Emma’s Secret. Barbara Taylor Bradford

there was no enthusiasm in it, and she exclaimed, ‘You don’t sound a bit excited, and I thought you’d be thrilled for me …’ Her voice died away on her, and she clutched the phone a little tighter, frowning.

      ‘Oh I am, Evan, I am. I was simply taken aback, that’s all. I hadn’t realized you’d already been there and applied for a job.’

      ‘I didn’t. What I mean is, I hadn’t been there before, I just wasn’t up to it until yesterday morning. But I felt so much better that I got ready and went to the store. Basically to see Emma Harte, as Grandma told me to do.’

      ‘Yes, I know what she told you. And did you see Emma Harte?’

      ‘Dad, she’s dead! And for thirty-one years. So I don’t know what Gran was going on about. If they’d been friends she must have known. Anyway, I was startled. And upset. But, you know me, I bounced back after I’d had a cup of coffee and time to think. I liked the look of the store, it’s very beautiful, so I decided to go up to management and apply for a position. I mean, what did I have to lose?’

      ‘Nothing. And so they hired you just like that. Is that what you’re saying, honey?’

      ‘I was lucky yesterday, very lucky. I happened to be in the right place at the right time.’

      ‘Were you now,’ he murmured. ‘So go ahead, tell me all about it.’

      ‘What happened was this …’ Swiftly, but graphically, Evan told her story, finally finishing, ‘And before I knew it, Maggie Hemmings, of Human Resources, was taking me to see Linnet O’Neill. She’s the head of fashion and the great-granddaughter of Emma Harte.’

      ‘It does sound very fortuitous,’ Owen remarked softly. ‘And this Linnet O’Neill was impressed enough to hire you on the spot, is that it?’

      ‘Not exactly, I had to go back today for another chat with Linnet O’Neill and then she hired me on a trial basis.’

      ‘Congratulations, I’m pleased for you. And who was the nice young man you mentioned?’

      ‘His name’s Gideon Harte, and I found out later that he works at the family’s newspaper company. He runs the London Evening Post.’

      ‘I see. Well, Elayne and Angharad are going to be thrilled when I tell them the news later.’

      ‘Give them my love. I’ll be helping Linnet put on a fashion retrospective for the next few months, and hey, Dad, guess what? Some of Miss Trigère’s clothes are going to be in the retrospective. Emma Harte was a fan of hers.’

      ‘I’ll tell Pauline. She’ll be pleased to hear it,’ Owen replied.

      ‘Dad?’

      ‘Yes, honey?’

      ‘Do you think Grandma knew Mrs Harte was dead?’

      There was total silence at his end of the phone.

      Evan said insistently, ‘Dad, are you still there?’

      ‘Yes, I’m here.’

      ‘So … what do you think? Did Gran know? If so, why did she tell me to go there?’

      ‘I’ve no idea. She never mentioned anything about Emma Harte to me, except that she’d known her during the Second World War. Look, Evan, my mother could’ve been wandering in her mind, or delirious, in her last moments. I told you that before you left for London.’

      ‘I know. At least she pointed me in the right direction … as it turns out.’

      After another short silence, her father agreed, saying quietly, ‘That’s true, yes.’

      Evan asked, ‘How’s Mom?’

      His voice brightened as he answered, ‘She’s better; she’s come out of herself a bit. And she cooked a nice dinner for me last night. I think the new medication’s started to kick in.’

      ‘Oh I’m so glad! That’s great. Give her my love.’

      ‘I will. When do you start at Harte’s?’

      ‘Tomorrow morning.’ She began to laugh, and quipped, ‘They really do need me there, Dad.’

      She expected him to laugh with her, which was usually his way, but he did not. ‘Perhaps,’ he answered in the same low voice, and rapidly changed the subject.

      They talked for a few minutes longer about other things, and then said their affectionate goodbyes.

      After Evan put the receiver down she leaned back in the chair, thinking about her father’s reaction to her news. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and she felt oddly disconcerted, even irritated by his low-key response, and somewhat baffled by his attitude. The more she thought about it the more she came to realize that he hadn’t sounded pleased about her job. She couldn’t help wondering why. Like her grandmother, he had always cheered her on, been her greatest booster. But not today.

      Pondering this in London, Evan Hughes had no way of knowing that, thousands of miles away, her father, seated at his desk in his New Milford shop, was staring absently into space. He was wondering what exactly his mother had set in motion on her deathbed, admitting to himself that he should have known Glynnis would have been unable to resist pulling a few strings at the end. Under his breath Owen cursed himself for having so enthusiastically encouraged Evan to go to London, to take a sabbatical there as he himself had once done years ago. Instead, he should have discouraged the trip. But in December he had not known what he knew now. Anyway, it was too late. Evan was already there … and the wheels had begun to turn …

      Evan liked the public rooms at the little hotel in Belgravia, which George and Arlette had decorated in the manner of an English country house. Not that she had ever been in an English country house, but she had seen photos in magazines, and she was partial to that particular look: the vivid floral chintzes, the mellow woods, the fine antiques, the beautiful porcelain lamps with their cream silk shades, plus the big vases of flowers loosely arranged in the English style.

      Of all the rooms downstairs on the main floor, her favourite was the sitting room with its walls painted terracotta and glazed with light peach, the red-rose patterned chintz curtains at the three windows, and the overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in russet-red linen. On the floor, a wonderful old Persian rug had a similar background colour to the draperies, with a pattern of deep blues, pinks and greens. It helped to pull the entire scheme together, and acted as the perfect anchor for the seating arrangement.

      The room was empty when Evan went down for afternoon tea, and as she walked in and headed for the fireplace, her spirits lifted. The atmosphere was rich, warm, welcoming, and the huge fire blazing in the hearth added to its overall cosiness, its lovely roseate glow.

      She seated herself on one of the big sofas near the fireside, sat back and relaxed against the oversized needlepoint cushions, mentally pushing aside her preoccupation with her father’s odd manner on the phone. She let herself drift, staring at a painting of a moorland scene with a waterfall, heather and several sheep. It was restful to look at.

      A moment later, her eyes roamed around, taking in the other traditional oil paintings, most of them landscapes obviously executed long ago. She liked them; the room had a particular style which made her feel comfortable, at ease, at home.

      The grandfather clock in the corner began to strike four, and a few seconds later one of the young waitresses came bustling in, pushing a three-tier trolley laden with teapots, plates of finger sandwiches and scones, bowls of strawberry jam and clotted Devonshire cream.

      The young woman was closely followed by a colleague, also behind a tea trolley, this one stacked with a variety of cakes on antique silver stands.

      The two waitresses were dressed in Edwardian style, wearing long black dresses, white frilly aprons and caps, and they looked most effective in the period setting. Both women busied themselves at a long, mahogany sideboard at the far end of the room. The cake stands, plates of sandwiches