fighting at Sitex had indeed appalled her, as Emma suspected. As she gazed at her grandmother, reflecting on her words, she marvelled at her again, as she had yesterday. Emma was seventy-eight years old. An old woman. Yet she had none of the infirmities of the aged, nor their loss of grace. She was vital and totally in command of her faculties. Paula had watched her grandmother’s performance at Sitex with awe, had been amazed at her invincible strength, but most of all she had admired her integrity in the face of incredible pressure and opposition. Now Paula wondered, with a cold and calculating objectivity, whether she would ever have that sense of purpose, that icy tenacity to manipulate those men as astutely as her grandmother had. She was not sure. But then some of the nagging doubts were dispelled as she recognized the truth of her grandmother’s words. Finally it was her own driving ambition that ultimately overcame the remnants of nervousness.
She spoke with renewed confidence. ‘You’re right, of course. Power is the most potent of weapons, probably more so than money. And I’m sure it is the only thing the Sitex board do understand.’ She paused and looked at her grandmother directly. ‘I’m not afraid of them! Don’t think that, Grandy. Although I must admit they did disgust me. I suppose if I was afraid, I was afraid of failing you.’ The smile she gave Emma was full of sureness and the troubled look had left her face.
Emma leaned forward and patted her hand reassuringly. ‘Don’t ever be afraid of failing, Paula. It’s stopped more people achieving their goals than I care to think about. When I was your age I didn’t have time to worry about failing. I had to succeed to survive. And always remember what you just said to me about power. It is the ultimate weapon. Power, not money, talks. Money is only important when you’re truly poor, when you need it for a roof over your head, for food and clothes. Once you have these essentials taken care of and go beyond them, money is simply a unit, a tool to work with. And don’t ever let anyone persuade you that power corrupts. It doesn’t always, only when those with power will do anything to hold on to that power. Sometimes it can even be ennobling.’ She smiled briefly and added with great positiveness, ‘And you won’t fail me, my dear.’
‘I hope not, Grandy,’ Paula said, and when she saw the challenging look that swept over Emma’s face, she added quickly, ‘I know I won’t! But what about Harry Marriott? He’s the chairman and he appears to hate me.’
‘I don’t think he hates you, Paula. Fears you perhaps.’ Emma’s voice was suddenly flat, but there was a dark gleam in her eyes. She had many memories of Harry Marriott, none of them very pleasant, for she had crossed swords with him innumerable times in the past.
‘Fears me! Why?’ Surprise made the girl’s voice rise noticeably, and she leaned forward towards her grandmother.
A flicker of contempt touched Emma’s face as she thought of Marriott. ‘Because you remind him too much of your grandfather and that unnerves him. Harry was afraid of your grandfather from the very beginning, when they formed the original Sydney – Texas Oil Company and started drilling. Your grandfather always knew what Harry was and Harry instinctively knew that he knew. Hence his fear. When your grandfather left the Sitex stock to me it was with the understanding that I would never sell it as long as I lived. I was to hold it in trust for your mother and any children she might have. You see, your grandfather had great vision, Paula. He recognized years ago that Sitex would become the major company it is today and he wanted us to benefit from it. And he wanted Harry controlled. He wanted my rein on him always.’
‘I don’t think he can do any more damage at Sitex. He’s been rendered virtually powerless, thanks to you. Grandfather would be proud of you, darling,’ Paula said, and then asked with some curiosity, ‘Do I really resemble him? Grandfather, I mean?’
Emma looked at Paula quickly. They were flying into the sun and a passage of light, very intense and golden, came in through the window. It centred on Paula as she was speaking. To Emma, her hair seemed shinier and blacker in this golden light, hanging in folds like switches of velvet around the pale still face, and her eyes were bluer and more alive than ever. His eyes. His hair. She smiled gently, her eyes lighting up. ‘Sometimes you do, like right now. But mostly I think it’s something in your manner that flusters Harry Marriott. And you have no cause to worry about him, Paula. He won’t be there for long.’ She turned to the briefcase on the seat and began sorting her papers. After a few minutes she looked up and said, ‘If you’ve finished with the balance sheets of the New York store I’ll have them back. By the way, do you agree with me?’
‘Yes, I do, Grandy. They’ve made a marvellous turnaround.’
‘Let’s hope we can keep them on the straight and narrow,’ Emma said as she took the folder from Paula. She put on her glasses and began studying the figures from the Paris store, already calculating the changes that would have to be made there: Emma knew the store was running into trouble and her mouth tightened in aggravation as she concentrated on the damning figures, and considered the moves she would make on their return to England.
Paula poured herself another cup of coffee and, as she sipped it, regarded her grandmother carefully. This is the face I’ve seen all my life and loved all my life, she reflected, a wave of tenderness sweeping through her. And she doesn’t look her age at all, in spite of what she thinks. She could easily pass for a woman in her early sixties. Paula knew that her grandmother’s life had been hard and frequently painful, yet, surprisingly, her face was incredibly well preserved. Paula realized, as she looked at Emma, that this was due in no small measure to the excellence of her bone structure. She noted the webs of wrinkles etching lacy patterns around her grandmother’s eyes and mouth, as well as the two deep lines scoring down from her nostrils to her chin. But she also saw that the cheeks above these lines were still firm, and the green eyes that turned flinty in anger were not the rheumy wavering eyes of an old woman. They were alert and knowing. And yet some of her troubled life is reflected in her face, she thought, observing the indomitable set of Emma’s mouth and the pugnacious tilt of her chin. Paula acknowledged to herself that her grandmother was austere and somewhat stern of eye, to many the basilisk. Yet she was also aware that this autocratic bearing was often softened by a beguiling charm, a sense of humour, and an easy naturalness. And, now that her guard was down, it was a vulnerable face, open and fine and full of wisdom.
Paula had never been afraid of her grandmother, but she recognized that most of the family were, her Uncle Kit in particular. Paula remembered now how delighted she had been when her Uncle Kit had once likened her to Emma. ‘You’re as bad as your grandmother,’ he had said when she was about six or seven years old. She had not fully understood what he had meant, or why he had said it, but she had guessed that it was a reprimand from the look on his face. She had been thrilled to be called ‘as bad as your grandmother’, because surely this meant that she, too, must be special like Grandy and everyone would be afraid of her, as they were afraid of her grandmother.
Emma looked up from the papers. ‘Paula, how would you like to go to the Paris store when we leave New York? I really think I have to make some changes in the administration, from what I see in these balance sheets.’
‘I’ll go to Paris if you want, but to tell you the truth, I had thought of spending some time in Yorkshire, Grandy. I was going to suggest to you that I do a tour of the northern stores,’ Paula remarked, keeping her voice casual and light.
Emma was thunderstruck and she did not attempt to disguise this. She took off her glasses slowly and regarded her granddaughter with a quickening interest. The girl flushed under this fixed scrutiny and her face turned pink. She looked away, dropped her eyes, and murmured, ‘Well, you know I’ll go where you think I’m most needed. Obviously it’s Paris.’ She sat very still, sensing her grandmother’s surprised reaction.
‘Why this sudden interest in Yorkshire?’ Emma demanded. ‘It strikes me there is some fatal fascination up there! Jim Fairley, I presume,’ she added.
