A Woman of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford Read Free Book Online Page A

part. But as she had grown older and wiser, her guilt was diluted as she came to believe that each man was responsible for his own character. Eventually she had been able to acknowledge to herself that if character did determine a man’s destiny then every man and woman created their own heaven or hell. It was then that she had truly understood what Paul McGill had meant when he had once said to her, ‘We are each the authors of our own lives, Emma. We live in what we have created. There is no way to shift the blame and no one else to accept the accolades.’ From that moment on she had been able to come to grips with her mixed and frequently turbulent emotions about her children. She had refrained from agonizing over them and she had stopped blaming herself for their weaknesses and their faults. They alone were responsible for what they had made of their lives, and she was enabled to shake off the feeling that she was culpable.
    All this came back to her now as she remembered Paul’s words and she thought: No, I’m not guilty. They are motivated by their own greed, their own vaunting and misplaced ambitions. She rose again and crossed to the window, a degree of firmness returning to her step, the resolute expression settling on her face. She looked out absently. It had stopped snowing and the sun was shining in a clear sky. After a few moments of contemplation she returned to her desk. She knew what her course of action must be. She buzzed for Gaye, who responded immediately and came into the room carrying the tea tray. Sheset it down on the desk in front of Emma, who thanked her, and then went and sat in the chair opposite the desk. She is dauntless, Gaye said to herself as she gazed at Emma, noting the calm expression in her eyes, the steady hand that poured the tea.
    After a moment Emma smiled at her. ‘I’m feeling better, Gaye. I think you had better make three reservations on any plane leaving for London tonight. I know several airlines have early evening flights. I don’t care which one it is, just get us on a flight.’
    ‘Yes, Mrs Harte. I’ll start calling right away.’ She stood up to take her leave.
    ‘By the way, Gaye dear, I am quite certain Paula will wonder why we are returning to London sooner than expected. I shall tell her I have urgent business that needs my attention. I would prefer her not to know anything about this…’ She paused, searching for the appropriate word, and laughed bitterly. ‘This plot I suppose we should call it.’
    ‘I wouldn’t dream of mentioning it to Miss Paula or anyone!’ Gaye exclaimed vehemently.
    ‘And Gaye…’
    ‘Yes, Mrs Harte?’
    ‘Thank you. You did the right thing. I am very grateful to you.’
    ‘Oh, Mrs Harte, please…what else could I do? I was simply afraid to tell you because I knew how much it would distress you.’
    Emma smiled. ‘I know. Now see if you can get us on a plane.’
    Gaye nodded and left the room. Emma sipped the tea, her mind crowded with thoughts. Thoughts of her business, her children and her grandchildren. The family she had raised, the dynasty she had created. She knew what must be done to preserve it all. But could she do it? Her heart fluttered as she envisioned the days ahead. But she knew she would find the strength somehow. It struck her then how ironical life was. Her sons had made an irrevocable mistake by plotting in her own boardroom. Admittedly they had chosen what they thought was a propitious time, early evening on a Friday, when everyone had left. Even so, she was aghast at their utter stupidity.There was another flaw in their plot and it was a flaw that was fatal. They had underestimated her. And, finally, by a twist of fate, she had been forewarned of their treachery. Now that she was prepared, she could handle the situation most effectively, anticipate their next moves and forestall them. She smiled grimly to herself. She had always been something of a gambler in her business, in life in general, and once