Alexander would come first.
Emma glanced at her watch. He was due to arrive in fifteen minutes, at ten-thirty. He would be on time, if not indeed early. Her lips twitched in amusement. Alexander had become something of a demon about punctuality, he had even chided her last week when she had kept him waiting, and he was forever at odds with his mother, who suffered from a chronic disregard for the clock. Her amused smile fled, was replaced by a cold and disapproving tightness around her mouth as she contemplated her second daughter.
Elizabeth was beginning to push her patience to the limits – gallivanting around the world in the most scandalous manner, marrying and divorcing haphazardly, and with such increasing frequency it was appalling. Her daughter’s inconsistency and instability had ceased to baffle her, for she had long understood that Elizabeth had inherited most of her father’s worst traits. Arthur Ainsley had been a weak, selfish and self-indulgent man; these flaws were paramount in his daughter, and following his pattern, the beautiful, wild and wilful Elizabeth flouted all the rules, and had remained untamed. And dreadfully unhappy, Emma acknowledged to herself. The woman has become a tragic spectacle, to be pitied, perhaps, rather than condemned.
She wondered where her daughter was at the moment, then instantly dropped the thought. It was of no consequence, she supposed, since they were barely on speaking terms after the matter of the will. Surprisingly, even Alexander had been treated to a degree of cold-shouldering by his adoring mother because he had been favoured in her place. But Elizabeth had not been able to cope with Alexander’s cool indifference to her feelings, and her hysterical tantrums and the rivers of tears had abruptly ceased when she realized she was wasting her time. She had capitulated in the face of his aloofness, disapproval, and thinly-veiled contempt. Her son’s good opinion of her, and his love, were vital, apparently, and she had made her peace with him, mended her ways. But not for long, Emma thought acidly. She soon fell back into her bad habits. And it’s certainly no thanks to that foolish and skittish woman that Alexander has turned out so well.
Emma experienced a little rush of warmth mingled with gratification as she contemplated her grandson. Alexander had become the man he was because of his strength of character and his integrity. He was solid, hardworking, dependable. If he did not have his cousin Paula’s brilliance, and lacked her vision in business, he was, nonetheless, sound of judgement. His conservative streak was balanced by a degree of flexibility, and he displayed a genuine willingness to weigh the pros and cons of any given situation, and, when necessary, make compromises. Alexander had the ability to keep everything in its proper perspective, and this was reassuring to Emma, who was a born realist herself.
This past year Alexander had proved himself deserving of her faith in him, and she had no regrets about making him the chief heir to Harte Enterprises by leaving him fifty-two per cent of her shares in this privately-held company. Whilst he continued to supervise the mills, she deemed it essential for him to have a true understanding of every aspect of the holding corporation, and she had been training him assiduously, preparing him for the day when he took over the reins from her.
Harte Enterprises controlled her woollen mills, clothing factories, real estate, the General Retail Trading Company, and the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company, and it was worth many millions of pounds. She had long recognized that Alexander might never increase its worth by much, because of his tendency to be cautious; but, for the same reason, neither would he ruin it through rash decisions and reckless speculation. He would keep it on the steady course she had so carefully charted, following the guidelines and principles she had set down years ago. This was the way she wanted it, had planned it, in point of fact.
Emma drew her appointment book towards her, and checked the time of her lunch with Emily, Alexander’s sister.
Emily was due to arrive at one o’clock.
When she had phoned earlier in the week Emily had sounded somewhat enigmatic when she had said she had a serious problem to discuss. There was no mystery, as far as Emma was concerned. She knew what Emily’s problem was, had known about it for a long time. She was only surprised her granddaughter had not asked to discuss it before now. She lifted her head and stared into space reflectively, turning the matter over in her mind, and then she frowned. Two weeks ago she had come to a decision about Emily, and she was convinced it was the right one. But would Emily agree? Yes, she answered herself. The girl will see the sense in it, I’m positive of that. Emma brought her eyes back to the open page of the diary.
Paula would stop by at the end of the afternoon.
She and Paula were to discuss the Cross project. Now, if that is skilfully handled by Paula, and she brings the negotiations to a favourable conclusion, then I’ll have the challenge I’m looking for, Emma thought. Her mouth settled into its familiar resolute lines as she turned her attention to the balance sheets of the Aire Communications Company, owned, by the Crosses. The figures were disastrous – and damning. But its financial problems aside, the company was weighted down with serious afflictions of such enormity they boggled the mind. According to Paula, these could be surmounted and solved, and she had evolved a plan so simple yet so masterful in its premise, Emma had been both intrigued and impressed.
‘Let’s buy the company, Grandy,’ Paula had said to her a few weeks ago. ‘I realize Aire looks like a catastrophe, and actually it is, but only because of its bad management, and its present structure. It’s a hodgepodge. Too diversified. And they have too many divisions. Those that make a good profit can never get properly ahead and really flourish because they’re burdened by the divisions which are in the red, and which they have to support.’ Paula had then walked her through the plan, step by step, and Emma had instantly understood how Aire Communications could be turned round and in no time at all. She had instructed her granddaughter to start negotiating immediately.
How she would love to get her hands on that little enterprise. And perhaps she would, and very soon too, if her reading of the situation was as accurate as she thought. Emma was convinced that no one was better equipped to deal with John Cross and his son, Sebastian, than Paula, who had developed into a tough and shrewd negotiator. She no longer equivocated when Emma hurled her into touchy business situations that required nimble thinking and business acumen, which she possessed in good measure. And of late her self-confidence had grown.
Emma glanced at her watch again, then curbed the impulse to telephone Paula at the store in Leeds, to give her a few last-minute tips about John Cross and how to deal with him effectively. Paula had proved she had come into her own, and Emma did not want her to think she was forever breathing down her neck.
The telephone rang. Emma reached for it. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s me, Aunt Emma. Shane. How are you?’
‘Why Shane, how lovely to hear your voice. And I’m fine, thanks. You sound pretty good yourself. I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, at the christening.’ As she spoke, she took off her glasses and laid them on the desk, relaxed in the chair.
‘I was hoping to see you before then, Aunt Emma. How would you like to go out on the town tonight, with two fun-loving bachelors?’
Emma laughed gaily. ‘And who’s the other fun-loving bachelor?’
‘Grandfather, of course, who else?’
‘Fun-loving! He’s getting to be an old stick-in-the-mud, if you ask me.’
‘I wouldn’t be saying that, mavourneen,’ Blackie boomed into the phone, having taken it away from his grandson. ‘I bet I could still give you a run for your money, if I got half the chance.’
‘I’m sure you could, darling.’ Emma smiled into the phone, her heart warming to him. ‘However, I’m afraid you won’t get that chance tonight. I can’t accept your invitation, Blackie dear. Some of the family are arriving later, and I ought to be here.’
‘No,’ Blackie interjected peremptorily. ‘You can see them tomorrow. Ah now, don’t be refusin’ me, darlin’,’ he cajoled. ‘Apart from wanting the pleasure of your lovely company, I need your advice on an important business matter.’
‘Oh!’