Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
Emma’s Secret (43 page)
A
shaft of bright light suddenly cut through the dim greyness of the bedroom, and Tessa blinked and endeavoured to sit up. She saw Mark silhouetted in the doorway, and instinctively she knew he was in one of his hostile moods. Over the last few weeks she had grown more and more atuned to him, knew what to expect.
Taking a deep breath, she said in a steady voice, ‘Hello, darling. We missed you tonight.’
‘Where were you?’ he asked in a dull, low tone, coming into the room, closing the door behind him.
Reaching out, Tessa turned on the little brass lamp she used for reading. But it cast only a small pool of light near the bed, and she could not quite make out the expression on his face. He remained standing near the door.
‘It was the retrospective at the store,’ she explained. ‘The fashion retrospective. I kept thinking you would arrive.’
‘I told you I wouldn’t be able to make it,’ he muttered.
He had done nothing of the sort, but Tessa ignored this and said, ‘Never mind. We did miss you at dinner, though. My mother was asking for you.’
‘I left you messages.’
This wasn’t true either. However, she went along with it, having learned of late not to argue, exclaiming, ‘Oh dear, and I never got them. Were you working late, Mark?’
‘Yes, at the office.’
‘Haven’t you had any dinner? Do you want me to go downstairs and make you something?’ She pushed herself up in the bed, her eyes on him. She was suddenly wary.
‘No. I’ve eaten.’ He slouched into the room, beginning to undress as he did, throwing his jacket on a chair, pulling off his tie, stepping out of his trousers and underpants. Then he went into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door.
After a moment Tessa heard the toilet flush, the water running. She stared at the door, her mind racing, wondering about his condition. He hadn’t been drinking, she was fairly certain of that, but there
was
a strangeness about him. He spoke in a mumble, and he had moved in slow motion. It alerted her. Was he on something again? Feeling suddenly extremely vulnerable in bed, Tessa threw back the bedclothes and got up.
At that moment the bathroom door flew open and Mark stepped into the bedroom. There was an aura of anger around him.
They stared at each other across the bed.
Mark spoke first. ‘Why did you get up? Don’t you want to share my bed anymore? Perform your wifely duties?’
Tessa forced a faint laugh before saying, ‘Don’t be silly, Mark, of course I do.’ She laughed again even more weakly and added, ‘I was just going to check on Adele.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought I heard a noise.’
‘No you didn’t! You just want to leave my bed. Who are you screwing these days? Is it Toby Harte? Are you still having it off with your cousin?’
Tessa tensed up, but she kept total control of herself, edged toward the door.
‘Answer me!’
‘You know there’s no truth in what you suggest,’ she replied, keeping her voice low, controlled, taking a few small steps again.
‘I don’t trust you, you bitch!’ Mark rushed to the door, locked it, and then moved in on her, his fury finally coming to the surface, bursting out of him.
Tessa backed away, but he was fast, and he suddenly had his hands on her shoulders. Pulling her toward him roughly, he brought his mouth down hard on hers. She struggled, trying to avert her face without much success; he gripped her even tighter, and pushed her up against the wall, then slammed her back against it as she tried to push him away again, wanting to escape him. But tonight he was stronger than usual. Now he flattened his body against hers, brought his mouth to hers, pushed his tongue in it, then with one hand he sought her breast. She tried harder to extract herself, and almost did, but he lunged at her, snatched at the neck of her nightgown, and ripped it down to the hem. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her to the bed, threw her on it, and flung himself on top of her. As his face came down to hers, he mumbled, ‘You’re not going to get away from me.’
‘Please, Mark, don’t do this. I don’t want you to make love to me like this. You’re hurting me. Please, Mark, calm down. I’m saying no, to you, Mark. No. No.
NO.
Please stop!’
‘It’s Toby you want. I know that. Everyone knows that. The whole world knows that. But you can’t have him. I won’t let you. You’re mine, bitch. And you’re going to submit to me.’
‘No, Mark, no. Not this way. This is rape, Mark.’ Tessa began to sob, and tried once more to slither out from under him, but he was a dead weight on her body. She could not move, could barely breath.
His face, hovering above hers, was engorged, and there was a look of pure hatred in his eyes. Unexpectedly, he threw back his head, and a shout of laughter escaped him. ‘Rape? You call this rape? Then you’d better get used to it, you little whore. Because this is the way it’s going to be from now on. You must submit to my will, submit to whatever it is I want from you.’
‘Oh please, don’t do this,’ she cried, tears running down her face. She grabbed at his shirt, tried to pull herself upright.
Mark Longden paid no attention to her pleas. Instead he plunged into her, forcing himself inside her, thrusting against her, making grunting noises as he did, his breathing ragged.
Fight though she did, Tessa was no match for him, and she finally gave up, exhausted. She lay still, let him have his way with her, vowing it was never going to happen again. He was raping her for the last time.
Finally he rolled off her, fell into a deep sleep almost immediately, breathing heavily.
Tessa waited for a while and then she turned off the small brass reading lamp, slid out of bed and crept towards the door. Unlocking it as quietly as possible, she slipped out into the corridor, shut the door softly behind her. After looking in on Adele, checking that she was asleep, Tessa went down the corridor to her own private suite of rooms.
After taking off her torn nightgown, and throwing it in the wastepaper basket, she stepped into the shower and let the hot water sluice over her for some time, leaning against the tiled wall in the showerstall, sobbing as if her heart would break. But after a while the tears ceased, and she shampooed her hair, washed herself thoroughly, wanting to remove all traces of Mark. And she was thankful that she had started to use birth control pills again…the last thing she wanted now was to find herself pregnant by him again.
After drying herself and her hair, Tessa got dressed, pulling on tights, a pair of grey lightweight gabardine trousers, and a white cotton top. Pushing her feet into a pair of comfortable brown loafers, she began to pack a few clothes to see her through the weekend. Later she would prepare a case for Adele, whilst Elvira got herself ready and packed for a trip to the country.
Later, sitting at her desk in her office in the private suite, Tessa wracked her brains, wondering where to take her daughter and the nanny. Certainly she did not want to go to Yorkshire; she didn’t want her mother and Shane to know about Mark’s treatment of her. She was far too humiliated to confide in them. I’m an abused woman, and I’m fitting the profile perfectly. Hide the facts. Don’t tell a soul. Forgive him. Accept his contriteness and apologies. Until he does it again. And again. And again. Until he kills you.
Tessa had now read enough about abuse to understand…and she did understand many of the reasons for it. And yet Mark did not exactly fit the profile of an abuser. She knew without a doubt that he was on something, drugs of some kind. And he was drinking.
Sitting back in the chair, staring blankly at the computer screen, Tessa unexpectedly had a moment of absolute clarity: yes, there was only one place for her to go:
Pennistone Royal.
There was nowhere else she was truly safe from Mark Longden. For undoubtedly, he would try to find her and their child. He would come after her with deadly intent in his heart.
Anyway, she belonged there, didn’t she? Belonged in her mother’s house.
It struck her that she knew exactly who she was at this precise moment in time. She was the daughter of Paula O’Neill, the great-granddaughter of Emma Harte. She was very much a Fairley in many ways, but she
was
a Harte. And therefore she must stand tall, be strong, take control of her life. And it must be a life without Mark Longden.
P
aula stared at her pad, scanning the list of guests she and Shane expected at Pennistone Royal for the weekend. It was more than she had originally thought.
Some of their children would be there. Emsie; Desmond, who was coming home from boarding school and Linnet. And Linnet had invited Evan Hughes, and so she wrote Blue Room next to her name, and moved on to Julian Kallinski. He would be comfortable in the Gold Room, she decided. Grandfather Bryan came to stay with them every weekend these days, so he had his permanent suite, which he loved. He would stay put.
Smiling, feeling a sudden surge of happiness, Paula sat back in the chair, thinking about her daughter’s forthcoming engagement to Julian. How happy Grandy would have been, and David Kallinski, Emma’s dear old friend. Emma, in particular, had longed for the three clans to be joined in matrimony, and finally it was going to happen. She and Shane had elected to announce the engagement and throw a family dinner the night before the upcoming birthday party for Shane and Winston, two weeks from now.
Aside from Evan Hughes, all of the guests at the dinner would be family members. She hoped there would be no family squabbles….
There was a knock on the door and Margaret walked in, looking apologetic. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you Mrs. O’Neill, but there’s a young woman downstairs in the Stone Hall asking to see you.’
‘Who is it, Margaret?’ Paula asked, looking puzzled. ‘I’m not expecting anyone today.’
‘She didn’t tell me her name. She has a letter for you. She showed it to me but she wouldn’t give it to me. She says she was instructed to put it in your hands and yours only. Very adamant she was.’
‘I suppose I’d better see her then.’
Margaret was staring across the room at the long library table which held a large collection of family photographs, and Paula glanced at the table herself. It had come from Emma’s Leeds office years ago. ‘What is it, Margaret? What’s bothering you?’
‘The girl downstairs has red hair. Almost the same colour as Miss Linnet’s. I think she might be a relative.’ Walking across the room, Margaret stopped at the library table and touched the top of a silver frame. ‘She looks a bit like her.’
Paula was startled and she stood up, shaking her head, nonplussed. ‘It can’t be…why would Sarah Lowther’s daughter be here?’
‘I don’t know, Mrs. O’Neill. But she is…she’s downstairs. I’m sure of it.’
‘Please bring her up. Straightaway, please.’
Margaret nodded and hurried out, and Paula went around the desk, crossed the room to the library table. It was jammed with Emma’s collection of favourite pictures which Paula had never had the heart to put away. Her grandmother had bought the table from the Leeds store over thirty years ago, and the photographs, all in silver frames, had been her pride and joy. She had often held a picture in her hand and talked about the person in it to Paula. She was always warm, always loving, never critical about any of her children or grandchildren. Except Jonathan Ainsley. Emma herself had removed his photograph just months before her death; she had come to the conclusion he was double-crossing her. And how right she had been.
Focusing on Sarah’s photograph, Paula wondered if it really was Sarah’s daughter downstairs. She knew Sarah had married a famous French painter, Yves Pascal, years ago, and had made a success of her life and her business in France.
She wondered if Shane had really spotted Sarah at the retrospective; he had insisted several times that she’d been there. With Jonathan Ainsley. Winston had definitely seen
him,
and had been outraged. ‘What temerity he has,’ Winston had spluttered to her later at the dinner. ‘How dare he show his face to us!’ Emily and Gideon had managed to calm him down, but he had really seen red the other night, had been apoplectic.
Turning away from the library table, Paula walked over to the long sofa in front of the leaded window, and stood waiting. A moment later Margaret was ushering the young woman into the room. With a slight nod, her housekeeper disappeared.
The young woman walked forward, held out her hand and said, ‘Good morning, Mrs. O’Neill. I’m Chloe Pascal, Sarah Lowther’s daughter. Please forgive this intrusion, but my mother wanted you to have this. I’m to wait for your answer.’
After returning her greeting pleasantly, and accepting the envelope, Paula indicated that Chloe should be seated. Then she walked over to her desk, slit the envelope with a paperknife and took out the letter.
The stationery was expensive and it had her cousin’s professional name engraved across the top:
Sarah Harte Lowther.
Paula scanned the letter quickly. It said:
Dear Paula:
I am sending this note by hand with my daughter Chloe because I want to get it to you quickly, whilst I am still in England. I must see you urgently. I have vital information which
concerns you. I am nearby, and if you will see me now, Chloe will come for me.
Sarah
Walking back to the seating arranged under the leaded window, Paula lowered herself into a chair and said, ‘Where is your mother, Chloe?’
‘She’s sitting in the car further down the driveway, just beyond the curve. You can’t see the car from here.’
‘I know. Would you please go and get her, ask her to come and see me. From what she says in her note we have to talk.’
Chloe jumped up. ‘Right away. I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mrs. O’Neill.’
Paula nodded, watched her hurry out. The girl looked like her mother, with the same burnished auburn hair that was such a Harte family characteristic. It was a warm June day and Chloe wore a stark black cotton suit and simple gold jewellery, but she had that distinctive French chic which was so hard to imitate.
Rising, walking across to the leaded window, Paula looked down, saw Chloe heading for the driveway. She turned away, went back to her desk, putting the letter in a drawer. She had a gut instinct that her cousin Sarah wanted to tell her something disturbing about Jonathan. But why? Had they had a falling out? Or had Sarah had a twinge of conscience? It had to be something of vital concern to
her
or Sarah would never have asked to see her, made these moves. She felt herself tensing, suspecting that Sarah had only bad news. Paula took a deep breath, steeling herself for trouble.
A few minutes later, Margaret came into the room, escorting Chloe and her mother.
Walking forward, Paula said, ‘Hello, Sarah. This is a surprise,’ and stretched out her hand.
Sarah shook hands with her. ‘Thank you for seeing me. And please excuse the way I’ve handled this. But I needed to see you quickly before I return to Paris. And I thought if I telephoned you might—’
‘Hang up?’ Paula said, cutting across her. She shook her head. ‘No, Sarah, I
would
have taken your call. In fact, I’ve often thought you would be in touch over the years…I sort of expected it, actually.’
This comment startled Sarah, and she exclaimed, ‘If only I’d known. I’ve wanted to speak to you, just to explain one thing. And it’s this. I never knew Jonathan was cheating the family, hurting Harte Enterprises. I did invest in his company, that’s true, but I thought everything was above board. I only found out how wrong I’d been the day your father fired me, and you threw me out of the family. I trusted Jonathan and I shouldn’t have. I think I was rather naive, looking back. But I swear on my child’s head that I never knew what he was doing.’
‘I realized that a long time ago, Sarah. I came to understand that you were innocent of any wrongdoing.’ Paula paused, pursed her lips, shook her head sadly. ‘What a waste of the years…Well, that’s all water under the bridge…’
‘Yes, it is,’ Sarah agreed, and went on swiftly, ‘And I didn’t come here to explain, or to try to exonerate myself. I came to warn you.’
‘Let’s sit down,’ Paula murmured, indicating the seating in front of the leaded window. ‘Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?’
‘No, thank you,’ Sarah said, sitting down in a chair.
Chloe, lowering herself onto the sofa, simply shook her head.
Leaning slightly forward, looking at Paula intently, Sarah began: ‘I’ve suspected for a long time that Jonathan wanted to get back at you, hurt you in some way. He has always believed you were his nemesis, that you destroyed him. He cannot get at you in business any more, you’ve seen to that, but he can hurt you through your children. The other night I was at the retrospective and I saw something that frightened me. It also alerted me. At one moment he was staring very intently at your children, and he had a look on his face of pure malevolence. Evil. I knew instantly that he was up to no good, and I was afraid for you and yours. I didn’t know what he planned, but I made up my mind to find out as much as possible.’
‘Did you think he would simply…
confide
in you, Sarah?’ Paula asked, giving her a long hard stare.
‘No, I didn’t, he can be very close-mouthed even with me. But Jonathan likes his wine and he likes to boast…and he has a tendency to boast when his tongue has been loosened by a good French vintage.’
‘Are you saying you got him drunk?’ Paula raised an eyebrow quizzically.
‘No. But I had invited him to dinner, and I ordered a very expensive bottle of Mouton Rothschild, which he loves. And I asked the right questions.’
‘What’s he planning to do? How will he hurt my children?’ Paula asked, alarm making her voice sharp.
‘He’s already hurt one of them I’m afraid, Paula.’
Holding herself very still, staring across the coffee table at Sarah, Paula asked, ‘Tell me…tell me the worst. Who has he hurt? And how? Why don’t I know?’
‘Indirectly he’s hurt Tessa, through her husband Mark Longden. Mark is Jonathan’s architect…on the house he’s building near Thirsk.’
‘My god, none of us knew
that!
’
‘No, you didn’t, because Jonathan and Mark invented a phony name for the new client. William Stone.’ Sarah shifted slightly in the chair, and explained, ‘Mark told Tessa his new client was a tycoon, a very rich tycoon, that his name was William Stone and that he was building a house in the Midlands. Your daughter had no reason not to believe Mark.’
‘I understand. But how has Jonathan hurt Tessa?’ Paula demanded.
Sarah hesitated, and then explained in a quiet voice, ‘I got the feeling the other night that Jonathan is getting Mark hooked on drugs and drink, and other women. And that he’s enjoying doing so. I’ve long suspected Jonathan was a little depraved under that sparkling, gentlemanly exterior of his. I truly believe Mark Longden is now in his clutches in the worst way. Jonathan was laughing about Mark and his weaknesses. He made some remark about that marriage going south sooner than anyone had expected. He even commented on Mark’s mistreatment of Tessa…physical mistreatment.’
Paula was aghast, and turned very pale. ‘No man would boast of abusing his wife.’
‘I don’t think Mark
did
boast, Paula. I’m putting two and two together. Jonathan told me that Mark had said to him he was teaching Miss Moneybags who wore the trousers in the family; that she’d feel the back of his hand on her if she didn’t behave.’
‘I’ve suspected he was abusing her,’ Paula confided in a shaken voice. ‘And thank you for warning me, Sarah. I now know what to do.’
Nodding her head, Sarah cautioned, ‘If I’m to continue helping you, then you must leave my name out of it. Jonathan mustn’t find out.’
‘I understand.’
‘There’s one other thing you must know, Paula. At the retrospective Jonathan made a comment about Linnet. He said she was going to inherit everything, including Pennistone Royal. I was so taken aback I retorted that I didn’t believe it, and asked who’d told him. He said “a dickybird,” and he had a very smug, knowing look on his face.’
‘Oh, but he’s completely wrong about that!’ Paula shook her head vehemently. ‘Completely.’ She wondered where the leak had come from, her mind racing frantically.
It was almost as though Sarah had read her cousin’s mind when she remarked, ‘I think you’ve got a problem in your office. At the Leeds store, I suspect. Jonathan is having an affair with an old friend of his, a woman called Ellie. I think she works there.’
‘Eleanor Morrison! That’s who it must be. She’s one of my secretaries in Leeds. But she doesn’t have access to my private papers–and anyway, I told you, it’s not true.’
‘Don’t give her the sack,’ Sarah warned.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Paula said. ‘It would only make Jonathan Ainsley suspicious.’
‘Just be very careful…about anything confidential, any private papers.’
‘I always am,’ Paula answered, wanting to kill any ideas about who would inherit what. But she knew she would have to keep a sharp eye on Eleanor. Sarah was correct, she couldn’t sack her. But she could render her useless to Jonathan.
Standing up, Sarah said, ‘That’s it. I’ve told you everything I know, Paula. I hope it helps you.’
Also rising, Paula answered, ‘It does.’ She stared at Sarah in the most penetrating way, and confided, ‘I’ve had an instinctive feeling lately that Jonathan Ainsley would do something to injure my family. Ever since he came back to live in London…even Sir Ronald warned me.’
‘Uncle Ronnie was always smart. Grandy said he took after his father. Anyway, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. I usually see Jonathan when I come to London…’ Sarah did not finish her sentence. She glanced around the room and then addressed her daughter Chloe. ‘This is the upstairs parlour I’ve often spoken to you about. My grandmother’s favourite room…everybody’s favourite room actually, Chloe. We had wonderful times here when I was growing up.’
‘Mother, there’s your photograph! Over on that long table.’ As she spoke, Chloe hurried to the library table and picked it up. ‘You look so beautiful. Come and look,
Maman.’
Walking across the room, Sarah joined her daughter and they stared at the photograph together, then Chloe put it back.
