A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor Bradford

      ‘Yes, there is. The other one said it was futile to battle with you now, either personally or legally, that you couldn’t live much longer, that you were getting old, very old, almost eighty. And the other one said you were so tough they would have to shoot you in the end.’ Gaye covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob and tears pricked her eyes. ‘Oh, Mrs Harte, I’m so sorry.’

      Emma was so still she might have turned to stone. Her eyes were suddenly cold and calculating. ‘Are you going to tell me who these two gentlemen were, Gaye? Mind you, I use that term loosely,’ she said with biting sarcasm. Before Gaye had a chance to reply Emma knew deep within herself, deep down in the very marrow of her bones, exactly whom Gaye would condemn when she opened her mouth. And yet part of her was still disbelieving, still hopeful, and she must hear it from Gaye’s own mouth to truly believe it. To accept her own damning suspicions as fact.

      ‘Oh God, Mrs Harte! I wish I didn’t have to tell you this!’ She took a deep breath. ‘It was Mr Ainsley and Mr Lowther. They started to quarrel again, and Mr Lowther said that they needed the girls with them. Mr Ainsley said the girls were with them, that he already talked to them. But that he had not talked to Mrs Amory, since she would never agree. He said she must not be told anything, under any circumstances, because she would immediately run and tell you. Mr Lowther then said again that there was nothing they could do about taking over the business whilst you were still alive. He told Mr Ainsley that they would never get away with it, because they did not have the power, or enough shares between them, to gain control. He said they would just have to wait until you were dead. He was adamant about this. He also told Mr Ainsley that he himself was entitled to the controlling shares of the Harte chain and that he was certain you would leave them these shares. He then informed Mr Ainsley that he intended to run the Harte chain and that he would never agree to sell the stores to a conglomerate. Mr Ainsley was furious, almost hysterical, and started to scream the most terrible things at Mr Lowther. But Mr Lowther eventually calmed him down, and he said he would agree to the sale of Harte Enterprises, and that would bring Mr Ainsley all the millions he wanted. Mr Ainsley then asked if Mr Lowther knew what was in your will. Mr Lowther told him he didn’t know, but that he thought you would be fair with them all. He did express some concern about Miss Paula, because she was so close to you. He said he didn’t know what she had been able to wheedle out of you. This upset Mr Ainsley, and he grew very excited again and said that they must formulate a plan of action now, one which they could put into operation after your death, in the event that your will did not favour them.’

      Gaye paused breathlessly, poised on the edge of her chair.

      Emma could not speak or move or think, so stunned and shaken was she now. As she reflected on Gaye’s words the blood rushed to her head and a faintness settled over her. Every bone in her body felt weighted down by the most dreadful fatigue, a fatigue that was leaden and stupefying.

      Her heart shifted within her, and it seemed to Emma that in that instant it withered and turned into a cold, hard little pebble. An immense pain flooded her entire being. It was the pain of despair. The pain of betrayal. Her two sons were plotting against her. Robin and Kit. Half brothers who had never been close were now hand in glove, partners in treachery. She was incredulous as she thought: God Almighty! It’s not possible. It can’t be possible. Not Kit. Not Robin. They could never be so venal. Never. Not my boys! Yet somewhere in the recesses of her mind, in her innermost soul, she knew that it was true. And that anguish of heart and soul and body was displaced by an anger of such icy ferocity that it cleared her brain and propelled her to her feet. Dimly, distantly, she heard Gaye’s voice coming to her as if from a cavernous depth.

      ‘Mrs Harte! Mrs Harte! Are you ill?’

      Emma leaned forward across the desk, which she gripped tightly to steady herself, and her face was drawn and pinched. Her voice was low as she said, ‘Are you sure of all this, Gaye? I don’t doubt you, but are you certain you heard everything correctly? You realize the seriousness of what you have recounted, I’m sure, so think very carefully.’

      ‘Mrs Harte, I am absolutely sure of everything I’ve said,’ Gaye answered quietly. ‘Furthermore, I have not added or subtracted anything, and I haven’t exaggerated either.’

      ‘Is that all?’

      ‘No, there’s more.’ Gaye bent down and picked up her handbag. She opened it and took out a tape, which she placed on the desk in front of Emma.

      Emma regarded the tape, her eyes narrowing. ‘What is this?’

      ‘It’s a tape of everything that was said, Mrs Harte. Except for whatever occurred before I went into the filing room. And the first few sentences I heard. They are missing.’

      Emma looked at her uncomprehendingly, her eyebrows lifting, questions on the tip of her tongue. But before she could ask them, Gaye proceeded to explain more fully.

      ‘Mrs Harte, the tape machine was on. That’s why I went back to the office in the first place. When I went into the filing room, and heard them shouting, I was distracted for a minute. I turned off the filing-room light so they wouldn’t come in and see me. It was then that I saw the red light on the machine flickering and I went to turn this off, too. But it suddenly occured to me to record their conversation, since I was getting the general drift of it, and realized its importance. So I pressed the record button. Everything they said after that moment is here, even the things which were said after I closed the door and couldn’t hear clearly.’

      Emma had the irresistible desire to laugh out loud, a bitter, hollow laugh. She resisted the impulse, lest Gaye think her raving mad and out of her senses, or hysterical at the most. The fools, the utter fools! she thought. And the irony of it! They had chosen her own boardroom in which to plot against her. That was their first and most crucial mistake. An irrevocable mistake. Kit and Robin were directors of Harte Enterprises, but they were not on the board of the department-store chain. They did not come to board meetings at the store, and so they did not know that she had recently installed sophisticated equipment to record the minutes, another time-saving device. It liberated Gaye for other duties and she simply typed up the minutes from the tapes when it was convenient. The microphones were hooked up under the boardroom table, hidden for aesthetics rather than for any reasons of secrecy in the elegant Georgian room with its fine antiques and paintings of great worth. Emma looked down at the tape on the glass desk, and to her it was an evil thing, lying there like a coiled and venomous snake.

      ‘I assume you have listened to this, Gaye?’

      ‘Yes, Mrs Harte. I waited until they left and then I played it back, I took it home with me on Friday and it hasn’t been out of my sight since then.’

      ‘Is there much more on it? More than you have already told me?’

      ‘About another ten minutes or so. They were discussing …’

      Emma held up her hand, utterly exhausted, unable to hear any more. ‘Never mind, Gaye. I’ll play it later. I know quite enough already!’

      She stood up and walked across the room to the window, erect and composed, though her steps were slow and dragged wearily across the thick carpet. She moved the curtains slightly. It had started to snow. The crystal flakes fell in glittering white flurries, swirling and eddying in the wind, brushing up against the window and coating it with a light film as delicate and as fine as white lace. But the flakes were rapidly melting under the bright sun, running in rivulets down the glass and turning into drizzle before they reached the ground. Emma looked down. Far below her the traffic moved in slow unending lines up and down Park Avenue and the scene was strangely remote. And everything was hushed in the room, as if the entire world had stopped and was silent, stilled for ever.

      She pressed her aching head against the window and closed her eyes and thought of her two sons, of all her children, but mostly of her adored Robin, her favourite son. Robin, who had become her antagonist after they had clashed a few years before about a take-over bid for the chain of stores. A bid which came from out of the blue and which she did not want to even discuss, never mind consider. When she had refused to talk to the conglomerate involved, he had been vociferous in his condemnation of her, exclaiming angrily