A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor Bradford

gone immediately to work for her grandmother. Over the years Emma drove Paula relentlessly, more harsh and exacting with her than with any of her other employees, as she assiduously educated her in all aspects of Harte Enterprises. Paula was now twenty-three years old and she was so clever, so capable, and so much more mature than most girls of her age that Emma had recently moved her into a position of significance in the Harte organization. She had made Paula her personal assistant, much to the stupefaction and irritation of Emma’s oldest son, Kit, who worked for the Harte organization. As Emma’s right hand, Paula was privy to most of her corporate and private business and, when Emma deemed fit, she was her confidante in matters pertaining to the family, a situation Kit found intolerable.

      The girl returned from the galley kitchen laughing. As she slid into her seat she said, ‘He was already making tea for you, Grandy. I suppose, like everyone else, he thinks that’s all the English drink. But I said we preferred coffee. You do, don’t you?’

      Emma nodded absently, preoccupied with her affairs. ‘I certainly do, darling.’ She turned to her briefcase on the seat next to her and took out her glasses and a sheaf of folders. She handed one to Paula and said, ‘Please look at these figures for the New York store. I would be interested in what you think. I believe we are about to take a major step forward. Into the black.’

      Paula looked at her alertly. ‘That’s sooner than you thought, isn’t it? But then your reorganization has been very drastic. It should be paying off by now.’ Paula opened the folder with interest, her concentration focused on the figures. She had Emma’s talent for reading a balance sheet with rapidity and detecting, almost at a glance, its strengths and its weaknesses and, like her grandmother’s, her business acumen was formidable.

      Emma slipped on her horn-rimmed glasses and took up the large blue folder that pertained to Sitex Oil. As she quickly ran through the papers there was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. She had won. At last, after three years of the most despicable and manipulative fighting she had ever witnessed, Harry Marriott had been removed as president of Sitex and kicked upstairs to become chairman of the board.

      Emma had recognized Marriott’s shortcomings years ago. She knew that if he was not entirely venal he was undoubtedly exigent and specious, and dissimulation had become second nature to him. Over the years, success and the accumulation of great wealth had only served to reinforce these traits, so that now it was impossible to deal with him on any level of reason. As far as Emma was concerned, his judgement was crippled, he had lost the little foresight he had once had, and he certainly had no comprehension of the rapidly shifting inner worlds of international business.

      As she made notations on the documents for future reference, she hoped there would be no more vicious confrontations at Sitex. Yesterday she had been mesmerized by the foolhardiness of Harry’s actions, had watched in horrified fascination as he had so skilfully manoeuvred himself into a corner from which Emma knew there was no conceivable retreat. He had appealed to her friendship of some forty-odd years only once, floundering, helpless, lost; a babbling idiot in the face of his adversaries, of whom she was the most formidable. Emma had answered his pleas with total silence, an inexorable look in her pitiless eyes. And she had won. With the full support of the board. Harry was out. The new man, her man, was in and Sitex Oil was safe. But there was no joy in her victory, for to Emma there was nothing joyful in a man’s downfall.

      Satisfied that the papers were in order, Emma put the folder and her glasses in her briefcase, settled back in her seat, and sipped the cup of coffee. After a few seconds she addressed Paula. ‘Now that you have been to several Sitex meetings, do you think you can cope alone soon?’

      Paula glanced up from the balance sheets, a look of astonishment crossing her face. ‘You wouldn’t send me in there alone!’ she exclaimed. ‘It would be like sending a lamb to the slaughter. You wouldn’t do that to me yet.’ As she regarded her grandmother she recognized that familiar inscrutable expression for what it truly was, a mask to hide Emma’s ruthless determination. My God, she does mean it, Paula thought with a sinking feeling. ‘You’re not really serious, are you, Grandmother?’

      ‘Of course I’m serious!’ A flicker of annoyance crossed Emma’s face. She was surprised at the girl’s unexpected but unequivocal nervousness, for Paula was accustomed to high-powered negotiations and had always displayed nerve and shrewdness. ‘Do I ever say anything I don’t mean? You know better than that, Paula,’ she said sternly.

      Paula was silent and, in that split second of silence, Emma became conscious of her tenseness, the startled expression that lingered on her face. Is she afraid? Emma wondered. Surely not. She had never displayed fear before. She was not going to turn out like the others, was she? This chilling possibility penetrated Emma’s brilliant mind like a blade and was so unacceptable she refused to contemplate it. She decided then that Paula had simply been disturbed by the meeting, perhaps more so than she had shown. It had not disturbed Emma; rather it had irritated her, since she had found the bloodletting unnecessary and a waste of precious time, and therefore all the more reprehensible. But she had seen it all before, had witnessed the rapacious pursuit of power all of her life, and she could take it in her stride. With her strength she was equipped to deal with it dispassionately. As Paula will have to learn to do, she told herself.

      The severity of her expression did not change, but her voice softened as she said, ‘However, I won’t send you alone to Sitex until you know, as I already know, that you can handle it successfully.’

      Paula was still holding the folder in her hands, delicate hands with tapering fingers. She put the folder down and sat back in her seat. She was regaining her composure and, gazing steadily at her grandmother, she said quietly, ‘What makes you think they would listen to me the way they listen to you? I know what the board think of me. They regard me as the spoiled, pampered granddaughter of a rich and powerful woman. They dismiss me as empty-headed and silly, a brainless pretty face. They wouldn’t treat me with the same deference they treat you, and why should they? I’m not you.’

      Emma pursed her lips to hide a small amused smile, sensing injured pride rather than fear. ‘Yes, I know what they think of you,’ she said in a much milder tone, ‘and we both know how wrong they are. And I do realize their attitude riles you, darling. I also know how easy it would be for you to disabuse them of their opinions of you. But I wonder, Paula, would you want to do that?’

      She looked at her granddaughter quizzically, a shrewd glint in her eyes, and when the girl did not answer, she continued: ‘Being underestimated by men is one of the biggest crosses I’ve had to bear all of my life, and it was particularly irritating to me when I was your age. However, it was also an advantage and one I learned to make great use of, I can assure you of that. You know, Paula, when men believe they are dealing with a foolish or stupid woman they lower their guard, become negligent and sometimes even downright reckless. Unwittingly they often hand you the advantage on a plate.’

      ‘Yes, but …’

      ‘No buts, Paula, please. And don’t you underestimate me. Do you honestly think I would expose you to a dangerous situation?’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘I know what your capabilities are, my dear. I have always been sure of you. More sure of you than any of my own children, apart from your mother, of course, and you’ve never let me down.’

      ‘I appreciate your confidence, Grandmother,’ Paula replied steadily, ‘but I do find it hard to deal effectively with people who don’t take me seriously and the Sitex board do not.’ A stubborn look dulled the light in her eyes and her mouth became a thin tight line, an unconscious replica of her grandmother’s.

      ‘You know, you really surprise me. You have enormous self-assurance and have dealt with all manner of people, on all levels, since you were quite a young girl. It has never seemed to disturb you before.’ Emma sighed heavily. ‘And haven’t I told you countless times that what people think about you in business is unimportant. The important thing is for you to know who you are and what you are. And frankly I always thought you did.’

      ‘I do!’ Paula cried, ‘but I am not sure that I have your capacity for hard work, or your experience.’

      Emma’s face