and Joe told me what happened to Adele today. Oh Mrs Longden, I’m so sorry, I wish I hadn’t taken the day off, I wish I’d been here …’ Her voice trailed off, and she looked suddenly uncertain what to do next.
‘Elvi,’ Adele said, smiling at her, ‘I lost Reggi. Mumma found her. Look.’ She showed Elvira the rag doll.
‘I’m glad she’s safe,’ Elvira murmured to the child, but looking up at Tessa as she spoke.
‘Take her for a few minutes, Elvira, please, I have to speak to Mr Longden,’ Tessa said, and handed Adele to the nanny.
Glancing at the others, Tessa’s eyes finally settled on Linnet. ‘I’ll be right back. Jack’s in charge out there, and he knows what he’s doing.’
‘He certainly does,’ Linnet concurred. ‘He’s the best.’
Returning to the Stone Hall, Tessa found Jack and Mark sitting opposite each other near the fireplace. Mark was angry, while Jack seemed remarkably calm, cool, and unperturbed. He’s holding all the cards, she suddenly thought, remembering some of the things he had told her mother.
Not wanting to sit down, to make it appear that she was ready to have a long discussion, Tessa remained standing, positioning herself near the soaring stone fireplace.
Jack looked across at her and said in a soft but distinct voice, ‘I told Mark you would be quite happy to reiterate the terms you had given him earlier on the phone. Seemingly he’d like to hear them again.’
‘You can have the house in Hampstead,’ Tessa began, ‘which is actually mine, since my mother gave it to me, not to us. You can also have the two cars which are garaged there. I’ll throw in all of the contents of the house, as well, except for a few paintings and personal items which are mine, and my other personal possessions such as clothes, that sort of thing. And I will make a financial settlement on you.’
‘I want the jewellery back. The pieces I gave you.’
‘Fine. That’s certainly very fine by me,’ she said, thinking that every piece was a worthless nothing.
‘And I want joint custody of Adele.’
‘That I can’t promise,’ Tessa said, her voice suddenly trembling unexpectedly, ‘but I will give you fair access.’
‘Joint custody,’ he snapped in a nasty voice.
‘No, Mark, I can’t agree to that. Not after today.’
‘We’ll see what the divorce courts have to say,’ he threatened.
Jack cleared his throat. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, I think the divorce courts will be in Tessa’s favour.’
‘No way! A father has as many rights as the mother these days, and let’s not forget that.’
‘But you are rather a problematic father, I would say.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ he demanded furiously, staring at Jack through blazing eyes.
‘I don’t want to go into it now, since your solicitor and Tessa’s will be discussing everything shortly. But perhaps I should just add that we have quite a lot of information about your private life, your indulgences, your preferences, your rather … decadent lifestyle, shall we call it? Do I need to say more?’ Jack gave the younger man a hard look, rose and went to stand next to Tessa.
Leaping to his feet, Mark cried, ‘This sounds like bloody blackmail to me!’
‘Call it what you will,’ Jack murmured. ‘But I do have the evidence to prove that I am speaking the truth. And by the by, it’s certainly the kind of evidence that a judge would be interested in hearing, especially since a child’s welfare is at the heart of the matter.’
Glaring first at Jack and then at Tessa, Mark shouted, ‘You haven’t heard the last of me!’
‘Nor have you heard the last of me, mate,’ Jack retorted. ‘And now, under the circumstances, I think it’s about time you left. I’ll escort you to the door.’
Paula O’Neill stood at one of the windows in the bedroom of the Fifth Avenue apartment, looking out at the view of Central Park. It was sunny and hot but not humid outside, and there was a sparkle to the day. The leafy domes of the trees in the park were brilliantly green against the azure sky, and rising upward beyond the trees the skyline of Manhattan looked superb. Brilliant sunshine glanced off thousands of windows, making the skyscrapers appear to gleam, almost shimmer in the clear light.
There’s no city like it anywhere else in the world, she thought. She had always loved New York ever since she had first come here as a child with her grandmother; Emma had also been addicted to this busy, electric, exciting, whirlwind city – where anything was possible, Emma frequently said to her, adding, ‘The sky’s the limit here, Paula. And don’t you ever forget it.’
Turning away from the window, Paula walked across the bedroom and out into the entrance foyer, her high heels clicking against the black-and-white marble floor as she headed towards the library, one of her favourite rooms in the apartment. It had been her grandfather’s favourite, too, according to Emma, who had once confided that he had loved the dark-wood panelling on the walls, the books bound in red leather, the Georgian antiques she had chosen, the warmth of dark-rose brocade hanging at the windows and used on the sofas. ‘He used to say it was masculine without being stuffy and heavy,’ her grandmother had explained, ‘but then he usually did like the way I decorated our homes.’
Paul McGill had bought the Fifth Avenue apartment for Emma and himself in the 1930s, and it was a spacious and lovely duplex designed by the renowned architect Rosario Candela in 1931. After Paul’s untimely death in 1939 Emma had contemplated selling it but only briefly. There was a war on, and she was far too preoccupied with other matters and the Blitz in London to worry about the apartment in Manhattan. ‘And I’m glad I didn’t sell it,’ Emma had once told her, ‘because it means we can live here in comfort and privacy when we come to the States instead of having to stay in hotels.’
Paula and her brother Philip had inherited the apartment jointly upon Emma’s death, but it was also used by other members of the family whenever they came to America, particularly her cousins Emily and Winston Harte, and Emily’s sister Amanda Linde who flew in all the time. Everyone loved it, took great pride in its uncommon beauty; luxurious and comfortable without being ostentatious, it truly bore Emma Harte’s imprint in every way and was a reflection of her great taste, her critical eye for colour and the finest in antiques and paintings.
Now, as she seated herself at the desk, Paula felt a sudden, unexpected sense of awe when she thought about her grandmother and her most remarkable achievements. It was mind-boggling really when she considered everything that Grandy had accomplished in her life – and she a poor girl from Fairley, a mill village on the Yorkshire moors, who had started working at the age of twelve as a servant for the Fairleys of Fairley Hall.
However did she do it? Paula wondered. Where did it come from, this talent, this infallible taste, this sense of style and scale, this understanding of art, and colour and fabrics? And where did her drive and energy, her strength and stamina come from? How did she summon up that unique will, that indomitability, that desire to scale the mountain tops? How on earth did that little servant girl become such a great lady, such a successful tycoon, so powerful, unbeatable, and absolutely inimitable? Emma Harte almost single-handedly had created a business empire worth many billions of pounds today, and had left her descendants an extraordinary legacy of power, wealth and privilege, not to mention that successful, thriving business empire that circled the globe.
There has never been anyone like her, Paula thought, shaking her head in wonderment, still gazing into space. Emma was a one-off; they threw away the mould after they made her. And again she wondered to herself how Grandy had done it … what extraordinary