Just Rewards - Barbara Taylor Bradford

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on her agenda. She wanted to fulfil her work schedule before taking maternity leave.

      Stepping around her, Angharad was suddenly at the work table, looking down at the photographs of Beck House, and within seconds she had zeroed in on the pictures of the furniture.

      ‘This is all Georgian,’ she remarked, her voice rising, her eyes scanning everything with total absorption. Picking up one picture, she scrutinized it intently. Then turning to Evan she asked, ‘Where did this piece come from?’

      ‘Out of the attics at Pennistone Royal. That’s Emma Harte’s former home. Now her granddaughter, my boss Paula O’Neill, lives there. Paula gave that sideboard to Gideon and me. It was a discard, found in the attic.’

      ‘A discard. Who would ever do that? It’s a treasure. Have you had it evaluated?’

      ‘No, we haven’t. I was waiting for Dad. I sent him a set of the pictures, so he could look at them… after all, he is one of the great experts on Georgian.’

      ‘I know that. I work with him, don’t I? When did you send them?’

      ‘Oh, three or four weeks ago now,’ Evan answered, staring at Angharad.

      ‘I wonder why he didn’t show them to me.’ Angharad frowned, her dark eyes filled with puzzlement, her mouth settling in a tight line. She appeared to be annoyed.

      ‘Maybe he glanced at them and put them away without thinking,’ Evan suggested, wondering herself why their father had not shown them to the daughter who worked alongside him in his antiques gallery in Connecticut. The daughter who was actually his protégée.

      ‘Is this the house?’ Angharad asked, leaning over the table, peering at the other set of photographs.

      ‘Yes, that’s it. Beck House it’s called.’

      ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed,’ Angharad murmured, without turning around, her interest captured by the pictures of the various rooms, as well as the other snaps of the furniture which Emily and Paula had unearthed at Allington Hall and Pennistone Royal and given to them.

      After a while, she straightened, almost angrily, and turned away from the many pictures. With a swift glance at Evan, her eyes bitter, cold, she said, ‘Well, you’ve done all right for yourself, haven’t you? But then you usually do land on your feet, Evan. For as long as I can remember. You had everyone wrapped around your little finger when you lived at home. Mom, Grandma Glynnis, and particularly Dad and Grandfather. You were always their favourite. Elayne was second. I came last.’

      ‘But it wasn’t like that,’ Evan said in a soft tone. ‘You weren’t last. No one was last … and I certainly didn’t come first. Dad treated the three of us alike.’

      ‘That’s a laugh. It’s me you’re talking to, Evan. Not Elayne. Me. I saw things very clearly. I was adopted and therefore I was not blood … I didn’t have the Hughes blood running through my veins. Not like you. Oh no. You were the precious one, the peach darling.’

      ‘Oh Angharad, please, don’t be like this. Elayne is adopted, too, and Dad loves you both as much as he loves me,’ Evan exclaimed.

      ‘If you believe that I’ll sell you a bridge. In Brooklyn.’

      Evan shook her head and began to walk to her chair, suddenly feeling sick, needing to sit down. This was an old story, and seemingly one which had not lost any of its colour or drama over the years. Angharad had been repeating it for years, fully convinced that she was the lowest of the low on the family totem pole. It had always annoyed their grandmother, this attitude, this complaining, and whining. Their father had simply ignored it, while their mother had tutted and cooed and embraced Angharad closer than ever, spoiling her in a way that made Elayne, the other adopted child, feel neglected.

      ‘You’re his princess!’ Angharad cried. ‘The best, the smartest, the brightest, the most beautiful. You were always held up to us as the golden girl. You were the great example. We had to shine like you.’

      ‘You’re being really silly,’ Evan remonstrated, trying to remain calm. ‘It was never like that.’ Her protest fell on deaf ears.

      ‘You’re still the example, even today. But you must know that, by now. Evan the glorious one. The great-granddaughter of the famous Emma Harte. Talented and smart enough to get herself a top position at Harte’s. Without blinking an eyelash. So beautiful and bewitching she captures the Prince Charming of the Harte family. The super good-looking, super rich Gideon. And now she’s fulfilled Gideon’s desire to present his father with an heir. But golly gee whiz, not one heir. Oh no, not Evan. She’s producing two. And his father’s equally besotted with the great Evan, who’s going to present him with two instant grandsons.’

      ‘Please don’t do this,’ Evan pleaded, anxiety taking hold, her annoyance with her younger sister making her unexpectedly tense. It seemed to her that her anxiety was suddenly spiralling upwards into a cloud that settled around her.

      ‘Do what?’ Angharad asked, her voice icy.

      ‘Pick a fight like this. The way you did when we were little. Nobody wins in the end.’

      ‘I’m not doing any such thing,’ she shot back, her face flushing darkly with anger. ‘I’m telling you the truth is all. And Elayne’s as sick as I am of hearing about your damned wedding. Dad never stops talking about walking you down the aisle. Or talking about you. The bride of all brides.’

      ‘So why did you come?’ Evan demanded sharply, her indignation flaring. ‘If this is the way you feel, why didn’t you boycott my marriage to Gideon?’

      ‘Mom wanted us here.’

      ‘Don’t do me any favours,’ Evan shouted, losing her temper, and took a step backward, one hand groping for the arm of the comfortable typing chair. As her hand touched the arm it rolled away on its casters, and she fell, crashing heavily onto the floor. Evan cried out, and clutched her stomach.

      Frightened by what had happened, Angharad remained rooted to the spot, unable to move. Her eyes were wide with shock. Swallowing hard, she asked in a whisper, ‘Are you all right? Evan? Evan? Are you all right?’

      Evan moaned and brought her knees up to curl in a ball, still holding her stomach. Her face was now chalk white and she did not answer.

      ‘Evan, please say something,’ Angharad begged, and stepped closer to her. ‘Are you hurt?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Evan responded faintly. ‘Go and look for my secretary … Ruth.’

      There was no need for Angharad to search for help. At that precise moment Ruth came into the office carrying a glass and a bottle of water, followed by Linnet and Marietta Hughes.

      ‘Oh my God!’ Marietta cried out when she saw her daughter sprawled on the floor, and unceremoniously, not heeding the others, she pushed past Ruth and Linnet, hardly looking at them.

      ‘What’s happened? My God, what’s happened to you, Evan?’ Marietta fell to her knees next to Evan, peering at her daughter, alarm racing through her.

      ‘Call my doctor. I can’t lose my babies, I can’t,’ Evan whimpered, tears sliding down her cheeks.

      Gideon Harte pushed open the door of the waiting room at Queen Charlotte’s in Chelsea, the hospital where Evan had been taken, and hurried into the room, his expression tense and worried.

      Three pairs of female eyes instantly focused on him, and before he could say a word Linnet jumped up and rushed over to him.

      ‘Evan’s all right, Gid!’ Linnet exclaimed, wanting to reassure him at once. ‘She’s not hurt,’ she added, taking hold of his arm in a proprietary way.

      ‘Thank God,’

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