Just Rewards. Barbara Taylor Bradford

this weekend, make sure they’re old hands. And of course I’ll keep my eyes open at the reception.’

      ‘Thanks, Beauty.’

      Linnet fell in step with him, and just before they reached the door of the auditorium she touched his arm lightly. ‘Jack?’

      ‘Yes?’ He looked down at her questioningly.

      ‘Do you really think Jonathan Ainsley might try to cause trouble? Do something insane?’

      ‘No, I don’t think he will. He’s too smart. On the other hand, I like to be one step ahead of the other guys. So I play it safe.’

CHAPTER THREE

      Evan picked up a thick, felt-tipped pen and in her bold, flowing handwriting wrote across the manila folder the word BRIDE. Then she pushed the folder to one side of the desk, smiling to herself as she patted it almost lovingly. She had not realized how much work she had already done on the idea of creating an entire floor devoted to brides until she had gone into her computer an hour ago and printed everything out.

      After reading all of the pages written weeks ago, she knew she had a workable and comprehensive blueprint for the bridal floor, and she was pleased. She hoped that Linnet would also be pleased. More than likely she would be. But what about Paula O’Neill? Would their boss really let them create a floor catering only to brides at the expense of other departments?

      The question hung there in the air for a moment. It was a tantalizing question for which she had no answer. A sense that problems were brewing, a premonition of trouble ahead still lingered in her mind. Very determinedly she tried to push this away, disinclined to ponder problems today. As Linnet would say, in her quaint way, there were better fish to fry.

      Rising, Evan walked across the floor to her long work table at the other side of her office. The top of the table was covered with photographs of the house Gideon had bought in Yorkshire, and she had an overwhelming desire to look at the pictures again.

      Sitting down at the table, she stared at those which she had laid out days ago. Once more she experienced the now-familiar pleasure and excitement that knowing this would be her home engendered in her, as well as a genuine longing to be there. Such feelings were paramount in her these days, and she could hardly wait to move in.

      As she shuffled through photographs of the grounds and the exterior of the house, she thought of that Saturday morning last October, only three months ago, when she had first seen the house.

      Gideon had driven her over to the small, picturesque village of West Tanfield, and had explained on the way that he wanted her to look at an old house with him. ‘It’s a house I’ve always liked, and it’s on the market,’ he had said. ‘My only worry is that it might be a bit ramshackle and need too much work. But we can walk through it, and see how we feel about it, can’t we?’

      Evan had immediately agreed, even though she was taken by surprise that he wanted a house in Yorkshire when they both lived and worked in London, especially since they could stay with his parents or at Pennistone Royal whenever they felt the need to escape the city. But then she had suddenly realized that he wanted a place of their own, especially after the twins were born, because his apartment in London, where they were currently living together, would become rather cramped. The idea of a house in the Dales appealed to her.

      On the drive over she learned that West Tanfield was halfway between Pennistone Royal, the great stately home which had been Emma’s and was now Paula’s, and Allington Hall, his parents’ family home, which had been inherited from his grandfather, Randolph Harte.

      Just before they reached the village Gideon had begun to laugh softly, and had confided that many years earlier his father and Shane O’Neill had actually owned the house they were about to see. Winston and Shane were the same age, the closest of friends since childhood, and had been at Oxford together. They had apparently bought the house originally as a property investment, intending to renovate it and then sell it for a vast profit.

      Instead the two young bachelors had become so attached to the house whilst working on it they had finally decided to move in themselves. It became their weekend retreat until Winston married Emily Barkstone, Gideon’s mother. Shane had continued to live at Beck House for a year, but in the end he had felt lonely without his old sparring partner, and had finally told Winston he thought they ought to put the house on the market. Winston had agreed they should sell, and the house was snapped up almost immediately. And in the ensuing years it had changed hands only once.

      ‘Dad told me it was on the market,’ Gideon had gone on, as he parked outside the house which stood at the bottom of a small hill at the edge of the village. ‘He said that whatever its state I shouldn’t worry too much, because he and Shane had practically rebuilt it. Anyway, come on, darling, I have the key from the estate agents. Let’s go and take a look at what might become our family home.’

      He had jumped out of the car and run around to the passenger side to help her alight, and then led her to the black iron gate set in an ancient stone wall. It was quite a high wall with lichen and moss growing between the stones, and many tall trees were visible above it.

      ‘Beck House,’ she had read aloud when they finally stood in front of the gate. ‘I like the name, Gid.’

      He had merely smiled and led her through the gate, along the path to the house. ‘It’s called Beck House because there’s a little stream, a beck, running through the grounds.’

      The minute she saw it Evan was instantly enchanted, and she knew whatever its condition she wanted to live there. It was positively beautiful.

      Situated in a small dell, it was surrounded by sycamore trees and huge old oaks which encircled the back. Elizabethan in origin, it was a charming house, rather picturesque, low and rambling, made of local stone. It had tall chimneys, leaded windows, and a half-timbered front façade that was Tudor in style.

      In her mind’s eye Evan had always had an image of what an English country house should look like, an image instilled in her by her grandmother Glynnis Hughes. And on that cool and sunny October Saturday morning, she had seen this image in her mind’s eye take shape in reality. And when he put the big old key in the lock of the front door, her excitement knew no bounds; she couldn’t wait to step inside.

      Evan knew she would never forget how she had felt when she stepped over the threshold and looked around the front hall … she filled with a wonderful sense of joy, and she felt, deep within herself, that she was going to live here with Gideon and their children … and she knew without any doubt whatsoever that they were going to be happy here. The house had a good feeling, and she was at ease, felt welcomed.

      She remembered that morning so well … walking through the big empty rooms … empty of furniture, but full of atmosphere and sunlight and dust motes rising in the brilliant shimmering air. She thought now of the enormous, old-fashioned kitchen with its dark-wood ceiling beams, mullioned windows and huge stone hearth. It was a family kitchen, the core of the house, the kind every woman loved. To her relief the reception rooms on the ground floor were spacious and well proportioned, while the upstairs bedrooms were cosy and intimate.

      ‘It’s the perfect house for a family,’ she had told Gideon without a qualm. ‘It’s just right for us, and it has family history as well, doesn’t it?’

      ‘Indeed it does,’ he had replied, his eyes full of laughter as he kissed her cheek, and asked, ‘Shall we buy it then?’

      ‘Yes, please,’ she had answered him, and then wrinkled her nose. ‘If it isn’t too ramshackle.’

      Gideon had laughed. ‘I don’t think it’s a bit ramshackle, actually, at least not the interiors. The outside woodwork needs a few coats of paint, and the stone wall needs repairing, but otherwise, I think it’s rather … a beauty. Dad said the structure was solid, the bones good, and he was correct.’

      And so a decision was made in the middle of what