To Be the Best. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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Emily said, pausing on the pavement outside the Hôtel de Paris, looking up at it, beginning to laugh at herself as they climbed the front steps. Almost instantly the laughter died in her throat, and she grabbed Paula’s arm so tightly her cousin winced and followed her gaze.
Heading towards them down the steps was a tall woman with an abundance of flaming red hair and the kind of elegance that was indisputably French. She wore a white silk dress, very chic and severely tailored, with a black silk rose pinned to one shoulder, black-and-white high-heeled shoes, a matching bag, and white gloves. She carried a black straw picture hat, and she was holding the hand of a little girl of about three years, also dressed entirely in white, who had the same natural, bright red hair. The woman was bending over the child, saying something to her as they moved forward, and she had not seen them.
‘Christ Almighty! It’s Sarah!’ Emily gasped and squeezed Paula’s arm again.
Paula sucked in her breath, but she had no chance to make any response, nor could she and Emily turn around and hurry away.
A split second later their cousin had drawn level with them. The three women were standing on the same step, gaping at each other, and they were so stunned they were utterly speechless, rooted to the spot.
It was Paula who finally broke the uncomfortable silence.
‘Hello, Sarah,’ she said, very quietly, in a soft voice. ‘You’re looking well.’ She stopped, took a deep breath. ‘And this must be your daughter … Chloe, isn’t it?’ she added, forcing a smile, looking down at the child, whose upturned face was solemn and filled with enormous curiosity. And Paula saw, on closer inspection, that this was a true offspring of Emma Harte.
Sarah had regained her self-possession, and she gave Paula a look that was deadly. ‘How dare you speak to me!’ she cried, not bothering to sheathe her hostility and loathing. ‘How dare you attempt to make a friendly gesture towards me.’ Leaning closer, she hissed in Paula’s face, ‘You have a bloody nerve, behaving as if nothing happened between us, Paula O’Neill, and after what you did to me, you rotten bitch!’
The angry words, spoken so violently, the undisguised hatred on Sarah’s face, and her threatening manner, made Paula recoil in shock and dismay.
‘You’d better stay away from me and mine!’ Sarah exclaimed, her face turning brilliant red. She looked almost choleric, and her voice was unnecessarily loud and shrill. ‘And you too, Emily Harte, you’re no better than she is,’ she scoffed, her scarlet lips curling in scorn. ‘You two turned Grandmother against me, and then you cheated me of what was rightfully mine! You’re both thieves. Now, get out of my way! Both of you!’
Tightening her grip on the child’s hand, Sarah pushed between Paula and Emily, almost knocking Paula over as she did. And she swept on grandly down the remainder of the steps without a backward glance, the child hurrying and stumbling to keep up with her mother, exclaiming, ‘Maman, Maman, attendez!’
Paula had gone cold all over, despite the heat of the day, and there was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was momentarily paralysed, powerless to move. Then suddenly she grew conscious of Emily taking hold of her arm.
Emily said, ‘Phew! That was awful. She’s not changed, has she?’
‘No, she hasn’t,’ Paula agreed, rousing herself. ‘Let’s go in, Emily, people are staring at us.’ Paula extricated herself, flew up the steps and through the doors of the hotel, wanting to put distance between herself and those passersby who had witnessed the scene. She was mortified and still shaking inside.
Emily ran after her and found her cousin waiting inside the door, striving to calm herself. She slipped her arm through Paula’s and drew her forward into the hotel, saying, ‘At least we didn’t know any of those people who were listening and gawping at us, darling, so forget it. Come on, let’s go and have a nice cup of tea. It’ll do us both good.’
Once they had been shown to a secluded table in the lounge area of the vast lobby, and had settled down and ordered a pot of tea, Emily sat back and expelled a great sigh. ‘What a nasty performance that was,’ she said.
‘Yes. Ugly. And embarrassing. I could hardly believe my ears when she started to shout at us like a fish wife, not to mention the ghastly things she was saying.’
Emily nodded and gave Paula a careful look. ‘Why on earth did you speak to her in the first place?’
‘I didn’t know what else to do. We were eyeball to eyeball. It was terribly awkward, you know that, Emily,’ Paula replied, and paused. A contemplative expression settled on her face and she shook her head slowly. ‘I suppose I’ve always felt a bit sorry for Sarah … deep down. She was Jonathan’s pawn, and his victim, in a certain sense. He duped her, used her and her money. I’ve never really considered her to be wicked like Jonathan. Just rather stupid.’
‘I agree with you – about her stupidity, but I don’t feel sorry for her, and neither should you,’ Emily exclaimed. She drew closer, continued, ‘Look here, Paula, you’re far too nice, always trying to be fairminded and compassionate, and seeing everyone else’s point of view. That’s all very well, when you’re dealing with people who deserve your concern, but I don’t think Sarah does. Stupid or not, she knew it was wrong to back Jonathan, to put up money for his private company. That truly was going against Harte Enterprises – and the family.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Paula admitted. ‘But I still think that in some ways she’s more dense than anything else, and I’m sure Jonathan pulled the wool over her eyes.’
Emily said, ‘Maybe he did.’ She sat back, crossed her legs, and went on, ‘Don’t you think it’s odd that we haven’t run across Sarah before now. I mean after all, she’s been living up the coast near Cannes for about five years, according to that story we saw in Paris Match, and Mougins isn’t that far away.’
Paula was silent.
After a moment she levelled her steady gaze at Emily, and murmured, ‘What’s also kind of odd is that for the first time in years Michael Kallinski was talking about Sarah and Jonathan on Friday and – ’
‘Why?’ Emily cut in peremptorily, arching a blonde brow.
‘No special reason, other than his own curiosity. We’d been talking about Lady Hamilton Clothes for a good half hour, as I told you yesterday, so I suppose it was natural for him to inquire about Sarah’s whereabouts. Still …’ Paula broke off, shook her head.
‘Still what?’ Emily pressed.
‘I was just thinking that his talking about them was almost prophetic.’ Paula gave a curious, rather nervous little laugh as she stared pointedly at Emily.
‘Gosh, it was! And I hope to God we don’t run into Jonathan next. I’m not sure I could survive an encounter with him quite as coolly as the one with Sarah.’
‘I know I couldn’t.’ As she spoke Paula shivered involuntarily, and she felt the hackles rise on the back of her neck and goose flesh speckle her arms. She sat back in the chair, biting her inner lip, wishing the mention of Jonathan’s name did not upset her in the way that it did.
Fortunately, the waiter arrived with the laden tea tray, and Paula was glad for the distraction as he started to place the cups and saucers on the table in front of them and speak in rapid French to Emily, whom he apparently knew by sight. He departed, almost instantly returned with the pot of tea and a jug of hot water, went away and came back again, this time pushing a four-tier trolley in front of him. Paula declined the many delicious pastries being offered, and stole a surreptitious glance at Emily, wondering if her cousin would succumb to temptation.
Emily looked longingly at the cakes, but she also shook her head, and as Paula poured the tea, she said, ‘Don’t think I didn’t want one of everything, because I did. I could have cheerfully made a meal out of the chocolate eclairs and the vanilla slices, but you saw how I resisted. All for the benefit of my figure. And Winston. He likes