Power of a Woman. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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СКАЧАТЬ Just making the decision was a blessed relief. The tight pain in her chest, which had been like a steel band since four o’clock that morning, was beginning to ease at last.

       4

      NO MATTER HOW BUSY SHE WAS, STEVIE ALWAYS found time at some point each day to write in her daily journal. And so that morning, while she waited for her mother, Derek, and Miles to arrive, she opened her current diary and wrote: Thanksgiving Day 1996: Connecticut, then sat staring at the page, lost in her thoughts.

      She had kept a journal for years, most of her life, and there were volumes of them locked away in a cupboard at the other side of the upstairs study, where she now sat at the desk.

      Thirty-four years had been recorded in them since her mother had presented her with her first diary when she was twelve. That had been in 1962. It seemed very far away now; so much had happened to her in the intervening years. She had lived a lifetime and then some, or so it seemed to her.

      Her first diary had had its own little lock and key and it had withstood the test of time very well; she had looked at it recently and been amazed that it had weathered the years so well. The paper was a bit yellowed at the edges, the ink faded on some pages, but that was the only damage, if you could even call it that.

      On the whole, a miracle of preservation, Stevie thought, and put down her pen, sat back in the chair, her thoughts turning to her mother, who had also kept a diary most of her life. They had always been close, had had a symbiotic relationship when she was a child. Her father, Jerome Anderson, had not been the right husband for Blair, nor had he been a very good father, and this had brought her and her mother even closer together.

      Newspaperman, ladies’ man, bon vivant, and man-about-town, Jerry had not been cut out for family life, and that was exactly what her mother had craved. Beautiful, glamorous, international supermodel Blair Connors had wanted only to be a wife and mother. She was the success she was because of her face and figure, the way she dominated the catwalk and made love to the camera. It was certainly not because of drive or ambition. Even at the height of her career she had wanted to stay at home and cook, raise children, be a housewife, a mother, and a good wife to the right man. Domesticity was her idea of bliss.

      Derek Rayner, English classical actor par excellence, handsome matinee idol and movie star, had seemed such an unlikely candidate for the role Blair had cast him in all those years ago. The wrong man, as far as Blair’s friends were concerned.

      But as it happened, he had been the right man, the perfect choice, the perfect mate. Blair and Derek had been married for over thirty years and still adored each other. Their only disappointment was that they had not had any children of their own. Perhaps that was one of the reasons they were inseparable, and Derek never went anywhere without his beautiful and accomplished wife.

      Stevie was relieved they were coming to spend Thanksgiving with her. On the phone yesterday her mother had sounded worn out, which was unusual for her. She had mentioned that Derek was exhausted after twelve weeks on location making a movie in Arizona, then looping at the studio in Los Angeles. The film assignment had come right on top of his long run in the Broadway revival of Becket. According to her mother, it was now essential that he get a good rest.

      “No more work for a while,” Blair had said. “He’s really looking forward to the long weekend with you, Stevie, before we fly back to London next week,” her mother had added, and Stevie was determined to make it a wonderful few days. She wanted her mother and Derek to have the great luxury of peace and quiet in comfortable surroundings, with lots of good food and rest. And certainly no pressure.

      She thought suddenly of Chloe. She would have to have a talk with her later, warn her not to take all of her little problems to Derek. She had a tendency to pester him at times. Stevie supposed that was understandable, in that Derek was the closest thing to a father Chloe had ever had.

      Certainly Bruce Jardine had been more like a grandfather. He was much older than Derek, less active, and decidedly crotchety a good part of the time. No wonder Miles and Chloe called him Old Bruce. He was such an old man in many ways; he had not aged well at all.

      Stevie was aware that Chloe loved him, despite her protestations to the contrary and desire to cast him in the role of ogre or tyrant. As for Bruce, there was no doubt in Stevie’s mind that Bruce Jardine loved the girl in return. He had shown her daughter too much favor, displayed too much kindness to her for it to be otherwise. Whilst this baffled Stevie occasionally, it nonetheless pleased her. Bruce had treated Chloe as a Jardine all of her young life, and Stevie would always be grateful to him for that.

      Bruce was not an easy man to care about or even like, but she had grown quite attached to him over the years. They had worked well together in a very temperate climate for twenty years, and there had rarely been any display of temperament or outbursts of anger on his part. Most of the years had rolled by on a very even keel, it seemed to her now.

      It struck Stevie that it might be a good idea to talk to Bruce about Nigel. She and Chloe were going to spend Christmas in London, and that would be the ideal time to unburden herself. Unburden myself, she thought in amazement. Do I really feel that strongly about Nigel’s attitude? She sighed, thinking that perhaps she did.

      Not only did she love her eldest son, she admired him no end, and there was a lot to admire. He was a clever, indeed brilliant young man with a great deal of talent and a good head on his shoulders. But he had a flaw, and it was a flaw that was fatal. He believed he knew better than anyone else, was convinced of the rightness of his ideas and beliefs, and he never took no for an answer, would brook no argument. He was far too stubborn and opinionated for his own good. His attitude verged on arrogance. It dismayed her that he could not compromise, that he was so rigid.

      He was just like his grandfather. No, he’s worse, she thought, and laughed a hollow little laugh. He was Bruce’s clone. As Bruce had been when he was a younger man. Perhaps more so.

      It would be hard to speak critically to Bruce about his clone. This brought a smile to Stevie’s face. She wasn’t going to talk to Bruce about her son’s character, rather about her suspicion that he wanted to oust her from the company. If this were the case, Bruce would surely put a stop to his manipulations.

      But then, she could do that herself. She could fire Nigel.

      He was, after all, her employee.

      He worked for her.

      She was the managing director of Jardine’s of London and president of Jardine’s of New York, just as Bruce was chairman of the board. Nigel was a director of the company, as were his two brothers, and they would always be directors. That was their right, their inheritance.

      But she could take Nigel’s job away from him at any time if she so wished. It was as easy as that, just like snapping her fingers together.

      No, not so easy, she reminded herself. He’s my son, my firstborn; I wouldn’t want to hurt him, to humiliate him, or to destroy him. Besides, he’s good at his job. The very best.

      I simply have to make him toe the line, curb his ambition for the moment. He has to bide his time until I retire.

      Stevie laughed out loud. Easier said than done when she was on the other side of the Atlantic…thousands of miles away.

      Her mind swung to Gideon. Now, there was a son who was not one bit ambitious, at least not when it came to possessing the company and amassing power. СКАЧАТЬ