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She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did she would have to defend herself. She had no other choice.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_990ecab2-d46d-54d0-8921-bee074fce53c)
Linnet was glad to be off the moors for once, and she experienced a sense of relief as she crossed the long meadow behind Pennistone Royal. It was going to snow, and very soon; she knew from experience that the worst thing that could happen was to be caught on the moors in bad weather.
When she finally arrived at the old, wrought-iron gate that led into the estate she pushed it open, hurried past the vegetable gardens, and only slowed her pace when she came to the parterres cut into the back lawn.
She stood there for a second surveying the intricate designs, as always intrigued by their geometric precision. ‘Best seen from the air, them there parterres,’ Wiggs used to say to her when she was a little girl and he was a young gardener. ‘But I don’t have an aeroplane,’ she would protest, staring at him perplexed. ‘An upstairs window then?’ he would suggest with a big wink. And she would wink back, the way he had taught her, run into the house, up the stairs and into a back bedroom. From there she could see the parterres from high up, just as Wiggs had said. She had always had a soft spot for him; now he was head gardener at Pennistone Royal and in charge of the whole estate.
On this cold morning she thought the parterres looked a bit sad. But in the spring and summer the geometrical patterns would be bristling with tender young leaves and the small, flowering plants that brought vivid colour to the dark earth. And elsewhere on the estate the many fountains would be spraying water high into the bright sunlight, and the famous Rhododendron Walk, which her mother had created over thirty years ago, would be in full bloom. That was the time of year she loved the gardens best of all, when there was such renewal, and everything was bursting with life and the air was fragrant with mingled scents.
Linnet shivered under the sharp wind and hurried on, huddling down into her coat, wanting to get home to stand in front of one of the roaring fires, to warm herself until she was thawed out.
Within a few minutes the front façade of the house loomed up in front of her, and she came to a stop, gazing up at it with admiration. There was a timelessness about it that never failed to move her … how much this house must have seen over the hundreds and hundreds of years it had been standing. The dramas of families and so many lives. Happiness and joy, pain and suffering, death and loss, love and marriage and the bearing of children. An endless, enduring cycle, her grandfather was prone to saying, always adding, ‘If only these venerable old stones could talk, what stories they could tell.’
Rooted in the seventeenth century, Pennistone Royal had a majestic dignity with its mingling of Renaissance and Jacobean architecture. The grey stone walls were intersected with many mullioned windows and topped with crenellated towers, whilst tall chimneys punctuated the roof. When she had been a very little girl she had thought of those chimneys as sentinels standing guard over the house and everyone in it – especially her family.
She smiled at the remembrance; she had been such an imaginative, fanciful child.
As her eyes roamed over it she realized just how much she loved this ancient house. It was her safe haven, her home, just as it had been Emma’s home for so many years of her long life. Linnet felt her great-grandmother’s presence in every corner of it, and this was another reason she cared about it so much. Grandy Emma would want me to have it, when my time comes, Linnet mused, but I hope that’s not for years and years …
She lifted her eyes and glanced up at the sky as she began to walk on at a brisk pace. As usual it had changed yet again: bloated, heavy with cloud, it looked curiously luminous, streaked with pale, silvery light. Suddenly her face was thoroughly wet … it had started to snow and the flakes were whirling around her in great flurries, settling on her scarf and her coat.
Not wasting another moment, Linnet began to run, her loden coat flying out behind her.
Bryan O’Neill had arrived at Pennistone Royal over an hour ago, and once he had looked in on his grandson, Desmond, who was recovering from the flu, he had made his way to the upstairs parlour.
Positioning himself at a window, he had stood there ever since, looking out at the moors, anxiously waiting for Linnet to return, worried about her.
Now, as he saw her sprinting along the path, he relaxed for the first time since entering the house. Convinced that she was going to get lost in a blizzard, as she had once before, he had been on tenterhooks.
With her suddenly in his direct line of vision, his spirits lifted considerably, and he felt his taut shoulders relaxing. A small sigh escaped. He tried so hard not to have favourites amongst his grandchildren – he loved them all – but there was no denying he loved this one the best, even though Desmond happened to be the apple of his eye, the long-awaited male heir-apparent.
Linnet was a wonderful young woman in so many different ways, but then so were his other granddaughters. However, there was a special reason why she was close to his heart and precious to him, and it was bound up with so many of his memories and his childhood.
Bryan strode across the room and went out into the corridor, making for the central landing. In December he had celebrated his eighty-fourth birthday, but he looked nowhere near that old. Vigorous and strong, and in robust health, he was a fine figure of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of silver hair and the same merry black eyes his father Blackie had had, and which his son Shane had inherited from them both.
As he headed towards the grand staircase, Bryan heard the front door slam, and by the time he reached the top of the stairs Linnet was standing in the Stone Hall, struggling out of her coat and scarf.
Unobserved, he watched her as she put them away in an antique armoire near the front door.
It was her colouring, of course, that so captivated, so drew the eye to her: the glorious red hair shot through with golden lights, the translucent skin, the oval-shaped face with its fine, chiselled features, the wide-set eyes of a green so deep their colour appeared almost unnatural. She had been endowed with the famous Harte colouring, the famous Harte looks, and he thought she was the embodiment of true beauty.
Unexpectedly, in the inner recesses of his mind, he heard Edwina’s voice reverberating, and he instantly fell down into the past as he recalled her comments uttered thirty years ago or more. ‘All the Hartes have is pots and pots of money. Oh, and their looks, of course. There’s no denying they are a good-looking family. Each and every one of them.’
Bryan had never forgotten what she had said that day, and with such awful disdain it was chilling to the bone. It had been at the party after the christening of Lorne and Tessa at Fairley Church, in the little village at the foot of the moors. He had been shocked by her tone, and truly angered by her attitude.
Edwina was a Harte herself, Emma’s first-born child, and yet all she had ever wanted was to be a Fairley. Blackie had frequently said that her attitude was an insult to Emma, and Bryan had fully agreed with his father.
Yet what Edwina had said all those years ago did have a certain ring of truth to it, inasmuch as their looks were concerned. The Hartes were good looking, and they had been for four generations. Even the men were beautiful, and there were others in the family with Linnet’s colouring. But it was she who resembled Emma Harte exactly, was the spitting image of her right down to the widow’s peak so dramatic above her broad, smooth brow.
‘Grandpops! What are you doing here so early? You weren’t expected until tea time!’ Linnet cried, having suddenly spotted Bryan on the landing. As she spoke she ran to the bottom of the staircase, stood looking up at him, her face ringed in smiles. These two had been confidants since her childhood, and they were still close.
‘I was bored and lonely rattling around in that big old house in Harrogate all by myself, don’t you know,’ Bryan answered, and started down the stairs towards her, his step firm and steady as he descended.
‘There’s nobody here but us chickens! Well, except for Desmond, who’s still sick in bed,’ she informed him, laughing. ‘Paula and Shane are out.’
It still startled him when she called her parents by their first names, even though she’d been doing it for years, and he asked, ‘And where are your mother and father?’
‘Dad’s gone to Harrogate to meet Uncle Winston for lunch—’
‘At the Drum and Monkey, I’ve no doubt,’ he interrupted.
She grinned. ‘That’s right, and Mummy’s at the Harrogate store.’
‘I looked in on Desmond,’ Bryan said. ‘Your father told me he was under the weather, but where’s Emsie on a nasty day like this? Margaret said she was out too.’
‘Emsie went down to the village to see her friend Anne’s new horse, and she mumbled something about staying there for lunch. But you’ve got me, Gramps, and we can have a nice cosy lunch together. Margaret will be able to rustle up something special for you.’
Smiling, his black eyes sparkling, Bryan stepped into the hall and pulled his granddaughter to him, gave her a big bear hug, holding her close, loving this girl. Releasing her, he held her away from him for a moment, and said, ‘You’re looking especially bonny today, mavourneen.’
Linnet smiled up at him, linked her arm through his, and led him across the Stone Hall to the grand fireplace where a pile of huge logs were blazing up the chimney back.
‘Now, Gramps, how about a drop of your favourite Irish whiskey before lunch?’ she asked, patting his arm, giving him a wide, warm smile.
‘I wouldn’t say no, Linnet, thanks, me darlin’.’
‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart … just what you need on a day like this,’ she remarked, gliding across to a chest in one corner, where an array of bottles, glasses and an ice bucket had been lined up on a tray.
Bryan remained standing with his back to the fire, enjoying the warmth from the logs. His eyes followed Linnet, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself at the way she mothered him. She had been doing it since she was a child, just as she had been a little mother to her brother Patrick. It was instinctive with her, he supposed, and came quite naturally. One day, when she married, she would make a wonderful parent.
Instantly his thoughts veered to Julian Kallinski. Good-looking young man. Clever, too. Heir to the Kallinski empire. Now if he and Linnet did tie the knot, then Emma’s greatest wish would be fulfilled. The three clans would finally be united in marriage. He wanted that, so did Ronald Kallinski and the rest of the Kallinskis, Hartes and O’Neills.
It would be a perfect match, and he was just about to ask her about Julian when he remembered Shane’s warning of only last week. Apparently there had been too much pressure put upon them, and they were ‘cooling it’, to use Shane’s expression. No, better not mention Julian today, he decided. No point in fanning the fire.
Instead, he shifted his stance and glanced around the Stone Hall. It was large with a high ceiling criss-crossed with dark wood beams. It took its name from the local grey stone which was used everywhere – on the walls, the ceiling, the floor and the fireplace façade.
He had been sixteen years old when he had first stepped into the Stone Hall with Emma and his father. She had wanted to show them the house, which she had just bought, and they had been impressed with its grandeur. ‘Wasted space,’ she had muttered to Blackie that day, glancing around the great hall. And in the end she had turned it into one of the most splendid living rooms he had ever seen.
Despite its grand size, it had warmth and intimacy, because Emma had used large pieces of handsome Jacobean and Tudor furniture made of dark mellow woods, and comfortable oversized sofas and chairs.
To Bryan it looked exactly the way it had the day Emma had finished it, although he knew Paula had done a lot of refurbishing over the years. But she had kept Emma’s basic style, as she usually did in these things. And like Emma she had filled the room with flowering plants, which were housed in blue-and-white pots and copper buckets. Today, the tops of the polished wood tables and consoles were alive with pink, amber, and yellow chrysanthemums, orange-red amaryllis, and many of the white orchids that Paula loved and nurtured in the greenhouse.
A moment later Linnet was back with his whiskey and a small glass of sherry for herself. After handing him the whiskey, she clinked her glass to his. ‘Cheers,’ they said in unison.
Bryan took a sip, then murmured in a reflective tone, ‘I suppose you were up on those Godforsaken moors because something is troubling you.’
Linnet nodded, but did not volunteer anything.
He wondered if she was worrying about her relationship with Julian, and he asked, as casually as possible, ‘Want to talk about it?’
Linnet hesitated fractionally, then answered in a slightly hesitant voice, ‘It’s Tessa. I’m worried about her. What I mean is, I’m concerned about her attitude towards me, Gramps. She’s so hostile these days.’
‘Nothing new about that, is there?’ he asked, a snowy brow lifting quizzically.
‘Not really … I suppose. She’s often been odd with me at different times. Somewhat bullying when I was little, as you well remember. And bossy since we’ve been working at Harte’s.’
‘Competitive with you, Linnet, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I suppose so,’ she agreed finally.
Bryan was silent for a moment, ruminating, and then he remarked softly, ‘Ants in her pants, I’m afraid.’
Linnet threw her grandfather a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Mentally she has ants in her pants; can’t be still in her mind. And I’m quite sure that’s because she’s full of anxiety about her position at Harte’s. She desperately wants to be reassured that she will one day succeed your mother.’
Linnet nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely. She thinks she will. She expects to, actually.’
‘And what do you think, mavourneen?’ Bryan probed, his dark eyes resting on her with great interest.
‘I don’t know what my mother plans to do. But Tessa is the eldest of Paula’s children, and I suppose she’s entitled to inherit my mother’s job when she retires.’
Bryan shook his head vehemently. Then, taking hold of her arm, he led her towards the sofa placed nearest to the fire. ‘Let’s sit down,’ he murmured, and after settling himself in a corner against the tapestry cushions, he continued: ‘Your mother doesn’t operate that way, she’s not into those kind of rules, or the law of primogeniture as far as inheritances are concerned. I’m certain Paula will choose someone she wants to be her successor in the family business. After all, she is the largest single stockholder, not to mention CEO.’
When Linnet made no comment, Bryan added, ‘Let’s not forget she was trained by Emma Harte for many, many years, and that was her policy. She gave the key jobs to those who deserved them and could handle them. Paula will do the same.’
‘I guess you’re right, Gramps, but Tessa does very well at Harte’s, you know. She’s a pretty good executive.’
‘Could she run the store in Knightsbridge? And the whole chain as well?’ Bryan asked, looking at her keenly.
Linnet bit her lip and glanced away, acutely aware of her grandfather’s penetrating gaze, thinking of the discussions she’d had with Gideon about this very subject. And with her cousin India Standish, who worked at Harte’s. They believed that Tessa would never be able to cut it, but she fully acknowledged they were prejudiced, having suffered at Tessa’s hands in the past. Especially when they were children.
Clearing her throat, Linnet said, ‘As an executive Tessa’s very good, well organized, practical, and she handles the daily problems with skill …’ Linnet’s voice suddenly trailed off as she thought of the rows her mother had with Tessa about the future and planning ahead. She stared at Bryan, then sighed. ‘Oh gosh, Gramps, Tessa’s my sister and I love her …’
‘There’s a big but, I suspect, when it comes to certain things to do with her work.’
‘I think so. She’s great on a day-to-day basis, as I said. But Tessa never considers the future or plans ahead.’
‘No real vision, perhaps,’ Bryan pronounced. ‘There’s got to be vision in any business, but especially in retailing, otherwise the stores will go nowhere. Except down the drain eventually. That’s always been one of your mother’s strong suits, Linnet. Paula has had tremendous vision over the years, still does, and Emma often commented on it to me. It made your great-grandmother very proud, and she felt secure about leaving Harte’s to her.’
‘Mummy’s a genius in so many ways. You know, she’s really been annoyed about Tessa’s attitude regarding my project. Tessa thinks my idea for a fashion retrospective is ridiculous, that it won’t succeed. But I know it will, and Mummy’s given me her blessing.’
Bryan frowned and shook his head, his expression startled. After a moment’s thought he murmured, ‘But your fashion retrospective is a natural. It’s bound to bring in hundreds of women, and when they’re in the store they’ll spend money on the fashion floors.’
‘Exactly, Gramps! That’s the whole idea, but Tessa doesn’t get it.’
Or doesn’t want to, Bryan thought, but said, ‘The main thing is that it’s going to be a big success. You mustn’t worry about what Tessa says or thinks … only your immediate boss, and that’s your mother.’
She nodded. ‘Mummy’s thrilled I’m using such a lot of Grandy’s haute-couture clothes. Vintage clothes are very in these days, and the retrospective does cover eighty years. It’ll be fabulous and will pull in a lot of young women. India agrees.’
‘I do too, as I just said. And tell me, how is little India working out?’
‘Very well, grandfather, and she’s not so little either. She’s quite the dashing young woman.’
‘So I noticed on New Year’s Eve.’ He chuckled. ‘I always think of India as being little. You know, in the sense of petite, dainty, very delicate and feminine.’
‘That she is. But getting back to Tessa, Gideon says she doesn’t know how to handle people, that she has no empathy or compassion.’ Linnet sat back and made a small grimace. ‘Mummy’s always said it’s important to feel compassion for people if you’re an employer, and Gideon thinks Tessa lacks that quality.’
‘Do you?’
When Linnet was silent, Bryan knew the answer. But she was a fine young woman and he knew how much she disliked criticizing others. Deciding not to press for an answer, he leaned back against the cushions once more, and studied her for a moment, and quite unexpectedly his throat tightened with emotion. For he saw not Linnet O’Neill, his twenty-five-year-old granddaughter but Emma Harte when she was twenty-seven and his surrogate mother. He had been born in December 1916, and his biological mother Laura O’Neill had died almost immediately after his birth. With his father Blackie away fighting in the First World War, there was only Emma Harte, his parents’ best friend, to look after him. And so she had taken him home from the hospital and brought him up as her own. And it was her face he had gazed up at from his crib, her face he had learned to love at such a tender age.
And now, eighty-four years later, he was staring into that same face at this very moment. Of course it was not Emma he was looking at, it was Linnet, but to him she was Emma Harte reincarnated, and the resemblance between them was uncanny.
‘Gramps, are you all right? You’ve got such a funny look on your face,’ Linnet said, sounding concerned about him.
Sitting up straighter, Bryan blinked several times, then smiled at her. He coughed behind his hand, and after a moment replied, ‘I have some photographs at home of your great-grandmother when she was about your age, maybe a couple of years older than you are now. And you are her, Linnet. Why, it’s as if Emma has been reborn in you. It’s not only that you’re the spitting image of her physically, as everyone tells you these days, but you have so many of her facial expressions and her gestures, and you think like her. Certainly you have her drive, energy and talent for retailing, and you’re a good businesswoman. You’ll get even better, too, with a bit of age on you.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re the best, in my opinion.’
‘You’re prejudiced, Gramps.’
‘Perhaps. But nonetheless, you’re going to be fine … another Emma Harte.’
‘I’ll try to live up to all of the things she was, and stood for. I know she had great integrity, that she was a most honourable woman, one who knew right from wrong, and was just and fair in all her dealings.’
‘That she was indeed, and you’ll do her justice. I’ve no qualms about you, mavourneen.’ He reached out, took her hand in his. ‘My money’s on you, Linnet, and in my opinion it’s you who should take over from your mother when she retires. Harte’s should be yours.’
‘I’d like that very much, but it really is up to my mother.’
She’s probably chosen you already, Bryan thought, but for once he did not confide in his granddaughter. Instead he said, ‘I want you to have those photographs of Emma. I’ll bring them with me the next time I come over.’
‘Oh, thanks, Gramps, I’d love to have them. I’ll treasure them.’
A moment later Margaret came hurrying into the Stone Hall, and in her usual quiet and efficient way, she said, ‘Lunch is ready, Mr O’Neill … Linnet. If you’d like to come into the morning room, I’ll serve it in there, it’s much cosier than the dining room, with the fire an’ all.’
‘Thanks, we’ll come right away, Margaret,’ Bryan said, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Linnet did tell me that you’d be rustling up something special for me. Well, that’s the way she put it. So what’s for lunch?’
Margaret laughed and explained, ‘Oh, some of your real favourites, Mr O’Neill. I had a crock of Morecambe Bay potted shrimps put away for lunch tomorrow, but I thought you’d like to have them today with some of that nice thin brown bread and butter of mine, and I’ve made your real favourite, a cottage pie with fresh ground beef and a crust of mashed potatoes, puréed parsnips and peas. And for pudding you can either have freshly baked apple crumble with warm custard, just the way you like it, or trifle.’
‘Goodness, Margaret, you’ve done me proud! Everything sounds delicious,’ Bryan answered, smiling at the housekeeper. Then, turning to Linnet, as they walked together across the hall, he added, ‘I’m seriously thinking of moving in here.’
‘I wish you would, Gramps!’ Linnet exclaimed, tucking her arm through his, meaning every word she said.
‘The idea is tempting, mavourneen, but I think it’s best I remain in Harrogate. After all, Blackie built that house, and I’ve lived in it forever it seems, and I’m keeping it warm for Desmond, so to speak. It’ll be his one day, when I’m gone.’
‘Let’s not talk about you going anywhere!’ Linnet cried, bustling him forward in the direction of the morning room. ‘You’ve got lots of years ahead of you.’
‘I hope so, Linny, but as Blackie used to say, when you get to be over eighty, a man’s living on borrowed time.’
