Just Rewards. Barbara Taylor Bradford

his headquarters, no longer fit enough to travel to London.

      Naturally his considerable influence was everywhere, from the wonderful Post-Impressionist art and the Barbara Hepworth sculptures in the lobby to the coolness of the upper floors. Sir Ronnie had always insisted that the air-conditioning was turned on, no matter the time of year. He liked his working environment to be cool, which was why many of the women employees tended to refer to Kallinski House as ‘the frozen North’, and ‘Iceland’.

      Julian looked across at the door as it suddenly flew open, and his reflective expression was obscured by the bright smile which readily settled on his face.

      There she was, his beautiful Linnet.

      She hurried forward, smiling back at him, and wrapped her arms around him, held him close.

      ‘Are you all right? You looked so sad when I came in,’ she whispered against his cheek.

      ‘I’m fine, really. I was just remembering Grandfather.’

      ‘I know.’ Linnet drew away and stared up into his dark blue eyes, almost violet in colour like her mother’s. ‘Don’t forget what the Hartes have always said about a loved one who has died … in my heart forever.’

      ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘I remember that.’

      ‘And it’s true, you know.’

      ‘Yes, Linnet, I think it is. I feel that Grandfather is in my heart forever … that motto of your family is absolutely correct.’

      She smiled at him, touched his face with a fingertip. ‘You know something strange, even though I never knew Emma, I feel her in my heart. Sometimes I think she’s all around me, loving me, guiding me, watching over me.’ She put her head on one side. ‘Do you think that’s silly? Rather fanciful of me, Jules?’

      ‘Of course not. And I certainly wouldn’t be so arrogant as to dismiss such feelings. There’s so much we don’t know about this world, or the other … and I’m happy that you feel she’s watching over you.’

      Linnet stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips, then asked, ‘Have you seen Gideon and Evan yet this morning?’

      ‘Yes,’ Julian answered and led her over to the sofa near the window. ‘Let’s sit for a minute. I’ve several things to tell you. First, Emily came over and Gideon and I had coffee with her, then she took your mother off to Beck House in West Tanfield. Gideon is driving over there later with Evan, and he asked us to go to tea at the house, and have a look around. How do you feel about that?’

      ‘It’s great! I’d love to see how far they’ve come in the decoration of it. So, does that mean we can have lunch alone? Just the two of us?’

      ‘Not exactly,’ he answered, his eyes suddenly mischievous.

      ‘Oh, who’s here that I don’t know about?’

      ‘Your beloved brother, Lorne.’

      ‘Oh goody! That’s wonderful. Oh, sorry, Jules, about our tête-à-tête. You don’t mind do you?’

      ‘Not at all, darling, I’ve always had a soft spot for Lorne. But, actually, that’s not all of it. He’s here with his twin and her French friend.’

      ‘Tessa and Jean-Claude are here?’ Linnet sounded surprised.

      ‘That’s right, and Tessa says she’s going to cook dinner for everyone, so we’re in for a treat.’ He grinned at Linnet. ‘She’s making her speciality.’

      ‘Oh God, not coq au vin.’

      ‘Oh no, she doesn’t make that anymore, at least so she told me. We’re going to have lamb stew.’

      Linnet began to chuckle. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the kitchen and see what’s going on. In the meantime, let me tell you about the call I had from Jack Figg just as I was leaving for my walk.’

      ‘Something important?’

      ‘Just that the dreaded Jonathan Ainsley is staying at his house in Thirsk. Jack’s a bit worried about that.’

      ‘I don’t blame him,’ Julian muttered, following Linnet out of their bedroom. ‘That man’s a menace.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

      Dusty jumped up from the desk where he was sitting and went to stand in front of the blazing fire. His face was taut as he stuck his hands in his pockets and warmed his back against the flames.

      His mind had been racing ever since Paddy had announced the arrival of his little daughter with Mrs Roebotham. The fact that the woman had brought along a suitcase belonging to Atlanta meant only one thing: the child was coming to stay with him. Which, in turn, meant that it was Molly Caldwell who was out of action, not Melinda who was in some kind of trouble. If that had been the case, Mrs Caldwell would have phoned him to explain.

      ‘This is Mrs Roebotham,’ Paddy said, now hurrying through the doorway, ushering the woman across the library floor at last.

      Immediately, Dusty moved forward exclaiming, ‘Hello, Mrs Roebotham. Hello!’ He stretched out his hand and smiled, added, ‘I’m Russell Rhodes.’

      She took his hand and shook it, rather timidly he thought, and murmured in a subdued voice, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Rhodes.’

      Paddy excused himself and disappeared, while Dusty led the woman towards the fireplace. He knew everything about her the instant she entered the room, although he had never met her before. She looked about forty, was scrubbed to shining cleanliness, not a vestige of make-up on her face, neat and tidy in her appearance, her dark clothes plain, simple, but not cheap-looking in any way at all. Her luxuriant auburn hair was brushed back and formed into a sleek twist at the back of her head to reveal a slender, high-cheekboned face that was rather attractive, and she had light eyes, greyish blue, he thought. She was slim and wiry, and of medium height, and there was something about her that was arresting, a determination in her, perhaps, an honesty and straightforwardness. He knew immediately that she was a decent woman.

      Leeds, he thought. Working-class Leeds. Same background as mine. No doubt growing up in a Victorian terrace house, just as I did. They had a lot in common, although he was quite sure she was not aware of that.

      ‘Let’s sit here, shall we, Mrs Roebotham,’ he said briskly.

      ‘It’s Gladys, everybody calls me Gladys, Mr Rhodes,’ she said in her quiet voice, sitting down where he had indicated, crossing her ankles, placing her hands in her lap on top of her bag.

      ‘Very well, it’s Gladys then. Now, would you like some refreshments? Tea? Coffee? Or something else? Something to eat, perhaps?’

      ‘Nothing, but thanks ever so much. Cook made me a cup of tea when I got here, Mr Rhodes.’

      He nodded his understanding, and repressed the urge to tell her to call him Dusty. He knew she wouldn’t, and that the mere suggestion would only embarrass her. She was probably overly impressed by this house, undoubtedly intimidated by his fame … the poor Leeds lad who’d made it big. The Yorkshire newspapers were his greatest boosters, always full of his fame, calling him a genius, giving him lavish accolades for his paintings.

      As he took the seat opposite her, he asked, ‘What’s happened to Molly Caldwell?’

      ‘She’s had a heart attack,’ Gladys answered calmly, but her hands were twisting together in her lap, and betrayed her continuing nervousness.

      Dismay clutched at him. ‘How bad is she?’ he asked urgently, leaning forward, pinning his eyes on hers.

      ‘It’s serious, but her doctor is very hopeful,’ she murmured and tried to give him a reassuring smile without much success.

      ‘When did it happen? This