invitation!’ Edwina exclaimed, her eyes filling with hostility. ‘It was a command, as usual, Mother. And none of us ever ignores your commands, do we? I was ambivalent about coming. But you said you wanted to see Anthony, too, and when I told him, he insisted we make the trip.’ Edwina threw Emma a baleful glance. ‘My son adores you. Neither his mother’s wishes nor wild horses could have kept him away from this little gathering. He was also worried about your health. And so, since I love my son and wish to please him, I acquiesced. If it had not been for Anthony I would not have come, let me assure you of that.’

Emma sighed audibly. ‘When your Uncle Winston effected a reconciliation between us in 1951, I hoped we could become friends. But it’s always been an armed truce, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes, Mother. And if you want to know the truth, it was Jeremy who persuaded me to see you again. My husband always did have great family feelings. He felt we should make peace.’

‘Such as it is,’ Emma retorted. ‘But let us not bicker. I wanted to see you alone because I have something important to tell you. I wish to speak to you about your father.’

Edwina’s face stiffened. ‘I can’t imagine what you could possibly have to say about him,’ she snapped, deep colour flooding her face. ‘He’s sitting downstairs at this very moment, behaving like the grand seigneur. Frankly, I don’t know how you could be so thoughtless as to have him here in my presence, or in the presence of my son, who is, after all, a peer of the realm. That intolerable man makes me feel uncomfortable. But then I suspect you enjoy making us all squirm, don’t you, Mother? You are addicted to manipulating people.’

‘You never did know me very well, Edwina,’ Emma sighed. ‘And there is no reason why Blackie O’Neill should make you feel awkward or cause you discomfiture, because he is not your father.’

Edwina’s jaw dropped. She gaped at Emma, but said nothing. Recovering her speech, she cried quickly, ‘But his name is on my birth certificate!’

‘That’s true, but for quite different reasons than you believe. Blackie was my only friend when I was sixteen, alone, almost penniless, and carrying you. He asked me to marry him, out of friendship, I think. I refused. He insisted I name him as your father because he thought the phrase “father unknown” would be yet another stigma for you to bear. He also thought it would protect us to a certain extent, and in a way it did,’ Emma finished, thinking of how it had given her the courage to deny Edwina’s paternity, indeed her existence, to Gerald Fairley.

‘Then who was, or is, my father?’ Edwina demanded.

‘Your father was Edwin Fairley.’

Edwina leaned forward alertly. ‘Do you mean Sir Edwin Fairley? The famous criminal lawyer who died last year? One of the Fairleys from Fairley village?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Emma said quietly.

‘Good God!’ Edwina sat back in stupefaction and took a long swallow of her drink. After a moment she said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this that day I showed you the copy of my birth certificate?’

‘You didn’t give me an opportunity to explain anything. You fled to Cousin Freda’s, if you remember. Besides, I’m not sure I would have revealed his identity then. I might have, but it’s doubtful. The Fairley family have caused me a great deal of heartache. I did not want you to suffer or to be exposed. I also-’

‘Why now? Why are you suddenly telling me now? What has prompted this unprecedented display of honesty on your part, and at this late date?’

‘Because tonight I am going to announce Paula’s engagement to Jim Fairley, your father’s only grandson. He will be a member of this family, and also you are his only living blood relative. His parents were killed in a plane crash in 1948. I thought he ought to know you are his aunt. I would also like to wipe the slate clean once and for all.’ A reflective look entered Emma’s eyes. ‘I want Paula and Jim to start their marriage in the right way. No skeletons in the cupboard. No ancient secrets to haunt them. But apart from that, I felt I owed it to you to tell you the truth, Edwina. It’s long overdue.’

The understatement of the year, Edwina thought bitterly. Finally, she said slowly, ‘Edwin Fairley was a brilliant barrister and renowned throughout the country, and, perhaps more importantly, he was a gentleman. He had breeding and lineage. I’m not ashamed to acknowledge him as my father. You may tell Jim if you want. In fact, I think I would like you to do so.’

‘Thank you, Edwina.’

Edwina stood up. ‘I wish you had been honest with me years ago, Mother. Things might have been different between us.’

I sincerely doubt that, Emma thought, but said, ‘Perhaps they would.’

Edwina walked to the door without another word and Emma was aware of the gratified look in her daughter’s eyes. She’s such a ridiculous snob, she said to herself. Her illegitimacy doesn’t matter to her anymore, now that she knows her father was gentry. Emma called after her, ‘Please ask Jim to come upstairs.’

Edwina swung around. ‘Yes, Mother.’ She hovered and said hesitantly, ‘You remarked that the Fairleys had caused you grief, and yet you-you named me after my father…’

‘A mere slip of the tongue, I’m afraid,’ Emma said pithily, ‘but then that’s another story.’

A few minutes later Jim Fairley walked in and Emma straightened up, smiling pleasantly. Jim, who was thirty, was about six feet one in height, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs. He had an attractive, rather sensitive face, although his mouth had a sensuality about it that contrasted markedly with his ascetic features and his soulful bluish-grey eyes. His light brown hair, streaked with blond, was brushed loosely across his shapely head and worn slightly longer than the vogue. His appearance was faultless, for he was always impeccably dressed, and he was the epitome of the perfect English gentleman right down to his handmade shoes. He wore a flawlessly tailored evening suit, Edwardian in cut, which was the current fashion, and his fine lawn evening shirt was ruffled down the front and punctuated with sapphire studs.

Jim might have stepped right out of another era into the present, and as he strode towards her, smiling engagingly, Emma was carried back in time to the elegant dinner at Fairley Hall which Olivia Wainright had given in 1904. I always believed Jim looked like Edwin, Emma thought. He drew to a standstill and she recognized that it was Adam Fairley who stood before her tonight. James Arthur Fairley, the last of the line, was the reincarnation of his great-grandfather.

Emma felt unnerved for a second, but she brushed aside the peculiar feeling of déjà vu and said in a gracious voice, ‘Good evening, Jim.’ She rose and stretched out her hand. ‘Welcome to my house. Welcome to my family.’

Jim smiled warmly. He revered and almost worshipped this regal old woman grasping his hand, and his admiration was fully revealed on his face. ‘Good evening, Mrs Harte. And thank you. I am honoured to become a member of your family, and to be in your home.’ He held on to her fingers and looked down into her eyes. ‘I love Paula with all my heart. I will be a good husband to her.’

‘Yes, I believe you will, Jim,’ Emma said, extracting her hand. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’ As she spoke she moved towards the Georgian table.

Restraining her, Jim said, ‘Thank you. I’ll have a glass of wine. But I’ll get it. Don’t trouble yourself.’

Emma watched him stride across the room with that easy grace that sprang from self-confidence engendered by breeding and background, and she saw him yet again through newly objective eyes, wondering why she had never detected his uncanny resemblance to Adam. Perhaps it’s more apparent because of the Edwardian evening clothes, she decided, and looked into the fire, filled with remembrances of things past.

Jim returned with his drink.

Emma lifted her glass. ‘I understand from Paula you want to speak to me.’

‘Yes, I do, Mrs Harte. But first I have something for you.’ He put down the drink and reached into his pocket. He took out a small silver cardboard box and handed it to her.

Emma looked up at Jim. ‘What is it?’

‘Open it,’ Jim said.

Emma did so quickly, her curiosity aroused. The box contained a silk handkerchief, its whiteness yellowed by time, and it had been carefully folded so that the initials E.F. were clearly visible. Her hands trembled as she lifted the corners. She caught her breath, staring down at the stone lying on the ancient silk. It was the flat pebble she and Edwin had found in the cave at the Top of the World, and upon which had been painted the miniature portrait of a woman. It was extraordinarily well preserved, the oils almost as vivid as they had been over half a century ago. She picked it up and gazed at it, and then lifted her eyes to Jim’s questioningly.

‘My grandfather gave it to me the day he died,’ Jim told her, watching her face. ‘He told me to bring it to you. He wanted you to have it.’

‘Why?’ Emma asked in a low voice. So Edwin Fairley had not forgotten her, after all. He had remembered her on his deathbed.

‘I’ll get to that in a moment, Mrs Harte. I’d like to explain something else first. My grandfather knew about my relationship with Paula. You see, I took her to meet him at his house in Harrogate, when we first started seeing each other. At the time I couldn’t understand why he looked as if he’d seen a ghost when she walked in. Anyway, over the months he grew to love her and he was enthusiastic about the match. It seemed to give him renewed energy. His dearest wish was that we should marry.’

Jim paused, lit a cigarette, drew on it, and went on, ‘Then Paula suddenly broke off with me, explaining that you would never accept a Fairley in the family, that you bore us a hatred she could not understand. She told me she would never do anything to cause you pain, because you had had too much pain and grief in your life. I argued with her, begged her to discuss it with you, or let me talk to you. But she became so hysterical at the mere suggestion of this, I decided to let her calm down, hoping she would have a change of heart. She didn’t, as you know.’

Emma nodded. ‘And you explained all this to your grandfather?’

‘I did. I implored him to enlighten me. Many times, in fact. He refused point-blank. I knew you had wrested control of the Gazette from him in 1950, and I asked him if your hatred towards our family sprang from business conflicts. Again he refused to answer me or discuss you. He seemed to go downhill when Paula left me. He brought me up, you know, and we were very close, but not even I could reach him. He grew awfully frail in the last few weeks of his life, and one day last December he sent for me. I think he knew he was dying-’

‘And he gave you this stone to give to me,’ Emma interrupted. ‘And he told you the whole story, didn’t he? He told you about me and what had happened between us when we were young,’ she finished in a faint voice.

‘Yes. He told me everything. He said he hoped you would relent and give us your blessing, but if you did not, I was to come to you with this stone. He said it was imperative that you knew it was a painting of your mother and not Olivia Wainright, as he had believed when he found it.’ Jim stopped and gazed at her, trying to gauge her emotions, but Emma’s face was a mask of inscrutability.

In point of fact, Emma was not surprised at his revelation. ‘I thought it was my mother,’ she murmured softly. ‘I think I always knew that. Adam Fairley painted it, did he not?’

‘That’s correct. Grandfather took the stone to his father after Olivia died, thinking he would want to have it for sentimental reasons. Apparently Grandfather had offered it to Adam before, and once again he wouldn’t accept it. My great-grandfather then explained why. He said it was a painting of your mother, and he told Grandfather they had been childhood sweethearts.’

Emma nodded her head slowly. ‘That was another thing I suspected years ago-that there had been a friendship between them.’

Jim took a deep breath. ‘Your mother and my great-grandfather were more than friends, Mrs Harte. They were lovers.’

Emma was jolted upright on the sofa and her fingers tightened on the stone. ‘Are you certain of that, Jim?’

‘Oh, yes. Great-grandfather explained it all to Grandfather very carefully and in detail. It seems Adam fell in love with your mother, Elizabeth, and she with him. She became pregnant by Adam and ran away from Fairley. He found her some weeks later in Ripon. He had decided to abandon his military career, defy his father, and emigrate to America with your mother. It was too late. She had miscarried. Adam did not know if it was a natural miscarriage or one induced by some quack midwife. Elizabeth was very ill. She almost died. And she would not countenance Adam’s idea of elopement. Eventually she recovered, returned to Fairley, and soon after she married your father, Jack Harte. And she never spoke to Adam Fairley again.’

Emma was silent, filled with a terrible aching sadness. I knew it always she thought. That was probably one of the reasons I hated Adam Fairley with such virulence. But how did I know? Did I overhear something as a child? A family quarrel? Recriminations between my parents? Local gossip? She searched her mind and found no answers.

Jim came and sat next to her on the sofa. ‘I hope I’m not upsetting you, Mrs Harte, opening old wounds that must be painful for you. However, I felt you ought to know Grandfather had confided in me, and I wanted you to have the stone, even though you had relented about Paula and me of your own accord.’

A wistful look flitted across Emma’s face. ‘No, you’re not upsetting me, Jim. I’m glad you followed your instincts. I loved my mother very much and I don’t have a photograph of her. I shall treasure the stone. Now, please continue. I’m sure there is more.’

‘Yes, there is. When Grandfather gave me the stone for you, he said that the Harte women had always held a fatal fascination for the Fairley men, but that they had been for ever crossed in love. “Doomed by circumstances of birth” was the phrase he used. He said, “Tell Emma to let it end now. Tell her to let this generation have the happiness she and I were denied, and which her mother and my father were denied. Tell her that in all good conscience she must end it, once and for all. Tell her it is she, and she alone, who can finally join our two families together in holy matrimony.” He was very emotional, Mrs Harte. I said I would do as he asked.’

Emma took Jim’s hand in hers, and her eyes, so old and wise, were moist. ‘Why didn’t you come to me before, Jim? Your grandfather has been dead three months.’

‘I was going to come to you in January, but then you and Paula left unexpectedly for America. When you returned, you fell ill. I intended to speak to you a few weeks ago, but you were so preoccupied I didn’t want to disturb you, particularly so soon after your illness.’ He smiled. ‘And then out of the blue you approached me and said you would approve of the marriage if we both still felt the same way.’

‘I’m glad I made the first move,’ Emma said. ‘Somehow it makes me feel better.’ She shook her head wonderingly. ‘It is strange, isn’t it, that three generations of Fairley men have fallen in love with Harte women and have always been thwarted until now. Three generations, Jim, spanning almost a hundred years.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Too long. And there has been too much heartbreak. Your grandfather was right. It must end now.’ She smiled. ‘Why, it has ended, hasn’t it, Jim?’

‘Yes. Thank God.’ To Emma’s surprise and astonishment Jim now knelt down on the floor at her feet and took her hands firmly between his. He looked up into her face, his eyes almost beseeching. ‘Grandfather asked me to do something else, Mrs Harte. Just before he died, he said, “When you have told Emma all this, I want you to get down on your bended knees and beg that woman’s forgiveness for everything the Fairleys have done to her. In particular, ask her to forgive me. Tell her I’ve never stopped loving her all the days of my life, and that without her my life has had no real meaning. A part of me died the day I repudiated Emma in the rose garden, and I have paid dearly for what I did.” I promised faithfully to do as he wished, Mrs Harte, but Grandfather suddenly became agitated, and made me promise over and over again. He also said, in the most sorrowing voice, “Jim, it will be an unquiet grave I lie in if Emma does not forgive me. Implore her to do so, Jim, so that my tortured soul can rest in peace.” I told him I knew you would forgive him, and eventually I managed to calm him. He fell asleep for a short while. When he opened his eyes he didn’t seem to see me. There was a faraway look on his face. He stared out of the window for a long time. When he lay back on the pillows I knew he was slipping away. Quite unexpectedly he smiled, and it was a triumphant, happy smile. He cried in the strongest voice, “Emma! Emma! I’m going back to the Top of the World,” and then he died peacefully in my arms.’

Emma blinked back her tears. ‘Poor Edwin. Poor Edwin,’ she said in a voice that quavered. ‘I think perhaps your grandfather suffered more than I did, after all.’

‘Yes, I believe he did,’ Jim said. His face became intense. ‘You do forgive the Fairleys, don’t you, Mrs Harte? And Grandfather in particular.’

‘I forgive them, Jim. All of them, and most especially Edwin.’ She touched Jim’s face lightly, and with affection. But it was Edwin she now saw kneeling before her. I’ve spent a lifetime seeking revenge for what you did to me, she thought. But it wasn’t really necessary. Your own conscience did my work for me. If only I had known. What a lot of pain and effort it would have saved. You wanted me to win. It was a salve for your overwhelming guilt. That’s why you looked so relieved when I stole the Gazette from you. You knew the vendetta was finally over.

‘Mrs Harte, are you all right?’ Jim asked anxiously.

Emma blinked and stared at him. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Now be good enough to lend me your handkerchief. I can’t go downstairs to announce your engagement with tears streaming down my face, now can I?’

‘As far as I’m concerned you can do anything you want,’ Jim said as he handed her his handkerchief.

Emma blew her nose and said, ‘I was going to tell you tonight that I had borne your grandfather’s child, Jim. I wanted you to know. My eldest daughter, the Countess of Dunvale, is your Aunt Edwina. Or rather, your half aunt.’

‘I guessed as much when I met her this evening.’ Jim grinned. ‘She looks like a Fairley, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

Emma chuckled. ‘She does indeed. She used to be the spitting image of your great-grandmother, Adele, when she was younger. Now, give an old woman your arm and escort me downstairs to greet my family.’

‘I will be honoured,’ Jim said.

SIXTY-ONE

The dinner had been in progress for some time. Emma sat at the head of the long mahogany table in her splendidly appointed Adam dining room, surrounded by her children, their spouses, and her grandchildren. The food was superb, the wines were excellent, and now a certain conviviality prevailed. Everyone appeared to be relaxed, their jealousies, hatreds, and differences buried or well concealed behind their smiling facades.

All the clowns wear masks, Emma thought, borrowing a line from a poem she had once read, for she detected an undercurrent of tension in the atmosphere, although to a degree it was less pronounced than when she had arrived in the drawing room earlier, on the arm of Jim Fairley. Her grandchildren, who loved her dearly and were fiercely loyal to her, had greeted her with enthusiasm and great affection, the camaraderie they shared most apparent. Her children had been amiable enough, if somewhat reserved, but Emma had been conscious of a cautiousness in some, veiled hostility in others, a wariness in them all, with the exception of Daisy.

She had been sardonically amused to see that the four conspirators had assiduously avoided each other. However, she had not missed the apprehensive glances Kit and Robin had occasionally exchanged when they thought they were unobserved, yet they, too, had remained aloof from one another. Even Elizabeth, who was as close to Robin as ever, had adroitly sidestepped her twin, hovering attentively over Blackie, fawning and flattering him. Edwina had remained by the side of her son all through the cocktail hour. The engagement had been announced, champagne toasts given, congratulations effusively offered, and despite their obvious surprise when they learned she had accepted a Fairley into the bosom of her family, her children’s expressions had hardly slipped.

Now, in the flickering candlelight, as she toyed with the dessert on her plate, Emma looked up from time to time, surreptitiously regarding the four culprits, her green eyes watchful beneath the hooded lids. She had the advantage. A lifetime’s experience in dealing with people had augmented her natural ability to assess her children’s individual capacities and handicaps. She had discovered their flaws long ago and they no longer baffled or surprised her. She could read each one like an open book. After tonight she would not have to bother. The book would be closed.

Her eyes rested briefly on Kit. How like Joe Lowther he had become over the years Plodding, phlegmatic, and lacking in imagination or initiative. And what a monumental fool he had been to throw his lot in with Robin, who would double-cross him at the drop of a hat. She shifted her glance to the latter. How handsome Robin looks tonight, she thought, and experienced a twinge of pain. Robin had always been her favourite son and the knowledge that he had been the instigator of the plot hurt more than she had realized. He was urbane and suave, the true dyed-in-the-wool politician, facile of tongue, the deal maker. Unfortunately, like his father, Arthur Ainsley, his overweening vanity was his fatal flaw, and it constantly obscured his judgements.

In many ways his twin sister was much shrewder than he, except that she rarely bothered to exercise that capacity. Emma glanced at Elizabeth, swathed in silver lamé and turquoise chiffon and dripping diamonds. Her problem was a desire to pursue pleasure to the exclusion of all else. Just like her father, too.

At forty-seven Elizabeth was still stunning, the real beauty of the family, but she was more highly strung than in her youth, brittle, and immature in innumerable ways. Emma thought: She’s a dreadfully unhappy woman. But then, when was Elizabeth ever happy? And how many husbands had she had since she divorced Tony Barkstone, father of Alexander and Emily? Emma had almost lost count. There had been Michael Villiers and then Derek Linde, by whom she had had the twins, Amanda and Francesca. After their birth Elizabeth had lost the taste for Englishmen, and had sought out more exotic fare. A Polish prince with an unpronounceable name, to be followed in quick succession by the Italian count, who was a good fifteen years younger. Some count, Emma thought dryly. More like a gigolo.

Emma now observed that the count was being excessively attentive to Edwina, who in turn was playing the role of the Dowager Countess of Dunvale to the hilt, acting condescendingly and with a display of superiority that was nauseating. How transparent Edwina was. After tonight, with the information she now had about her paternity, she would really feel obliged to turn up her snooty nose at the world.

Well, so much for those four, Emma remarked to herself with cold detachment. Little joy or comfort they’ve offered me in my old age. But they did give me my grandchildren and for that I will be eternally grateful. Emma put down her fork and sat back in her chair, smiling benignly. But her eyes were for ever watchful and if any of them had looked more closely they would have detected a cynical light glittering in their ancient depths. She moved her head and peered down the table at Blackie, who sat in the host’s chair, stately and distinguished. His hair was snow white but still abundant and wavy, his skin glowed with ruddy health, and his black eyes were as merry as they had been sixty years ago. He had become a majestic figure of a man, his bulk undiminished, his mind unimpaired, and he carried his old age blithely. He had outlived Winston and Frank, who had both died in the early 1960s within a year of each other, and David Kallinski, who had passed on in the summer of 1967. There are only the two of us left now, Emma thought. And Blackie will go on for ever. He’s an old warhorse. But then, so am I.

Emily, who was sitting further down the table, caught Emma’s attention, rolling her eyes upward, silently mouthing words Emma could not understand. She frowned and motioned for Emily to come to the head of the table.

‘What on earth’s the matter with you, Emily? You look as if you’re having a fit!’

Emily bent forward and whispered, ‘It’s Aunt Edwina, Grandy. She’s three sheets to the wind, and tilting. As usual. It’s all that wine she’s guzzled, plus the four scotches and the champagne before dinner. If you ask me, she’s got a drinking problem. She’s getting awfully snotty with Gianni. I know you don’t like him, but he’s harmless and he’s good to the twins and Mummy. I think she’s been abominably rude and he’s so uncomfortable. Mummy’s bombed, too. Not that that’s so unusual these days. Shouldn’t Hilda serve coffee?’

Emma patted Emily’s arm affectionately. ‘Good girl. I’m glad you told me. Now, do me a small favour and run upstairs. You’ll find my briefcase in the parlour. Put it behind the desk in the library.’

‘I will, Grandy. In just one minute.’ Emily returned to her place at the table, reached over, and picked up her glass. She stood behind her chair and cleared her throat loudly. ‘Please, be quiet, everyone!’ she pronounced in a strong voice. The buzz of conversation stopped abruptly and they all looked at her in surprise.

The self-confident Emily, who was never put out by anything, exclaimed, ‘Far be it from me, as a member of the younger generation of this family, to suggest that someone here has been remiss tonight. But I would like to point out that no one has proposed a toast to Grandmother, who has just recovered from a serious illness. I think we should drink to her continuing good health. For we all love her very dearly-’

Emily paused and glared at Robin and Kit, whom she detested. Her green eyes, so like Emma’s, were condemning. ‘And so I am going to propose a toast to her. To Emma Harte. A great lady. To whom we all owe so much. May she be with us for a long time to come. To Emma Harte!’

‘To Emma Harte!’ they said in unison, raising their glasses.

Emma was moved by Emily’s gesture. But, perhaps more importantly, she was proud of her twenty-one-year-old granddaughter. She’s got guts, that one, Emma thought, and she’s not afraid of anyone, least of all her uncles. Emma took in the furious expressions on the faces of her sons, and she concealed a small smile as she rose to her feet.

‘Thank you,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘And now let us adjourn to the library for coffee and liqueurs.’ And the last round, she added silently, thinking of the winning cards she had up her sleeve.

SIXTY-TWO

The library was a large room with a high-flung ceiling and mullioned windows looking out on to the grounds. With its western aspect and early eighteenth-century pine panelling, it made a gracious setting for the fine antique tables and cabinets, the grand Chippendale desk, the many books, the comfortable sofas covered in light green floral chintz, the dark green velvet chairs and matching draperies.

Emma walked briskly across the Aubusson carpet that covered the dark wood floor and stood in front of the massive carved stone fireplace, the original that dated back to 1611, when Pennistone Royal had been built. She spread her hands and warmed them in front of the log fire and then looked up at the overmantel that soared to the ceiling. Her eyes settled on the relief in its centre. How appropriate, she thought, with a faint ironic smile. It depicted the Judgement of Solomon.

Emma swung round as Emily hurried in breathlessly. She held up the briefcase, grinned, and deposited it behind the desk, and then flitted over to the fireplace, the red chiffon flaring out behind her. She hugged Emma. ‘I do adore this dress, Grandy. Thank you again for giving it to me.’

Smiling affectionately, Emma touched Emily’s cheek, the gesture tender. ‘You may also keep the earrings, dear.’

Emily gasped. ‘Oh, I couldn’t! Are you sure?’ Emily stared at her grandmother, her eyes sparkling. ‘You do mean it. I can tell by the look on your face. Oh, you are a darling. Thank you. Oh, gosh!’ She broke off and her young face fell. ‘Mummy’s going to be as mad as hell. She was furious when she saw me wearing them.’

Emma swallowed a smile. ‘I think I can dispose of my jewellery any way I like, Emily. It’s none of your mother’s business, or anybody else’s for that matter. Don’t give it another thought.’

Sarah, Kit’s only child, appeared in the doorway. She made a striking picture in her bottle-green velvet gown, her russetgold hair tumbling around her freckled face to soften her angular features. Thank God she doesn’t take after her father or her grandfather, Joe, Emma thought, as Sarah joined them at the fireplace.

The twenty-six-year-old tucked her arm through Emma’s possessively and said with a frown. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with my father. He’s been edgy all evening. I just ran into him in the Stone Hall talking to Uncle Robin. They both looked like thunder and seemed to be having a terrible row. I hope they won’t spoil this lovely party with their bickering. They’re impossible, as usual.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing of any consequence, Sarah. Don’t worry,’ Emma said. She thought: So, the conspirators are at each other’s throats. Not surprising.

Emily volunteered in her breathless voice, ‘I think all the oldies have been behaving a bit strange since they got here. Sort of jittery, Grandy. Especially Mummy. But then she’s always a bag of nerves. Oh, well, who cares. We’re having fun.’

‘Indeed we are,’ Emma said, and plunged into an animated discussion about business with her granddaughters.

The others began to stroll in gradually. They seated themselves around the room or clustered in groups. Hilda, the housekeeper, served coffee and the butler dispensed afterdinner drinks and cigars. Blackie strolled over to Emma, nursing a brandy and puffing on a cigar.

‘A lovely evening, Emma.’ He peered down into her face. ‘And you look wonderful, mavourneen. If I were two years younger I’d be asking ye to marry me. On the blessed heads of the saints I swear I would,’ he laughed, lapsing into his brogue as he was wont to do of late.

‘There’s no fool like an old fool,’ Emma laughed. Her face sobered. ‘And talking of fools, don’t you think you ought to take it easy with these?’ she asked, indicating the drink and cigar.

‘I hardly have to worry about my health at my age. I’m living on borrowed time as it is,’ he exclaimed, and continued, ‘Bryan sends you his love. And I’m happy to announce that Geraldine’s expecting me third grandchild.’

‘Congratulations, Blackie. That is wonderful.’

Elizabeth, who looked feverishly excited, pounced on Blackie and dragged him away, chatting incessantly as she led him over to her husband. Emily and Sarah drifted off and Emma stood alone in front of the fireplace quietly observing the scene. She felt completely at ease with herself and she was enjoying the company of her nine grandchildren, who in their different ways gave her such happiness. One by one, the younger generation gravitated to her. They kept her entertained and warmed her tired heart and she basked in the love that flowed out from them. And her conviction that she had been right in all she had done to preserve her dynasty was more strongly reinforced in her than ever.

Philip, whom she had recalled from Australia earlier that week, recounted anecdotes about happenings at the sheep station, and as she listened she was filled with fond memories of Dunoon and of the happy times she had spent with Paul and Daisy in that lovely old house. Paul would be proud of his grandchildren, she thought. They turned out well. Philip was as straight as a die, intelligent, and a hard worker, and he was proving himself a good businessman. Along with Paula he would ensure the continued success of the McGill enterprises.

Emma glanced over at her granddaughter, who was totally absorbed in Jim Fairley and radiating happiness, and her mind turned automatically to the Fairleys. She had brought ruin to that family and she wondered if it had all been worth it. But regrets were a waste of time. She remembered words uttered years before by Paul. ‘Success is the best revenge, Emma,’ he had said. Perhaps her own success would have been enough in the long run, and yet without her hatred for the Fairleys to goad her on she might not have reached the pinnacle. Revenge had been the spur. Now she was in the valley of her life, and after tonight she could relax, secure in the knowledge that all she had built was intact for this generation, and the ones that followed.

I must get it over with. Be done with it, she said to herself. An hour had already passed and it was time to show her hand. She quietly disengaged herself from the group in front of the fireplace and edged her way around her guests until she was standing in front of her desk at the far end of the room.

‘Can I have your attention, please,’ Emma said, walking behind the desk. The buzz of conversation continued unabated. She picked up a glass paperweight and banged it hard on the leather blotting pad. There was a lull as they stopped talking and all faces turned to look at her. ‘Please make yourselves comfortable. I have a little family business to go over with you.’

Glances were anxiously exchanged by some, and they all did as she asked. When they were settled, Emma sat down at the desk and opened her briefcase. She removed the pile of documents and spread them out before her, taking her time. Her glance caught Jonathan’s, who winked and gave her a broad smile. He looks more like Arthur Ainsley than Robin, she mused, shuffling the papers. It’s fortuitous his character is more like mine. She smiled at Jonathan. ‘Please be good enough to get me a glass of water, dear.’ Jonathan sprang up and did as she asked. Emma took a sip, savouring the moment, purposely keeping the plotters on tenterhooks.

Emma picked up a document at last and her voice rang out:

‘I, Emma Harte Lowther Ainsley, of Pennistone Royal, Yorkshire, being of sound mind and body do hereby declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all wills and codicils heretofore made by me.’

A collective gasp rose on the air. Emma paused and lifted her silver head. All eyes were on her and the silence in the room was suddenly so acute a pin dropping would have sounded like a clap of thunder. Emma smiled, deriving malicious enjoyment from the astonished expressions on the faces of her children. Only Daisy and the grandchildren seemed unperturbed.

Emma smiled, but her eyes were steely. ‘I know it is not the usual practice for a will to be read by the testator, but there is apparently no legal reason why this cannot be done. Unorthodox perhaps, but then, I’ve never been one to conform to the rules.’

‘Isn’t this a bit morbid, Mother?’ Elizabeth exclaimed unsteadily, her face strained.

‘Please don’t interrupt me! And no, I don’t think it is morbid.’ Emma tapped the will and went on, ‘This is rather an unwieldy document to read word by word, since it is over a hundred pages long. It is also full of legal terminology. Therefore, I think it will be easier to cut through it all and tell you, in simple language, how I have disposed of my business holdings, properties, and not inconsiderable wealth.’

Emma leaned back in the chair. Her eyes swept around the room, keenly observing. No one uttered one word and the four who had conspired against her looked as if they had been turned to stone images in their chairs.

Placing the will to one side, Emma continued, ‘Before I proceed with the disposition of my estate, I would like to clarify something. I think there is probably a misunderstanding about the McGill empire which I inherited. It struck me recently that there might be those amongst you who believe Paul left me everything unconditionally, and that I can therefore dispose of the McGill fortune in any way I see fit. However, this is not the case.’

She took a sip of the water and shifted in her seat. She looked at the gathering at large and said in a solemn tone, ‘Under the terms and conditions of Paul McGill’s last will and testament, his natural daughter, Daisy Ainsley Amory, automatically inherits the entire estate when I die. From her, the estate passes to her two children, Paula McGill Amory and Philip McGill Amory, to be divided in equal shares between them after their mother’s death.’

Low murmurings broke out. Emma held up a silencing hand. ‘During her lifetime, Daisy will receive the income from the McGill estate, with the Rossiter Merchant Bank acting as trustees. I have appointed Daisy executrix of the McGill estate and Henry Rossiter as co-executor. Upon my death, Daisy’s daughter, Paula, will take my place on the board of the Sitex Oil Corporation and will act on behalf of her mother, as she has been trained by me to do. Also, upon my death, Daisy’s son, Philip, will take full control of the McGill holdings in Australia and will run them for his mother, which he has been learning to do under my supervision for the past three years. I assume you all clearly understand that in no way can any of my other children, or grandchildren, inherit one single penny from the McGill estate.’

No one spoke. Emma’s narrowed eyes travelled swiftly across the faces staring at her with rapt intensity. Whatever her other children were thinking, they were keeping their feelings to themselves and their faces were unmoving.

She said, ‘With the McGill inheritance clarified, I will now commence with the disposition of my own estate.’ Emma felt the tension and expectancy increase so palpably it seemed to reach out and touch her in waves. Her gaze settled on Edwina’s only child, the thirty-two-year-old Earl of Dunvale, grandson of Edwin Fairley and half cousin to Jim. ‘Anthony, please come here and stand by me.’

The young earl, who was rather shy, looked momentarily startled to be singled out, but, none the less, he did as she asked and took up a position to the right of Emma. She flashed him a smile and turned back to face the others. ‘My eldest grandson, Anthony, will receive the income from a two-million-pound trust which I have created for him. I also give to Anthony my house in Jamaica, British West Indies, and all furnishings therein, with the exception of the paintings currently hanging in that house.’ Emma looked up at Anthony, who was astonished and speechless. She said, ‘I have not left you any interest in my business because you have never worked for me, and also because you are fully occupied running your estates in Ireland and the various business ventures you inherited from your father.’ She paused and gave him a penetrating stare. ‘I hope you understand and do not feel cheated in any way.’

‘Good Lord, Grandmother, absolutely not!’ he cried, blushing. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed. You’ve been generous beyond belief. Thank you.’ He made to return to his seat.

Emma restrained him. ‘Stay here with me,’ she said. Anthony nodded and stepped back, standing behind Emma’s chair at the right. ‘Now to come to my two youngest grandchildren, Amanda and Francesca.’ She beckoned to the fourteen-year-old twins, daughters of Elizabeth, grandchildren of Arthur Ainsley, who sat on the floor at Blackie’s feet. They stood up, looking slightly bewildered, and approached the desk holding hands.

‘Stand over there by your cousin, girls,’ Emma instructed. ‘I have also established a trust of two million pounds for Amanda and the same for Francesca, who will receive the income from said trusts upon reaching the age of eighteen.’ She swivelled to regard the twins. ‘I know you are a little young to understand these proceedings. I will explain everything to you later.’

‘Yes, Grandy,’ they said together. Amanda cried tearfully, ‘You’re not going to die, are you, Grandmother?’

Emma shook her head and smiled reassuringly. ‘No, not yet, dear. But I must make proper provision for your futures. That’s what this is all about.’

‘We can come and live with you, can’t we?’ Francesca asked plaintively, her face puckering up.

‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow, dear.’

Emma leaned forward, clasping her hands together, and her voice, always strong, sounded more vibrant than ever. ‘I will now discuss the disposition of Harte Enterprises, the company that controls my clothing factories, woollen mills, Deerfield Estates, the Roe Land Development Corporation, as well as the General Retail Trading Company and the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company. As you know, it is a holding company worth many millions of pounds and I own one hundred per cent of the shares-’

She broke off, took a sip of water, and leaned back in the chair, her face inscrutable. A faint smile touched her lips fleetingly. As raptly attentive as the four conspirators had been before, they were now mesmerized. She looked pointedly at Robin and then at Kit.

‘I bequeath to my grandson Alexander Barkstone, fifty-two per cent of my shares in Harte Enterprises.’

She heard Kit suck in his breath, incredulity spreading across his face. Robin gasped, ‘My God!’, turned ashen, and half rose. Emma glared. ‘To continue. I bequeath to my grandchildren Sarah Lowther, Jonathan Ainsley, and Emily Barkstone the rest of my shares in Harte Enterprises. Said shares to be divided equally between these three, each one receiving sixteen per cent of the remaining shares.’

She motioned to the four beneficiaries to come to the desk. They stood before her, their faces suitably serious. Emma looked at each one of them in turn and said evenly, ‘I hope you understand my reasoning behind the disposition of Harte Enterprises. After careful deliberation, I decided the only way to preserve the company, and prevent any dissension or quarrelling later, was to put control of the company into one person’s hands. In my considered opinion, Alexander is the best equipped, in knowledge and experience, to run the company. But this is no reflection on your capabilities, which are superior. You will continue to work in the subsidiaries and take control of your own divisions upon my death. And of course, you will derive considerable income from the shares I have given you. I have also established a one-million-pound trust for each one of you, Alexander included. I hope you don’t think I’ve played favourites, or been unfair.’

They reassured her that they fully understood, individually thanked her profusely, and stepped to the left of the desk. Sarah looked fixedly at the stone fireplace, unable to meet Kit’s angry gaze. She knew her father had expected to inherit a large chunk of the Harte Enterprises shares. Jonathan looked down at his feet, avoiding Robin’s glaring countenance for the same reason. But the saturnine Alexander and his ebullient sister, Emily, seemed unconcerned about Elizabeth. Their mother’s reaction was one of bewilderment bordering on stunned disbelief.

Emma continued, ‘To digress for a moment from my business holdings. I would like to tell you how I am disposing of my various homes, collections of art, sculpture, and jewellery. To my grandson Philip McGill Amory, I leave the remainder of my art collection and sculpture, with the exception of the paintings here at Pennistone Royal, which currently repose in my various other homes, executive offices in London, Paris, and New York. Philip, please come and join your cousins.’

Philip paused at the desk and thanked her. She said, ‘I am not leaving you anything else, Philip, because you are going to be a multi-millionaire under your grandfather’s will. I hope you appreciate my motives.’

‘I do indeed, Grandy. You have been eminently fair.’

‘Now to my other homes. I bequeath the following residences to the following of my grandchildren. To Alexander, the villa at Cap Martin in the South of France. To Sarah, the house in Belgrave Square. To Emily, the Avenue Foch apartment in Paris. To Jonathan, the Fifth Avenue apartment in New York. The same grandchildren will also inherit all the furnishings in said residences. My jewellery, with the exception of my emeralds, is to be divided equally amongst my granddaughters Sarah, Emily, Francesca, and Amanda.’

Emma stopped and signalled to Daisy with her eyes. Her youngest daughter, acutely aware of the antipathy in the room, rose and glided swiftly across the floor, positioning herself next to her son, Philip. Emma said, ‘To my daughter Daisy, I give the McGill emerald ring, earrings, and necklace, given to me by her father. I also bequeath to her this house, Pennistone Royal, and all of its contents, to be used by her during her lifetime. Upon Daisy’s demise it will pass to her daughter, Paula.’

Mutterings and whisperings rippled in the air. Dresses rustled. Chairs creaked as bodies were shifted angrily. Her four eldest children, seated at the opposite side of the room, were staring at her with open antagonism, but Emma’s gaze did not waver, and her face was implacable. Her eyes focused on Jim Fairley. She lifted a document from the pile. ‘This is for you, Jim,’ she said, putting it in an envelope quickly and holding it out to him.

Jim was taken aback, his eyes widening, and then he hurried to her side. She handed him the envelope. ‘This is your new contract, ensuring your employment with the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company for the next ten years. Peruse it, show it to your solicitors, and return it to me next week. Signed. I am also appointing you managing director of the company, to take effect next month, with an increase in salary.’

‘Thank you very much, Mrs Harte. I don’t know how to express my gratitude. I will-’

Emma said crisply. ‘Later, Jim. And please, stay here with the others.’ Emma lifted the glass of water and drank deeply, emptying the glass. She straightened up in the chair, her demeanour imperious, her face glacial. ‘I now come to the disposal of the Harte department-store chain. Something I’m quite certain you’ve all been anxiously waiting to hear about.’ She stopped, her eyes becoming reflective. ‘I built that chain from nothing, with the toil of these hands.’ She lifted them in the air for them all to see. ‘A lifetime’s work has gone into building that chain into what it is today. One of the biggest in the world. I decided several weeks ago that it must pass into the right hands, that it must go to the one person who would ensure its continuation, who would run it efficiently, in the manner in which I have always run it-’ She bit off the end of her sentence dramatically. The silence was overwhelming now, the tension almost unbearable.

‘I give and bequeath all of my shares in Harte Stores to my granddaughter Paula McGill Amory. I also give to Paula the remainder of my emerald collection.’

Automatically Paula rose, discovering to her dismay that her legs were unsteady as she traversed the long stretch of carpet. But she kept her face expressionless, her eyes pinned solely on Emma. Alerted for trouble though she had been all week, she had not expected anything quite as dramatic, and she dared not think of the repercussions. She stood in front of the desk. ‘Thank you for the trust you are showing in me, Grandmother. I promise Harte Stores will be safe always.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that, darling?’ Emma said.

Paula stepped towards the others who ringed Emma like a phalanx. Grandmother’s divided the room into two camps, Paula said to herself, and wondered with sharpening interest what was going to happen next.

‘Finally, I have appointed my daughter Daisy Amory as executrix of my estate, and Henry Rossiter, of the Rossiter Merchant Bank, as co-executor.’

Edwina, Kit, Robin, and Elizabeth were paralysed with shock, and Emma saw hatred mingled with bitterness and disappointment gleaming on their cold faces. She sat perfectly still, waiting for the furore to begin.

It was Robin who recovered first. He sprang up, his face apoplectic. ‘Now look here, Mother. You’ve been grossly unfair. You have cold-bloodedly cut us out of your will, deprived us of what is rightfully ours. I fully appreciate the ramifications of the McGill estate, but your own fortune and business holdings should have automatically come to your children. We are your legal heirs. I don’t intend to accept this. I am going to contest the will, and the others will back me. Undue influence has obviously been brought to bear on you. I will prove that you were incompetent when you drew it. You are obviously no longer responsible for your actions. Any court of law will recognize that. Furthermore-’

‘Shut up and sit down,’ Emma said, her voice cutting through the air. She stood up and gripped the edge of the desk. ‘I did indeed cut you out of my will. And for good reason. You see, I know you four plotted to wrest my empire from me, to get everything for yourselves, even at the expense of your own children.’ She laughed sardonically. ‘I think I might have had a grudging respect for you if you had been subtle in your scheming. I’ve always admired clever adversaries. But you were inept and obvious.’ She sucked in her breath. ‘And there was a fatal flaw in your plot. You underestimated me.’

She gazed at them, her eyes thin green slits beneath the old lids. ‘Henry Rossiter once described you as a nest of vipers. How right he was. You really don’t deserve any consideration in view of your unconscionable behaviour. But I am not as vindictive as you might suppose, and as many others would be in my place. And so I have decided not to revoke the trust funds I established for each of you some years ago.’ Emma’s lip curled with disdain. ‘As for contesting my will, well, I expected that. I second-guessed you on that one, Robin. And I am prepared for that contingency.’

Emma picked up an envelope, from which she took four pieces of paper. She held them up in the air and fluttered them between her fingers. ‘These are cheques made out to each one of you. The value of each cheque? One million pounds. A drop in the bucket to what you would have received if you had not betrayed me, but, nevertheless, a lot of money by anybody’s standards.’ She smiled cynically. ‘Don’t think these are outright gifts. They are not. I am simply buying you. And I know you all have a price.’

Placing the cheques on the desk, she picked up a sheaf of documents. ‘If you each accept your cheque for one million pounds, cashable on Monday, incidentally, you will sign an individual contract with me.’ She waved the documents she was holding at them. ‘They are already drawn, as you can see. Each contract is a legal agreement between us, stipulating that you will not challenge my will. As a lawyer, Robin, you know that by signing such an agreement and accepting monetary consideration, you cannot ever contest.’

Her eyes flickered from Robin to Kit, Edwina, and Elizabeth. ‘Let me warn you now I have made certain my will is irrevocable. Since this is the case, you might wonder why I am prepared to give you each one million pounds. Very simply, to prevent your disturbing my business empire with so much as a single ripple, and to ensure none of you causes trouble for my grandchildren.’ She took hold of the cheques again, waving them in the air. ‘Let’s just say I believe in insurance policies.’

She sat down, gazing at them unemotionally. Kit had slumped in the chair. He was flustered, and he could not meet her eyes. Elizabeth was nervously twisting her hands together, held in the grip of obvious indecision, while Robin, the ringleader, had adopted an expression of false bravado. Of them all, it was Edwina who seemed the calmest, the least concerned.

Emma, who had paid no attention to her daughters-in-law or her son-in-law, the count, during the proceedings, now addressed them. ‘Would you like to confer with your better halves?’ she asked, and laughed. ‘A million pounds is a hell of a lot of money to turn down.’ June and Valerie, who had always been fond of Emma and were obviously horror-stricken at the duplicity of their husbands, shook their heads mutely. And the count, aware of his rocky position in the family, also politely declined.

‘Come on, make up your minds,’ Emma snapped. ‘I haven’t got all night.’ She stood up and briskly began to return the documents to the briefcase. ‘Suit yourselves. But I’m warning you for the last time, you won’t win if you attempt to contest the will after my death. Never. I will outsmart you from the grave.’

Elizabeth roused herself first. ‘Where’s the pen?’ she cried, standing up, avoiding Robin’s furious gaze. Edwina followed her. Robin joined them, bristling with rage. They all signed the contracts and accepted their cheques. Kit was the last. Emma noticed that his hand shook and he was quite unable to look her in the face.

Emma locked the contracts in her briefcase. ‘Well, now that this little bit of family business has been completed satisfactorily, I suggest we continue the party.’

There was a moment of absolute silence and everyone gaped at her, and then the pandemonium she had anticipated earlier suddenly broke loose. They all started to speak at once, thronging around her. Emma picked up her briefcase and said, ‘Please excuse me for a few moments.’ She took hold of Paula’s arm. ‘Go up to the parlour with Jim. I would like to see you both alone for a moment. And take my briefcase with you, please.’

‘Of course, Grandy.’

Emma glided across the room. She tucked her arm through Blackie’s. ‘Will you come and have a quiet drink with me?’

‘I’d be delighted,’ Blackie said. He tilted her face to his, as was his way, and looked deeply into her eyes, his own twinkling. ‘Quite a performance, Emma. Quite a performance!’

Emma smiled back at him, but she remained silent, and together they left the library, crossed the Stone Hall, and followed Paula and Jim up the great curving staircase. Something prompted Emma to pause at the bend in the stairs. She turned and glanced back. Kit, Edwina, Robin, and Elizabeth were standing in the doorway of the library, watching her ascent, their faces unreadable. But she knew what they were thinking. She straightened up and with one foot she kicked out the back of her chiffon gown in a flippant gesture of disdainful dismissal. And she continued up the stairs, as proud and as regal as ever.

Upon entering the parlour, Emma excused herself and went through into her bedroom. She returned a few minutes later to find Jim and Paula seated on one sofa, Blackie on the other. She stood in front of the fireplace and looked from Jim to Paula. ‘Have you told Paula the extraordinary story of the Harte women and the Fairley men?’

Jim said quickly, ‘No, I haven’t, Mrs Harte. I felt it was up to you to do so.’

‘What extraordinary story?’ Paula asked curiously.

‘I’ll let Jim recount it to you. He’ll tell you later. This is not the time.’ Now Emma uncurled her right hand. ‘I found this locket amongst my mother’s things after she died. It is engraved “A to E 1885”. I know that it was given to my mother, your great-grandmother, by Adam Fairley, Jim’s greatgrandfather. I want you to have it, Paula.’

Intrigued, Paula took the locket and examined it. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will keep it always.’ She looked at Jim. ‘You must tell me the story when we go downstairs. It sounds fascinating.’

Emma now turned to Jim. ‘I also found this gentleman’s gold tie-pin with the locket. Could it have belonged to your great-grandfather?’

‘Why, I believe it did!’ Jim exclaimed, turning it over in his hand. ‘There was a photograph of Great-grandfather in Grandfather Edwin’s desk which I found when I was going through his possessions. Adam was a very young man when it was taken and he was dressed in riding clothes. I’m quite positive he was wearing this in his stock.’

‘Please keep it, Jim,’ Emma said softly.

‘Why, thank you, Mrs Harte. I’m very touched. And thank you for the contract, and the promotion. For everything. I didn’t expect-’

‘It was the least I could do,’ Emma interrupted. ‘Now run along, you two, and enjoy yourselves. I want to talk to Blackie for a while. We’ve hardly exchanged a word all night. We’ve a lot of gossip to catch up on.’

Jim stood up. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You are indeed a great lady, Mrs Harte.’

Emma smiled. Paula hugged her grandmother and whispered in her ear, ‘I knew you were a foxy old thing, and that you were up to something. But even I was flabbergasted. You’re still full of surprises, Grandy. And I do love you.’

Emma watched them leave the parlour together, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. They’ll be all right, she said to herself.

Blackie regarded her carefully, puffing away on his cigar, his black eyes filled with tenderness. He had loved her for sixty-four years, his wild young colleen of the moors. They had come a long way together, shared so much sorrow and joy, and she never failed to amaze him. Eventually he said, ‘So the vendetta has finally ended. You have united the two families at last. Paula will become a Fairley.’ He smiled at her gently. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re a sentimental old woman, after all, Emma Harte.’

‘Yes, perhaps I am.’ Emma settled back against the sofa and smoothed her gown. ‘You know, Blackie, if I live long enough I will have Fairley great-grandchildren to bounce on my lap. Who would ever have believed that!’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I’m so glad I relented about Jim and Paula. It’s their happiness that counts now. They are the future.’

Blackie said, ‘Aye, indeed they are.’ He rose and strode across to the Georgian table. ‘Would you like a drink, Emma?’ he asked, pouring himself a cognac.

‘I’ll have a Bonnie Prince Charlie, please.’

Blackie returned and sat next to her on the sofa. They clinked glasses. ‘Here’s to those we’ve loved and lost, to those we’ve loved and kept, and to those of ours who are yet to be born, Emma.’

‘Yes, to the next generation, Blackie.’

They sat in silence for a while, ruminating, and as at ease with each other as they had always been since the first day they had met on the moors above Fairley village. Suddenly Blackie took her hand in his. He said, ‘It’s an extraordinary road you’ve travelled, Emma, in your quest for power and wealth, and I’m curious. Tell me, did you discover anything special along the way that you would like to impart to your old friend?’

‘Yes, Blackie, I did. I believe I learned the secret of life.’

Blackie looked at her intently. ‘And what is that, mavourneen?’

Emma gazed back at him for a prolonged moment. And then she smiled that incomparable smile which illuminated her face with radiance.

‘It is to endure,’ she said.