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

again she was holding the equivalent of a straight flush. Her luck was holding. She prayed that it would hold long enough.

THREE
    Henry Rossiter pressed the telephone closer to his ear, as if better to hear the woman’s voice, concentrating on her words, straining and attentive, for although Emma Harte’s voice was well modulated as always, she spoke more softly than usual.
    ‘And so, Henry, I would appreciate it if you would come over to the store at about eleven-thirty this morning. I thought we could chat for about an hour and then have lunch here in the boardroom. If you are free, of course.’
    He hesitated and it was almost imperceptible, but he knew Emma had caught it and he said quickly, ‘That’s fine, my dear, I shall be glad to come over.’
    ‘Do you have another appointment, Henry? I would hate to inconvenience you.’
    He did, and it was an important luncheon date that had been arranged for some time, but he was hardly going to offend his most important client, who also happened to be one of the richest women in England, possibly in the world, since it was hard to truly estimate her real worth. He knew that she was astute enough to realize he would have a previous appointment, so he refrained from the tiny white lie and, clearing his throat,he said, ‘Yes, I do, but it is easy for me to cancel it, if you wish, my dear.’
    ‘Good. I appreciate it, Henry. I will see you at eleven-thirty then. Goodbye, Henry.’
    ‘Goodbye, Emma,’ he murmured, but she had already hung up.
    Henry had known Emma Harte for almost forty years, long enough to fully understand that there was always an imperious demand beneath her soft-spoken requests, that they were really commands uttered in the most dulcet of tones and the most charming manner. That inbred charm had carried her a long way, as Henry was the first to acknowledge.
    She had said nothing unusual and he had been unable to detect any undertones of disquiet or anger in her voice, and yet a peculiar sense of foreboding had descended upon him as they talked. Henry was not without perception, and, being the ultimate banker, he was always carefully attuned to his clients, fully conscious of their basic characteristics, the quirks and foibles of their personalities. He had to be, since he was handling their money and usually much of their business, and he had come to realize years ago that the very rich could also be very difficult, especially about their money.
    It struck him suddenly that it was Emma’s unexpected invitation to lunch which puzzled him. It was unprecedented and therefore, to him, somewhat alarming. Emma, as he knew only too well, was a creature of habit. She rarely had luncheon dates and when she did they were carefully planned days before. This digression from her normal routine was decidedly odd and the more he pondered on this, the more Henry was convinced something was amiss. And yet he had spoken to her three times since her return from New York a week ago and she had been her usual self, brisk and businesslike and, on the surface, seemingly untroubled.
    He took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair, and wondered if she was dissatisfied about the way the bank was handling her business. Henry had always been predisposed to worry, especially about the bank, and lately this had developed into a chronic condition. ‘There’s probably a simple explanation for the invitation. I’m just imagining something is wrong,’ hemuttered aloud with a degree of irritation; none the less, he pressed the intercom and told his secretary to ask Osborne to come in and see him immediately.
    Tony Osborne, and two other officers of the private bank, supervised Emma Harte’s business affairs in England, both corporate and personal. All of them were answerable to him and he reviewed Emma’s affairs twice and sometimes three times a week. Osborne often chided him for using so much physical manpower and was continually insisting they should use computers to deal