To Be the Best (43 page)

The garden was still her most magical place.

Ever since childhood Paula had found satisfaction and reward in planting and weeding, pruning and hoeing, and working outdoors was therapeutic, soothing to her, never failed to put her in the best of moods.

Also, she had discovered long ago that she often did her best thinking in her gardens at Pennistone Royal, and today was no exception. It was a bright April afternoon, just after Easter, sunny and brisk with a light breeze, and a powder-blue sky that was cool and cloudless.

As she worked on the new rockery she was creating, she focused her thoughts on business, in particular the Larson chain in the United States. The deal was already in the first stage of negotiation, and Millard Larson was expecting her in New York next week, when they would sit down at the conference table and hammer out the terms and conditions of the sale.

When she had first had the idea of expanding her operations in the States, long before the possibility of Larson’s had come up, she had made the decision to purchase any new retailing company that caught her eye with her own money.

Six hundred and fifty million dollars,
she thought now, mulling the figure over in her mind whilst concentrating on the alpine plants she was sorting through. It
was
a lot of money, no doubt about that, and she had been wondering for several days which financial combination would work best for her.

Paula sighed under her breath. If her mother had agreed to sell the Sitex stock last year her problem would have been
solved. Under the terms and conditions of her grandfather’s will, she and her brother Philip would automatically have received one third of the proceeds of that sale – hundreds of millions of dollars each. But her mother had refused to sell the oil stock and continued to be quite adamant about not doing so. Paula had acknowledged months ago that she would have to raise the necessary cash another way, once she found the right department store chain to buy.

She ran several possibilities through her mind, then dismissed each one as convoluted and complex, went back to her original idea. To her way of thinking, the best solution was to sell ten per cent of her Harte shares which Emma had left her. They would realize between two hundred and three hundred million dollars on the market, but without making much of a dent in her holdings. She would still be the majority stockholder with forty-one per cent, as well as chairman and chief executive officer of the Harte chain. The remainder of the money she could easily raise from the banks, by borrowing against the retail chain she was acquiring, pledging its assets, in particular its real estate holdings which were valuable.

Suddenly, after days of indecision, she made up her mind. She
would
go that route. And she would put everything in motion at once. First thing on Monday morning when she got to her office in the Leeds store she would speak to her stockbroker.

A bright smile broke through, expunging the worried and preoccupied expression she had worn all day, and she continued to smile to herself as she finished planting the small alpine species in the narrow crevices of the rocks.

‘Mummy! Mummy!’

Paula lifted her head alertly at the sound of Patrick’s voice. He and his sister, Linnet, were running as fast as their legs would carry them along the gravel path that sloped down from the long terrace at the back of Pennistone Royal.

They both wore sweaters and jeans under their duffel coats and mufflers, and she could not help thinking how healthy and fit they both looked today. Especially Patrick. That vacant expression which so often dulled his eyes was absent, as it had been for some weeks. This pleased her, raised her hopes that he was improving mentally, if only ever so slightly. She loved her sensitive, damaged and beautiful child so very much.

‘Patrick! Do be careful! You’re going to fall!’ She called out. ‘And you too, Linnet! Do slow down, both of you! I’m not going anywhere, you know.’ She rose as she spoke, picked up the basket full of her gardening tools and carefully climbed down from the top of the clustered rocks.

Patrick hurled himself against her body, clinging to her, panting hard and trying to catch his breath.

She pushed his dark hair away from his temple and clucked quietly. ‘Dear, dear, you are a one, aren’t you? Running so hard, I –’

‘Puffed, Mummy,’ he interrupted her, raising his solemn little face to hers. ‘Linnet puffed too.’

‘I’m
not!’
Linnet protested fiercely, glaring.

Ignoring her, Patrick went on, ‘Horsey, Mummy. Patrick wants horsey.’

Puzzled, Paula swung her eyes to her six-year-old daughter, as she so often did when Patrick spoke in riddles and she wanted edification. She gave Linnet a questioning stare.

Linnet explained, ‘The horse in the attic, Mummy. That’s what Patrick wants. I said he couldn’t take it, not without asking Daddy. And Daddy said to ask you.’

‘Horse in the attic.
What on earth are you talking about, darling?’

‘The cresel horse…the one that goes round and round and round and round. To the music, Mummy.’

‘The carousel, the horse on the carousel. Now I understand.’
Paula smiled at them both. ‘But I don’t remember there being a carousel in the attic. I suppose it must be, since you’ve apparently seen it.’

‘It’s in a trunk,’ Linnet rushed on excitedly. ‘We saw it just now. Daddy let us play in the attic after our walk this afternoon.’

‘Did he now.’ Paula pulled off her gardening gloves, threw them on top of the basket, and taking a small hand in each of hers, she led her children back to the house.

A short while later the three of them were rummaging in the old trunks which had been stored in the attics of Pennistone Royal for many years. Patrick had already taken possession of the carousel, which Paula had immediately given to him, and he was turning the small key, making it work in the way she had shown him.

The horses on the merry-go-round were moving up and down to the strains of the
Carousel Waltz,
and the little boy was fascinated, his happy, eager face a pleasure for Paula to witness.

Linnet and Paula left him to play with the carousel on his own, and they soon had their heads and their hands in another trunk which Paula had pulled out and opened.

Busily they sorted through the toys that brimmed to the top, taking out a large, painted wooden soldier, a box of bricks, a scruffy teddy bear with one arm and no eyes, several stuffed animals, various jig-saw puzzles, a box of tin soldiers and various rag toys.

Paula’s hands finally came to rest on a beautiful china baby doll at the bottom of the trunk, and lifting it out she caught her breath in surprise and pleasure. She remembered it very well. Her grandmother had given it to her, and she had taken great care of it, had loved this doll more than any of her other possessions. Years ago she had packed it carefully away when she had moved from Long Meadow to Pennistone Royal after Jim’s death. She had meant to give the doll to Tessa but had
somehow forgotten all about it during the troubled year after the avalanche.

Sitting back on her haunches, she held the doll up, smoothed its golden curls, straightened its dainty ecrucoloured lace dress. She was amazed that the doll was in such good condition.

Linnet was watching her closely, her eyes lingering with longing on the doll. ‘Was it yours, Mummy?’ she asked at last.

‘Yes, darling, it was. My grandmother gave it to me when I was your age.’

‘You mean Grandy Emma?’ Paula nodded.

‘So you wouldn’t want to give that doll to anybody then, would you? Not if
Grandy Emma
gave it to you,’ Linnet said gravely, her eyes still fastened on the doll.

Paula laughed. ‘Well, perhaps I would give it to a girl whom I knew would look after it, would take good care of it, as I did.’

‘Tessa,’ Linnet said a trifle sadly in a small and quiet voice.

‘No. I think her name’s Linnet.’ ‘Oh Mummy! Mummy!’

‘Here you are, my darling, it’s for you.’ Paula held out the doll. ‘I used to call her Florabelle.’

‘Then I shall, too.’ Linnet struggled to her feet, took the doll, her eyes shining, her smile brilliant.

‘Thank you, Mummy, oh thank you.’ Hugging the doll tightly in her arms, she leaned into Paula, nuzzled her nose against her cheek. ‘I love you, Mummy,’ she whispered. ‘Oh you do smell nice. Like a bunch of flowers.’ Linnet put her head on one side and observed Paula thoughtfully. Then she reached out, touched Paula’s cheek gently with her small hand. ‘You won’t get lost, will you, Mummy?’ she asked, her voice unexpectedly wistful, almost fretful.

Paula’s brows puckered together into a jagged line. ‘What do you mean, lovey?’

‘Sometimes when we’re waiting for you to come home, Daddy says, “I think your mother must have got lost. I don’t know
where
she can be.” And then he goes to the window and looks out. And I worry ‘til you get home and so does Patrick. Well, I think he does.’

‘Oh darling, it’s merely a
saying.
It doesn’t mean that I’m really lost,’ Paula said, and smiled at her daughter reassuringly.

‘Are you sure, Mummy?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘Oh. That’s all right then.’

Paula smoothed a hand over her daughter’s red-gold hair, and sat back on the floor, watching her as she played with the doll. How easy it is to please children, she thought at one moment. As long as they receive love and care and kindness and discipline that’s all that really counts. Their needs are really very simple. If only adults could be the same…

‘So this is where you’re all hiding!’ Shane exclaimed from the doorway, making the three of them start in surprise.

Paula pushed herself to her feet. ‘We’ve been finding all sorts of lovely treasures in the trunks,’ she explained, hurrying over to him. ‘A carousel for Patrick, and my old doll Florabelle for Linnet.’

Shane nodded, put his arm around his wife. ‘But now I think you have to come downstairs…Nanny has tea waiting in the nursery…for all of us.’

‘That was such fun, and the kids thoroughly enjoyed it too,’ Shane said to Paula that evening as they were dressing for dinner. ‘It’s ages since we’ve had a nursery tea with them. We must do it more often.’

‘You’re absolutely right, darling,’ Paula agreed, leaning
forward, looking into the mirror of her dressing table, smoothing the silver brush over her sleek black hair. Putting the brush down, she outlined her mouth with bright red lipstick, then sprayed on Christina Crowther’s
Blue Gardenia
perfume, one of her favourites. ‘And I’m really thrilled with Patrick, the progress he’s making, aren’t you?’ She half-turned to look at Shane.

‘I am indeed. He’s so much better in every way, and there’s been a vast improvement in his understanding of things. It’s the new tutor. Mark is doing wonders for the boy.’

‘Yes, he is,’ Paula said.

Shane slipped into a dark blue blazer, adjusted his tie, walked across the floor. He stood behind Paula with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, smiling at her in the mirror.

‘You look beautiful, Beanstalk,’ he said, his lopsided grin surfacing briefly. ‘So stop titivating yourself. Come on, let’s go into the upstairs parlour. I put a couple of bottles of champagne on ice earlier, and we can have a quiet drink together before Emily and Winston arrive for dinner.’

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Paula exclaimed, pushing back the dressing table stool, rising to her feet, reaching up, kissing him on the cheek. ‘But then
you
usually
do
have the best ideas.’

She tucked her arm through his and together they walked across the floor into the adjoining room.

The upstairs parlour at Pennistone Royal had been Emma Harte’s favourite room in the great old house in Yorkshire, and Paula loved it as much as her grandmother had. Its impressive architectural details and splendid furnishings belied the name
parlour,
but for some reason it had never been called anything else. The soaring dimensions gave it a singular grandeur and its high ceiling was Jacobean in style, decorated with elaborate plasterwork. Tall, leaded windows flanked an unusual oriel window, and there was a carved
fireplace of bleached oak and the floor was of parquet. Emma had years ago balanced its imposing detail and size with a mellow charm, intimacy, and comfort, as well as her own brand of understated elegance.

Paula had never felt the need to change the room, even thought it would be sacrilege to do so, and the décor was the same as it had been for nigh on fifty years. Since the day Emma had bought it in the 1930s, in fact. The primrose coloured walls were repainted every year to the same shade, and new slipcovers and draperies were made when they were required, otherwise it was exactly the way it had been throughout Emma’s lifetime.

The priceless Turner landscape filled with misty blues and greens hung above the mantelpiece, and the only other paintings in the parlour were excellent portraits of a young nobleman and his wife by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The three oils were in perfect harmony with the Georgian antiques, the Savonnerie carpet and the rare Rose Medallion china in the Chippendale cabinet. Brightly patterned yellow chintz fabric covered the two huge sofas in the centre of the room, which faced each other across a mahogany butler’s tray table, and the antique porcelain lamps were shaded in cream silk; everywhere there was the gleam of silver and crystal.

The lamps had been turned on and a huge fire blazed in the hearth; the warmth had opened up the narcissi, daffodils and hyacinths planted in bowls, and the air was fragrant with their mingled scents.

As she moved towards one of the sofas and sat down, Paula thought the parlour had never looked more beautiful than it did this evening. It was dusk and the light was changing. Outside the great soaring windows, the sky was turning to navy-blue tinged with lilac bleeding into amethyst and deeper purple. A strong wind had blown up, was rustling the trees, and distant thunder heralded a storm.

But here in the gracious room there was a sense of
peacefulness and tranquillity. To Paula, the parlour had a timeless quality, never changing. It was full of her past, her entire life really, and so many cherished memories…memories of her childhood, her youth, the days of her growing into womanhood. And there were memories of the most special people in her life…those dead and living…her father and Grandy…her mother…Philip…the special friends of her youth…and her cousins Emily, Winston and Alexander. And Shane, too, was caught up in the memories which were held captive in this room.
Home,
she thought. The parlour represents home to me, and my roots, just as it did to my grandmother. And that’s why I could never be happy living anywhere else…