Barbara Taylor Bradford - Emma’s Secret

Once lunch with her grandfather was over, Linnet made her way to the attics in the East Wing of Pennistone Royal. She had been working up there at weekends for several months, and had almost finished cataloguing Emma’s couture clothes.

After opening the door with her key, she stepped inside and switched on the light, then stood for a moment, glancing around, a smile of pleasure flitting across her face.

These attics were special to her, more than ever since she had arranged everything the way she wanted. What made them unique was their size; they were not at all like the small, low-ceilinged rooms usually found under the eaves of most houses.

Spacious, with fairly high ceilings, they had been remodelled by her great-grandmother many, many years before. Emma had had the walls lined with cedar, the floors covered with carpeting stretching wall to wall, and she had installed excellent lighting, comparable to that used in the Harte stores. Cupboards with deep shelves had been specifically designed to hold boxes of varying sizes, where all manner of things could be safely kept free of dust. Emma had created a series of splendid storage rooms for all of her clothes, and for fashion accessories such as shoes, hats and handbags, and costume jewellery as well.

As she moved forward, Linnet couldn’t help congratulating herself on the reorganization she and her cousin India Standish had done in the last few months. When her mother had asked her to sort out the muddle in the attics, it had not taken her very long to realize there was no real muddle. The basic problem was that many racks had been pushed close together and filled with innumerable dresses, gowns, and all kinds of outfits and ensembles.

She and India had decided there was only one way to organize the clothes, once the racks had been properly spaced out. They did it by designer name rather than by category of clothing, as her mother and Aunt Emily had done some years before. Designers now had a rack, or racks, with his or her name posted in bold letters.

It had always been something of a wonder to Linnet that so much had been kept. Even as a child she had liked to roam amongst the racks of clothes, admiring the beading and the embroidery, touching the beautiful fabrics – the chiffons, satins, silks and velvets.

Her great-grandmother had had perfect taste, and everything had been kept in excellent condition by her, and later by Paula and Emily. Some years earlier her mother had installed air-conditioning, which was kept on low the whole year round, so that there was total climate control to preserve the clothing.

Normally the ensembles were kept in dust-proof, zip-up garment bags made of cotton, but she and India had taken many of the outfits out of the bags in order to make decisions about them. She glanced at them now as she walked along an aisle in between the racks; it struck her that she could use almost all of her great-grandmother’s clothes in her retrospective, especially since she was covering eighty years of fashion.

Emma’s ensembles dated back to the 1920s and featured many great designers. In particular she had favoured three French designers in their hey day: Pierre Balmain, Cristóbal Balenciaga and Christian Dior. But she had bought from Vionnet and Chanel in Paris; Hardy Amies in London; the French-American designer Pauline Trigère, based in New York, and the Russian designer Valentina. Her couture house had also been in New York until her retirement in 1957. The clothing aside, there were all those wonderful accessories. It was an enormous treasure trove of elegance and style.

Linnet knew she could easily finish the last of the cataloguing tomorrow. Now she had a specific purpose – finding a missing evening gown which her aunt had told her about last week. Emily had discovered it years ago in Emma’s Belgrave Square flat, and had used it in a display of fashion Paula had once put on in the early 70s, which her mother had called Fashion Fantasia.

‘It’s a must , you have to use it,’ Emily had told Linnet. ‘It’s really not lost, just mislaid. I’ll bet you anything it’s in the attics at Pennistone Royal, since it’s not in London. Look for a very large flat box, a dress box, and I think it has a Harte’s label on it, rather faded. I found it in that box and I put it back there, as far as I remember. As you well know, beaded dresses are heavy, the weight of the beads pulls the fabric down and makes a mess of the shape. So I know it’s not hanging in a dress bag.’

Emily had gone on to describe the dress: ‘A sheath of pale blue chiffon covered all over with thousands of tiny bugle beads of pale blue and emerald green. It’s simply gorgeous. Oh, and there’s a pair of emerald-green silk evening shoes by Pinet of Paris.’

When Linnet came to the end of the first aisle of racks, she headed for the long work table she used for different jobs, and put her shopping basket of tools down on it. Dragging the stepladder closer to one of the tall, built-in cupboards, she opened its doors and climbed the steps. As she leaned forward and pulled out a large box, a number of others tumbled to the floor. Backing down the ladder, she put the box she was carrying on the table. It was very heavy, and when she lifted the lid she saw it contained lots of shoe boxes neatly lined up next to each other.

At this moment her mobile began to ring; reaching into her basket, she grabbed it. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me,’ her cousin Gideon announced.

‘Hi! Where are you, Gid?’

‘At the stables in Middleham. When I phoned the house, Margaret told me to call you on your mobile. Where on earth are you? You sound as if you’re on the moon.’

She laughed. ‘Not quite. But I am up in the attics of Pennistone Royal.’

‘Good Lord, it’s years since we’ve been up there … playing with all those old toys.’

‘Not those attics, silly. I’m in the East Wing where all of Grandy’s clothes are stored. I’m actually looking for an evening gown your mother told me about last week.’

‘Oh gosh, that’s right. Your big project is in the works. Eighty Years of Elegance and Style,’ he said, laughter in his voice.

‘Don’t make fun of me, Gideon. The retrospective is going to generate a lot of traffic in the fashion department, and that means sales.’

He was suddenly chagrined, knowing how seriously she took her work. He would never tease her about that, and swiftly he exclaimed, ‘Now you’re being silly. You know how much I respect you, and your work, Linny. Would I ever do that to you?’

‘I don’t suppose you would, Gid. You are coming to dinner tonight, aren’t you?’

‘Course I am. That’s why I’m phoning, actually … Listen, do you think it will be all right for me to bring a guest? Will your mother mind?’

‘I’m sure she won’t. You know how she likes to play Mother Earth, invites the whole world to partake of her food. Who do you want to bring?’

‘Actually, Linnet, it’s Julian.’

‘ Kallinski!? ’

‘Is there another Julian in your life?’

‘No, and he’s not either. Mummy won’t mind if you bring him to dinner, but I certainly will.’

‘Oh come on, Linnet, you know how you feel about him.’

‘And how’s that, Gid?’

‘You love him.’

‘Yes, that’s true … in the way I love you. Like a cousin, or a big brother.’

‘Liar!’

‘I’m not a liar, and it’s true. Since we grew up together, as you well know, we have a very fraternal relationship.’

Gideon did not respond, and she was wondering if she had lost him, if the connection had just gone dead, when he said, ‘It’s not the way Julian portrays your relationship.’