is Uncle Ronnie sure of this?’ she asked at last. As the words left her mouth she knew the question was a foolish one. Ronald Kallinski, her wise rabbi ever since Emma’s death, always knew exactly what he was talking about.
Julian nodded. ‘Oh yes, he’s quite sure. He feels for you and he needs to talk. He’s obviously not very happy about this sudden turn of events.’
‘Jonathan Ainsley can’t hurt me, or create problems with the company. I own fifty-four per cent of the stock, and that’s what matters in regard to the Harte stores. Even if he bought some of the stock that’s being traded on the London Stock Exchange it would be meaningless because I own the majority of the shares and control many more. And as far as the other companies are concerned, they’re all controlled by me, Winston, Emily and Amanda, privately held by the family. And as tight as a drum. Emma saw to that before she died. We are invulnerable. But you know all this, Julian,’ she pointed out, sounding confident and sure of herself. ‘We’ve never had any secrets within the three clans.’
‘I know, and I agree with you. On the other hand, Grandfather did sound rather concerned about the return of the dreaded Mr Ainsley.’
Paula laughed, then responded, ‘I’ll go and see him tomorrow, if only to reassure myself that he’s all right.’
Julian gave her the benefit of a wide smile. ‘You’ve always worried about everyone for as long as I can remember. Linnet’s right when she says you’re a genuine earth mother. And look, I can come and get you tomorrow, drive you over to Harrogate to see Grandfather.’
‘Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.’ It suddenly occurred to her that she might easily use the opportunity to speak to him about Linnet.
‘It’s no problem at all. And anyway, it will give us a chance to chat about Linnet.’ He threw her a coolly calculated look and added, with a small smile, ‘I bet you were thinking exactly the same thing, weren’t you?’
He’s astute, just like his grandfather, she thought, and then nodded. ‘Well, yes, I was,’ she admitted.
Leaning even closer to her, Julian said in a low, confiding voice, ‘It’s all going to be fine, so don’t worry. I know Linnet better than I know myself. She wanted to step away from our situation to take stock; she thought we were being pressured into marriage. We weren’t, not really, but …’ He paused, shook his head, finished, ‘Please don’t worry.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Paula answered, and then hesitated.
‘You know, life does have a way of taking care of itself,’ he announced in a firm voice, before she had a chance to say anything else. ‘Tell me later what time you want me to come and fetch you tomorrow, and I’ll be here.’
He moved away; Paula watched him return to Linnet’s side, and then at once her thoughts went to Jonathan Ainsley, her cousin. He had betrayed the family and tried to steal the stores from her, but she had outwitted him, and in a certain sense she had destroyed him. He called her his nemesis and she was. He had vowed to wreak his revenge. And she knew he would. A cold chill settled around her heart.
Harte’s was the most imposing edifice in Knightsbridge, an important landmark ever since the first day it was finished, and its glamour and prestige were renowned the world over. Almost everyone who visited London felt compelled to make a stop at Harte’s, always to browse and marvel, usually to buy … something, however small.
On this cold Tuesday morning in the middle of January, Evan Hughes was finally hurrying towards the magnificent store, filled with excitement and anticipation. It was acting like a magnet, pulling her forward, and she couldn’t wait to enter its stately portals.
Evan paused, but only for a moment, to peer into the beautifully dressed windows that fronted onto Knightsbridge. How imaginative and tasteful they were, and she felt a little frisson of anticipation as she pushed open the doors and went inside the vast and impressive establishment.
She stood for a moment blinking in the bright lights and glancing around. How spectacular it all was. She was in the cosmetics department and there was a glitter and shine to everything, from the products themselves to the decorative elements which added their own unique touches.
Slowly Evan walked through the department, admiring the flair that was very much in evidence in the displays of creams and lotions, lipsticks, powders and perfumes, breathing in the scented, rarefied air as she strolled along.
Suddenly she caught sight of her own reflection in one of the counter mirrors and she stopped, paused to check her appearance before moving on, satisfied that she looked well put-together. Her make-up was perfectly applied, her hair fresh and glossy, and she felt better than she had in days.
After her bout with the flu, which had lasted ten days in the end, she had been drained, a bit weak in the legs. But last night she had decided she did not want to put off visiting Harte’s any longer, and she had made the decision to come to the store today.
Earlier that morning she had washed her hair, done a skilful make-up job and dressed with care. Her choice was a stylish black trouser suit which emphasized her slenderness and height, and black leather boots. Over the suit she wore a long, black wool coat that came down to her ankles, and was not only well tailored and elegant but had a certain dash to it. Adding a flash of bright colour to the ensemble was a long red wool scarf which she had thrown around her neck. Other than this accessory her only adornments were gold earrings and a watch.
Although Evan did not realize it, she cut quite a swathe as she strolled on through the cosmetics department; a number of people turned to look and admire.
But she was totally oblivious to the attention she drew, endeavouring to feel more at ease and relaxed. She was lost in her thoughts as she headed towards the information booth.
The young woman in the booth looked up and smiled as Evan came to a standstill in front of the window, and asked pleasantly, ‘Can I help you, madam?’
‘Well. Er. Yes. What floor are the management offices on?’
‘The ninth,’ the young woman answered.
‘I’m assuming Mrs Harte’s office is on the same floor,’ Evan ventured, staring at her questioningly.
‘Mrs Harte,’ the young woman repeated and frowned, shook her head. Then she exclaimed, ‘Oh, you must mean Mrs O’Neill … Mrs Paula O’Neill. A lot of people get her confused with her grandmother.’
‘And her grandmother is Emma Harte?’
‘Was. Mrs Harte is dead. Has been for quite a while.’
Taken aback though she was, and instantly dismayed, Evan said quickly, ‘Yes. Yes, I was getting them confused, that’s true. And Mrs O’Neill’s office is on the ninth floor, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
‘Thanks very much,’ Evan murmured, and with a quick nod she hurried away, not quite sure where she was heading in the store. But it certainly wasn’t towards the bank of elevators which would whiz her up to the management offices.
At this moment what she really wanted was to sit down and have a cup of coffee and think
