Just Rewards

His father and her parents, and Grandfather O’Neill in particular, had insisted they did not come back to England for the funeral.

‘He wouldn’t have wanted that, Jules,’ his father had said to him, speaking in his firmest voice. ‘He was thrilled to see you and Linnet married, overjoyed to know the three clans were united in marriage. “All mixed into a lovely stew,” he said to me at the reception. And he was finally able to let go. He died peacefully in his sleep, and he was a happy man. We’ll bury him quietly, and I’ll start planning his memorial service. You’ll both be here for that.’

Julian had told his father he wanted to help with the plans for the memorial, and Michael Kallinski had agreed that they would do it together. ‘Remember, he was in his nineties.’ His father had then added, ‘And he had a great life, a big life. He was ready to go, he was ill. And tired, really. But as I said, a happy man because of you two. So, enjoy your honeymoon, and goodbye.’ His father had then hung up, and Julian knew that all his father had said was correct. To go back would be silly, under the circumstances.

Linnet had been loving and consoling, full of sympathy, proffering wise words, and she had helped him to get through a few truly sorrowful days. And finally, after much discussion, they had wisely taken the advice of their families and remained in Barbados.

Moving away from the chest, sitting down at the desk, Julian thought of the coming week. He was going to be at the Leeds office of Kallinski Industries, and he would greatly miss his grandfather’s presence there. For the past six months or so, Sir Ronnie, as he was called by everyone, had made the Leeds offices his headquarters, no longer fit enough to travel to London.

Naturally his considerable influence was everywhere, from the wonderful Post-Impressionist art and the Barbara Hepworth sculptures in the lobby to the coolness of the upper floors. Sir Ronnie had always insisted that the air-conditioning was turned on, no matter the time of year. He liked his working environment to be cool, which was why many of the women employees tended to refer to Kallinski House as ‘the frozen North’, and ‘Iceland’.

Julian looked across at the door as it suddenly flew open, and his reflective expression was obscured by the bright smile which readily settled on his face.

There she was, his beautiful Linnet.

She hurried forward, smiling back at him, and wrapped her arms around him, held him close.

‘Are you all right? You looked so sad when I came in,’ she whispered against his cheek.

‘I’m fine, really. I was just remembering Grandfather.’

‘I know.’ Linnet drew away and stared up into his dark blue eyes, almost violet in colour like her mother’s. ‘Don’t forget what the Hartes have always said about a loved one who has died … in my heart forever.’

‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘I remember that.’

‘And it’s true, you know.’

‘Yes, Linnet, I think it is. I feel that Grandfather is in my heart forever … that motto of your family is absolutely correct.’

She smiled at him, touched his face with a fingertip. ‘You know something strange, even though I never knew Emma, I feel her in my heart. Sometimes I think she’s all around me, loving me, guiding me, watching over me.’ She put her head on one side. ‘Do you think that’s silly? Rather fanciful of me, Jules?’

‘Of course not. And I certainly wouldn’t be so arrogant as to dismiss such feelings. There’s so much we don’t know about this world, or the other … and I’m happy that you feel she’s watching over you.’

Linnet stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips, then asked, ‘Have you seen Gideon and Evan yet this morning?’

‘Yes,’ Julian answered and led her over to the sofa near the window. ‘Let’s sit for a minute. I’ve several things to tell you. First, Emily came over and Gideon and I had coffee with her, then she took your mother off to Beck House in West Tanfield. Gideon is driving over there later with Evan, and he asked us to go to tea at the house, and have a look around. How do you feel about that?’

‘It’s great! I’d love to see how far they’ve come in the decoration of it. So, does that mean we can have lunch alone? Just the two of us?’

‘Not exactly,’ he answered, his eyes suddenly mischievous.

‘Oh, who’s here that I don’t know about?’

‘Your beloved brother, Lorne.’

‘Oh goody! That’s wonderful. Oh, sorry, Jules, about our tête-à-tête. You don’t mind do you?’

‘Not at all, darling, I’ve always had a soft spot for Lorne. But, actually, that’s not all of it. He’s here with his twin and her French friend.’

‘Tessa and Jean-Claude are here?’ Linnet sounded surprised.

‘That’s right, and Tessa says she’s going to cook dinner for everyone, so we’re in for a treat.’ He grinned at Linnet. ‘She’s making her speciality.’

‘Oh God, not coq au vin.’

‘Oh no, she doesn’t make that anymore, at least so she told me. We’re going to have lamb stew.’

Linnet began to chuckle. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the kitchen and see what’s going on. In the meantime, let me tell you about the call I had from Jack Figg just as I was leaving for my walk.’

‘Something important?’

‘Just that the dreaded Jonathan Ainsley is staying at his house in Thirsk. Jack’s a bit worried about that.’

‘I don’t blame him,’ Julian muttered, following Linnet out of their bedroom. ‘That man’s a menace.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dusty jumped up from the desk where he was sitting and went to stand in front of the blazing fire. His face was taut as he stuck his hands in his pockets and warmed his back against the flames.

His mind had been racing ever since Paddy had announced the arrival of his little daughter with Mrs Roebotham. The fact that the woman had brought along a suitcase belonging to Atlanta meant only one thing: the child was coming to stay with him. Which, in turn, meant that it was Molly Caldwell who was out of action, not Melinda who was in some kind of trouble. If that had been the case, Mrs Caldwell would have phoned him to explain.

‘This is Mrs Roebotham,’ Paddy said, now hurrying through the doorway, ushering the woman across the library floor at last.

Immediately, Dusty moved forward exclaiming, ‘Hello, Mrs Roebotham. Hello!’ He stretched out his hand and smiled, added, ‘I’m Russell Rhodes.’

She took his hand and shook it, rather timidly he thought, and murmured in a subdued voice, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Rhodes.’

Paddy excused himself and disappeared, while Dusty led the woman towards the fireplace. He knew everything about her the instant she entered the room, although he had never met her before. She looked about forty, was scrubbed to shining cleanliness, not a vestige of make-up on her face, neat and tidy in her appearance, her dark clothes plain, simple, but not cheap-looking in any way at all. Her luxuriant auburn hair was brushed back and formed into a sleek twist at the back of her head to reveal a slender, high-cheekboned face that was rather attractive, and she had light eyes, greyish blue, he thought. She was slim and wiry, and of medium height, and there was something about her that was arresting, a determination in her, perhaps, an honesty and straightforwardness. He knew immediately that she was a decent woman.

Leeds, he thought. Working-class Leeds. Same background as mine. No doubt growing up in a Victorian terrace house, just as I did. They had a lot in common, although he was quite sure she was not aware of that.

‘Let’s sit here, shall we, Mrs Roebotham,’ he said briskly.

‘It’s Gladys, everybody calls me Gladys, Mr Rhodes,’ she said in her quiet voice, sitting down where he had indicated, crossing her ankles, placing her hands in her lap on top of her bag.

‘Very well, it’s Gladys then. Now, would you like some refreshments? Tea? Coffee? Or something else? Something to eat, perhaps?’

‘Nothing, but thanks ever so much. Cook made me a cup of tea when I got here, Mr Rhodes.’

He nodded his understanding, and repressed the urge to tell her to call him Dusty. He knew she wouldn’t, and that the mere suggestion would only embarrass her. She was probably overly impressed by this house, undoubtedly intimidated by his fame … the poor Leeds lad who’d made it big. The Yorkshire newspapers were his greatest boosters, always full of his fame, calling him a genius, giving him lavish accolades for his paintings.

As he took the seat opposite her, he asked, ‘What’s happened to Molly Caldwell?’

‘She’s had a heart attack,’ Gladys answered calmly, but her hands were twisting together in her lap, and betrayed her continuing nervousness.

Dismay clutched at him. ‘How bad is she?’ he asked urgently, leaning forward, pinning his eyes on hers.

‘It’s serious, but her doctor is very hopeful,’ she murmured and tried to give him a reassuring smile without much success.

‘When did it happen? This morning?’

‘No. Yesterday afternoon. It was lucky I was there. I go three times a week to help her, and I was in the kitchen doing the ironing when she collapsed. I called Dr Bloom immediately. It was him that sent the ambulance. She’s in Leeds Infirmary, that’s where they took her.’

‘And before that, before she went to the hospital, she told you to bring Atlanta to me?’ Dusty said.

‘Oh, no, she was … well, she was sort of out of it,’ Gladys explained. ‘I knew what I had to do, mind you, Mr Rhodes … bring Atlanta to you. Molly had drilled that into me. She said if ever she got sick or anything I had to bring the little girl to you. Nobody else. Only to you. She kept an envelope in the kitchen drawer with your address and money for taxis in it.’

‘I’m glad she’d told you what to do in case of an emergency, Gladys. Very glad. And you did well. Thank you.’

‘I would have brought Atlanta to you last night. But it had turned seven by the time they took Molly to the hospital. Way past Atlanta’s bed time. I thought it best to stay the night at Molly’s house, I didn’t want to alarm the child. And so I brought her here today. I spoke to the Infirmary, this morning before coming here, and Molly’s doing well.’

Dusty nodded. ‘What’s the prognosis? Do you know? What did the doctor tell you?’

‘That her heart attack was serious. But not life-threatening. Dr Bloom seems to think she’ll be able to come home in about a week.’

‘That’s certainly good news, good to know,’ Dusty exclaimed, smiling at her, filling with sudden relief.

‘By the way, she’s in the I.C.U., Mr Rhodes. I shall go and visit her on my way back home, even if I can only wave to her,’ Gladys announced.

‘That’s very kind of you, and I’ll go myself later this week. By the way, this Dr Bloom, is he in Meanwood?’

‘Oh yes, he’s our local doctor. He’s been there years. And he’s only three streets away from Molly, and not too far from me either. I’ve written his number down for you, Mr Rhodes. I thought you might want to be in touch with him.’ As she spoke she fumbled in her bag and finally brought out a piece of paper, handed it to him.

‘Thanks, Gladys, thanks again for bringing Atlanta to me. Incidentally, how did you explain her grandmother’s absence to her?’ he asked, staring at the piece of paper, then putting it in his pocket.

‘It was Atlanta who came to me in the kitchen. She said her grandmother had fallen down, had hurt her leg because she wasn’t getting up. So when the ambulance arrived, I said they were taking Grandma to get her leg made better. She accepted that, and then when I told her I was bringing her to you today she was so excited that was all she could think about,’ Gladys informed him, then sat back in the chair.

Dusty stood up. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done. I’d better go and see Atlanta without any further delay. I thought it better to get the whole story from you before seeing my daughter. Now, come with me to the kitchen, Gladys, and have some lunch. Then we’ll arrange for a car to take you back to Leeds, to see Molly and later to your home.’

‘Oh, please, it’s not necessary, honestly it isn’t. I’ll get off, after I’ve said goodbye to Atlanta. She’s a good little girl, you know, very grown up in so many ways, Mr Rhodes.’

‘Yes, I know. She’s a treasure,’ he said, escorting her out of the room. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Gladys, and I won’t let you leave here without some food in you, and a car to take you wherever you want to go. And by the way, you’d better give me your phone number so that I have it handy.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I will. I don’t live far away from Mrs Caldwell, just a couple of streets down.’ There was a moment’s hesitation, before she said softly, ‘Thanks for being so nice.’

He smiled at her, but said nothing, and led her through the entrance foyer in the direction of the kitchen. He saw her looking around, staring at his paintings. But she didn’t make any comment and neither did he.

‘Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!’ Atlanta cried the moment she saw Dusty, coming forward to meet him as he entered the kitchen, dancing towards him on tiptoes, her laughter echoing all around them. She was tall for three, graceful and slender, ‘his little beanshoot’, he called her.

As she came into his arms there was no mistaking whose child she was with her jet-black hair and light blue eyes. It always seemed to him that there was nothing of Melinda in her. After hugging her, kissing her cheek, he put her down on the floor and gave her a huge smile. ‘We’re going to have a fun weekend together while Grandma gets her leg mended.’

‘Does it hurt her, Daddy?’ Atlanta asked, staring up at him. Without waiting for his answer she shook her head and said, ‘She didn’t cry.’

‘No, I don’t think it hurts, darling,’ he answered and then turning to Gladys he said, ‘Please stay for something to eat, it’s already twelve-thirty. You must be hungry.’

Before Gladys could respond, Atlanta looked across at her and announced, ‘Valetta’s made spaghetti, Gladys. It’s got tomatoes in it.’

‘I don’t think I can have lunch here, Atlanta, and—’

‘Oh please, please,’ Atlanta cut in, and looking at Dusty she went on, ‘Make Gladys stay, Daddy, please.’

Dusty grinned, gazing down at Atlanta, and said, ‘I’m having lunch with your friend India, and then this afternoon she’s going to take you out. So, why don’t you eat here in the kitchen, and Valetta will make some more of your favourite things, and then we’ll all go for a drive.’

Atlanta nodded. ‘Can I go and see Indi? I like her.’

‘She hasn’t arrived yet, but of course you can say hello to her … she’s bringing her grandmother to see me.’

‘Oh. Is she like my grandma?’ the child asked, staring up at her father.

Dusty bit back the laugh that rose in his throat, and said, ‘No. I think she’s quite different altogether. In fact, there’s a big difference. But her grandma’s as nice as yours.’

‘Oh goody.’ Atlanta ran to Gladys and took hold of her hand. ‘You’ll like Indi. She’s nice. She tells stories and reads to me.’

‘I know how much you like that. But I really think I have to go, lovey, I’ll meet your friend India another time.’

‘Oh. Don’t go, Gladys,’ the child beseeched, clinging to her hand.

‘I have to visit your grandmother,’ Gladys explained, and then becoming aware of the sudden tears welling in Atlanta’s eyes, she said, ‘Well, all right, I’ll stay and have a snack with you.’ She managed a small chuckle, added with a twinkle, ‘I’m getting a bit peckish.’

‘Like the birds!’ Atlanta exclaimed, laughing. ‘That’s what you always say. Peckish like the birds.’

Dusty said, ‘Then it’s settled. Come on, Gladys, and you too, Atlanta. You can both sit here at the table, and Valetta will bring plates of her delicious spaghetti, and whatever else you want. All right, Valetta?’

‘That’s fine, Mr Rhodes,’ the cook said, laughter in her dark eyes. Waving her wooden spoon, she turned back to her pans, stirring the contents of one of them. ‘I’m almost ready to serve.’

As Dusty was leading his child and Gladys Roebotham to the table at the far end of the large, family-style kitchen he heard the sound of a car outside on the gravel driveway. Kissing the top of Atlanta’s dark head, he murmured, ‘Drink some of your water, darling, and I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ she answered dutifully sitting in a chair. She picked up the small glass of water and took a swallow. ‘Sipping like the ducks,’ she said, smiling at Gladys.

Dusty strode across the main entrance foyer, heading for the front door, intent on greeting India and her grandmother on the steps. As he opened the door and went out onto the terrace he saw them coming slowly towards him.

He knew better than to go and escort them inside. The Dowager Countess of Dunvale was something of a tartar, with a very sharp tongue, and was quite determined to look after herself. She resisted any help from others, and he understood absolutely. She was extremely independent and self-reliant, and he admired her for her extraordinary stamina and fortitude. After all, she was ninety-five and anything but senile. Far be it from him to undermine her confidence in herself.

India waved to him and he waved back. He wondered how she would react to the news that Atlanta was here for a week at least. He would give her all of the details as soon as they were settled in the sitting room having their aperitif. Her grandmother liked a drink before lunch, and her insistence on ‘a drop of sherry’, as she put it, always tickled him. He would tell India about Molly Caldwell at once, so there was no misunderstanding. Months ago she had accused him of ‘lying by omission’, and he had no desire to have that accusation levelled at him again.

He knew that India liked the child as much as Atlanta liked her, and her presence would not present any problems, as far as he could see. Angelina, the housekeeper, and Valetta, the cook, would keep an eye on her whilst he was painting during the morning, and he would spend time in the afternoon with her. After all, India would be at the Leeds store during the week, and she still lived at Pennistone Royal, spending only the weekends with him here at Willows Hall. No, the child would not be intrusive on them or their relationship, he decided, and then it struck him that Gladys Roebotham could be very useful. It was obvious Atlanta was attached to her, and Gladys seemed to reciprocate the child’s feelings. Perhaps she would consider spending part of the coming week here looking after Atlanta.

‘Excuse me, Mr Rhodes,’ Paddy said from the entrance foyer.

Dusty swung around to face the house manager. ‘Yes, Paddy?’

‘I’ve put a decanter of Amontillado in the sitting room, and I was wondering if there is anything else you need?’

‘I don’t think so, thanks very much. Lunch in about half an hour. Oh, and Paddy, order a car for Mrs Roebotham, would you, please? It’s to take her back home, with a stop-off at Leeds Infirmary to see Mrs Caldwell. And please tell her I’ll be in to have a word with her in a few minutes.’

‘Right you are, sir,’ Paddy murmured and was gone on silent feet.

‘Good morning, Countess,’ Dusty said a moment later as India and her grandmother finally came to a standstill in front of him.

‘Good morning, Dusty, and countess is far too formal. I do keep telling you that. You must call me Edwina.’

‘You know I can’t,’ he replied, laughing. ‘That’s not respectful.’

She chuckled with him, and then suggested, ‘Why not call me Great-Aunt Edwina? Or Grandmother. But perhaps you have a grandmother of your own?’

‘No, she’s dead.’ Turning to India he smiled lovingly, and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, darling,’ he whispered against her hair, before he ushered them both into the house.

Within several seconds he had Edwina settled comfortably in a chair near the fireplace, and India went and perched on the sofa, waiting for him as he poured Amontillado into glasses and brought the sherry to them.

‘Cheers, ladies,’ he said, lifting his glass, and sat down on the sofa next to India.

‘Cheers,’ India answered, as did her grandmother.

Staring hard at Dusty, India now said, ‘You’ve got a peculiar expression on your face. What’s the matter?’

How well she knew him, and in ways no one else ever had before.

His new tactic was to tell her everything up front, without preamble, and so he said, ‘It’s Mrs Caldwell. She had a heart attack late yesterday afternoon, and the woman who helps her brought Atlanta over here this morning.’

‘Oh, how dreadful!’ India exclaimed. ‘I mean about the heart attack. How is Mrs Caldwell today?’

‘Apparently it’s serious but not life-threatening. She’ll be in hospital for about a week, and from what Mrs Roebotham says, the prognosis is good. I’ll call the doctor later; in the meantime Atlanta’s here to say with me for a few days. Until her grandmother’s better, actually.’

India smiled at him. ‘Don’t look so concerned, Dusty, she’ll be fine with us, and I couldn’t be happier. It’s lovely to have her here for the weekend. We’ll have some fun together. Where is she now?’

‘Having lunch with Mrs Roebotham in the kitchen, but she’s really looking forward to seeing you later.’

‘So am I. And Grandma, you’ll get to meet Dusty’s little girl. She’s just adorable.’

Edwina simply nodded and took a sip of sherry. No doubt Atlanta was adorable, and certainly India was genuine in her affection for the child, but Edwina couldn’t help thinking that it was a good thing she was still only three years old. And still malleable. There was no doubt in Edwina’s mind that Dusty and India would end up raising his child. His former girlfriend was recovering from a serious drug-addiction and her mother obviously had a wonky heart. She might not live long; and who could answer for the daughter … addictions were hard to kick …

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tessa Fairley stood in her room at Pennistone Royal, lost in thought. Of late, there were moments when she couldn’t help wondering what the rest of her life was going to be like. What did the future hold in store for her? What was her destiny to be?

The one certainty, the one steadfast thing in her life, was her devotion and love for her three-year-old daughter Adele. Everything else was vague, up in the air, or out of her grasp, at least so it seemed to her lately.

Would she be made managing director of the Harte stores by her mother? Would she then run them herself, as she had always wanted to do? Or would her mother decide to make her joint managing director with her sister Linnet? Shared responsibilities had been bruited about in the past few months, startling her, disappointing her, putting her on guard. That was something she had never wanted … sharing the top spot with her sister.

Conversely, would she abandon her career, ambitions, and dreams of being the new Emma Harte, and instead marry Jean-Claude Deléon?

She smiled inwardly. There was just one small problem in that regard: he had not asked her to marry him. But if he did propose, and if she accepted, there would be a vast upheaval in her life and that of her child.

Since he lived and worked in Paris, she would have to move across the Channel and make a life with him there. Could she be happy in France?

Tessa almost laughed out loud. Of course she could. She was a dyed-in-the-wool Francophile, and she loved Paris, knew the City of Light as well as she knew London. Well, almost. Years before meeting Jean-Claude, she had been going to Paris on a regular basis, and Shane O’Neill, her stepfather, owned one of the most exclusive and deluxe hotels in the city, on the elegant Avenue Montaigne, off the Champs Élysées.

Then there was Jean-Claude’s small country estate where he spent most weekends. Located outside Paris, near Fontainebleau, it was a picturesque country manor called Clos-Fleuri. On her first visit last summer she had taken an instant liking to it, and she felt at home there, as if she truly belonged. Apart from the beautiful grounds and gardens, the house was lovely, full of charm, and when she was there she felt enveloped in quiet luxury and comfort. There was a peacefulness about it that she cherished.