Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

‘Good Lord, Grandmother, absolutely not!’ he cried, blushing. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed. You’ve been generous beyond belief. Thank you.’ He made to return to his seat.

Emma restrained him. ‘Stay here with me,’ she said. Anthony nodded and stepped back, standing behind Emma’s chair at the right. ‘Now to come to my two youngest grandchildren, Amanda and Francesca.’ She beckoned to the fourteen-year-old twins, daughters of Elizabeth, grandchildren of Arthur Ainsley, who sat on the floor at Blackie’s feet. They stood up, looking slightly bewildered, and approached the desk holding hands.

‘Stand over there by your cousin, girls,’ Emma instructed. ‘I have also established a trust of two million pounds for Amanda and the same for Francesca, who will receive the income from said trusts upon reaching the age of eighteen.’ She swivelled to regard the twins. ‘I know you are a little young to understand these proceedings. I will explain everything to you later.’

‘Yes, Grandy,’ they said together. Amanda cried tearfully, ‘You’re not going to die, are you, Grandmother?’

Emma shook her head and smiled reassuringly. ‘No, not yet, dear. But I must make proper provision for your futures. That’s what this is all about.’

‘We can come and live with you, can’t we?’ Francesca asked plaintively, her face puckering up.

‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow, dear.’

Emma leaned forward, clasping her hands together, and her voice, always strong, sounded more vibrant than ever. ‘I will now discuss the disposition of Harte Enterprises, the company that controls my clothing factories, woollen mills, Deerfield Estates, the Roe Land Development Corporation, as well as the General Retail Trading Company and the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company. As you know, it is a holding company worth many millions of pounds and I own one hundred per cent of the shares-’

She broke off, took a sip of water, and leaned back in the chair, her face inscrutable. A faint smile touched her lips fleetingly. As raptly attentive as the four conspirators had been before, they were now mesmerized. She looked pointedly at Robin and then at Kit.

‘I bequeath to my grandson Alexander Barkstone, fifty-two per cent of my shares in Harte Enterprises.’

She heard Kit suck in his breath, incredulity spreading across his face. Robin gasped, ‘My God!’, turned ashen, and half rose. Emma glared. ‘To continue. I bequeath to my grandchildren Sarah Lowther, Jonathan Ainsley, and Emily Barkstone the rest of my shares in Harte Enterprises. Said shares to be divided equally between these three, each one receiving sixteen per cent of the remaining shares.’

She motioned to the four beneficiaries to come to the desk. They stood before her, their faces suitably serious. Emma looked at each one of them in turn and said evenly, ‘I hope you understand my reasoning behind the disposition of Harte Enterprises. After careful deliberation, I decided the only way to preserve the company, and prevent any dissension or quarrelling later, was to put control of the company into one person’s hands. In my considered opinion, Alexander is the best equipped, in knowledge and experience, to run the company. But this is no reflection on your capabilities, which are superior. You will continue to work in the subsidiaries and take control of your own divisions upon my death. And of course, you will derive considerable income from the shares I have given you. I have also established a one-million-pound trust for each one of you, Alexander included. I hope you don’t think I’ve played favourites, or been unfair.’

They reassured her that they fully understood, individually thanked her profusely, and stepped to the left of the desk. Sarah looked fixedly at the stone fireplace, unable to meet Kit’s angry gaze. She knew her father had expected to inherit a large chunk of the Harte Enterprises shares. Jonathan looked down at his feet, avoiding Robin’s glaring countenance for the same reason. But the saturnine Alexander and his ebullient sister, Emily, seemed unconcerned about Elizabeth. Their mother’s reaction was one of bewilderment bordering on stunned disbelief.

Emma continued, ‘To digress for a moment from my business holdings. I would like to tell you how I am disposing of my various homes, collections of art, sculpture, and jewellery. To my grandson Philip McGill Amory, I leave the remainder of my art collection and sculpture, with the exception of the paintings here at Pennistone Royal, which currently repose in my various other homes, executive offices in London, Paris, and New York. Philip, please come and join your cousins.’

Philip paused at the desk and thanked her. She said, ‘I am not leaving you anything else, Philip, because you are going to be a multi-millionaire under your grandfather’s will. I hope you appreciate my motives.’

‘I do indeed, Grandy. You have been eminently fair.’

‘Now to my other homes. I bequeath the following residences to the following of my grandchildren. To Alexander, the villa at Cap Martin in the South of France. To Sarah, the house in Belgrave Square. To Emily, the Avenue Foch apartment in Paris. To Jonathan, the Fifth Avenue apartment in New York. The same grandchildren will also inherit all the furnishings in said residences. My jewellery, with the exception of my emeralds, is to be divided equally amongst my granddaughters Sarah, Emily, Francesca, and Amanda.’

Emma stopped and signalled to Daisy with her eyes. Her youngest daughter, acutely aware of the antipathy in the room, rose and glided swiftly across the floor, positioning herself next to her son, Philip. Emma said, ‘To my daughter Daisy, I give the McGill emerald ring, earrings, and necklace, given to me by her father. I also bequeath to her this house, Pennistone Royal, and all of its contents, to be used by her during her lifetime. Upon Daisy’s demise it will pass to her daughter, Paula.’

Mutterings and whisperings rippled in the air. Dresses rustled. Chairs creaked as bodies were shifted angrily. Her four eldest children, seated at the opposite side of the room, were staring at her with open antagonism, but Emma’s gaze did not waver, and her face was implacable. Her eyes focused on Jim Fairley. She lifted a document from the pile. ‘This is for you, Jim,’ she said, putting it in an envelope quickly and holding it out to him.

Jim was taken aback, his eyes widening, and then he hurried to her side. She handed him the envelope. ‘This is your new contract, ensuring your employment with the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company for the next ten years. Peruse it, show it to your solicitors, and return it to me next week. Signed. I am also appointing you managing director of the company, to take effect next month, with an increase in salary.’

‘Thank you very much, Mrs Harte. I don’t know how to express my gratitude. I will-’

Emma said crisply. ‘Later, Jim. And please, stay here with the others.’ Emma lifted the glass of water and drank deeply, emptying the glass. She straightened up in the chair, her demeanour imperious, her face glacial. ‘I now come to the disposal of the Harte department-store chain. Something I’m quite certain you’ve all been anxiously waiting to hear about.’ She stopped, her eyes becoming reflective. ‘I built that chain from nothing, with the toil of these hands.’ She lifted them in the air for them all to see. ‘A lifetime’s work has gone into building that chain into what it is today. One of the biggest in the world. I decided several weeks ago that it must pass into the right hands, that it must go to the one person who would ensure its continuation, who would run it efficiently, in the manner in which I have always run it-’ She bit off the end of her sentence dramatically. The silence was overwhelming now, the tension almost unbearable.