LITMIR.BIZ

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the house and everyone in it – especially her family.

      She smiled at the remembrance; she had been such an imaginative, fanciful child.

      As her eyes roamed over it she realized just how much she loved this ancient house. It was her safe haven, her home, just as it had been Emma’s home for so many years of her long life. Linnet felt her great-grandmother’s presence in every corner of it, and this was another reason she cared about it so much. Grandy Emma would want me to have it, when my time comes, Linnet mused, but I hope that’s not for years and years …

      She lifted her eyes and glanced up at the sky as she began to walk on at a brisk pace. As usual it had changed yet again: bloated, heavy with cloud, it looked curiously luminous, streaked with pale, silvery light. Suddenly her face was thoroughly wet … it had started to snow and the flakes were whirling around her in great flurries, settling on her scarf and her coat.

      Not wasting another moment, Linnet began to run, her loden coat flying out behind her.

      Bryan O’Neill had arrived at Pennistone Royal over an hour ago, and once he had looked in on his grandson, Desmond, who was recovering from the flu, he had made his way to the upstairs parlour.

      Positioning himself at a window, he had stood there ever since, looking out at the moors, anxiously waiting for Linnet to return, worried about her.

      Now, as he saw her sprinting along the path, he relaxed for the first time since entering the house. Convinced that she was going to get lost in a blizzard, as she had once before, he had been on tenterhooks.

      With her suddenly in his direct line of vision, his spirits lifted considerably, and he felt his taut shoulders relaxing. A small sigh escaped. He tried so hard not to have favourites amongst his grandchildren – he loved them all – but there was no denying he loved this one the best, even though Desmond happened to be the apple of his eye, the long-awaited male heir-apparent.

      Linnet was a wonderful young woman in so many different ways, but then so were his other granddaughters. However, there was a special reason why she was close to his heart and precious to him, and it was bound up with so many of his memories and his childhood.

      Bryan strode across the room and went out into the corridor, making for the central landing. In December he had celebrated his eighty-fourth birthday, but he looked nowhere near that old. Vigorous and strong, and in robust health, he was a fine figure of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of silver hair and the same merry black eyes his father Blackie had had, and which his son Shane had inherited from them both.

      As he headed towards the grand staircase, Bryan heard the front door slam, and by the time he reached the top of the stairs Linnet was standing in the Stone Hall, struggling out of her coat and scarf.

      Unobserved, he watched her as she put them away in an antique armoire near the front door.

      It was her colouring, of course, that so captivated, so drew the eye to her: the glorious red hair shot through with golden lights, the translucent skin, the oval-shaped face with its fine, chiselled features, the wide-set eyes of a green so deep their colour appeared almost unnatural. She had been endowed with the famous Harte colouring, the famous Harte looks, and he thought she was the embodiment of true beauty.

      Unexpectedly, in the inner recesses of his mind, he heard Edwina’s voice reverberating, and he instantly fell down into the past as he recalled her comments uttered thirty years ago or more. ‘All the Hartes have is pots and pots of money. Oh, and their looks, of course. There’s no denying they are a good-looking family. Each and every one of them.’

      Bryan had never forgotten what she had said that day, and with such awful disdain it was chilling to the bone. It had been at the party after the christening of Lorne and Tessa at Fairley Church, in the little village at the foot of the moors. He had been shocked by her tone, and truly angered by her attitude.

      Edwina was a Harte herself, Emma’s first-born child, and yet all she had ever wanted was to be a Fairley. Blackie had frequently said that her attitude was an insult to Emma, and Bryan had fully agreed with his father.

      Yet what Edwina had said all those years ago did have a certain ring of truth to it, inasmuch as their looks were concerned. The Hartes were good looking, and they had been for four generations. Even the men were beautiful, and there were others in the family with Linnet’s colouring. But it was she who resembled Emma Harte exactly, was the spitting image of her right down to the widow’s peak so dramatic above her broad, smooth brow.

      ‘Grandpops! What are you doing here so early? You weren’t expected until tea time!’ Linnet cried, having suddenly spotted Bryan on the landing. As she spoke she ran to the bottom of the staircase, stood looking up at him, her face ringed in smiles. These two had been confidants since her childhood, and they were still close.

      ‘I was bored and lonely rattling around in that big old house in Harrogate all by myself, don’t you know,’ Bryan answered, and started down the stairs towards her, his step firm and steady as he descended.

      ‘There’s nobody here but us chickens! Well, except for Desmond, who’s still sick in bed,’ she informed him, laughing. ‘Paula and Shane are out.’

      It still startled him when she called her parents by their first names, even though she’d been doing it for years, and he asked, ‘And where are your mother and father?’

      ‘Dad’s gone to Harrogate to meet Uncle Winston for lunch—’

      ‘At the Drum and Monkey, I’ve no doubt,’ he interrupted.

      She grinned. ‘That’s right, and Mummy’s at the Harrogate store.’

      ‘I looked in on Desmond,’ Bryan said. ‘Your father told me he was under the weather, but where’s Emsie on a nasty day like this? Margaret said she was out too.’

      ‘Emsie went down to the village to see her friend Anne’s new horse, and she mumbled something about staying there for lunch. But you’ve got me, Gramps, and we can have a nice cosy lunch together. Margaret will be able to rustle up something special for you.’

      Smiling, his black eyes sparkling, Bryan stepped into the hall and pulled his granddaughter to him, gave her a big bear hug, holding her close, loving this girl. Releasing her, he held her away from him for a moment, and said, ‘You’re looking especially bonny today, mavourneen.’

      Linnet smiled up at him, linked her arm through his, and led him across the Stone Hall to the grand fireplace where a pile of huge logs were blazing up the chimney back.

      ‘Now, Gramps, how about a drop of your favourite Irish whiskey before lunch?’ she asked, patting his arm, giving him a wide, warm smile.

      ‘I wouldn’t say no, Linnet, thanks, me darlin’.’

      ‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart … just what you need on a day like this,’ she remarked, gliding across to a chest in one corner, where an array of bottles, glasses and an ice bucket had been lined up on a tray.

      Bryan remained standing with his back to the fire, enjoying the warmth from the logs. His eyes followed Linnet, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself at the way she mothered him. She had been doing it since she was a child, just as she had been a little mother to her brother Patrick. It was instinctive with her, he supposed, and came quite naturally. One day, when she married, she would make a wonderful parent.

      Instantly his thoughts veered to Julian Kallinski. Good-looking young man. Clever, too. Heir to the Kallinski empire. Now if he and Linnet did tie the knot, then Emma’s greatest wish would be fulfilled. The three clans would finally be united in marriage. He wanted that, so did Ronald Kallinski and the rest of the Kallinskis, Hartes and O’Neills.

      It would be a perfect match, and he was just about to ask her about Julian when he remembered Shane’s warning of only last week. Apparently there had been too much pressure put upon them, and they were ‘cooling it’, to use Shane’s expression. No, better not mention Julian today, he decided. No point in fanning the fire.

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