Emma’s Secret (41 page)
Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example.
Benjamin Disraeli, British statesman and twice Prime Minister
I charge you to hold my dream.
Emma Harte
‘I
didn’t find any secrets,’ Paula said, leaning against the door jamb, watching Shane change his shirt, tie and suit in his dressing room which adjoined their bedroom in the Belgrave Square maisonette.
‘Nothing?’
he asked, glancing across at her, a surprised look on his face as he buttoned his fresh shirt.
‘Well, let me amend my statement. There is definitely a secret to do with Glynnis Hughes, and it’s a name. But that name is not in any of the diaries. Grandy never wrote it down.’
‘Who is it the name of?’
‘The real father of Owen Hughes.’
‘Oh, so Richard Hughes wasn’t his biological father after all?’
‘No.’ Paula adjusted her stance against the doorframe, and went on, ‘Whilst you’ve been out of town, I’ve done nothing but read Emma’s diaries in the evening–well, I skip-read some of them. And very interesting reading they make. Emily agrees. She had to help me out at one point. As I mentioned on the phone to you, Glynnis was Emma’s secretary during the war years. She mentions her a lot in the diaries, but she was awfully closed-mouthed about her private life:
protective,
I’d say.’
‘But do you think Emma knew the name of the man involved?’ Shane asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
‘Oh yes, I’m certain she did. Emma wrote something in her diary, the day Glynnis broke down in tears and told her about her predicament. It was at Pennistone Royal, she used to take Glynnis up there with her from time to time. Actually, Shane, she promised Glynnis she’d never reveal the name of the baby’s father as long as she lived, and she didn’t. You knew my grandmother, and what she was like. Integrity was her middle name.’
‘Yes, Grandfather always said she was the most honest person he had ever known, man or woman. But getting back to Glynnis, she and Grandy must have been quite friendly.’
‘I believe there was a deep affection there. I think Glynnis hero-worshipped Emma, and my grandmother was certainly exceedingly fond of Glynnis–favoured her.’
‘So the mystery man made Glynnis pregnant, probably refused to marry her, so she married Richard Hughes…Do you think that’s the true story, Paula?’
‘More or less.’
Shane threw her a questioning glance and frowned. ‘You sound doubtful.’
‘From what I gather, Glynnis knew Richard for some time. They’d met at Grandy’s wartime canteen for the troops—’
‘Emma had a canteen for the troops,’ he cut in. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ A surprised but pleased expression crossed Shane’s face. ‘Well, why am I sounding surprised? That’s just like Emma. I wonder why Grandpops never mentioned the canteen to me?’
‘It was so long ago, darling, water under the bridge to them. Grandy never mentioned it to me, either. Anyway, Richard was crazy about her, and had proposed, according to Grandy’s diary for 1943. She told Glynnis to tell him the truth, explain that she was pregnant, and suggest marriage. If he walked away, Grandy said she had her for a backup position. That she’d help Glynnis financially.’
‘That was generous…’ Shane threw Paula a pointed look.
‘Just Grandy remembering Edwin Fairley, and her own predicament, that’s all, I’m sure. Nothing else behind her helping Glynnis. Anyway, the reason I looked a bit doubtful is this…I’m not certain the man involved
could
marry Glynnis.’
‘Oh, I get it. A married man?’
‘Possibly.’
‘You’ve got a funny look on your face, Beanstalk,’ Shane said, reverting to his childhood nickname for her. ‘Come on, spill it.’
‘It’s only a thought…but maybe Uncle Winston was the father. Emma’s brother was awfully high on Glynnis, singing her praises constantly. Grandy even remarks on it in her diary.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ Shane exclaimed, reaching for a blue silk tie, threading it under his collar, beginning to make the knot, staring in the mirror as he did.
‘It’s just a thought that crossed my mind, because Grandy mentions her brother Winston making extremely flattering remarks about Glynnis. Apparently he really liked her.’
Shane swung around to face Paula. ‘But why would Emma give the game away? If her brother was the culprit, why make comments about him liking the girl? Isn’t that like…spelling it out?’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘So Glynnis married her GI and went off to America. End of story.’
‘Not quite. As you well know. On her deathbed, Glynnis instructed her granddaughter Evan to go and find Emma Harte because Emma was the key to her future.’
Shane took his jacket off the hanger and slipped it on, then opened a drawer looking for a silk handkerchief for his breast pocket, saying as he did so, ‘The dying meanderings of an old lady, most probably.’ Then he suggested, ‘Look, we’ve established Evan Hughes is not a McGill. Your grandfather had been dead for several years when Owen was conceived. Let’s just assume she’s not a Harte either. Therefore, case closed.’
‘I agree, and so does Emily. She went through some of the diaries, as I told you. She came across nothing, no reference to the mystery man. She thinks I’m wrong to even consider Winston the first. She says it’s well known in the family that he adored Charlotte, and would never have so much as glanced at another woman. So, case closed it is. And naturally I’m not going to mention a word about Glynnis to Evan. There’s no reason for her to know about her father’s illegitimacy…why hurt her?’
‘You’re right, darling. All you have to do is kill the gossip about Evan being a long-lost McGill.’
‘Philip and I will do that, don’t you worry. Now, are you ready? We don’t want to be late for the retrospective.’
‘That’s right. How do I look?’
Paula smiled at him. ‘Not bad for a man who’s spent half a day on a fast plane and in a fast car, trying to get here at breakneck speed.’
‘But I did make it in one piece.’
‘And some piece it is,’ she laughed.
Reaching out, Shane pulled her to him and held her close in his arms for a moment. Then he held her away, looking into her violet eyes that were truly the colour of pansies. ‘You’re beautiful, and I love you. And I think we’re going to be very proud of our daughter tonight, and what she’s accomplished.’
‘I agree with you…’ Paula slipped out of his arms and went to pick up her black silk evening purse, then turned to look at him. ‘I’m very worried about Tessa, Shane. I think she’s being abused.’
He gaped at her. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because she has all the symptoms of a battered wife. I’ve always thought Mark caused that problem with her shoulder. And I think that psychologically she’s unbalanced.’
‘If it’s true then she’ll have to leave him! I won’t allow a man to beat her, you can be damned sure of that.’ His face had turned grim, and there was a hard glint in his black eyes. ‘We’re going to have to get to the bottom of this, Paula!’ he exclaimed, and she saw how angry he was.
‘It won’t be easy. Battered wives don’t always want to talk. Or leave a dangerous situation. I thought we could take her to dinner with us tonight, Shane, after the retrospective. In fact, I invited her already.’
‘Isn’t Mark going to be there?’
‘Apparently not.’
Shane nodded. ‘Perhaps we’ll find
something
out. We can certainly try. Anyway, who else is coming to dinner?’
‘Winston and Emily. Uncle Ronnie and Michael Kallinski. India and a boyfriend of hers–nobody serious, I understand. Linnet and Julian. Evan and Gideon. Lorne and Mummy. Your father. Aunt Elizabeth and Marc Deboyne. And Amanda.’
‘So we won’t be able to have a serious talk with Tessa, but we can try to glean something from her. Certainly we can ascertain her state of mind, her mood. How has she been at work?’
‘That’s just it, Shane, she’s not been particularly well, in my opinion. Impatient, irritable and not cooperative. Linnet said she’s been very moody, combative, worse than ever.’
‘This is a priority…we must get to the bottom of it and as soon as possible. But now we’d better go, we won’t want to be late,’ he said.
India Standish glided down an aisle between two fashion displays, looking stylish in a multicoloured chiffon dress with a narrow torso, bell-like sleeves and a flattering, feminine skirt that fell to her ankles. Some of the pink, yellow and pale blue flowers in the chiffon’s pattern were lightly embroidered with tiny bugle beads. It was a stunning summer evening dress that emphasized her slender figure and height.
‘You look fabulous, India,’ Evan said admiringly, walking over to join her. ‘And I love your Manolo Blahniks. I almost bought the same pair.’
India grinned. ‘I know, Linnet told me, and you could’ve you know, I wouldn’t have minded at all. And Evan, you look really beautiful. What a lovely colour this delphinium blue is on you.’
‘Thank you. It was Linnet who made me buy the dress, but, to be honest, I’d fallen in love with it anyway. I’ve never had anything quite as stylish before.’ Or as expensive, Evan thought, but she did not say this. Her dress was slightly off-the-shoulder, with tiny cap sleeves and horizontal pleats of chiffon from the neck to the mid-calf hem. It was by Chanel, and only someone of Evan’s height and willowy figure could have carried it so well. She wore silver strip sandals with high heels, and a pair of diamond stud earrings from Gideon.
The two colleagues and good friends walked around the auditorium, looking at the different displays of
haute-couture
clothes on mannequins, which stood on slightly raised platforms for perfect viewing by the public. There were different sections. Some were devoted to famous designers and their clothes from the 1920s to 2000, with huge blow-ups of the designers on the walls behind the platforms.
There was a section which featured Fashion Icons, the chic and stylish women who had agreed to lend some of their couture pieces, and be part of the retrospective. Their large photographs were displayed on easels in front of their clothes.
And finally there was the biggest and most beautiful display of all, which was entirely devoted to the clothes of Emma Harte, the collection dating from the 1920s to the late 1960s, all designed by world-famous couturiers.
Silk banners bearing the words EIGHTY YEARS OF FASHION: A RETROSPECTIVE hung down from the ceiling in different areas. The entire space was well-planned; designed to allow the maximum number of people to walk around comfortably, looking at the clothes without impeding the view of others.
‘Those space-planners from Yorkshire did a really great job!’ Evan exclaimed at one moment. ‘Gee, India, I sort of hate to say this myself, but I think the whole auditorium looks smashing. Congratulations to you, to us!’
‘I agree. You know, we’ve really pulled it off,’ India murmured in a pleased voice. ‘It’s simply splendid. And the clothes are divine.’
‘Oh look, here’s Linnet with one of the press people.’ As she spoke Evan waved, and Linnet hurried over. She was wearing a black lace dress with green silk showing through the cobweb lace, and when India stared at her, frowning, she said quickly, ‘It’s a
copy.
The original’s still over there somewhere in Emma’s collection.’
India and Evan both laughed, knowing she was making a reference to Emma’s Lanvin, and Linnet said, ‘I’d like to introduce you to Ms Barbara Fitzpatrick. She’s the editor of
Chic
magazine, and she wrote that lovely story about the retrospective, which appeared last month.’
After the three women had exchanged greetings, India and Evan moved on, leaving Linnet to talk to the editor and escort her around the show. ‘It was really nice of you to come back to see the retrospective finally finished,’ Linnet said, smiling at Barbara Fitzpatrick.
‘I wouldn’t have missed seeing this,’ she answered. ‘I think you’ve done a superb job. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so well mounted ever before.’
‘Thank you again for saying so. I must say we’ve had some really talented people working on it. Anyway, you’d said on the phone that you wanted to see the Emma Harte Collection again, now that it’s really and truly in place. Properly in place.’
‘Yes, I would. I’ve always been a great admirer of your great-grandmother. I think she blazed the way for women in business, in the boardroom. In fact, my mother told me she knew her vaguely in the Second World War. They worked at some charity together. In any case, she was a legend in her own time, everyone knows that. So naturally, I’m interested in the clothes she chose, and wore. Apparently with great aplomb.’
‘It’s just over here,’ Linnet murmured, and ushered the fashion editor, renowned in London for her style, down one of the aisles. They came to a stop at the largest display, composed of a dozen or so platforms. Laughing all of a sudden, Linnet said, ‘My cousin India was startled a moment ago when she saw me in this cocktail dress. She thought I’d nicked Emma’s Lanvin. But as you can see, Ms Fitzpatrick, there it is in all its glory.’
Barbara Fitzpatrick followed the direction of Linnet’s gaze, then stepped closer to look at the black lace dress on the mannequin. Glancing back at Linnet, who stood behind her, she said, ‘Someone made you a wonderful copy of this, I must say.’
‘I know. I couldn’t quite get over it myself. The person who made it copied it right down to the last little detail. The emerald bow on the shoulder of the dress on the mannequin is costume jewellery, of course. But my great-grandmother had a real emerald bow.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen photographs of her wearing it. In fact, there it is on that blow-up of her. Oh my goodness! You do look like her, don’t you? You’re the spitting image.’
‘That’s what everyone says.’
At five-fifty exactly, a cadre of good-looking young women, all wearing identical black trouser suits–smartly tailored jackets with slim trousers–moved discreetly through the exhibition. Approaching the members of the press who were attending the Press Preview, they explained that the cocktail reception was about to start in the adjoining area. Would they please move forward into that area to partake of the refreshments.