Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 2

The buzz of the telephone cut into her thoughts. She reached for it. Agnes said, "It's Miss O'Neill, Mrs. Fairley."

"Thanks, Agnes, put her through, please."

A split second later Miranda's lilting voice flowed over the wire. "h.e.l.lo, Paula. I thought I'd better call you again, since my phone's been busy for ages."

"That's par for the course," Paula said with an affectionate laugh. "When did you get in from London?"

"Last night. I drove up with Shane. And for the last time, I don't mind telling you. He's a maniac in a car. The tires sizzled the roads. I thought we'd end up in a ditch. I'll never know how I got here safe and sound. I was so shaken up and white when we arrived at the house, Mummy knew immediately what had happened. She's forbidden me to drive with him again. She gave him quite a piece of her mind, and-"

"I'll bet," Paula broke in with another laugh. "Your mother thinks the sun shines out of Shane. He can't do anything wrong in her eyes."

"Well, he's in the doghouse at the moment, my dear. She really told him off, and so did Dad."

"Shane came to see me today, Miranda."

"Hey, that's good news. Like you, I can't understand why he's so aloof with you these days, but then he's a strange one, that big brother of mine. Too much of the Celt in him, perhaps. Anyway what did he have to say?"

"Nothing, Miranda, since I wasn't here. I was out at a meeting."

'Too bad. Still he's coming to the christening. I know you had your doubts, but he told me he was definitely going to go. He even offered to drive me." Miranda groaned in mock horror at this idea. "I declined. I was going to go with Crandpops, but naturally he's escorting Aunt Emma. So I'll toddle over by myself. Listen, Paula, apart from wanting to say h.e.l.lo, 1 was wondering if you'd like to have lunch? I've got to come over to the store to pick up a package for my mother. I could meet you in the Bird Cage in half an hour. What do you think?"

"That's a nice suggestion. Merry. Ill see you there at noon."

"It's a date," Miranda said. "Bye."

"Bye." As she began clearing her desk of papers, Paula was suddenly glad Miranda had suggested lunch. Her friend was a delight to be with and a very special girl, with her naturalness, her sweetness, her gaiety and effervescence. She had a joyous, carefree disposition, and laughter sprang readily to her lips, undoubtedly the reason why her nickname Mirry had soon turned into Merry when she was small.

Paula smiled to herself, wondering what Miranda was wearing today, what surprise was in store for her. The twenty-three-year-old girl had a penchant for creating the most outlandish outfits-costumes really-but they were put together with imagination and style, and she certainly carried them off with elan. They would have looked perfectly ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow they were exactly right on Miranda O'Neill. Apart from suiting her tall, somewhat boyish figure, they were an adjunct to her fey and whimsical personality. Or so it seemed to Paula, who considered Merry to be an original, the one genuine free spirit she knew. Her grandmother was equally as fond of Miranda and said that Blaclde's granddaughter was the best tonic in the world for all of them because she chased their blues away. "There's not a bad bone in that girl's body," Emma had remarked to Paula recently. "And now that she's grown up, she reminds me a lot of her grandmother. There's a good deal of Laura Spencer in Merry-Laura's true goodness for one thing. Also there's a wise head on those young shoulders, and I'm pleased you two have become such good friends. Every woman needs a close and trusted friend of the same s.e.x. I should know. I never really had one after Laura died."

Remembering these words of Emma's, Paula thought: But she always had Blackie, and she still has him; xvhereas I've lost Shane. Funny, though, that Miranda and I drew closer together once Shane had dropped'out . . .

There was a knock, and Agnes poked her head around the door. "These proofs just came up from the advertising department. Can you give them your okay?"

"Yes, come in, Agnes."

"They're the advertis.e.m.e.nts for the spring fashion sales," Agnes explained, handing them to her.

After studying the newspaper advertis.e.m.e.nts for a few seconds, Paula initialed the proofs, gave them back to her secretary, and stood up. "I'm going out onto the floor for a while. Could you phone the Bird Cage, Agnes, and tell them I'll need my usual table, please. At noon."

"Right away," Agnes said as they went out together.

When Emma Harte had first opened the cafe on the second floor of the Leeds store, she had called it the Elizabethan Gazebo and had decorated it in the style of an English country garden. Such things as handpainted wallpaper depicting pastoral scenes, panels of white trellis, artificial topiary animals, and antique bird cages combined to create a most enchanting little setting.

Over the years, as she refurbished the cafe, the name changed to match the theme, or vice versa. But always a garden or outdoor motif prevailed, often with an international avor, as Emma had given rein to her imagination and fantasies with flair and not a little wit. After a trip to the Bosphorus with Paul McGill, she had been inspired to create the effect of a courtyard in a seraglio. Mosaic tiles, silver wallpaper painted with peac.o.c.ks, potted palms, and a splashing fountain were combined in the new design. She had called the caf Turkish Delight and had been delighted herself to witness its instantaneous popularity as a smart gathering place, not only for women shoppers but local businessmen who came in for lunch. Several years later Emma decided a more homespun motif was' in order. Highland Fling was the name she chose, and the setting took on the appearance of a Scottish castle yard, featuring rustic furniture and colorful tartans. Eventually this ambiance gave way to one which suggested an oriental teahouse and drew its inspiration from the elegant decorative elements of the Far East. The cafe was renamed the China Doll. Then came the Balalaika, redolent of nineteenth-century Russia; after that it was transformed into Riviera Terrace, and in 1960 Emma redid the caf< yet="" again.="" this="" time="" she="" used="" a="" sophisticated="" theme="" based="" on="" the="" skyline="" of="" new="" york="" city,="" lining="" the="" walls="" with="" giant-sized="" photographic="" murals="" of="" manhattan.="" the="" decor="" suggested="" a="" big-city="" roof="" garden,="" and="" she="" called="" it="" skysc.r.a.pers.="" but="" by="" the="" late="" summer="" of="" 1968="" emma="" had="" grown="" tired="" of="" this="" decorative="" mood;="" and="" as="" the="" caffi="" needed="" a="" complete="" overhaul="" at="" this="" time,="" she="" gave="" the="" project="" to="" paula,="" asking="" her="" to="" create="" something="">

Paula knew everything there was to know about all of the stores in the Harte chain, and she remembered the photographs she had seen of the original Elizabethan Gazebo. She went into the archives, dug out the original plans and sketches, and was instantly struck by the uniqueness and beauty of the antique bird cages. Since she was aware they were stored in packing cases in the bas.e.m.e.nt, she had them brought up and unwrapped. And so the current theme and the latest name were born.

Paula had the wooden and bra.s.s bird cages repainted or repolished and, after finding more to add to the collection, she featured them throughout the restaurant. They stood out beautifully against a background of lime-green wallpaper overpattemed with a sharp white trellis design; white wicker chairs and matching tables with gla.s.s tops reiterated the outdoor mood. Paula loved all growing things, was in fact a gifted gardener, and so her final, masterly touch was a lush a.s.sortment of small trees, flowering shrubs, and plants. It was the many pots of hydrangeas and azaleas that gave the Bird Cage its cachet, and this real garden within the heart of the store bloomed in all seasons under her personal supervision. Emma had recognized at once that it was an evocation of her own first design and as such a little tribute to her, and she was flattered.

A few minutes after twelve on this Friday morning, Paula hurried into the Bird Cage, and as always she was struck by the refreshing sight of the flowers and foliage, one which appeared to cheer everyone up. Moving between the tables, where morning shoppers were settling down to lunch, Paula saw that Miranda O Neil! had already arrived. Her burnished copper hair, cascading in a glorious ma.s.s of waves and curls around her heart-shaped face, seemed to catch and hold all the light, was like a shining beacon at the far side of the room. Miranda glanced up from the menu she was perusing, saw Paula, and waved.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," Paula apologized when she reached the table. "I was delayed in the Designer Salon. We've been having the most awful trouble with the new lighting, and I wanted to check on it again. It's still not right, I'm afraid." She bent down and kissed her friend, slipped into the next chair.

Miranda grinned a little impishly, and said, "Oh dear, the trials and tribulations of running a store! I'll swap jobs with you any day. Doing public relations for a chain of hotels can be the pits at times.'

"If I remember correctly, you really badgered your father for that job."

"That s true. But I wouldn't have if I'd known what I was letting myself in for," Miranda grumbled, making a long face. But she then had the good grace to laugh and admitted, "I suppose I enjoy it, really. It's only occasionally that I feel the pressure. But right now I'm in Dad's good books. He's very happy with my latest campaign, and he even went so far as to say I d been innovative the other day. That's praise indeed from him. He's not given to paying me compliments, as you know. He even said that if I behave myself, he's going to send me to Barbados in a few weeks, to look over the hotel we've just bought there. By the time we've remodeled it and redecorated, it 11 be super deluxe and as elegant as the Sandy Lane. We all believe it's going to be an important addition to our chain."

"That's marvelous, Merry. Really exciting for you. Now, shall we order? I don't want to rush you, but I have to leave the store early today."

"No problem, I'm a bit pushed myself." Miranda glanced at the menu again and said, "I'll have the plaice and chips, I think."

"Good idea. I'll join you." Paula caught the attention of the waitress, ordered, and then turned to Miranda, looking her over quickly, at once captivated by her outfit. Today she was wearing a rather theatrically styled jerkin with a wide, flaring collar and three-quarter sleeves, and it was laced up the front over a white silk shirt with longer sleeves. There was a twinkle in Paula's eyes as she said, "You look like a female Robin Hood in all that Sherwood Green suede. Merry. The only things that are missing are a quiver of arrows and a perkly little felt hat with a sweeping feather."

Miranda broke into laughter. 'Don't think I don't have the hat! I do. But I didn't dare wear it to lunch, in case you'd think I was bonkers. Everyone else does." She swiveled in the chair to reveal her legs, which were encased in tight green-suede pants and matching boots that came up above her knees. "When Shane saw me this morning, he said I looked like the Princ.i.p.al Boy in a pantomime. I went the whole hog with this outfit, I'm afraid. Is it too theatrical?"

"Not really. And you could have worn the hat. I for one happen to like you in your fanciful costumes."

Miranda looked pleased. "Coming from the elegant you that's a real compliment." Leaning closer, she hurried on, "Are you and Jim busy tonight? I was wondering if I could invite you out to dinner?"

"I'd love you to join us tonight, if you won't be bored. Grandy's having a family dinner at Pennistone Royal."

"I'm not sure that that's still on, Paula, four grandmamma has a hot date with my grandfather." Miranda's laugh held a hint of mischief, which was reflected in her eyes, as she said, "Can you imagine, and at their ages!"

Paula was thrown by this statement. "Oh you must be mistaken. I'm certain Grandy intends to be there."

"I'm not wrong, honestly I'm not. I heard Shane talking to my father a little while ago. Grandfather is taking Aunt Emma out to dinner. But I was only teasing when I said they had a hot date, since Shane's going with them."

'Then Grandy must have changed her plans," Paula said, dreading the thought of the dinner without her grandmother's presence. "I expect my mother will play hostess in her place, since I can't imagine Grandy actually canceling it without talking to me first.'

"No, I don't think she would do that." Leaning forward again, her manner still teasing, Miranda said, "When my grandfather and your grandmother get together, they're incorrigible. I told him the other day that it was about time he made an honest woman out of Aunt Emma and married her."

"If anyone's incorrigible, it's you, Merry! And what did Uncle Blackie say to that?"

"He chuckled and told me he'd-only been waiting for my approval, and now that he had it, he was going to pop the question. 'Course, I knew he was only kidding me in return. But to tell you the truth, I don't think it's such a bad idea, do you?"

Paula merely smiled. She said, "Anyway, getting back to the family dinner, you're very welcome. Come around seven-thirty for drinks. Dinner's at eight-thirty."

"You are a darling, Paula. Thank you. You've just rescued me from a boring evening with Ma and Pa. All they do these days is talk about the baby."

"I'm not sure your evening with us will be much more stimulating. My mother has become something of a doting grandma. All she does is rave about the twins. I can't seem to shut her up."

"But I adore Aunt Daisy. She's such a lovely woman and not a bit like the rest of you-" Miranda stopped, horrified at her words. Her pale, freckled face flamed to scarlet.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Paula demanded, a dark brow arching as she pretended to be insulted, but the amus.e.m.e.nt touching her mouth betrayed her.

"I didn't mean it the way it came out," Miranda exclaimed in embarra.s.sment. "I wasn't referring to you or Aunt Emma or your cousins, but to your aunts and uncles actually. I am sorry, though. It was rather rude of me."

"Don't apologize, I happen to agree with you." Paula fell silent, thinking specifically of her Aunt Edwina, the Dowager Countess of Dunvale, who was due to arrive from Ireland later that day. It was because of Edwina that she and Jim had had their First truly serious quarrel. Some weeks ago, to her utter astonishment and disbelief, Jim had decided that Edwina must be invited to the christening. When Paula had objected strenuously and had reminded him that Edwina was no favorite of Grandy's, he had brushed aside her protestations and told her she was being silly.' And then he had reminded her that Emma wanted bygones to be bygones.

sought peace within the family. "Well, you'd better not invite Edwina until I've mentioned it to Grandy," Paula cautioned, and he had acquiesced to this suggestion at least. When she had told her grandmother about it, Emma had appeared off-hand, indifferent even, and had told her to accept the situation gracefully, to let him invite Edwina, and to put a good face on it if she accepted. But there had been a strange look in Grandy's eyes, and Paula suspected that Emma had been disappointed in Jim. As she had herself, but she had overcome this feeling, loving him as much as she did; and she had excused Jim, too, because he had no family of his own to invite to his children's christening, and Edwina was half Fairley. If only Edwina weren't so hostile to Emma and to her.

Miranda, studying her friend, saw that she looked troubled, and ventured, "You're awfully pensive all of a sudden, Paula. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, of course not." Paula forced a smile and, changing the subject, asked, "How's your mother?"

"Her health's much better, thanks. Also I think she's finally recovered from the shock of getting pregnant at forty-five and giving birth to a change-of-life baby. And little Laura is simply adorable. I love to watch

Grandfather playing with her. He's quite infatuated, and of course he's thrilled they called her Laura aftermy grandmother. They almost gave me that name, you know.""No, I didn't, Merry.""Yes. Then they changed their minds, I suppose. But I wouldn't have minded being named for my grandmother, and I certainly wish I'd known her. She must have been a remarkable woman. Everyone

loved her so, especially Aunt Emma."

"Yes, and Grandy told me only the other day that she's "never stopped missing Laura since the day she died."

"We're all muddled up, aren't we, Paula?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Hartes and the O'Neills. And the Fairleys, for that matter. Our lives are inextricably linked ... we

can't really escape each other, can we?"

"No, I don't suppose we can."

Miranda reached over and squeezed Paula's hand. "I'm glad we can't. I think it's rather nice to have you

and Aunt Emma and Aunt Daisy for a second family." Her huge hazel eyes, sparkling with tiny prisms of gold, overflowed with warmth and affection.

Paula returned the pressure of her hand. "And it's nice for me to have the O'Neills." The arrival of the waitress with the tray of food interrupted this exchange, and for the next fifteen minutes or so the two young women talked mostly about Paula's babies,'the christening the next day, and the reception Emma was giving after the church ceremony. But then Miranda-quite suddenly adopted a serious tone when she said, 'There's something . very important I'd like to discuss with you."

Paula, at once noticing the change in her friend's demeanor, asked swiftly, "Do you have problems?"

"Not at all. But I do have an idea I'd like to throw at you, to get your reaction."

"What kind of idea, Merry?" she asked curiously.

"You and I doing business together."

"Oh." This was the last thing Paula expected, and after her initial exclamation she was startled into

momentary silence. Miranda grinned and, not giving her a chance to comment further or brush the idea to one side, rushed on, "I had a flash of inspiration last week when I was going over the blueprints for the new hotel we're building in Marbella. The architect has planned a galleria of shops, and it struck me immediately that we must include a boutique. Naturally I thought of Harte's; then I realized one boutique wouldn't interest you. So I took the idea a step further . . . Harte boutiques in all of our hotels. There's the new one we're doing over in Barbados, we're about to remodel the Torre-mollinos hotel, and eventually the entire chain will get a revamp. .We could have a boutique in each one, and Harte's could run them." Miranda sat back and searched Paula's face for a clue to her feelings, but it was unreadable. She asked eagerly, "Well, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure," Paula said noncommittally. "Have you discussed this with Uncle Bryan?"

"Yes, and Dad liked the idea. He was very gung ho actually and told me to talk to you." Miranda gazed at her friend expectantly and crossed her fingers. "Would you be willing to go into the venture with us?"

"I think we might be. I'd have to talk to my grandmother, of course." This was uttered with Paula's usual caution, but she could not conceal the interest quickening on her face.

With a small rush of excitement, she thought: It could be the perfect project for Grandy. The one I've been looking for, and it would certainly take the sting out of the Cross fiasco. Straightening up, Paula said in a more positive voice, "Give me some additional details, Merry," arid she listened attentively as the other girl talked. Within minutes she began to recognize the endless possibilities and advantages inherent in Miranda O'Neill's idea.

Chapter Four.

Emma sat up with an abrupt jolt.

I don't believe it, I almost dozed off, she thought with exasperation. Only old ladies do that in the middle of the day. She began to laugh. Well, she was an old lady, wasn't she, even though she was loath to admit that to anyone, least of all herself.

Shifting her position on the sofa, she stretched, then straightened her skirt, and immediately became aware of the heat from the blazing fire. The room was stifling even for her- she, who had always suffered from the cold and rarely ever felt warm enough. No wonder she had become so drowsy.

With a burst of energy she propelled herself up and off the sofa and hurried to the windows. She opened one of them and took several deep breaths, fanning herself with her hand. The crisp air felt good, and the breeze brushing against her face soon refreshed her, and she stood there for a moment or two until she was cooler before turning away and retracing her steps.

Her pace was slower, and she looked around as she skirted the two large plump sofas in the center of the floor. She nodded with pleasure, thinking how lovely the room appeared at this moment, washed as it was in the golden sunlight now streaming in through the many windows. But then it always did look beautiful to her, and she would rather be here than anywhere else on this earth.

Is it age, I wonder, that makes us cleave to the best-known s.p.a.ces in our lives, to the well-loved and familiar things? Is it the memories of the years gone .by and of those we cared so much about, which bind us to those places and make them so special in our deepest hearts? She believed that this was true-at least for her. She felt safe, and comforted, when she was in surroundings where so many episodes of her long arid colorful life had been played out.

Such a place was Pennistpne Royal, this ancient, historic and rambling house on the outskirts of Ripon, which she had purchased in 1932. In particular she favored this room-the upstairs parlor-where she had spent so many endless happy hours over the years. .She had often wondered how it had come to be called the upstairs parlor, for there was nothing parlorlike about it at all. This struck her once again as her glance took in the impressive architectural details and the splendid furnishings.

By the very nature of its -dimensions, the room had a singular grandeur, with its high, Jacobean ceiling decorated with elaborate plasterwork, its tall leaded windows flanking the unique oriel window, and the carved fireplace of bleached oak. Yet for all its imposing detail and despite its size, Emma had introduced a mellow charm and great comfort, plus a subtle understated elegance that had taken time/much patience, superb taste, and a vast amount of money to create.

Being confident of her original choices, Emma had never felt it necessary to change anything, so the room had remained the same for over thirty years. She knew for -instance that no other paintings could ever surpa.s.s the fine portraits of a young n.o.bleman and his wife by Sir Joshua Reynolds, or the priceless Turner landscape. The three oils were in perfect harmony with her graceful Georgian antiques, collected so lovingly and with infinite care. And such things as the Savonnerie carpet, faded now to a delicate beauty, and her Rose Medallion china in the Chippendale cabinet, were matchless touches that added to the room's graciousness and style. Even the walls were always repainted in their original primrose, for to her discerning eye this pale and delicate color made the most restful backdrop for the art and the rich patinas of the dark woods, and it introduced the cheerful sunny aspect she preferred.

This morning the springlike mood of the setting, created by the airy color scheme and the brightly patterned chintz on the sofas, was reinforced by porcelain bowls br.i.m.m.i.n.g with jonquils, tulips, and hyacinths, which spilled their lively yellows, reds, pinks, and mauves onto some of the darkly gleaming surfaces, and their fragrant scents were aromatic on the still and gentle air.

Emma moved forward, then paused again in front of the fireplace. She never tired of looking at the Turner which hung above the mantelpiece, dominating the soaring chimney wall with its misty greens and blues. The landscape was bucolic, evocative, and a superb example of Turner's poetic and visionary interpretations of the pastoral scene.

It's definitely the light, she decided for the hundredth time, as always fascinated by the luminous sky in the painting. In Emma's opinion no one had ever been able to capture light on canvas in quite the same manner as Turner. The clear cool light in this masterpiece was forever a.s.sociated in her mind with the northern skies under which she had grown up and had lived for most of her'life, and which she would love always. She believed them to be unique because of their clarity and a radiance that seemed unearthly at times.

Her eye now caught the carriage clock, reposing on the mantelpiece. It was almost one. She had better pull herself together and very smartly, since Emily was due momentarily, and everyone had to be on their toes when the volatile, whirlwind Emily was around. Most especially old ladies, she added, chuckling softly again.

Hurrying briskly into the adjoining bedroom, she sat down at her dressing table. After dabbing her nose with powder, she renewed her pink lipstick and ran a comb through her hair. There, that does it. Pa.s.sable, she added under her breath, peering into the gla.s.s. No, more than pa.s.sable. I really do look pretty nifty today, as Alexander said I did.