To Be the Best by Barbara Taylor Bradford

Connaught dining room, Paula shivered. She had never forgotten the last words Jonathan had spoken to her… I’ll get you for this, Paula Fairley. Sebastian and I will bloody well get you, he had screamed, shaking his fist at her in the most ridiculous way, like the villain in a Victorian novel. Well, Sebastian Cross could not ‘get her’ since he was dead. But Jonathan would if he could. Sometimes she had nightmares about her cousin, nightmares in which he did her terrible harm. He was certainly capable of it. Capable of almost anything. She knew that from their childhood. Once, a few years ago, she had confided her fears in Sandy, who had laughed and had told her to dismiss Jonathan from her mind. Sandy had reminded her that Jonathan was a bully and, like all bullies, a coward. This was true; nevertheless, she had never been able to expunge the memory of the day Sandy had fired him. It was only too easy to recall the baleful look in Jonathan’s eyes, the mask of hatred contorting his face and instinctively, ever since then, she had known he would always remain her enemy until the day they buried him. Ten years had passed and she had not set eyes on him again, none of them had, in fact, and yet deep down inside her was this small kernel of fear.
    Suddenly becoming aware that Michael and Sir Ronald were watching her, were waiting for her to say something, she turned towards Michael. Adopting the lightest of tones, she said, ‘Master Ainsley turned out to be a bad penny, and the least said about him the better.’
    ‘Quite so, my dear, quite so!’ Sir Ronald muttered. He had grown conscious of the change in her demeanour whilst they had been discussing Ainsley and he decided it would be wise to change the subject. And so he said with a rush of genuineenthusiasm, ‘I received your invitation to the dinner dance you’re giving for the sixtieth anniversary of the store, Paula, and I’m looking forward to it immensely. Now, tell me more about the other celebrations you’ve planned.’
    ‘Oh I’d love to, Uncle Ronnie, I have some really special things coming up – ‘ She cut herself off as the waiter drew to a standstill at the table. ‘But perhaps we should order dessert first,’ she went on, accepting one of the menus being thrust at her.
    ‘Splendid idea, and I do recommend the sorbets,’ Sir Ronald said. ‘It’s really far too hot for anything else, isn’t it?’
    Paula nodded. ‘I think that’s what I’ll have.’ She glanced at the waiter, half smiled. ‘A lemon sorbet for me, please.’
    ‘You can make that two,’ Sir Ronald said. ‘And what about you Michael, will you join us?’
    ‘Oh, no.’ Michael threw his father a look of mock horror and grimaced. ‘Only coffee for me.’
    As the waiter went off with their order, Michael’s eyes swept over Paula appreciatively. He grinned as he remarked, ‘It seems to me you can eat anything and never put on an ounce…I’m afraid I have to watch myself these days.’
    Paula shook her head and laughed with him. ‘Oh, I don’t know, you’re trim enough, Michael.’
    Swivelling to face his father, she now picked up the conversation where they had left off a moment ago, and launched into a recital about the forthcoming events to be held at the Knightsbridge store later that year.
    Michael had settled back in his chair, toying with his wine glass. He was only vaguely listening to Paula.
    His mind remained focused on Lady Hamilton Clothes and the endless possibilities the company held for them, if they were lucky enough to buy it back from Harte Enterprises. Amanda Linde, Sandy’s half sister, had been creatingthe line for a number of years now, and in his opinion she was a far better designer than Sarah Lowther had ever been. Her clothes were easy and comfortable to wear, and yet they had a special kind of elegance because she always managed to give them a touch of the Harte class. Her designs would sell as well in other Continental countries as they