Emma’s Secret (17 page)

‘You’ve always been my missus,’ he shot back, taking hold of her hand and staring at the ring. It was a pool of green fire in the lamplight. ‘The mister who gave you this must be crazy about you. It’s some ring. And then some!’

‘The mister who gave me this ring is terrific in every way, but especially in bed. I’ve always got the hots for him.’

He put his arm around her, laughing, and they walked across the living room and into the kitchen.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

L
ifting her crystal flute, Linnet touched it to Julian’s. ‘Cheers,’ she said and took a sip. Looking at him over the rim, she added, ‘When are we going to announce our engagement? Or shall we keep it a secret for a while?’

‘Cheers, darling.’ After a long swallow of champagne, Julian shrugged lightly. ‘It’s really up to you…do you want to have a drinks party? Just for the clans. Maybe on Valentine’s Day? Or is that too corny?’

‘I don’t think it’s too corny, but Valentine’s Day is next week. There’s going to be nobody around. Paula and Shane went to Paris this morning. Uncle Winston left for Toronto yesterday, for a board meeting, and Gideon’s in the Isle of Man.’

‘Oh that’s right. He went to see Christian, I understand. Hoping to lure him back to Fleet Street with all kinds of promises. And goodies.’

‘If anybody can do it, Gideon can,’ she laughed, and leaned back against the base of the sofa, stretching her legs.

The two of them were sitting on the rug in front of the fire, the picnic spread out between them. There were plates of cold meats and chicken, slices of cold game pie, potato salad in a crystal dish, a bowl of cornichons, plus a baguette cut up in pieces, and a slab of butter on a plate. The bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice nearby.

Julian eyed the food, took a slice of the pie, laid it on his plate and speared a fork into the cornichons. ‘You used to love these when you were little.’

‘Still do,’ she said, and also took a slice of pie and some of the small pickled cucumbers. After munching on one, and eating part of the pie, she glanced at Julian. ‘Why did you agree to take a breather, as I called it?’

‘Because you wanted it so much and I decided I must humour you. But very frankly, Linnet, I’d no idea you’d stretch it out for several months. I thought we were talking a few weeks at the most. It became too unbearable for words.’

‘I know…I’m so sorry.’ She served herself some potato salad, took a forkful, then murmured, ‘Gideon’s smitten with Evan Hughes.’

‘Very.’
Julian gave her a quick look, drank some more champagne, then stared into the fire, his expression reflective. Finally he turned back to her. ‘Actually, Linnet, I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s really fallen hard.’

‘I know. I think it happened the moment he set eyes on her in the corridor at Harte’s. He told me the other day that it was a
coup de foudre.’

‘He told me the same thing…and I believe he’s right in that. Has Evan said anything to you, Linnet?’

‘Not a lot…she’s cautious, but that’s only natural, I suppose. After all, he’s a Harte, and she’s my assistant. Maybe she’s a bit awkward because she works for me. But if you want my opinion, I think she feels the same way I feel about you.’

Julian sat back.

‘She’s flipped for him, in other words, and she’s got stars in her eyes.’

‘So that’s how you feel, is it?’ He leaned forward, looking pleased, squeezed her arm.

‘Yep.’

There was a small silence.

It was Julian who broke it a short while later when he said quietly, in a thoughtful tone, ‘What do you know about Evan Hughes, Linnet?’

She met his steady gaze with a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean? What are you getting at?’

‘I was just wondering about her background, where she comes from, that kind of thing. I realize you have her résumé, know all about her previous work in fashion. I was actually thinking about her
personal
background.’

‘She’s only been working for me for about three weeks, but I like her a lot. So does everyone else. And she’s good, Julian, really professional. Imaginative, even quite brilliant in certain ways. India’s impressed, and so is Cassie. I haven’t asked her a lot of questions about her private life, but I think it goes without saying that she was available–not entangled with anyone–when Gideon first asked her out. I know she was brought up in Connecticut, but lived in New York for about ten years before moving here. Her father’s an antique dealer. I gather her mother is a manic depressive. She has two sisters. She’s never been married. Well educated, nice manners. Great personality. That’s about all I can tell you, really.’

Julian nodded, took a few sips of champagne, put the glass down. He cut a piece of the game pie still on his plate, ate it, the reflective look still in his eyes.

Linnet also ate a little of the pie, took a small piece of chicken, reached over for the bottle and poured herself another glass of the champagne. ‘What a good idea this was, darling. So tell me why you’re interested in Evan’s background?’

‘There’s something about her that seems…well, quite mysterious…’ He let his sentence trail off because he couldn’t quite put into words what he really meant. Also, he didn’t want to say anything which would be inflammatory to Linnet or, equally as important, put her off Evan Hughes. God knows she needed another assistant because of the retrospective, and she had for a long time. Evan Hughes puzzled him; she had done so since he had first met her with Gideon. Not the least of it was her uncanny resemblance to Paula, which he found so startling he was actually troubled by it.

Taking a deep breath, Julian plunged in: ‘Don’t you think there’s something odd about her? She shows up at Harte’s, out of the blue, and gets herself a job with you…and everyone’s agog because she looks exactly like your mother. Younger version, of course.’

‘I don’t think she looks
exactly
like Paula,’ Linnet answered swiftly, staring across at him. ‘They’re the same type, that’s all: tall, dark, exotic in appearance. Evan has sort of bluish-grey eyes, my mother’s are violet, and Mummy’s got dimples and a much broader forehead. And no, I don’t think there’s anything odd about Evan, I really don’t, Julian. As for her
slight
resemblance to Mummy, it
is
just that…
slight.
Very slight. And anyway, lots of people look like each other, but it doesn’t mean they’re related.’

‘You’re right,’ he agreed, not wishing to upset her, or probe further. As far as he was concerned, from her appearance Evan Hughes could easily be Paula’s daughter; in fact, she looked more like her than Linnet did. When he had met Evan he had been truly taken aback by her looks, but he
had
liked her; had found her charming, warm, quite lovely in many respects. And he had understood her appeal for Gideon. For any man, actually. And yet…well, he might as well admit it, he was quite suspicious of Miss Evan Hughes and her sudden appearance at Harte’s. As his grandfather would say, there was something not quite kosher here…

‘When are your parents coming back?’ he asked.

‘In a few days. Sometime next week. Dad had some hotel business in Paris, and Mummy just decided to tag along at the last moment. She said they’re spending Valentine’s Day there. Why?’

‘I was thinking about asking your father for your hand in marriage.’

‘Go on, don’t be so daft, lad!’ she cried in a broad Yorkshire accent, and began to laugh uproariously. ‘You don’t have to ask him, I think he’s always known it would happen, that we’d get married one day,’ she added in her normal voice.

‘But I want to ask him, Linnet. I think it’s the proper thing to do.’

Linnet leaned over, kissed his cheek. ‘That would be lovely, darling,’ she said softly, knowing what a close call she had had with him. She had almost lost him because of her own foolishness.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

T
hrowing her long black coat around her shoulders, Evan headed towards the door, but the shrilling of the telephone made her turn back into the little sitting room. She ran to pick it up, exclaiming, ‘Hello?’ glancing at her watch as she did. She was running late: it was almost seven o’clock.

‘It’s me, Evan,’ her father said from faraway Connecticut, sounding as if he was just around the corner.

‘Hi, Dad!’ she cried brightly, obviously glad to hear his voice. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m okay,’ he answered in a low mutter. ‘But you haven’t called in over a week and I started to worry. Are you all right?’

She knew that down-in-the-dumps tone only too well, had always dreaded it, and swiftly she said, ‘Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry, and yes, everything’s fine. I’m great. It’s just that we’ve been so busy with the retrospective I haven’t had a minute to spare. But you shouldn’t worry, I’m doing great here.’

‘Well, I’m happy to hear it.’ He said this in such a grudging voice it was obvious to her that he was not happy at all.

Evan murmured quietly, in a conciliatory way, ‘I ought to have called you. I mustn’t let the pressure of work get in the way again.’

‘I’ve got to admit, I
do
worry about you. You seem so far away, Evan.’

When there was a small silence at her end of the phone, he said, ‘Evan…Evan…are you there?’

‘Yes, I am. And don’t worry so much. I’m almost twenty-seven, for heaven’s sake, Dad.’

‘I miss you. We all do,’ he answered, ‘and I can’t help worrying.’

‘I miss everyone too, Dad. How’s Mom doing? How’re the girls?’

‘About the same, and your mother is a lot more cheerful at the moment. I even got her out to the movies the other night.’

‘That’s wonderful news!’ Evan was startled at this turn of events but pleased. Perhaps her mother was finally coming out of her lethargy and depression.

‘So, you like working at Harte’s, do you?’ her father asked.

‘Very much. I’m loving it. The retrospective is going to be something really special, and it’s a challenging job. Mounting it properly, giving it cachet and excitement is most important.’

‘I told Pauline Trigère some of her clothes are going to be in it, and she was thrilled.’ There was a little pause, and then Owen said, in a careful tone, ‘And how’s your admirer?’

‘Admirer?’ she repeated, frowning, taken aback by the question.

‘I hear you have a boyfriend.’

‘Oh. Well, he’s just a friend really, Dad,’ she responded, knowing at once that he’d been speaking to George Thomas.

‘Is it that man you met at the store when you went for the interview?’ her father now asked.
‘Gideon Harte?’

‘It is Gideon, yes.’

‘He’s the cousin of your immediate boss, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right. But we’re just good friends, as I said.’

‘I hope so, Evan. It wouldn’t do for you to get mixed up with your employer, you know.’

‘He’s not my employer!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s in the newspaper business; he has nothing to do with the store.’ She gripped the phone tighter, trying to remain patient with her father. But he was obviously not pleased with her, on various levels. This baffled her, made her feel uneasy.

Owen Hughes said, ‘I don’t like the idea of you being mixed up with him, Evan. He’s out of your league. It wouldn’t work.’

‘Dad, I told you, he’s just a good friend. He’s tried to be nice to me, to be helpful. Anyway, who told you about Gideon? George Thomas, I’ve no doubt.’

‘No, Arlette. I phoned the other day to speak to George and she answered the phone in his office. In passing, before she put George on, she told me you had an admirer.’

‘What do you mean he’s out of my league?’

‘All of Emma Harte’s offspring are fabulously wealthy, powerful, live a life of privilege. You’re not used to their world, Evan—’

‘He’s not like that,’ she interrupted. ‘He’s a very nice, hardworking guy, and you wouldn’t know he was from great wealth or privilege. He’s very down-to-earth, committed to work, as are his cousins Linnet and India. In fact, the whole family has a very strong work ethic, Dad, so I don’t know what you’re talking about. And in any case, I’m
not
out of his league. That’s a very strange thing for
you
to say, you’ve always said I could have any man I wanted!’

It was Owen’s turn to be conciliatory, and he said quickly, ‘You don’t have to get all het up! I’m only being protective of you, honey.’

‘I am quite capable of looking after myself. I’ve been doing that since I was seventeen, when I went to live in New York. Remember, Dad?’

‘Yes, I do remember, and you weren’t on your own, you were living with my parents in Manhattan. And listen to me, Evan, I don’t care how nice this guy Gideon is, I know what his type are like, snobby, class conscious, out to get what they can from a woman—’

‘Dad! Stop it. And at once! Gideon’s not like that, and in any case, I told you we’re just good friends. I’m not having an affair with him, if that’s what you’re getting at. He’s taken me out a few times, a number of times actually, but that’s it. We have a lovely friendship, he’s tried to be kind, to steer me in the right direction, giving me helpful tips about working at Harte’s.’

‘I understand. But remember, he’s from a very different world than you’re accustomed to, Evan, and I want you to be careful. I don’t want anyone ever to take advantage of you.’

‘They won’t,’ she said in the steadiest voice she could muster. ‘I’m a big girl, you know, a grown-up now, Dad. And you have always said I’m very level-headed. So I just don’t really understand this tack you’re taking with me.’

‘Let’s not quarrel, Evan,’ he said in a less belligerent voice.

‘I’m not quarrelling,’ she shot back, thinking he was the one trying to pick a fight, not her.

‘All right, honey, I trust you, trust your judgement. Anyway I’d better get off the phone. I have to drive into New York this afternoon.’

‘Dad, if I’m not here at the hotel, and you want to speak to me, you can always call me at the store, you know.’

‘I don’t like to bother you at work.’

‘You wouldn’t be, honest.’

‘All right then. Take care, honey. I love you.’

‘I love you, Dad. And give my love to the girls and Mom.’

‘I will. Bye.’

She said goodbye and put the phone down, stood for a moment with her hand on the receiver, thinking about the conversation. Her father just hadn’t sounded like himself, and she couldn’t help wondering why.

As Evan stepped out of the lift she collided with Arlette Thomas, almost knocking her over.

Gripping Evan’s arm, steadying herself, the somewhat diminutive Frenchwoman exclaimed,
‘Mon Dieu,
Evan, you are in the hurry!’

‘I’m sorry, Arlette. I didn’t mean to hurt you!’

‘I am perfectly all right,
cherie,’
Arlette answered, looking up at Evan, smiling at her, as usual quite entranced by the young American. ‘You look
très chic
tonight, but, more importantly, very beautiful. I hope you have the
rendezvous
….’ She paused, laughing, and her eyes twinkled…‘with that nice young man you told me about.’

Evan couldn’t help smiling back at her, and she realized then that Arlette had not meant to make mischief by mentioning Gideon to her father. She had merely done what came naturally to a romantic Frenchwoman–she had passed on what she thought was a little bit of harmless information about two young people going out together. Evan had come to know Arlette quite well in the last two months, and she was aware that the charming and motherly woman did not have a bad bone in her body. On the contrary, she was kind, loving, and saw only the best in everyone.

Edging towards the lobby of the hotel, Evan, nonetheless, ignored the remark about Gideon, and said, ‘I was just talking to my father. He called me from Connecticut. I understand you told him I had an admirer.’

‘Mais oui, cherie.
I am so happy for you…and I told him
that,
too, and I said it was always nice for a young woman like you to have a lovely male companion.’

Evan said nothing, and a tiny silence fell between them.

Arlette, looking at Evan keenly, suddenly wondered if she had done the wrong thing by mentioning Gideon to Owen Hughes, and she frowned, made a small
moue.
‘I hope you did not mind that I spoke in that way…I hope I did not speak out of turn to your father?’

Arlette sounded so troubled, and there was such a worried expression in her dark eyes, Evan exclaimed, ‘No, no, not at all. He called me because he hadn’t heard from me for over a week, I’ve been so busy with work. I guess he worries. But he shouldn’t, Arlette. I’m a grown woman, I’ll soon be twenty-seven.’

‘That’s very old; so old it’s downright ancient,’ a masculine voice with a lilting Welsh accent said behind them.

The two women swung around as George Thomas, Arlette’s husband, came walking out of the office next to the concierge’s small desk. Both of them laughed, and so did George.

The tall, pleasant-looking Welshman drew to a standstill next to Evan and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You look bonny tonight, my dear.’

‘Thanks, George,’ she responded cheerfully, smiling at him. ‘I was just talking to Dad. I guess he was on the phone to you during the week, worrying about me as usual.’

‘I told him he should stop doing that, and immediately. You’re well grounded, Evan, and he ought to know that. He brought you up. And you’re levelheaded. I think I embarrassed him a bit, actually, because I gave him a lecture.’ George began to laugh. ‘I told him he was getting to be a fuss-pot, an old lady.’

‘He wouldn’t like that!’ Evan exclaimed. ‘Anyway, he was fine when we hung up. To be fair, I suppose he misses me a lot.’

‘Yes, he does.’ George hesitated, and then he said in a low voice, ‘I hope you’re going to stay on at the hotel, Evan. The other day Arlette told me you had been thinking of finding a flat.’

‘Oh, but not at the moment though,’ Evan replied. ‘I’m far too busy, and I’m so happy and comfortable here at the hotel. Maybe one day I’ll look for a flat, but not just yet.’

‘I’m very happy to hear that,’ George said.

‘And so am I,
cherie,’
Arlette agreed. ‘And now we must let you go. I know you are in a hurry.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Have a lovely evening,’ George said.

Arlette merely gave her a knowing glance as she smiled broadly, the look in her eyes soulful and romantic.

Evan smiled back, and she couldn’t resist winking at the Frenchwoman.

Evan found a cab immediately, and gave the cabbie the address of the newspaper offices. Then she sat back as the taxi swung around and headed towards Belgrave Square. She could not help thinking about the conversation with her father, as she settled back on the seat. He had sounded so unlike himself…very odd really. There had been a hint of belligerence in his voice, and his tone had been rather critical when it came to the Hartes. But
why?
He didn’t even know them. He had told her his mother had only ever mentioned Emma Harte to him once in passing, years ago, when she had said she had met her in the war years. It’s very peculiar, she said to herself, and then wondered if it had merely been her father’s possessiveness coming to the fore, and nothing else. Although she was reluctant to admit it to anyone, she had always known that she came before her adopted sisters, that she had always been his favourite, because she was his biological child. He had favoured her in everything, had quietly spoilt her when she was growing up, and even later.

But he had never displayed any kind of possessiveness before, much less shown jealousy when she had brought home her various boyfriends over the years. On the other hand, he had known that none of them had been very serious contenders for her hand in marriage. Except for Willard Cox.

With his approval, she had become engaged to Willard five years ago, but it hadn’t lasted very long. Once she had decided to break it off with Will, her father had admitted that he had never thought that wedding bells would ring for them. ‘Will wouldn’t have been able to handle you, Evan. He’s far too weak,’ her father had said, and they had never mentioned him again. Owen had never even asked her why she had broken her engagement. If he had she would have told him the truth: one day, it had dawned on her that she didn’t
like
Will. Certainly she wasn’t in love with him, that was for sure.

She had never been in love. But she knew she might easily fall in love with Gideon. On the other hand, was she simply carried away because of his charm, his savoir-faire, his looks, his uniqueness, his very Englishness? She wasn’t sure.

Gideon had made it clear he was keen on her, wanted to pursue a relationship. He had been a devoted friend to her since her first working day at Harte’s, had made a point of taking her to lunch a couple of times a week, although it was always in the Bird Cage, the restaurant at the store, because of her tough schedule. And they had been out to dinner a number of times. He had held her hand, kissed her goodnight, but he had never been aggressive; he had handled her with kid gloves, as if he didn’t want to scare her off. In fact, he had been the perfect gentleman.

One thing was certain–they got on well, were compatible with each other. They never stopped talking, had many things in common, and similar tastes. She wasn’t exactly sure what his true feelings were, but she had stars in her eyes about him…he was a very desirable man.

As they entered the Mall and went down towards Trafalgar Square, it suddenly struck Evan that she hadn’t liked the way her father had characterized Gideon, without even having met him. It was not like the Owen Hughes she had grown up with and knew so well…or thought she knew. Perhaps she didn’t, after all.

Looking back over the past few weeks, she realized that he had been churlish about the Hartes from the moment she had found a job at the store. Did he have something against them? But if so, why had he encouraged her to go to see Emma Harte? He hadn’t, now that she thought about it. He’d actually made no comment. It was only when she had pressed him that he had said something: that Glynnis had known Emma in the Second World War. He had not volunteered anything else. Had her father always known that Emma Harte was dead and buried for thirty-one years? If that were so he had let her go on a wild-goose chase knowing that her visit to Harte’s would come to nothing. He had been humouring her perhaps, because of her devotion to her grandmother. That was the only explanation…