Emma’s Secret (26 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

S
hane O’Neill listened attentively to every word Paula was saying. He always paid attention to his wife; he both admired and respected her, and he knew she never made rash statements, nor did she exaggerate.

But, nonetheless, he was alarmed by what she was saying, and when she finally sat back on the sofa and gave him a questioning look, he exclaimed, ‘But Paula darling, Jonathan Ainsley wouldn’t be stupid enough to hurt any of us physically. He’d be in serious trouble with the law if he did.’

‘I know, but he could hire somebody to do it.’

‘He’d still be in trouble, as an accessory to the crime. No, I really don’t think you have to worry about any of us being harmed, I really don’t.’

‘He’s capable of anything!’ she cried.

‘Oh, I know that only too well. I remember when he hit Winston over the head with a cricket bat when we were little. He could have killed him actually. He was a nasty little bugger then, and I suppose a leopard doesn’t change its spots.’

‘Only too true, Shane.’ Paula shifted slightly on the sofa, and looked across at her husband, gave him a hard stare, and said, ‘I suppose I’ll have to try and relax–about Jonathan, I mean. Maybe I’m being overly imaginative because of the past.’

‘Perhaps you are, sweetheart.’ He reached out, touched her face tenderly. ‘Jonathan may be vengeful and devious, but he’s by no means stupid, we all know that. He wouldn’t do anything to put himself in any kind of jeopardy with the law. And personally I think he came back because he wanted to come home to England, to be close to Uncle Robin, amongst other things.’

Paula shook her head and said quietly, ‘I don’t agree. He doesn’t have a decent bone in his body, not even when it comes to his father. But looking at it objectively, as you are doing, I’m sure he would be careful.’ She went on, ‘Did you see Philip when you arrived? Was he anywhere around?’

Shane shook his head. ‘But when I spoke to him the other night he said he wanted to go riding on the moors this morning. That’s why he decided to come to Yorkshire last night, and—’

‘But I didn’t see him,’ Paula cut in. She went on to explain, ‘I felt very tired, and I also thought I was coming down with a cold. By ten, when he hadn’t arrived, I left him a note and went to bed. And I haven’t seen him this morning. So perhaps he did go riding. Margaret said she took a cup of tea up to his room but that he didn’t come down for breakfast. She thought she saw him crossing the yard a couple of hours ago. I bet he went up to the moors.’

‘I think so. But come on, darling, your baby brother will show up eventually, and I think you and I should go for a walk. It’ll do you good, and it’s such a lovely day.’

Half an hour later, Philip McGill Harte Amory walked into the Great Hall, his riding boots making a loud clatter against the stone floor.

He made straight for the huge stone fireplace and stood warming himself, trying to thaw out. Whilst it was a beautiful morning–sunny with a blue sky–there was a cold wind blowing across the moors. Even though he had been warmly dressed, with a Barbour over his riding jacket and sweater, he had felt the chill up there under the high fells.

The ride had done him good, and he was feeling better, more refreshed than he had since he had arrived from Sydney at the beginning of the week. Back home in Australia he was on the move a lot, between the city and Dunoon, the family sheep station in Coonamble. There he rode every day and spent a lot of time outdoors on the land.

He loved Dunoon more than any place on earth; it was his true home where he felt the most comfortable and at peace. Perhaps this was because there were many wonderful memories of his beloved Maddy there, although he had also made it his safe haven when he was a boy; had become unusually attached to it early in his life.

The other place where he felt totally at ease and relaxed was this house. Pennistone Royal had been the centre of gravity for Paula, himself and all of their cousins when they were growing up, and they had congregated here around their grandmother. He, in particular, had spent a lot of time with Emma, learning everything there was to learn about the great McGill empire which he and Paula had inherited and he now ran from Sydney. ‘I learned at the knee of the master,’ he would tell anyone who asked him about his business training, and would then go on to sing the virtues of the renowned Emma Harte.

Tall, slender, dark haired, with the most startlingly blue eyes, Philip was the spitting image of his grandfather Paul McGill. And whilst he had inherited many of Paul’s traits, he was also very much a grandson of Emma Harte, and he was exceptionally proud of this. His adored Grandy had been his mentor as well as his very exacting teacher until the day she died. His life was lived on the principles she had taught him.

Moving away from the fireplace, Philip walked over to the table set against one of the end walls. Here Margaret had earlier put out a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket, a jug of tomato juice, a bottle of vodka and a variety of other soft drinks. Philip poured himself a glass of tomato juice and went and sat down on the sofa next to the fire, his thoughts veering to his daughter Fiona, who was an undergraduate at Oxford. She was the light of his life, and now, at nineteen, she had become a unique young woman, in his opinion. Bright, intelligent and mature beyond her years, she made him very proud. He always came to England in the spring to see her, and had done so since she had gone to boarding school.

Fiona had been brought up by him, and she had spent a lot of time with adults, which was probably why she was more sophisticated than most other girls her age, wise beyond her years.

She had his dark colouring, his bright blue eyes, but it was Maddy’s face that looked out at him…his wonderful, darling Maddy. His true love, who had suffered a fatal brain haemorrhage just before Fiona’s birth…his exquisite Maddy who had never regained consciousness and had died, leaving him alone. Except for Fiona. Nineteen years ago; it seemed like only yesterday sometimes. He had never remarried. No other woman had matched up to Maddy. Fiona was his only child and heiress to a good part of the McGill empire, which she had been brought up to run one day when he retired. And she would run it well, he knew that. He had instilled Emma’s rules in her from childhood.

At the sound of footsteps, Philip looked towards the front door and rose from the sofa, smiling at his sister as she hurried to him, looking anxious.

‘There you are, Pip!’ Paula exclaimed, rushing to embrace him. ‘We wondered where you were.’

After hugging her and shaking Shane’s outstretched hand, he told them, ‘I went riding. There’s nothing like a good gallop across the moors to blow the cobwebs away. It was great, but a bit chilly, I’ve got to tell you. Now, can I pour you a glass of wine or make you a Bloody Mary?’ He glanced from Shane to Paula.

‘I’ll have an orange juice, please,’ Paula said, and went and sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs.

‘Are you having a Bloody Mary?’ Shane asked, eyeing Philip’s drink.

‘No, it’s just plain old tomato juice.’

‘I’ll have the same, thanks. I don’t feel like drinking today. Well, maybe a glass of red wine at lunch.’ Shane walked across to the sofa.

Philip poured their drinks and carried them over to the fireplace where they were sitting, retrieved his own glass, then joined them. They spoke about a few inconsequential things, and then Philip turned to his sister and said, ‘I’d like to discuss something with you…something that’s troubling me, Paula.’

‘Oh dear, Pip, is there something wrong? It’s not Fiona, is it?’

‘No. It’s Evan Hughes.’

As he spoke the name, Paula knew at once that he had heard the current gossip, and was put out by it. She didn’t blame him, she herself was annoyed. She wished she knew who had started the unfortunate and galling story in the first place. Taking a deep breath, Paula said, ‘I know, I know. The story is that she’s somehow related to us, that she’s a long-lost McGill, and that she’s after
something.
I wish I knew who’d started this: I’d make mincemeat out of them. I believe this came about because some people actually think she looks like me.’

Philip instantly picked up the denial in her voice, and exclaimed, ‘But she
does,
very much so.’

‘No, she doesn’t. We’re the same
type,
that’s all,’ Paula protested, sounding irate. She shook her head vehemently.

Philip, his expression negating what she had just said, remarked, ‘You’re wrong, sweet ’art. I know you’re always right about most things, but this time you’re
wrong
.’ Philip glanced at Shane. ‘Well, she’s your wife and you’ve known her as long as I have. What do
you
think?’

‘When I first saw Evan I was struck by a likeness, but on second glance I realized I was quite mistaken.’

‘You’ve seen her then?’ Paula asked, giving her brother a long penetrating look.

‘You bet! I went over to the store on the pretext of talking to Linnet about something, and I was introduced to Evan in no time at all. She’s wonderful looking, very beautiful, no denying that, and personable. And I can understand why people might think she’s a McGill’

‘Is that when you heard the story?’ Shane asked.

‘No, it’s not. I heard the gossip on Tuesday, and I heard it in my
own
office.’

‘Good God, the gossip has stretched across London to McGill Holdings! I can’t believe it.’ Paula was astounded.

‘You know what they say, gossip travels fast. I also hear she’s engaged to Gideon.’ Philip looked from Paula to Shane.

Shane began to laugh. ‘She’s dating him, that’s all, and I think things have become overly exaggerated, Philip, I really do.’

‘Seemingly so. Nonetheless, I would like to know more about her. Have you had her background investigated?’ Philip asked Paula.

‘Of course not! I had no reason to, and I still don’t,’ Paula retorted, looking at her brother askance, suddenly annoyed.

‘I do think we ought to know more,’ Philip insisted.

‘And if we do know more, so what? She can’t plunder the McGill empire, or ask for anything, for heaven’s sake. Like Emma, Paul McGill tied everything up in trusts and foundations.’ Paula shook her head. ‘Let’s leave things alone, Pip, otherwise there’s going to be a real storm flaring up around here. Gideon’s very involved with her…’ Paula didn’t finish her sentence, but let the words drift away, dismayed by the conversation.

Shane said, ‘I think I have a solution, Philip. Paula, why don’t you talk to Evan next week when you’re back in London? Ask her a few questions about her parents, her grandparents. You can do that nicely; you might even want to have Linnet in the room with you. That may well make the girl feel more at ease.’

‘I don’t have to wait until next week, Shane,’ Paula murmured, her heart sinking slightly at the thought of confronting Evan. ‘She’s here,’ she added in a low voice.

‘What do you mean by here?’ he asked, eyeing her curiously.

‘Here in this house. She came up with Linnet and India late on Thursday. I’d promised them a weekend here, a bit of R & R. They’re all bone-tired, and they’ve worked so hard on the retrospective I thought it would be nice for them to be pampered a bit by Margaret. And me. They went to Harrogate for lunch. Linnet wanted Evan to see the store there. So I can talk to Evan later. Diplomatically, of course,’ she ended on a sigh.

‘Excellent idea,’ Philip said.

‘I hope it’s not going to create undercurrents,’ Shane muttered worriedly, and gave Paula a questioning look.

‘It won’t, I promise you,’ she reassured him.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
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IVE

I
t was just turned four o’clock when the three young women came bursting into the upstairs parlour, looking for Paula. She saw at once that they were already full of energy and exuberance again; obviously their trip to Harrogate had been successful. They look
happy,
she thought, and they’re such good friends, a wonderful team; this pleased her enormously.

Linnet and India were both shrewd, clever girls, and they would not have taken to Evan Hughes in the way they had if she was at all unsuitable, or questionable. She also trusted Gideon’s judgement, and he was smitten with her, wanted to marry her, according to Emily. She was obviously first class.

‘Hello, all of you!’ Paula greeted them with a broad smile.

‘Hello,’ they answered, in unison, and Linnet bounded over to the sofa and flopped down next to her mother, kissing her cheek with great affection.

‘How was lunch?’ Paula asked, warmth echoing in her voice.

‘Great,’ Linnet replied, smiling broadly, laughter in her green eyes. ‘Thanks for the treat, Mums.’

‘We took Evan to Betty’s Cafe,’ India volunteered. ‘She was astonished.’

‘I loved it, Mrs. O’Neill,’ Evan said, ‘such a quaint place. It reminded me of an old English movie. Oh, and the store is just beautiful.’

‘Thank you, Evan. I’m sure Linnet told you we redid it from top to bottom last year.’

Paula poured the tea and Linnet passed the cups around, and then they all sat back, chatting to her, filling her in about their morning and afternoon. India explained how they had given Evan an extensive tour of the lovely old spa city, which a hundred years ago had been a centre of health and revitalization because of the healing properties in the natural water from the underground springs.

As they talked to her, Paula surreptitiously studied Evan, and the more she scrutinized her, the more she recognized that the American girl was not really like her facially. At the same time, she understood why some people thought otherwise. Impressions could be deceptive, and Evan looked like a younger version of her, albeit unwittingly, because their style of dressing was so similar.

At one moment, Evan turned to face her and flushed slightly as she realized Paula’s eyes were intently trained on her, steely in their appraisal. Haltingly, Evan asked, ‘Is there something wrong, Mrs. O’Neill? Do I have a smudge on my face?’

Paula shook her head and offered the young woman a quick and reassuring smile. Seeing the opening she needed to launch into a conversation with her, Paula said, ‘I’m staring at you, aren’t I? That’s so rude. I’m sorry, Evan…you see, a number of people think you look like me, and I was trying to spot a few similarities.’

‘We’re the same type physically, but that’s all there is to it,’ Evan replied, relieved that Paula O’Neill had brought the matter up. She had heard the gossip at the store and it both troubled and dismayed her. It also cast a cloud over her, which now worried her because of Gideon.

Linnet said, ‘At first glance Evan does have a look of you, Mummy, but she’s right, basically you’re the same
type.
…but there the resemblance
stops.’

‘I agree, Aunt Paula,’ India volunteered.

‘Nevertheless, I would like to…well, sort of clear the air, Evan, if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions. I think we would all feel happier if we could put a stop to these silly rumours about you being a long-lost McGill.’

Evan nodded. ‘I agree. To be honest, Mrs. O’Neill, I’d never heard that name before, not until I came to work at Harte’s.’

‘Why
did
you come?’ Paula asked, leaning forward slightly. ‘I mean, what made you choose
Harte’s
above all the other stores in London?’

Evan knew there was no point fibbing, as she had to other people, saying she had come to Harte’s because she had always dreamed of working there. In many ways her whole future hung on this conversation, and only the absolute truth would do.

Taking a deep breath, Evan said, ‘I came to Harte’s because of my grandmother. She died last November in New York, in one of the hospitals there. I was with her. We were waiting for my father, her son Owen, to arrive. He was driving in from Connecticut, and he was late–because of the heavy traffic, as it turned out. Anyway, Gran and I talked a little as I sat and held her hand. At one moment she became suddenly revitalized, and she told me to leave New York, to go to London to see Emma. She said Emma Harte was the key to my future. Before I could ask her what she meant, my grandmother died. Then my father arrived, a few minutes too late to see his mother alive, and in all the upset and grief that followed I forgot about Gran’s words. Until later, that is. When I repeated them to my father he seemed truly baffled. A short while after, he remembered that my grandmother had met Mrs. Harte during the Second World War, and he told me a bit about the store. But he didn’t know much of anything.’

Paula nodded. ‘I see. So apparently there
is
some sort of connection between your grandmother and mine?’

‘I don’t think it’s a very important one,’ Evan answered, speaking with total candour, her honesty reflected on her face.

‘What was your grandmother’s name?’

‘Glynnis. Glynnis Hughes. But before she married my grandfather she was called Jenkins, and she came from the Rhondda Valley in Wales. My grandfather, Richard Hughes, was a GI stationed near London. They got married during the war, here in London, where my father was born. As I was later.’

‘When was your father born? What year?’ Paula probed, all of a sudden realizing that Owen Hughes’s birth date was vital, would clarify a great deal.

‘In 1944, Mrs. O’Neill’

Paula felt the tension sliding away, and she exclaimed, ‘So he can’t possibly be the son of Paul McGill, my grandfather! Because Paul McGill was already dead then.
He died in 1939.’

Evan nodded, answered in a low, subdued voice, ‘I told you, I’ve never heard that name mentioned in my family. Nor did I ever hear Gran mention Mrs. Harte. Perhaps they had only a passing acquaintance. I know Gran lived in London during the war, my grandfather told me that. He’d met her at a canteen for the troops, where she was working with her girlfriends in the evening–entertaining the GIs, he said. And they connected because his forebears had gone to America from the Rhondda Valley. That’s where they fell in love, he said.’

‘I think we’ve managed to clear the air rather quickly, Evan,’ Paula exclaimed, smiling at her. ‘At least I’m satisfied, and we—’

‘But Mummy, why did Glynnis tell Evan to come and see Emma?’ Linnet interjected. ‘Why did she tell her that her future was with Emma Harte? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Paula shot back impatiently, suddenly wanting this matter finally closed.

‘But Aunt Paula, it
is
a bit strange,’ India murmured, giving her a hard stare. ‘I mean, why would an old lady on her deathbed suddenly tell her granddaughter to seek out a woman in London?
Why?
Think about it. I bet Glynnis and Grandy
were
friends, and that there
was
a connection between them, something important. Perhaps there’s something here we’re not aware of…a secret maybe?’

‘If that’s the case, why didn’t Evan’s grandmother explain in more detail, give her the proper information?’ Paula asked, first looking at India and then turning to Evan.

It was Evan who answered. ‘She was dying, Mrs. O’Neill, and she was very weak. I don’t think she had the strength to say another word. I was surprised she’d spoken at all. By then she was on her last breath.’

‘Obviously your grandmother didn’t know Emma Harte was dead, and had been for thirty years,’ Paula murmured. ‘So tell me, what did
you
think when you discovered this?’

‘I was really shocked, Mrs. O’Neill. Staggered, actually, and to be truthful I felt a bit foolish that I’d listened to Gran. When I told my father on the phone he said perhaps his mother had been delirious or rambling. And I sort of accepted that.’

‘But you still came up to the executive offices to apply for a job,’ Paula pointed out, her steady gaze fixed on Evan.

‘Eventually. I went and had coffee, and thought about what I’d do, and I realized I wanted to stay in London. After all, I’d given up my job in New York. And I was very taken with the store, impressed with it, and I thought, why not go and apply for a position? And so I did.’

‘I think everything has been satisfactorily explained,’ Paula announced, looking at each of the young women, again wanting to move on.

Linnet glanced at Evan, and asked quietly, ‘How old was your grandmother when she died?’

‘Gran was seventy-nine.’

‘So during the Second World War, she would have been in her twenties. Correct?’ Linnet said.

‘Yes,’ Evan answered, wondering what Linnet was getting at.

Paula had been thinking the same thing, and asked, ‘What’s your point, Linny?’

‘At the beginning of the war, Emma Harte was forty-nine, fifty, anyway thereabouts, and from what I know about her she didn’t have time for a lot of girlfriends, not the way she worked. Besides, there was the age difference between Emma and Glynnis. Could it be that Glynnis Jenkins worked at Harte’s during the war?’

Paula was startled, but after giving this suggestion a moment’s thought, she said, ‘Yes, perhaps. She could have worked at the store, that’s quite true.’

Linnet now turned to Evan. ‘What did your grandmother do before she was married to your grandfather? Do you know?’

‘I’m not sure…but she could have been a secretary, because she did do all the paperwork for my grandfather’s antiques business when I was growing up.’

India sat up straighter and cried, ‘That’s it! I agree with Linnet. I think Glynnis may have worked as one of Emma’s secretaries during the war.’

‘But what does that mean, India?’ Paula asked, sounding puzzled. ‘We’ve eliminated the McGill connection because of Owen Hughes’s birth date. This is finished. We can put a stop to the stories and forget it all.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Linnet began slowly, a little hesitantly. ‘There’s more to this than meets the eye, Mums. I just feel
that
in my bones, and I’m a true Celt like Dad, remember, so listen to me. Anyway Aunt Emily said—’ Linnet instantly broke off, immediately regretting these words. She knew she should not have brought Emily into this discussion, that it was wrong, could cause trouble.

‘What exactly did Emily say?’ Paula probed, frowning, suddenly concerned, as well as surprised.

‘I shouldn’t have said that, Mummy. Aunt Emily will be angry with me.’

‘We can’t worry about that right now. Just tell me what she said, Linnet,’ Paula demanded, staring at her daughter.

Linnet cleared her throat, and explained in a low, steady voice. ‘Aunt Emily never thought Evan had a connection to the McGill side of the family, nor does she really think she looks like you. But she does believe there might be a connection…to
the Hartes.
She says she can’t exactly put her finger on it, but that at the edge of her memory there is something she can’t quite grasp, a face that won’t come into focus. I guess it’s like having something on the tip of your tongue.’

Paula was taken aback, and she gaped at her daughter. ‘She thinks Evan could be related to the Hartes, and she never told
me.’

‘Don’t get excited, Mums,’ Linnet said in a placating tone. ‘Aunt Emily only mentioned it in passing to me. You see, she didn’t want to worry you, add fuel to the fire. That’s the reason she didn’t say anything, I’m sure.’

Paula sat back against the cushions on the sofa, for once in her life rendered speechless.

Determined to promote her theory about Glynnis having been employed by Harte’s, Linnet now said swiftly, ‘Mummy, don’t look like that, let’s try and get to the bottom of this…
mystery.
Where are the old employee records kept? I bet they’re in the basement storage rooms at the London store.’

‘I doubt they still exist, they may have been destroyed when we went to computer,’ Paula muttered, feeling slightly put out with Linnet. She had opened up another avenue of possibility, which Paula felt they did not need to cope with at this moment.

‘I’ve just had a brainwave, Aunt Paula!’ India sprang to her feet and went and sat next to her on the sofa. ‘The diaries! Grandy’s diaries, the ones we found in the clothes storage attics months ago, written by Emma in the war years. If there
is
some sort of secret, or something about Evan’s grandma, I bet you’d find it in one of those.’

‘Perhaps,’ Paula agreed, remembering her reluctance to plunge into such a personal area of her grandmother’s life. Diaries were always so intimate, meant only for one person’s eyes…the writer of them.

Evan took a deep breath, and began slowly, carefully. ‘I really do think my father
is
who he
is.
He’s Owen Hughes, the son of Glynnis and Richard Hughes. He looks like my grandfather, and he’s like him in so many other ways…’ She broke off, gazed at Paula, her eyes reflecting her sadness and hurt.

Paula did not fail to miss this, and she was instantly filled with chagrin, cursed herself under her breath. ‘Oh Evan, my dear, how thoughtless we’ve all been! So unkind, dreadful really, impugning your grandmother’s reputation the way we have. How cruel of us to suggest she might have had a relationship with someone else, a man other than your grandfather. I think we’ve been quite…
unconscionable.
I’m so very sorry, very sorry indeed. And I apologize. Yes, we’ve been quite awful,’ she finished softly.

‘It’s all right, Mrs. O’Neill, I haven’t taken offence. I think you all meant well, and that you do want to stop the silly gossip, and it
is
silly. It’s all conjecture. But I just want to say this…I know I’m not related to any of you. I’m neither a McGill nor a Harte. My grandmother loved Richard Hughes, and she would never have cheated on him. My grandmother helped to bring me up, and she was…well, she was true blue, as Linnet would say.’