Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford

convenient. Can you give me a date and time, please?’

      ‘Oh dear!’ Francesca stopped, and began to finger her pearls. ‘I hadn’t realized you’d want to take special photographs,’ she said with a degree of hesitance. ‘Would next Wednesday at two o’clock be suitable? It’s really the only time I have free.’ She was not especially enamoured of this new development, but she knew herself to be trapped.

      ‘That’s fine. I’ll book our very best photographer.’ Estelle leaned forward and snapped off the tape recorder.

      Sitting back in the chair, Francesca permitted herself to relax. She felt exhausted and longed to be alone, but it seemed that Estelle was determined to finish her drink, and at her own leisure.

      ‘I have something to tell you,’ Estelle began, lifting her glass and regarding Francesca closely over the rim. There was a small pause before she said, ‘Katharine’s coming back to New York.’

      Francesca sat up swiftly and threw her an astonished glance, frowning. ‘Katharine?’ she echoed.

      ‘Yes. Katharine Tempest. The one and only Katharine,’ Estelle smiled. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know who I meant!’

      ‘Naturally I knew. I was a little surprised, that’s all. Actually, I’d lost track of her. Why are you telling me anyway? It’s of no interest to me.’

      ‘Katharine wants to see you.’

      Francesca tensed. She felt her face stiffening and her eyes, opening very widely, brimmed with shock. She did not believe Estelle, but as she studied the other woman’s face in silence she knew from her gloating expression that it was indeed true. She was momentarily speechless. She managed to say, ‘Whatever for? Why would she want to see me?’

      ‘I can’t imagine,’ Estelle replied sardonically. ‘But she wanted me to request a meeting. Lunch, dinner, tea, drinks, whichever you prefer. Just give me a date. She’ll be arriving in about a week or ten days, and she expects me to have arranged it by then. When can you see her?’

      Anger was fulminating in Francesca. And she, who was never rude, said with unusual vehemence, her voice rising, ‘I cannot see her! I will not see her! I think you have –’

      ‘I know you two became drawn enemies,’ Estelle exclaimed peremptorily. ‘That’s why I can’t understand Katharine. She’s being very foolish, in my opinion. I don’t –’

      ‘I was about to say, when you interrupted me, that I think you have behaved in the most despicable manner!’ Francesca cried. ‘How dare you wangle your way into my home, on the pretext of doing an interview, when it’s patently obvious the real reason you’re here is to carry messages for Katharine Tempest.’ Francesca’s anger now spiralled into cold fury. ‘How devious and underhanded of you! You’re a disgrace to your profession. But then I suppose I shouldn’t have expected better behaviour from you, Estelle. You always were her lackey. I think you had better leave.’

      Estelle did not budge. She was enjoying Francesca’s discomfort. She gave her a slow derisive smile, and triumph flicked into the small brown eyes. ‘My, my, I never thought I’d see the day when you would display so much emotion.’

      Dismay had lodged like a stone in the pit of Francesca’s stomach, but she took firm control of herself. Recovering some of her self-possession, she said, in a steadier voice, ‘You may tell Katharine Tempest I have no wish to see her. Ever again. I have nothing to say to her.’

      ‘It’s no skin off my nose either way, and although I don’t understand Katharine’s motives, I did agree to help.’ Estelle crossed her legs and lolled back in the chair, regarding Francesca with quizzical eyes. She shook her head wonderingly. ‘I’m surprised at you, Francesca. Why don’t you give a little, for once in your life, and get down off your pedestal. Let bygones be bygones. We’re all a bit older and more mature. I think Katharine expected you, of all people, to be more understanding.’

      ‘More understanding!’ Francesca gasped. ‘After what she did to me! You must be as demented as she apparently is. I absolutely refuse to continue this ridiculous discussion. I would appreciate it if you would leave my house. I think you have not only outstayed your welcome, but abused my hospitality.’

      Estelle lifted her shoulders in a gesture of resignation, picked up the tape recorder and dropped it into her handbag. She could not resist a final attempt at effecting a reconciliation. ‘She only wants to be friends again. With everyone. That’s why she asked me to contact all of you. Come on, be generous, change your mind.’

      ‘I will not. Never. The others can do as they wish, but I will not see her.’ Francesca’s face had paled and her eyes blazed. ‘I don’t want anything to do with her. There’s nothing to be gained by a … a … reunion.’ Francesca drew a quick intake of breath. ‘And I’m surprised at you, Estelle. Why do you permit her to use you in this way?’

      ‘Use me! Good God, that’s a laugh. If ever she’s used anyone, it’s been you!’ Estelle regretted this remark the instant it left her mouth. Katherine had warned her not to let her antagonism towards Francesca get in the way, and she had done just that in the heat of the moment.

      A bone-chilling coldness had settled over Francesca. She nodded her head slowly and with deliberation. ‘You are quite correct, Estelle. And I do not propose to be used again. Ever,’ she intoned with such icy finality that the journalist shrank back in her chair.

      ‘I will show you out,’ Francesca continued in the same glacial voice. She rose and, without giving Estelle another glance, walked to the door. She opened it and stood aside. ‘Please leave.’

      Estelle cleared her throat. ‘I’ll see you next Wednesday then, with the photographer.’

      ‘I hardly think the photographs will be necessary, since you are not going to write the story. You might as well admit it, Estelle, the interview was just a ruse to see me,’ she snapped in an accusatory tone. ‘You could have told me this on the telephone, instead of wasting hours of my time doing a bogus interview.’

      Estelle’s florid face filled with darker colour. ‘I am going to write the story, so you see, I will need the photographs.’

      ‘Obviously I must refuse.’

      Even a woman as intrinsically obtuse as Estelle could not fail to understand that she had destroyed herself irrevocably in Francesca’s eyes and, knowing she had nothing to lose, she now exclaimed heatedly, ‘Seemingly your precious charity is not that important to you after all.’ She pushed herself out into the hall, grabbed her coat from the chair and flung it over her arm. She then swung around to face Francesca, who was watching her from the doorway of the library, a look of distaste flickering in her eyes.

      The jealousy and envy at the root of Estelle’s antipathy for Francesca surfaced. Self-control and all rationality left her. ‘You always were a stuck-up, rotten snob!’ she almost screamed. ‘Whatever Katherine did to you is not half as bad as the things you did to her, and when she needed you the most. It’s because of you she has been isolated from everyone all this time. You’ve added to her suffering. The least you could do is see her. You cold unfeeling bitch!’

      The mask of affability had been ripped off to reveal a face that was malevolent with hatred. Estelle headed for the front door. When she reached it she flung herself around and laughed an inane laugh. ‘I do believe you are afraid to see Katharine!’

      With this final strident statement Estelle flounced out and slammed the door so ferociously behind her, Francesca flinched. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. Her head was swimming and a sick feeling of dismay lingered. Vaguely she heard Val’s step in the corridor and with some effort she pulled herself together, moving towards the staircase.

      ‘My goodness, whatever was that?’ Val asked.

      ‘Miss Morgan. Leaving in a huff,’ said Francesca, turning around on the stairs.

      ‘I