Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 32

"No. She telephoned her at Dunoon. Can you imagine, bothering Gran like that! Anyway, Grandy madeshort shrift of her." Paula's mouth worked with sudden amus.e.m.e.nt as she thought of her recentconversation with her grandmother. "When Sarah told Gran that she thought she should be allowed tobuy the boutiques for her division, because of all her hard work, effort, brilliance, et cetera, Gran told meshe said, 'Oh, really, Sarah, so that's what you think, is it? Well, remember what thought did-followed amuck cart and thought it was a wedding.' Then Grandy told her that her suggestion was ill-conceived,ridiculous, and out of the question. She added that it would always be out of the question, advised Sarahnever to dare mention such a thing again."

"There's n.o.body quite as pithy and scathing as Aunt Emma when she wants to be," Miranda said, and leaned back. "I a.s.sume dear Sarah got the message?"

"I haven't beard a whisper from her since."

"Well, that doesn't mean anything. She's busy with the summer line right now." A look of comprehension flitted onto Miranda's face. "What you've just told me probably explains something-Sarah was awfully funny with me when I went up to Lady Hamilton Clothes the other day. I can't say she was rude, because she's always well mannered, but she was unusually standoffish, even for her. Not to digress, but it's a lovely line, by the way, and I hope you'll see it when you're in London next week. We ought to place our order soon, Paula."

"Yes, I know, and Gaye has made an appointment for me to go to the showroom. And whatever else she is, Sarah is a marvelous designer. The Lady Hamilton Collection has never been anything but stunning."

"Yes," Miranda said, thinking how generous and fair-minded Paula was, and she constantly strived to findsomething positive in everyone. "Incidentally, Allison Ridley was at the fas.h.i.+on show, and she was strange with me as well, treated me as if I had a social disease."

"Probably because of Winston and Emily."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"You're very close to Emily, and I hear that Allison's extremely cut up about Winston. Quitebrokenhearted, according to Michael Kallinski, who came in to see me yesterday. He told me she andSarah have become very thick lately, and no doubt Allison regards you as a member of the enemy camp.Anyway, Michael said Allison's thinking of moving to New York. Permanently."

Miranda was surprised. "Well, well, well . . . Maybe she's contemplating going into partners.h.i.+p with that friend of hers- Skye Smith."

There was such a disparaging note in Merry's voice that Paula glanced at her quickly. "Don't you like Skye Smith?"

"Not particularly," Merry answered, as usual being completely open and honest with her dearest friend. "I have to admit that she has been very nice to Shane since he's been in New York. She's given a few dinner parties for him and has introduced him to some of her friends, and he seems to like her. But-"

Merry's voice trailed off, and she made a face. "She's too good to be true, in my opinion, so sweet all the time, too sweet, if the truth be known. She acts as if b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt in her mouth, plays the innocent, but I can't help feeling she's quite experienced-where men are concerned. I said so to Shane, but he just laughed, thought it was very amusing. Winston tended to agree with me. I'm sure he's told you that Shane had a small dinner party for us both at 21 when we were in New York last week. Well, it was actually for Winston-to celebrate the deal he made with the Canadian paper mill."

"I thought he hadn't missed one detail," Paula said slowly, "but obviously he did, since he made no mention of Skye Smith."

"Oh," Merry said, thinking this omission was odd. She hurried on: "But Skye was there. With Shane.And I had a chance to get to know her a bit better, observe her more closely. I came away from that dinner with the mostpeculiar feeling. I think she has something to hide-you know, about her past."

"What a strange thing for you to think, Merry."

"Isn't it," Merry agreed. "And don't ask me why I think it, because I can't offer you a proper explanation.Instinct, perhaps, intuition on my part.' Merry gave a tiny shrug. "Still, on the plane coming back toLondon with Winston, he and I had a long discussion about her, and we both decided she has a deviousnature. He's not very keen on her anymore, even though he quite liked her when he and Shane first met her at Allison's in the spring."

"Is it serious? I mean between Shane and her." Paula was surprised how tight her voice sounded, and as her stomach lurched she realized that the idea of Skye and her old friend being involved troubled her. Her eyes did not leave Merry's face.

"I sincerely hope it isn't! I don't like the idea of her being around on a permanent basis. Winston thinksit's only platonic, and he ought to know . . . Speaking of Winston, how's Sally?"

"Oh, she's much better. Anthony came over from Ireland about ten days ago and went immediately to Heron's Nest, where Sally's been staying. I spoke to them on the phone yesterday, and they're benefiting from the peace and quiet, are glad to be alone together. Actually, Anthony's coming to see me this afternoon."

"What an awful time you must have had because of his wife's death. I would have to be out of the country, wouldn't I? I wish I'd been here to give you moral support, Paula."

"Oh, Merry, that's sweet of you. But fortunately Emily was back from Paris, and she and I managed to keep each other going. We got through it, which is the main thing."

"Yes. But you do look tired," Merry ventured, using the mildest word she could find. From the moment she had arrived at the store she had been struck by Paula's white, drained face, the dark shadows. Her friend looked quite ill to her. "Can't you take a few days off? Get away somewhere for a rest?"

"You've got to be joking! Look at this desk."

Merry made no further comment, deciding it would be wiser not to voice her worries about Paula's health. She averted her face to conceal her anxiousness. Her eyes fell on the collection of family photographs on Emma's large mahogany side table. A number of familiar faces gazed back at her-her grandparents, Blackie and Laura, on their wedding day, her father as a baby lying on a fur rug, she and Shane when they were toddlers, her parents on the day of their marriage, and Emma's children in various stages of growing up.

Reaching for the largest photograph of the handsome man in an officer's uniform, she studied it for a moment, then remarked, "Your mother looks a lot like Paul McGill. Yes, Aunt Daisy has her father's eyes. But then, so do you." Glad she had found a way to change the subject, she added, 'The frame's dented, Paula. You ought to get it fixed for Aunt Emma. It's such a shame. Why this is a really lovely piece of silver. An antique." Merry held up the frame, pointed to the damage.

"Grandy doesn't want it repaired," Paula told her with a faint half smile. "When I said the same thing a couple of years ago, she laughed and told me the dent was part of her memories."

"What did she mean?" Merry asked.

"My grandfather didn't return to England after the end of the First World War. He stayed in Australia.The story is a bit involved, but one day, in a moment of rage and frustration, Gran threw his pictureacross the room-that particular picture in that very frame. The gla.s.s shattered, the frame was dented,but she kept it nevertheless. She told me that ever since then, whenever she looked at his photograph,she reminded herself to trust love. She thinks that if she had trusted Paul when he disappeared-trustedhis love for her- she would have had absolute faith in him, would have waited for him to come back.She believes she would have saved herself the terrible years of heartache she suffered during herdreadfully unhappy marriage to Arthur Ainsley."

"But Paul and she did get back together in the end, had years of happiness," Merry said softly, her expression suddenly disconsolate.

"You do sound unhappy, Merry. Love problems yourself? None of your old boyfriends around, is that it?" Paula looked sympathetic.

Merry nodded. "No new ones either. I seem to have nothing but bad luck in that department these days. Most of the men I've gone out with in the last few months can't seem to see beyond the O'Neill money, my looks, and my so-called s.e.xuality. I'm getting more leery by the minute." Merry grimaced. "I'll probably end up being an old maid. Emily's lucky, snagging Winston the way she did. At least she knows he's in love with her and not her bank balance. Especially since he's got a pretty hefty one of his own."

"Oh, Merry, not every man is after money-" Paula began and stopped, recognizing there was a grain of truth in Merry's statement. Being an heiress did have its manifold disadvantages, although money was only one of them.

Miranda was silent. After a moment she said, "Perhaps. The trouble is that the men I meet are simply not able to see beyond their noses, past the externals, to the person I am, to the real me. I'm not a fairy-tale princess, for heaven's sake. I work jolly hard and carry quite a load of responsibility at O'Neill Hotels International. And I have very real values, as you're aware. Shane and I were brought up to understand the value of a pound note, just as you were. And my father and grandfather aside-all they instilled-Aunt Emma certainly drilled enough sense into me during those summers at Heron's Nest."

Paula said, "Yes, I understand what you're trying to say. People do have funny ideas about us, don't they? But nothing is ever the way it seems-to outsiders, anyway."

Walking over to Paula's desk, Merry sat down in the chair opposite, her sadness mirrored in her tawny eyes. Her face became more downcast. "I'll tell you something else, Paula. I'd much prefer to marry a man I've known all my life, who loves me for myself, for what I am as a person, and not for what he imagines me to be. The other day I came to the conclusion that I don't want to get seriously involved with a fascinating stranger. To h.e.l.l with fascinating strangers. They spell trouble and are frequently full of nasty surprises. If it's not the money, then it's the power they crave. Then there are the s.e.x maniacs, the chaps who're only interested in hopping into bed." She smiled wryly. "As Shane keeps saying, s.e.x is easy to come by but love is hard to find. That brother of mine happens to be right in this instance."

Anthony said, "It's awfully good of you to spend all this time with me this afternoon, Paula. I really appreciate it, and I'd just like to say again that you've been wonderful through this most difficult period. 1 can't tha-"

Paula held up her hand. "If you thank me once more I'll turf you out of my office." She lifted the teapot and poured him a second cup of tea. "I'm glad to be of help when I can, and let's not lose sight of the fact that you're a member of this family." She gave him a small, warm smile. "Besides," she added quickly, "I'm not all that busy this afternoon," resorting to a white lie in order to make him feel better. "Now, to answer your question, I think Grandy uxnild be upset-very upset, actually-if you and Sally got married before she returns from Australia."

"You do, really," he murmured, his face crestfallen. He lit a cigarette, sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. He stared past her into s.p.a.ce, focusing on the painting above the antique chest on the far wall. He seemed momentarily distracted, as if trying to work something out in his head. "And when do you think she will be getting back, in fact?" he asked eventually, bringing his attention to Paula again.

"She promised me she'd be home in time to have our traditional family Christmas at Pennistone Roval-" Paula stopped, struck by a sudden and appealing idea. Leaning over the butler's tray table between them, she exclaimed, "That's when you should marry Sally. At Christmas. Gran will love it, and you can stay with her at Pennistone Royal through the holidays."

He made no response.

Paula said in a rush, "It's a marvelous idea, Anthony. Why are you hesitating?"

Still he was mute, and as she watched him closely Paula saw a pained look cross his sensitive face, which was gray and lined with fatigue. His eyes became anxious, even alarmed. He has eyes like Jim, like Aunt Edwina. Fairley eyes, Paula thought idly. She pushed aside this inconsequential observation and, wanting to pin him down, said, "Yes, Christmas would be perfect, ideal. Do say yes. We can try and reach Grandy in Sydney. No, it's too late now," she muttered, thinking aloud about the time difference, glancing at her watch. It was four o'clock. Two in the morning in Australia. "Well, we can send her a telex," she announced decisively.

"I suppose Christmas will be all right," Anthony said slowly, reluctantly. "It will have to be a quiet wedding, Paula. Very quiet. Because by then-" His voice wavered slightly, became a low mumble as he told her, "Sally's pregnant, and her condition will be noticeable."

Aware at once of his discomfort, Paula adopted a cheerful, matter-of-fact tone. "I imagine Sally will be about six months along in December, so we II have to make her a really lovely wedding dress that conceals her awkward figure."

Startled, Anthony said, "You knew?"

"No, guessed. Both Emily and I thought she had put on weight when we saw her in September, and we came to the conclusion she might be expecting. Don't worry, no one else knows, except Winston."

"Her father and Vivienne are also aware-"

"I'm talking about the rest of the family, Anthony. And as you said, it should be quiet. . . only a handful of people. The Hartes, of course, Gran, Jim and myself, your mother, and Emily. She'd be hurt if she didn't come."

"Yes," he said. "I'm very fond of Emily, and she was such a help. . ." He stopped, swallowed. "Under the circ.u.mstances, do you think it's indecent-my getting married again? I mean, so soon after Min's death?"

"No, of course I don't."

Anthony looked at Paula uncertainly.

She looked back, her gaze direct and penetrating.

She saw a man under great strain, and this showed in his haggard face, was echoed by his bleak manner, and the apathy she had divined in him the moment he had arrived. That he had aged in the past few weeks was transparent. He was not the same person he had been at her grandmother's birthday celebration. His fair coloring and very blond, rather English good looks had been most p.r.o.nounced, and he had appeared more striking than ever in the well-tailored tuxedo, which he had worn with the same kind of panache Jim possessed. That night he had laughed a lot, been so carefree and gay, unusually outgoing, charming them all. Now he was a wreck.

Paula made a snap decision. She leaned forward, pinning him with her eyes. "Listen to me, Anthony. You were unhappily married to Min, separated from her and about to divorce. You've been devastated by her death, the circ.u.mstances of it, and understandably so. However, it was not your fault. You must put it out of your mind, otherwise it's going to come between you and your happiness with Sally, affect your future, perhaps even ruin your life." Recognizing she had spoken harshly, she softened her tone. "You must think about Sally and the baby from this moment on ... they are your priorities."

"Oh yes, what you say is true," he acknowledged. "I'm not a hypocrite. Please don't think I'm mourning excessively for her." A quiver entered his voice when he said, "But I never wished her dead, Paula. That she had to die in such a terrible way is more than I-"

Paula stood up, joined him on the sofa. She took his hand, looked into his face, her own filled with immense compa.s.sion. "I know, I know, Anthony. And please believe me, I'm not being coldhearted, not in the least. And whatever you think, you weren't responsible. My grandmother, our grandmother, says we are each one of us responsible for our own lives, that we write our own scripts and then live them out to the bitter end. That is true, you know. Min was responsible for herself, her life, not you. Try to draw strength and courage from Grandy's philosophy."

"Yes," he said. "But it is hard, so very hard."

Paula was more convinced than ever that her cousin was in grave emotional trouble, and she racked her brain, wondering what to say, how to jostle him out of his present state. She was not insensitive to his feelings, but she also knew that if he allowed Min's death to dominate his life he was cutting off his chance of making that brand-new life with Sally.

Speaking so quietly, so gentlv that her voice was hardly audible, Paula said, "It may be difficult for you to believe me when I say that I can comprehend your feelings, but truly I can. You must put this tragedy behind you. If you don't, it will cripple you. You will also be committing a terrible sin- against your own child." Purposely she stopped with suddenness, abruptness, sat waiting, watching him.

He blinked, his eyes wide with shock. "What on earth do you mean by that?" he managed in a strangled voice. "I don't understand . . . committing a sin against my own child." He was horrified.

"Yes. If you permit Min's memory, her suicide, to haunt you, to fill you with guilt, you will not be able to love that child as you should-with all your heart and soul and mind. Because Min will be there, creating a wedge between you, and, let me add, between you and Sally. Also, remember that you and Sally created this baby out of your love for each other ... It didn't ask to be born . . . It's an innocent little thing. Don't cheat it because of our problems. He or she is going to need the very best of you, Anthony. To give the child anything less . . . well, yes, that would be a sin." .

He stared at her for the longest moment, blinking, striving to curb his emotions so dangerously near the surface. He leapt up, strode to the window, stood peering absently into the street below. But he saw only the death mask of Min's face as it had looked when they had brought her back from the lake. He closed his eyes convulsively, needing to expunge the image. Anthony groped for his handkerchief, blew his nose, ruminated on Paula's words. And then Sally's voice echoed in his throbbing head. Life is for the living, she had said last night. We can't change what has happened. We can't spend the rest of our lives flagellating ourselves. If we do, then Min will have won. And won from the grave. The things Sally had said had been rooted in fundamental truths, he might as well admit it. Something else occurred to him, brought his head up with a swift jerk. The woman Min had become in the last few years bore no resemblance to the girl he had fallen in love.with. Min had turned sour, bitter and. vindictive, and her bitterness and resentment had only served to erode his love. Sally had not broken up his marriage, as Min had so violently a.s.serted. Only bad marriages could be shattered by another person. Those unions that were strong remained inviolate against all outside forces. Now he thought: It was Min who broke up our marriage. For a split second he believed this was a sudden revelation, but then acknowledged that he had always been aware of this in the back of his mind. He had been so busy blaming himself he had not let this fact rise to the surface. The pain in his chest began to ease, and slowly he gathered his self-possession to him. Eventually he turned and went back to the sofa and Paula.

Anthony's 'pellucid eyes held hers, and it was his turn to reach out, to take her hand in his. He said, "You're a very special woman, Paula. Wise, and so very compa.s.sionate, such a good and loving person. Thank you for bringing me tO'iny senses. I shall give Sally and our child every ounce of love that I have. They will have the very best of me. I promise you that."

After Anthony had left, Paula plunged into her work with a vengeance. She was still hard at it when Agnes poked her head around the door at six-thirty.

"How late are we going to be here tonight, Mrs. Fairley?"

Paula raised her eyes, put down her pen, and sat back in, the chair. "Come in, Agnes." She rubbed her aching face, picked up the cup of tea, and, realizing it had gone cold hours before, immediately put it down with a grimace. "I'll be about another half hour, that's all, but you can leave if you want."

"Oh no, I wouldn't dream," Agnes said. Conscious of Paula's drawn white face, she eyed the cup, volunteered, "Let me make you a nice cup of hot tea, Mrs, Fairley. You look dead beat."

"Yes, thanks a lot, Agnes'. No, wait a minute, let's have a drink. I could use one tonight, and I'm sure you could too."

"That'll be very nice, Mrs. Fairley. But what have we got?"

Paula let out her first genuine laugh that day. "Sorry," she apologized, observing the hurt and baffled expression on her secretary's face. "You did sound droll just then. And you're right, what do we have . . . Very little that's palatable, I suspect. There was a bottle of sherry in the coat closet. Why don't you see if it's still there."

Agnes hurried to the walk-in closet and Paula started to shuffle her papers, slipping items into the different-colored folders spread before her, quickly bringing order to her desk.

A second later Agnes emerged from the closet, smiling triumphantly. - "Bristol Cream, Mrs. Fairley." She held up the bottle with a flourish.

"Oh good, let's have a gla.s.s, and we can kill two birds with one stone, go over a few final things since it's Sat.u.r.day tomorrow. I've decided not to come in, Agnes. -I want to spend the day with my babies. And you don't have to be here either, you know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fairley." Agnes beamed at her.

Ten minutes later, between sips of sherry, Paula had reduced the pile of folders on her desk. Most of them now sat on the floor at Agnes's feet.

"You can send these last three to Gaye Sloane in London. The blue folder contains all the final details for the career clothes shop. Incidentally, I've decided to use the name Emily came up with, after all. I think it's the best . . . The Total Woman says exactly what I want it to say. Do you like it?"