Emma’s Secret. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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Emma’s Secret - Barbara Taylor Bradford

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      ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, frowning, seating herself behind her desk.

      ‘I’m not sure where I could sit, nor how I could possibly navigate myself through this—’

      ‘Don’t you dare say mess,’ she cut in peremptorily.

      ‘I wasn’t going to,’ Gideon answered, strolling into the room, being careful not to knock over any of the precariously balanced boxes. ‘I was going to call it a minefield, because I know if I did accidentally tangle with something you’d explode.’

      ‘Ha! Ha! Very funny, Gid. But seriously, just manoeuvre your way through and come and sit here.’ As she spoke, Linnet leapt to her feet, ran around the desk and lifted a pile of manila folders off the chair on the other side. ‘You’ll be comfortable here,’ she remarked as she stacked the folders on the floor near the window.

      ‘Thanks,’ Gideon said as he stepped warily around the many boxes, sat down, crossed his legs and continued, ‘What did you think about the pictures I had them dig up in the photo morgue at The Gazette?’

      ‘They’re great. Grandy Emma gave some party in the fifties, by the look of the pictures anyway, and they’ll be helpful to us. So, we’re in charge it seems.’ She threw him a quizzical look.

      ‘We are indeed, but I don’t mind, do you? Stupid question!’ he exclaimed, answering himself. ‘I can see very well what’s going on here, and your Fashion Retrospective has become somewhat demanding, according to Julian.’

      Linnet nodded. ‘Too true. I just haven’t had a chance to see him, and before you start chastising or criticizing me, I will have dinner with him, as I promised I would. But I’ve got to get some of this work under my belt first.’

      ‘I know that. By the way, where’s Cassie? She’s usually keeping guard out there.’ He half glanced towards the door as he spoke.

      ‘She has the flu. And so does India. Actually, poor old India sounds awful. Very chesty, and she has a nasty cough. I hope she doesn’t get bronchitis again. She’s prone to that, as you know. It’s a Fairley characteristic, at least that’s what Mummy says. Tessa’s got a weak chest, too. Anyway, not to digress … I’m trying to cope on my own while they’re both off nursing their ailments.’

      ‘So I can see.’

      ‘It’s going to be a super show, I can promise you that, and I know my mother’s going to be pleased. It’ll be a great boost for the store.’

      ‘I know it will, I’ve always said that to you. But listen, Linnet, getting back to the birthday party for our respective fathers for a moment, have you come up with any ideas yet? Ideas about a theme, that kind of thing?’

      ‘No, not really. But I haven’t had much time to focus on it. Are you going to Yorkshire this weekend?’

      ‘Yes, I am. Why?’

      ‘I’m staying in London for once, to work through this lot, and I was thinking we might have supper on Saturday or Sunday, and brainstorm the party. But if you’re going to Middleham …’ Her voice trailed off and she gave a small, dismissive shrug.

      ‘I’m sorry, but I promised Dad. We have to work on some business papers. I really do have to go, especially since I wasn’t up there last weekend.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘But I promise I’ll put my thinking cap on and brainstorm by myself. We can get together next week, if you can manage it.’

      ‘That’ll be okay. Is Julian going with you?’

      ‘No, as a matter of fact he isn’t. But if he were, and he knew you were staying in town, I can assure you he would cancel me out immediately.’

      She laughed, then said swiftly, ‘Well, I’m going to have to dig into this pile, no matter what, however long it takes. What I need, actually, is two assistants, and right now.’

      Gideon sat up straighter in the chair, a knowing look crossing his face, and he exclaimed, ‘How about one assistant right now? Would that help?’

      ‘Are you joking, of course it would!’

      ‘Then I think I might have just the right person for you.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Evan Hughes.’

      ‘A man. Oh, I’m not sure—’

      ‘No, a woman,’ he cut in. ‘And yes, before you say it, I am fully aware that Evan is a Welsh boy’s name. But apparently in America it’s often used as a girl’s name as well.’

      ‘Oh, she’s an American?’

      ‘Yes. And well trained, I think. Studied fashion, worked for a well-known American couturier. She comes from New York, and she’s about twenty-six, or around that. And she’s very personable.’

      ‘And she’s a friend of yours, Gid?’

      ‘Not exactly.’ He cleared his throat, gave Linnet a faint smile. ‘Actually I just met her in the corridor on her way to the personnel office.’

      ‘You mean you picked her up in the corridor, you Don Juan, you!’

      ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Linnet. She was looking rather lost, and I asked her if I could help her,’ he shot back in a slightly injured tone, wondering how he had managed to acquire the reputation of being a womanizer in the family. He wasn’t that at all.

      ‘I bet you did.’ Linnet leered at him, and added, ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, if she grabbed your attention—’

      ‘What’s that?’ he interrupted.

      ‘She must be good looking.’

      Gideon began to laugh. ‘Well, yes, she is. I must admit that.’

      ‘And where is she now?’

      ‘I think she must be in Human Resources.’ He glanced at his watch, nodded his head. ‘Definitely. She has to be still there.’

      Linnet, always decisive, picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Jennifer, it’s Linnet,’ she said when the phone was answered. ‘Do you still have a Miss Evan Hughes with you?’

      ‘We do, Linnet. She’s in with Maggie right now, who wanted to talk to her. Her application read very well, and so did her résumé,’ Jennifer explained.

      ‘Very good. Transfer me to Maggie, would you, please, Jennifer.’

      ‘Right away.’

      A second later Maggie Hemmings answered her phone with a crisp, ‘Human Resources here.’

      ‘It’s Linnet, Maggie. I understand Evan Hughes is with you.’

      ‘Correct.’

      ‘Jennifer says her papers are good.’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘I’m

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