Emma’s Secret (3 page)

Leaning back against the limestone slab in the niche, Linnet sighed, still dwelling on Paula’s words, the decision she had made. There would be trouble with Tessa if she ever found out about their mother’s intentions.

It was true that Tessa did not have any genuine feelings for the house and the estate, but she did covet them, excessive greed being one of her least attractive traits. And her mother was correct, Lorne wouldn’t care at all. London was his bailiwick, and he rarely if ever came north any more, except for special family occasions and holidays. He was very much caught up in his own world, the world of the West End theatre, where he was a successful and very popular young actor. He was truly dedicated to his theatrical career and, unlike his twin, Lorne was not avaricious or combative. He had a loving, gentle heart and had often been her fierce and loyal champion against Tessa in the past. This did not mean he did not love his sister, because he really did. Like most twins he and Tessa were very close, and saw a lot of each other. Very simply, Lorne was not particularly interested in his mother’s business, nor did he have any desire to inherit any part of it. Tessa was welcome to it.

As for the two youngest of the O’Neill brood, they didn’t figure in the scheme of things, as far as Tessa was concerned. Emsie was a dreamy-eyed girl, rather fey and whimsical with an artistic nature. Linnet thought of her as another true Celt, like their father Shane. Possessions were of no consequence to her; she loved her horses and her dogs more than new dresses and pretty things.

‘Nonsenses,’ she called the latter, rather disdainfully, preferring to muck out the stables in a pair of jeans and an old sweater, rather than dress up to go to parties.

Linnet smiled inwardly, reflecting on her sister, of whom she was extremely protective and whom she loved dearly. Emsie, at seventeen, was a vulnerable, sensitive girl, but also riotously funny when she wanted to amuse the family. Named for Emma Harte, she had become Emsie a few days after her birth, her parents suddenly realizing that there was no room for another
Emma
in the family. The Emma who was dead still dominated them all from the grave.

The last-born child of the O’Neills was the son her father had yearned for, especially after Patrick’s death. Desmond, who was now fifteen, was the spitting image of Shane: six feet tall, dark haired and ruggedly handsome, he was looking very grown-up already.

Linnet had always thought Desmond was the most gorgeous child, and he was turning into a stunning young man. There was no doubt in her mind that women were going to fall at his feet like ninepins, as they apparently had at her father’s, before he was married to their mother. Desmond was the apple of Shane’s eye, and of his grandfather’s, the much-desired heir to the O’Neill hotel empire founded by Blackie, and built up into a worldwide company by Bryan and his son Shane, who ran it today.

Funnily enough, Tessa had always been rather taken with Desmond, favouring her youngest half-brother more than her other O’Neill siblings. ‘Mostly, that’s because he doesn’t represent a threat to her,’ Linnet had said to Gideon recently, and her cousin had nodded, agreeing with her. ‘But he
is
irresistible,’ Gideon had thought to add.

For a few seconds Linnet focused on her older sibling, and her face changed slightly, took on a grim aspect. Tessa, her half-sister, had been born to her mother and Jim Fairley, Paula’s first husband. But Jim had been killed when the twins were small. He had died, tragically, in a massive avalanche in the town of Chamonix.

Because Tessa had been born a few minutes before Lorne, she was the eldest, and never allowed him, nor anyone else for that matter, to forget this fact. She forever reminded them she was Paula’s heir apparent as the first of her six children, only five of whom were now living.

Suddenly contemplating Tessa’s competitiveness and rivalry, Linnet cringed inside. She hated confrontation and in-fighting, and was usually the peacemaker in the family. Now perhaps this was no longer a viable role.

She and her cousin Gideon had discussed Tessa’s attitude just the other day, and he had reminded her that Tessa was jealous of her, and envious.

Although she loathed the thought of this, Linnet had found herself in agreement with her cousin. He had pointed out how mean-spirited Tessa had been when they were children. She had also been a troublemaker at times. ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots that easily,’ he had muttered.

A feeling of dismay now lodged in Linnet’s stomach. Nothing had changed really, even though she and her sister were now grown-up. Tessa had bullied her, bossed her around when she was little, and in some ways she was still attempting to do so, however indirectly.

Quite unexpectedly, Linnet remembered how she had stood up to Tessa when she was only five, surprising everyone, herself included, and Tessa most of all. Certainly she had shown her independence, that she was feisty, and had the spirit of Emma Harte in her. Her twelve-year-old sister had finally backed off after Linnet had proved she was a match for her.

Linnet laughed out loud, her laughter floating out across the empty fells, reverberating back to her in a series of echoes. She had just remembered an incident with Tessa’s bright yellow sunhat, of which Tessa had been so proud. It had been ruined in the swimming pool at the Villa Faviola in France, and Linnet could see it now, in her mind’s eye, floating so serenely in the pool. Where
she
had deliberately tossed it…how pleased with herself she had been.

And how angry Tessa had been with her that day, screaming that she had wilfully destroyed her expensive, brand-new hat, purchased with a whole week’s pocket money at the open-air market in Nice.

On that particular morning, Gideon had roared with laughter, and so had his brother Toby, much to Tessa’s annoyance, since Toby was usually one of her drooling sycophants, yes-ing her to death and fawning all over her. As he still did to this day.

As for Tessa, it had been obvious that she was so startled by Linnet’s courage and audacity that she was totally flabbergasted. Their mother had been secretly amused by these goings-on, and had had a hard time smothering her laughter.

Tessa was now thirty-one and a married woman. Her husband, Mark Longden, was a well-known architect who had made something of a name for himself with his ultra-modern buildings. They had a three-year-old daughter Adele, named in honour of Tessa’s great-great grandmother, Adele Fairley. Tessa was very proud of her connection to that aristocratic family, and this was another point she liked to ram home to people, at least those who were interested and would listen.

In spite of her age and position in the world, Tessa could still be mean, often for no apparent reason. The family was conscious of this, and appalled at her behaviour which they deemed to be immature, and frequently rather ugly.

Linnet and Tessa worked for their mother at Harte’s in Knightsbridge, the chain’s flagship store. But Tessa had a much more important job than she did; her sister managed a number of departments, while she ran only the fashion floors, and assisted her mother with merchandising and marketing. There was no question that Tessa had more power, and yet in the last few months her sister had grown increasingly hostile towards her.

Only the other day, Linnet had experienced a peculiar feeling, a premonition really, that trouble was brewing and would soon erupt. The mere idea of this was alarming, especially since the cause of Tessa’s recent animosity eluded her.

The distant rumble of thunder brought Linnet out of her reverie and, startled, she sat up straighter on the boulder, lifted her eyes to the sky. It looked curdled, suddenly darker, and there was no denying that a storm threatened.

Not wanting to be caught up here in the rain, or perhaps even a blizzard since it was so cold, she jumped up. Turning away from the extraordinary view of the upper fells, she headed down the steep path at once, making for her home just visible below her in the valley.

It had been a long steady pull on the way up, but it was much easier going down, and she moved at a fairly rapid pace. Thoughts of her elder sister continued to preoccupy her. Linnet was baffled by Tessa’s coldness in these last few weeks. Normally she was much friendlier. There seemed to be no good reason for the change in her demeanour…unless she knew, somehow, about their mother’s intentions regarding Pennistone Royal and who would inherit it one day.

But how could she know?

The question hovered there. Linnet pondered on it, casting her mind back to the meeting she had had with their mother in November.

The conversation had been held in private, in her mother’s inner sanctum at the Leeds store. They had been entirely alone, and in any case Tessa was in London at the time. No, she couldn’t possibly have any inkling of it, Linnet decided.

And yet…she thought of the way Tessa had directed some of her hostility towards their mother in December–at least that was the way Linnet had read it, and she was surprised at the time. Unexpectedly, Tessa had announced that she would not be coming to Pennistone Royal for Christmas. This was tantamount to sacrilege in the family, and everyone was taken aback.

For years and years the Hartes, the O’Neills and the Kallinskis had celebrated the important holidays together at Pennistone Royal. It was a tradition that had begun in 1933, just after Emma Harte had purchased the grand house and its vast estate outside Ripon.

‘The gathering of the three clans,’ her grandfather called it, and that was exactly what it was. Emma Harte, Blackie O’Neill and David Kallinski had become friends very early in the twentieth century, and had remained friends throughout their lives, as had their growing families. And the Hartes and the O’Neills were now joined in marriage and by blood.

‘Ninety-five, ninety-six years, Linnet,’ her grandfather had explained to her this past Christmas. ‘That’s how far our relationships go back. Spending Christmas together is mandatory. As David Kallinski used to say, we’re
mishpocheh
…family.’

Not unnaturally, their mother had been very upset with Tessa when she had learned of her intention to remain in London over the holidays. Dismayed and hurt, Paula had finally laid down the law as only she could, in her inimitable Emma Harte style.

Of course Tessa, in the end, had had no alternative but to acquiesce, commit to the visit, no doubt encouraged to do so by Mark Longden, who knew a good thing when he saw it. Like any smart gambler, he always had his eye on the main chance.

Ever since he had slithered so skilfully into their lives five years ago, Linnet had been scrutinizing him surreptitiously.

And she continued to observe him, saw how obsequiously attentive he was to their mother. It was quite apparent to her that he obviously regarded Paula not only as the matriarch to be kow-towed to, but Mrs. Moneybags to be endlessly flattered.

Linnet had been suspicious of Mark from the beginning; had considered him to be an opportunist and a gold-digger. And she had often wondered what the beautiful Tessa had ever seen in him. For beautiful her sister was, and she could exhibit enormous charm and grace when she wanted, and considerable intelligence. And there were many other qualities in Tessa which balanced her less attractive traits. Linnet cared about Tessa; her sister was nobody’s fool, she knew that. And yet she had chosen Mark. It troubled her that Tessa had married someone not quite up to par.

Eventually, and somewhat grudgingly, Tessa had agreed to spend Christmas at Pennistone Royal. Even so, it had been a clever compromise. She had explained that they would arrive on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, in time for tea and the lighting of the tree, and depart after lunch on Christmas Day. Her excuse for such a short visit was the necessity of spending Boxing Day with Mark’s parents in Cirencester.

But in essence, Tessa had given her family only twenty-four hours of her time, and Grandfather Bryan, in particular, had been very put out, mainly on Paula’s behalf. He had made a few adverse comments to Linnet, after Tessa had left with Mark and Adele. He frequently confided his thoughts to her, and in this instance he had said that Tessa was as manipulative now as she had been as a child.

Despite the Christmas activities, and the presence of the other clans as well as the O’Neills, Tessa had acted rather strangely, in Linnet’s opinion. Temperamental by nature, especially in her childhood when she had been prone to throwing tantrums, this characteristic seemed to get the better of her at Christmas. During the short time she was in Yorkshire, she had not even bothered to disguise her moodiness or ill temper, much to Linnet’s surprise. Furthermore, she seemed hell-bent on doing battle.

Now, as then, Linnet wondered why. There appeared to be no valid reason for this curious combativeness, and she thought Tessa was being reckless in the way she constantly annoyed their mother.

Paula had not said anything to Linnet at Christmas, nor since then, regarding Tessa’s questionable behaviour. But understanding her mother the way she did, Linnet knew Paula had not missed a trick. She was merely biding her time. It was unlikely that Paula would put up with Tessa’s moods for very long. She was a practical woman with her feet firmly on the ground, and emotional outbursts for no apparent reason usually left her totally unmoved.

So be it, Linnet muttered to herself. What will be, will be. I’ll just have to tackle things as they come at me…if indeed they do. And in the meantime, I’m not going to worry.

But despite this promise to herself, Linnet
did
worry as she continued her trek down into the valley. She was far too astute to underestimate her sister, and she also knew that Tessa could fight a mean fight.

She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did she would have to defend herself. She had no other choice.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

L
innet was glad to be off the moors for once, and she experienced a sense of relief as she crossed the long meadow behind Pennistone Royal. It was going to snow, and very soon; she knew from experience that the worst thing that could happen was to be caught on the moors in bad weather.

When she finally arrived at the old, wrought-iron gate that led into the estate she pushed it open, hurried past the vegetable gardens, and only slowed her pace when she came to the parterres cut into the back lawn.

She stood there for a second surveying the intricate designs, as always intrigued by their geometric precision. ‘Best seen from the air, them there parterres,’ Wiggs used to say to her when she was a little girl and he was a young gardener. ‘But I don’t have an aeroplane,’ she would protest, staring at him perplexed. ‘An upstairs window then?’ he would suggest with a big wink. And she would wink back, the way he had taught her, run into the house, up the stairs and into a back bedroom. From there she could see the parterres from high up, just as Wiggs had said. She had always had a soft spot for him; now he was head gardener at Pennistone Royal and in charge of the whole estate.

On this cold morning she thought the parterres looked a bit sad. But in the spring and summer the geometrical patterns would be bristling with tender young leaves and the small, flowering plants that brought vivid colour to the dark earth. And elsewhere on the estate the many fountains would be spraying water high into the bright sunlight, and the famous Rhododendron Walk, which her mother had created over thirty years ago, would be in full bloom. That was the time of year she loved the gardens best of all, when there was such renewal, and everything was bursting with life and the air was fragrant with mingled scents.

Linnet shivered under the sharp wind and hurried on, huddling down into her coat, wanting to get home to stand in front of one of the roaring fires, to warm herself until she was thawed out.

Within a few minutes the front façade of the house loomed up in front of her, and she came to a stop, gazing up at it with admiration. There was a timelessness about it that never failed to move her…how much this house must have seen over the hundreds and hundreds of years it had been standing. The dramas of families and so many lives. Happiness and joy, pain and suffering, death and loss, love and marriage and the bearing of children. An endless, enduring cycle, her grandfather was prone to saying, always adding, ‘If only these venerable old stones could talk, what stories they could tell.’

Rooted in the seventeenth century, Pennistone Royal had a majestic dignity with its mingling of Renaissance and Jacobean architecture. The grey stone walls were intersected with many mullioned windows and topped with crenellated towers, whilst tall chimneys punctuated the roof. When she had been a very little girl she had thought of those chimneys as sentinels standing guard over the house and everyone in it–especially her family.

She smiled at the remembrance; she had been such an imaginative, fanciful child.

As her eyes roamed over it she realized just how much she loved this ancient house. It was her safe haven, her home, just as it had been Emma’s home for so many years of her long life. Linnet felt her great-grandmother’s presence in every corner of it, and this was another reason she cared about it so much. Grandy Emma would want me to have it, when my time comes, Linnet mused, but I hope that’s not for years and years…

She lifted her eyes and glanced up at the sky as she began to walk on at a brisk pace. As usual it had changed yet again: bloated, heavy with cloud, it looked curiously luminous, streaked with pale, silvery light. Suddenly her face was thoroughly wet…it had started to snow and the flakes were whirling around her in great flurries, settling on her scarf and her coat.

Not wasting another moment, Linnet began to run, her loden coat flying out behind her.

Bryan O’Neill had arrived at Pennistone Royal over an hour ago, and once he had looked in on his grandson, Desmond, who was recovering from the flu, he had made his way to the upstairs parlour.

Positioning himself at a window, he had stood there ever since, looking out at the moors, anxiously waiting for Linnet to return, worried about her.

Now, as he saw her sprinting along the path, he relaxed for the first time since entering the house. Convinced that she was going to get lost in a blizzard, as she had once before, he had been on tenterhooks.

With her suddenly in his direct line of vision, his spirits lifted considerably, and he felt his taut shoulders relaxing. A small sigh escaped. He tried so hard not to have favourites amongst his grandchildren–he loved them all–but there was no denying he loved this one the best, even though Desmond happened to be the apple of his eye, the long-awaited male heir-apparent.

Linnet was a wonderful young woman in so many different ways, but then so were his other granddaughters. However, there was a special reason why she was close to his heart and precious to him, and it was bound up with so many of his memories and his childhood.

Bryan strode across the room and went out into the corridor, making for the central landing. In December he had celebrated his eighty-fourth birthday, but he looked nowhere near that old. Vigorous and strong, and in robust health, he was a fine figure of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of silver hair and the same merry black eyes his father Blackie had had, and which his son Shane had inherited from them both.

As he headed towards the grand staircase, Bryan heard the front door slam, and by the time he reached the top of the stairs Linnet was standing in the Stone Hall, struggling out of her coat and scarf.

Unobserved, he watched her as she put them away in an antique armoire near the front door.

It was her colouring, of course, that so captivated, so drew the eye to her: the glorious red hair shot through with golden lights, the translucent skin, the oval-shaped face with its fine, chiselled features, the wide-set eyes of a green so deep their colour appeared almost unnatural. She had been endowed with the famous Harte colouring, the famous Harte looks, and he thought she was the embodiment of true beauty.

Unexpectedly, in the inner recesses of his mind, he heard Edwina’s voice reverberating, and he instantly fell down into the past as he recalled her comments uttered thirty years ago or more. ‘All the Hartes have is pots and pots of money. Oh, and their looks, of course. There’s no denying they are a good-looking family. Each and every one of them.’

Bryan had never forgotten what she had said that day, and with such awful disdain it was chilling to the bone. It had been at the party after the christening of Lorne and Tessa at Fairley Church, in the little village at the foot of the moors. He had been shocked by her tone, and truly angered by her attitude.

Edwina was a Harte herself, Emma’s first-born child, and yet all she had ever wanted was to be a Fairley. Blackie had frequently said that her attitude was an insult to Emma, and Bryan had fully agreed with his father.

Yet what Edwina had said all those years ago did have a certain ring of truth to it, inasmuch as their looks were concerned. The Hartes
were
good looking, and they had been for four generations. Even the men were beautiful, and there were others in the family with Linnet’s colouring. But it was she who resembled Emma Harte
exactly,
was the spitting image of her right down to the widow’s peak so dramatic above her broad, smooth brow.

‘Grandpops! What are you doing here so early? You weren’t expected until tea time!’ Linnet cried, having suddenly spotted Bryan on the landing. As she spoke she ran to the bottom of the staircase, stood looking up at him, her face ringed in smiles. These two had been confidants since her childhood, and they were still close.

‘I was bored and lonely rattling around in that big old house in Harrogate all by myself, don’t you know,’ Bryan answered, and started down the stairs towards her, his step firm and steady as he descended.

‘There’s nobody here but us chickens! Well, except for Desmond, who’s still sick in bed,’ she informed him, laughing. ‘Paula and Shane are out.’

It still startled him when she called her parents by their first names, even though she’d been doing it for years, and he asked, ‘And where are your
mother
and
father?’

‘Dad’s gone to Harrogate to meet Uncle Winston for lunch—’

‘At the Drum and Monkey, I’ve no doubt,’ he interrupted.

She grinned. ‘That’s right, and Mummy’s at the Harrogate store.’

‘I looked in on Desmond,’ Bryan said. ‘Your father told me he was under the weather, but where’s Emsie on a nasty day like this? Margaret said
she
was out too.’

‘Emsie went down to the village to see her friend Anne’s new horse, and she mumbled something about staying there for lunch. But you’ve got
me,
Gramps, and we can have a nice cosy lunch together. Margaret will be able to rustle up something special for you.’

Smiling, his black eyes sparkling, Bryan stepped into the hall and pulled his granddaughter to him, gave her a big bear hug, holding her close, loving this girl. Releasing her, he held her away from him for a moment, and said, ‘You’re looking especially bonny today, mavourneen.’

Linnet smiled up at him, linked her arm through his, and led him across the Stone Hall to the grand fireplace where a pile of huge logs were blazing up the chimney back.

‘Now, Gramps, how about a drop of your favourite Irish whiskey before lunch?’ she asked, patting his arm, giving him a wide, warm smile.

‘I wouldn’t say no, Linnet, thanks, me darlin’.’

‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart…just what you need on a day like this,’ she remarked, gliding across to a chest in one corner, where an array of bottles, glasses and an ice bucket had been lined up on a tray.

Bryan remained standing with his back to the fire, enjoying the warmth from the logs. His eyes followed Linnet, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself at the way she mothered him. She had been doing it since she was a child, just as she had been a little mother to her brother Patrick. It was instinctive with her, he supposed, and came quite naturally. One day, when she married, she would make a wonderful parent.

Instantly his thoughts veered to Julian Kallinski. Good-looking young man. Clever, too. Heir to the Kallinski empire. Now if he and Linnet did tie the knot, then Emma’s greatest wish would be fulfilled. The
three
clans would finally be united in marriage. He wanted that, so did Ronald Kallinski and the rest of the Kallinskis, Hartes and O’Neills.

It would be a perfect match, and he was just about to ask her about Julian when he remembered Shane’s warning of only last week. Apparently there had been too much pressure put upon them, and they were ‘cooling it’, to use Shane’s expression. No, better not mention Julian today, he decided. No point in fanning the fire.

Instead, he shifted his stance and glanced around the Stone Hall. It was large with a high ceiling criss-crossed with dark wood beams. It took its name from the local grey stone which was used everywhere–on the walls, the ceiling, the floor and the fireplace façade.

He had been sixteen years old when he had first stepped into the Stone Hall with Emma and his father. She had wanted to show them the house, which she had just bought, and they had been impressed with its grandeur. ‘Wasted space,’ she had muttered to Blackie that day, glancing around the great hall. And in the end she had turned it into one of the most splendid living rooms he had ever seen.

Despite its grand size, it had warmth and intimacy, because Emma had used large pieces of handsome Jacobean and Tudor furniture made of dark mellow woods, and comfortable oversized sofas and chairs.

To Bryan it looked exactly the way it had the day Emma had finished it, although he knew Paula had done a lot of refurbishing over the years. But she had kept Emma’s basic style, as she usually did in these things. And like Emma she had filled the room with flowering plants, which were housed in blue-and-white pots and copper buckets. Today, the tops of the polished wood tables and consoles were alive with pink, amber and yellow chrysanthemums, orange-red amaryllis, and many of the white orchids that Paula loved and nurtured in the greenhouse.

A moment later Linnet was back with his whiskey and a small glass of sherry for herself. After handing him the whiskey, she clinked her glass to his. ‘Cheers,’ they said in unison.

Bryan took a sip, then murmured in a reflective tone, ‘I suppose you were up on those Godforsaken moors because something is troubling you.’

Linnet nodded, but did not volunteer anything.

He wondered if she was worrying about her relationship with Julian, and he asked, as casually as possible, ‘Want to talk about it?’

Linnet hesitated fractionally, then answered in a slightly hesitant voice, ‘It’s Tessa. I’m worried about her. What I mean is, I’m concerned about her attitude towards me, Gramps. She’s so hostile these days.’

‘Nothing new about that, is there?’ he asked, a snowy brow lifting quizzically.

‘Not really…I suppose. She’s often been odd with me at different times. Somewhat bullying when I was little, as you well remember. And bossy since we’ve been working at Harte’s.’

‘Competitive with you, Linnet, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed finally.

Bryan was silent for a moment, ruminating, and then he remarked softly, ‘Ants in her pants, I’m afraid.’

Linnet threw her grandfather a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Mentally she has ants in her pants; can’t be still in her mind. And I’m quite sure that’s because she’s full of anxiety about her position at Harte’s. She desperately wants to be reassured that she will one day succeed your mother.’

Linnet nodded vigorously.
‘Absolutely.
She thinks she will. She expects to, actually.’