Emma’s Secret. Barbara Taylor Bradford

of them. Linnet simply laughed somewhat dismissively, but secretly she was thrilled. Who wouldn’t want to be favourably compared to that most extraordinary woman, who single-handedly had created a great family dynasty and an enormous business empire circling the globe?

      Her mother said she was a chip off the old block and equated her with Emma, because she had considerable business acumen and a talent for merchandising and retailing. ‘Just like Grandy,’ Paula would point out constantly, with a proud smile.

      Linnet felt warm inside when she thought about her mother, Paula O’Neill. She was a very special person, fair and just in her dealings with everyone, whatever others might believe. As for her father, he was awesome.

      Linnet had always enjoyed a perfect and most harmonious relationship with Shane, and they had drawn even closer after Patrick’s death ten years ago. Her elder brother had died of a rare blood disease when he was seventeen, and they had all mourned the sweet-natured Patrick, retarded from birth but so loving and caring. He had been everybody’s favourite; each of them had protected and nurtured him in their own way, especially Linnet. She still missed him, missed mothering him.

      As she tramped on, moving ever upward, Linnet noticed tiny icicles dripping from the bramble bushes. The ground was hard as iron. It was becoming colder now that she was almost at the summit, and the wind was raw and biting. She was glad she was wearing warm clothes and boots, and a woollen scarf around her head.

      Just as she knew it would, the path suddenly rose sharply, and she felt her calves tightening as she climbed higher. Within minutes she was puffing hard, and she paused to rest. Peering ahead, she realized she was only a few feet away from the crest; there, a formation of huge, jagged black rocks jutted up into the sky like some giant monolith erected as a monument to an ancient Celtic God.

      Once she had suggested to Gideon Harte, her cousin and best friend, that the monolith was possibly man-made, perhaps even by the Celts themselves. Or the Druids. But Gideon, who was well-informed about a lot of things, had immediately dismissed that idea.

      He had explained that the black boulders piled so precariously on their limestone pedestal had been carried there by a vast glacier during the Ice Age, long before man had existed in Britain. Then he had pointed out that the rocks had been sitting there for aeons and aeons, and therefore were not actually precariously balanced at all. They merely looked as if they were.

      Anxious to reach the top, Linnet now set off again, and suddenly, there she was, stepping onto the plateau to stand in the shadow of the immense monolith floating immediately above her. Its pedestal of limestone, formed by nature millenniums ago, was an odd shape, with two pieces protruding out on either side of a tall, flat slab which was set back. Thus a narrow niche was created, a niche protected from the strong winds that blew at gale force up here on the high fells.

      Years ago Emma had placed a boulder in the niche, and this served as a makeshift bench. Linnet sat down on it, as she always did, and gazed out at the vista in front of her. And her breath caught in her throat; whenever she was seated here she never ceased to be awed by this panoramic spread of the land. It was magnificent.

      Her eyes roamed across bare, untenanted fells, windswept under the lowering sky, stark, implacable and lonely, and yet she never felt lonely or afraid up here. The wild beauty of the moors captivated her, filled her with such wonder, and she relished the solitude.

      Far below her, Linnet could see the fields and pastures of the pastoral Dales, their verdant summer lushness temporarily obliterated in this harsh weather.

      The fields and meadows were gleaming whitely, covered as they were with winter frost, and the river flowing through this bucolic valley was a winding, silver rope that glittered in the cold northern light.

      And there, in the centre, sitting amidst the peaceful meadows punctuated by drystone walls, was Pennistone Royal, that ancient and stately house acquired by Emma Harte in 1932, almost seventy years ago.

      In the years she had lived there, Emma had turned it into the most magical of places. The grounds were extensive and picturesque. Lawns rolled down to the river, and in the spring and summer months the masses of flower beds and flowering shrubs were ablaze with riotous colour.

      But there were no roses anywhere in those lovely rambling gardens. It was a family legend that Emma Harte had detested roses, because she had been spurned by Edwin Fairley in the rose garden at Fairley Hall. On that day so long ago, when she was just a young girl, she had told Edwin she was carrying his child. In his panic, and fearing his powerful father, Adam Fairley, he had repudiated her, made it clear she was on her own in her terrible predicament. He had offered her a few shillings; she had asked to borrow a suitcase.

      Emma had run away. From her family and Fairley village nestling in the shadow of the Pennine chain of hills. Courageously, Emma had travelled to Leeds to find her dear friend Blackie O’Neill, whom she knew would help her.

      And of course he had. He had taken her to live with his friend Laura Spencer, later his wife, who had looked after her until Edwina was born. It was then that Emma Harte had made a vow: she would become a rich and powerful woman to protect herself and her child. She had worked like a drudge to accomplish this, and as it happened everything she touched had turned to gold.

      Linnet’s grandfather, Bryan O’Neill, had told her that her great-grandmother had never once looked back. As a young woman she had surged ahead, gone from success to success, reaching even higher, always attaining the impossible, finally becoming a true woman of substance.

      According to her grandfather, Emma had apparently never forgotten that horrible day in the rose garden at Fairley Hall. Her senses had been swimming, and feeling nauseous she had vomited violently when she was alone. Emma had blamed her attack of nausea on the roses, and thereafter, for the rest of her life, she had felt overcome whenever she smelled them. The flower held such terrible memories for her she could not abide it.

      Out of deference to her beloved Grandy, Paula had never permitted roses to be grown at Pennistone Royal, nor were they ever used in floral arrangements in the house. Emma’s ruling still held: roses were forbidden in her homes.

      Linnet had been born in her great-grandmother’s house twenty-five years ago, in the middle of May. Her grandmother, Daisy, Emma’s favourite daughter fathered by Paul McGill, had inherited Pennistone Royal from Emma. But she had immediately gifted it to her daughter, Paula, because she preferred to live in London, and also to save death duties later. Paula had lived there since Emma’s death. The house meant more to Linnet than any other place on earth; even though she worked in London during the week, she came up to Yorkshire every weekend.

      This past November Paula had taken Linnet into her confidence about a matter close to Paula’s heart. ‘Grandy made a rule years ago,’ she explained. ‘And it was this … Pennistone Royal must go to the one who loves it the most, as long as that person has the intelligence and the knowledge to look after the estate properly. I know that Tessa, as the eldest, believes I’m going to leave it to her, but I just can’t, Linnet. She doesn’t even like the house and grounds; they’re meaningless to her. She’s only concerned with what they represent in terms of power and prestige in the family. That’s certainly not what Grandy wanted or intended.’ Paula had shaken her head and gone on: ‘Lorne has no interest in the house, and Emsie cares only about her stables.’

      A loving smile had crossed her mother’s face as she had continued. ‘I doubt she’ll ever change, bless her heart. And as for Desmond, he’ll have his grandfather’s house in Harrogate one day, when Grandfather Bryan is gone.

      At this juncture in the conversation, her mother had reached out and taken her hand, saying, ‘And so I am planning to leave Pennistone Royal to you, Linnet, because I know how much it means to you, how much you really care. But not a word to anyone about this. Understand, darling?’

      Linnet had nodded and thanked her mother profusely, and promised not to betray her confidence. She fully understood all of the ramifications involved. But Paula’s words had startled her; it was the last thing she had ever expected. Deep down she was thrilled; on the other hand, she did not like to dwell on anything she might one day inherit, especially