Barbara Taylor Bradford - Emma’s Secret

Part of the time she and her grandmother had gone with him in search of beautiful antiques, for his shop on East Tenth Street, making trips to the country towns just outside London, or driving down to Gloucestershire and Sussex in search of all manner of precious things. It had been an adventure for her and she had loved every moment.

The two of them, she and her gran, were sometimes alone, when Grandfather was off making important transactions with other dealers. It was then that Glynnis had taken her out to see Windsor Castle, Hampton Court and Kew Gardens. And she had learned about British history, especially Welsh history, from her grandmother, who knew a lot and was articulate in the telling of it all.

It had been lovely weather that particular summer, and the three of them had enjoyed the time they spent together. Her grandfather loved the theatre, and so they had gone to see plays in the West End, and one night they had even had supper at the Savoy Hotel, in the elegant dining room overlooking the River Thames. Another evening, after a play, Grandfather had taken them to Rules, the old and very famous restaurant which her grandparents had favoured for years. These treats had been special for a girl of twelve, and she had never forgotten them.

After almost two weeks in London they had crossed the English Channel to France, where her grandfather had hoped to find other interesting items and small treasures for the shop. He had been an expert in English Georgian furniture, and had also specialized in English and European china. That was the real reason for their trip to France: the quest for rare porcelains in perfect condition.

It was from his father that Owen had learned all about English and European porcelains, as well as furniture. ‘I studied at the knee of the master,’ he often said, and he was now a leading expert and dealer in the field today. Over the years Owen had made something of a name for himself as an antiquarian; he frequently gave lectures at his shop, and people came from all over to hear him speak, and to learn.

Evan knew how much her father loved antiques, and she was well aware that his work had been his great saviour over the years, especially when they were growing up and their mother was incapacitated.

Angharad, the youngest, had shown a talent for spotting ‘the good stuff’, as her grandmother had called it. Knowing that she had what he called ‘a good eye’, Owen had taken his daughter into the business when she was old enough, and she worked with him at the New Milford shop for part of the week, and on Sundays.

Elayne, who was the middle child, was an artist and painted very well, Evan thought, and she had a small studio near the family home in Kent. Her paintings were shown in a gallery their father had created within his New Milford shop, and sold very well. People liked her evocative landscapes and sun-filled beach scenes, most especially her mother-and-child studies, which touched a chord in everyone.

In a certain way Evan had thought Glynnis was her best friend when she was growing up, and especially when she was in her late teens. She had gone to live with her grandparents in Manhattan at the age of seventeen, and after six months, when she became eighteen, she had enrolled in the Fashion Institute of Technology on West 27th Street, where she had studied fashion design, her true vocation.

Now, suddenly, her thoughts went to her grandmother’s will. She and her father had been taken aback by it. Glynnis had left almost four hundred thousand dollars, and the amount had taken their breath away momentarily.

‘Where did it all come from?’ Evan had asked her father, once they had left the lawyer’s office a few days after Glynnis’s funeral.

Owen had shrugged, looking nonplussed. ‘Damned if I know, honey, but my mother was always frugal, and also a good businesswoman. She kept my father’s books at the shop for years and she had a good head for figures, he told me. I know she liked to dabble in the stock market a bit. Over the years she did quite well, but your gran was prudent, cautious, and she also tended to scrimp and scrape. I guess that’s where her money came from – her own thrift and prudence.’

Her father had received the bulk of the money and his mother’s apartment, which Glynnis had inherited from Richard after his death several years earlier. There had been nice bequests to Elayne and Angharad, and she herself had received the sum of thirty thousand dollars, much more than the other two girls. But she was the eldest grandchild, and they had understood. Their grandmother’s few pieces of jewellery and small trinkets had been left to her sisters and herself. Very generously, Glynnis had passed on several of the really good pieces to their mother, obviously not wanting to leave Marietta out, or slight her daughter-in-law.

Follow your dreams, Owen had said to Evan. She would try. Certainly her grandmother had made that possible. Evan had been able to come to London under her own steam, without asking her father for money, and for this she was grateful.

Her grandmother’s dying words again reverberated in her head, and she couldn’t help wondering why Emma Harte was her future. What had Glynnis meant by that? Evan had no idea. And she wouldn’t know until next week, when she was well enough to go out.

Rousing herself, Evan got up, went over to the chest of drawers near the fireplace. On top of it she had arranged a selection of family photographs. She picked up the one of her grandparents and herself when she was twelve, taken here in London on the famous trip.

She stared at the photograph for a few moments, studying it. In the background were the gates of Buckingham Palace. It had been a sunny day and she was squinting into the sun, and looked sedate in a plaid skirt, a white blouse, white ankle socks and patent-leather shoes gleaming in the sunlight, their shine very visible in the picture.

She half smiled at the youthful image of herself, thinking she looked so gangly and awkward with her long legs and skinny shoulders. Her hair had been cut in bangs, a straight dark line across her forehead, and the hairstyle did not suit her. She recognized that now, but she had known it then as well.

Her grandfather, tall, straight backed, almost military in his bearing, was wearing a dark blazer and grey trousers, and looked very smart with his pale blue shirt and navy tie. His hair was pepper-and-salt, and his light grey eyes twinkled in his lean, craggy face. Still a handsome man, just as he had been in his younger days.

Her grandmother was quite amazing looking in the photograph. She had been sixty-five at the time, and she had stopped tinting her hair long before. It was a cloud of silver around her still-youthful face, and the blueness of her eyes appeared very sharp in the picture. That wide smile Evan had known and loved all of her life was in place on Glynnis’s face, which as usual reflected her loving nature.

Grandparents were important, she was fully aware of that. It was only through them that you really knew who you were, where you came from, what you were all about. In a sense, great-grandparents were of even more importance, for what you gleaned about them gave you considerably more insight into your grandparents, your parents, and yourself. You carried their genes, their blood, and also their hopes and dreams and aspirations. All of these elements were there in you, inherited, flowing down through the bloodlines over several generations. Knowing about your family background gave you a sense of direction, and of purpose, she thought, and told you so much about who and what you could become. It gave you and your life meaning.

It was because of her grandmother that she was here in London. And next week she would come face to face with her future on the day she went to Harte’s in Knightsbridge. If her grandmother was to be believed … She had faith in Glynnis; she had always had faith in her.