realizing it or meaning to. And perhaps I did neglect them at times when I was caught up with work and travel. But I never stopped loving them .
I think of them as my children. But, of course, they’re not children, not anymore. They’re adults. Grown-ups. People. Other 68 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
people, not my children. They’re so different in so many ways. Strangers. Sometimes, anyway.
Even Chloe is grown-up all of a sudden, knowing her own mind, hell-bent on getting her own way .
Soon I’m going to stop being a mother, stop thinking of myself as such. Instead I’ll be…? I’ll be…just there for them. If they need me. Is that possible? How do you stop being a mother? How do you stop worrying about them? Caring about them? Perhaps you don’t. How DO you stop being a mother? Can anyone tell me that?
Will I fare better with my grandchildren? I asked myself that question in the middle of the night, when I woke up with such suddenness. I will be a good grandmother to Natalie and Arnaud. Grandmothers are better than mothers, I’ve been told. Less possessive. My grandchildren are so precious and Nigel is lucky to have them, to have Tamara. She’s a good wife, a wonderful mother. A good young woman .
I think I’m beginning to resent the fact that Gideon teases her, calls her “the foreigner.” Her father is French, her mother Russian, and Gideon wants to make an issue about it. Why, I’ll never know. But it’s unkind. He says it’s in jest; yet I sense that’s how he really perceives her. I’d hate to think he was bigoted in some way. But I am very
Power of a Woman / 69
aware that my son Gideon thinks that anything not English is inferior. I wonder why he’s not learned otherwise yet? I did years ago .
Chloe. I can’t let her go to London. Chloe alone there at the age of eighteen! No, never. I feel it’s unwise. She’s too young. And she must go to university. She can’t just drop out .
Soon my family will be with me. Well, some of them, and that makes me happy. And each one of us has a lot to be thankful for this November of 1996. And I, in particular, am such a lucky woman. I have so much .
Stevie closed her diary, put it in the desk, and locked the drawer. As she pushed back her chair and rose, she heard the sound of the car on the gravel driveway outside.
Moving to the window, she pulled back the lace curtain and looked out. Her heart lifted when she saw Miles alighting.
He glanced up at the window, saw his mother, and waved.
She waved back, dropped the curtain, and hurried out, almost running down the stairs to the great hall.
5
M ILES JARDINE COULDN’T HELP THINKING THAT AS
he and his twin brother grew older, their mother appeared to be getting younger.
That morning she looked like a woman in her mid-thirties, and quite wonderful, as she came down the front steps to greet him and his grandparents.
She was wearing a chalk-stripe gray-wool pants suit and a white silk shirt, and she was her usual elegant self.
It struck him that Gideon was correct when he said they were rapidly catching up with her, and that when they were forty-six she herself would still be forty-six, at least in her appearance anyway.
But then, she had been a mere nineteen-year-old when they were born, and she was blessed with youthful looks, thanks to her genes. His grandmother, who would soon be sixty-seven, didn’t look her age either, nor did she seem it.
72 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
Blair was as youthful as anyone he knew, had great vitality, energy, and an enormous sense of fun.
“Hello, Ma,” Miles said as his mother drew to a standstill in front of him. “You look fabulous.” He smiled at her hugely, dropped the two bags he was carrying, and hugged her to him.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Miles darling,” she responded, smiling back. “And thanks for the compliment.” She drew away and went on down the steps.
His eyes followed her as she embraced her mother and then Derek, who had been
I think of them as my children. But, of course, they’re not children, not anymore. They’re adults. Grown-ups. People. Other 68 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
people, not my children. They’re so different in so many ways. Strangers. Sometimes, anyway.
Even Chloe is grown-up all of a sudden, knowing her own mind, hell-bent on getting her own way .
Soon I’m going to stop being a mother, stop thinking of myself as such. Instead I’ll be…? I’ll be…just there for them. If they need me. Is that possible? How do you stop being a mother? How do you stop worrying about them? Caring about them? Perhaps you don’t. How DO you stop being a mother? Can anyone tell me that?
Will I fare better with my grandchildren? I asked myself that question in the middle of the night, when I woke up with such suddenness. I will be a good grandmother to Natalie and Arnaud. Grandmothers are better than mothers, I’ve been told. Less possessive. My grandchildren are so precious and Nigel is lucky to have them, to have Tamara. She’s a good wife, a wonderful mother. A good young woman .
I think I’m beginning to resent the fact that Gideon teases her, calls her “the foreigner.” Her father is French, her mother Russian, and Gideon wants to make an issue about it. Why, I’ll never know. But it’s unkind. He says it’s in jest; yet I sense that’s how he really perceives her. I’d hate to think he was bigoted in some way. But I am very
Power of a Woman / 69
aware that my son Gideon thinks that anything not English is inferior. I wonder why he’s not learned otherwise yet? I did years ago .
Chloe. I can’t let her go to London. Chloe alone there at the age of eighteen! No, never. I feel it’s unwise. She’s too young. And she must go to university. She can’t just drop out .
Soon my family will be with me. Well, some of them, and that makes me happy. And each one of us has a lot to be thankful for this November of 1996. And I, in particular, am such a lucky woman. I have so much .
Stevie closed her diary, put it in the desk, and locked the drawer. As she pushed back her chair and rose, she heard the sound of the car on the gravel driveway outside.
Moving to the window, she pulled back the lace curtain and looked out. Her heart lifted when she saw Miles alighting.
He glanced up at the window, saw his mother, and waved.
She waved back, dropped the curtain, and hurried out, almost running down the stairs to the great hall.
5
M ILES JARDINE COULDN’T HELP THINKING THAT AS
he and his twin brother grew older, their mother appeared to be getting younger.
That morning she looked like a woman in her mid-thirties, and quite wonderful, as she came down the front steps to greet him and his grandparents.
She was wearing a chalk-stripe gray-wool pants suit and a white silk shirt, and she was her usual elegant self.
It struck him that Gideon was correct when he said they were rapidly catching up with her, and that when they were forty-six she herself would still be forty-six, at least in her appearance anyway.
But then, she had been a mere nineteen-year-old when they were born, and she was blessed with youthful looks, thanks to her genes. His grandmother, who would soon be sixty-seven, didn’t look her age either, nor did she seem it.
72 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
Blair was as youthful as anyone he knew, had great vitality, energy, and an enormous sense of fun.
“Hello, Ma,” Miles said as his mother drew to a standstill in front of him. “You look fabulous.” He smiled at her hugely, dropped the two bags he was carrying, and hugged her to him.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Miles darling,” she responded, smiling back. “And thanks for the compliment.” She drew away and went on down the steps.
His eyes followed her as she embraced her mother and then Derek, who had been
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