Paula groaned, gave him a look of mock horror as they drew apart.
‘Oh God, Michael, not you too! Please. There are enough people who call me the Clone behind my back without you giving voice to the idea.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s all I need from a dear friend …’
He burst out laughing. ‘I sometimes think you’re all clones, actually. The lot of you … Emily and Amanda, as well as you.’ He swivelled to face the portrait. ‘And when was that painted, by the way?’
‘In 1929. Why?’
‘I’d been trying to figure out how old Emma was when she sat for it.’
‘Thirty-nine. It was started and finished just before her fortieth birthday.’
‘Mmmm. I guessed as much. And she was beautiful then, wasn’t she?’ Not giving Paula a chance to reply, he went on, with a small grin, ‘Do you realize that you and I would have been related if David had left my grandmother Rebecca and run off with Emma?’
‘Let’s not get into all that old history today,’ she said with a light laugh, moved rapidly towards the desk, sat down and added, ‘Anyway, I feel as if we are, don’t you? Related, I mean.’
‘Yes.’
He followed her across the room and seated himself in the chair facing her.
There was a brief silence, then he remarked quietly, ‘Blood might not be thicker than water as far as some families are concerned, but it is when it comes to the three clans. Our grandparents would’ve killed for each other, and I think their kind of loyalty has been passed down to our generation, hasn’t it?’
‘I should say so – ’ She cut herself short when the phone rang and reached to answer it. After saying hello and listening for a second she put her slim, tapering hand over the receiver, explained, ‘It’s the manager of the Harrogate store, I’ll only be a minute.’
He nodded, sat back in the chair, waiting for her to finish her call, quietly studying her as he had studied the painting only a few minutes before.
Michael Kallinski had not seen Paula for over two months, and because he had been away her uncanny resemblance to Emma had struck him more forcibly than ever when she walked in. Her colouring was different from Emma’s, of course. Paula had hair as black as pitch and eyes of the deepest darkest blue. She had inherited Emma’s clear, finely wrought features, though, and the famous widow’s peak, which was extremely dramatic above those large eyes set wide apart. With the passing of time the two women seemed to merge more and more, to become identical, to him at least. Perhaps it had something to do with the expression in Paula’s eyes these days, her mannerisms, her pithiness, the way she moved – swiftly, always in a hurry – and the habit she had of laughing at her misfortunes. These characteristics reminded him of Emma Harte, just as her attitude in business did.
He had known Paula his entire life and yet, oddly enough, he had not really known her until they were both in their thirties.
When they had been children he had not liked her one little bit, had considered her to be cold, standoffish and indifferent to them all, except for her cousin Emily, that roly-poly pudding of a child whom she had forever mothered, and Shane O’Neill, of course, whom she had always striven to please.
Privately, Michael had called her Miss Goody Two Shoes, because she had been just that, a child who appeared to have no faults whatsoever, one who was always being clucked over, praised and held up as an example to them by their respective parents. His brother Mark had had his own name for her … Paragon of Virtue. He and Mark had secretly laughed at her, made fun of her behind her back, but then again, they had scoffed at all the girls from the clans, had never wanted to spend time with them, had preferred to be roistering around with the other boys. They had banded together with Philip, Winston, Alexander, Shane and Jonathan, who had been their boon companions in those days.
It was only in the last six years that he had come to know Paula and he had discovered that this shrewd, hardworking and brilliant woman hid a deep emotional side behind her cool air and her inbred refinement. The aloof manner was merely an outward manifestation of her shyness and natural reserve, those traits he had so misunderstood in childhood.
Discovering that Paula was quite different than he had believed her to be had come as something of a shock to him. To his astonishment, he found she was so very, very human. She was vulnerable, warm, loving, fiercely loyal, and devoted to her family and friends. Terrible things had happened to her over the past ten years, devastating things which would have felled most other people, perhaps even destroyed them. But not Paula. She had suffered deeply, yet had found strength from adversity, had become a most compassionate woman.
Since they had been working together they had drawn closer, and she was his staunch supporter in business and an ally in every way, whenever he needed one. It occurred to Michael now that he would not have been able to cope with his messy divorce and his dreadful personal problems without Paula’s friendship. She was always willing to listen to his woes at the end of the phone, or make herself available for a drink or a meal when the going really got tough. She had cornered a special place in his life, and he would be forever grateful that she had.
For all her success and sophistication and self-confidence, there was something about Paula – an endearing little-girl quality – which tugged at his heart, made him want to do things for her, want to please her. Frequently he went out of his way to accomplish this, as he had in New York recently. He wished the interminable phone call from the Harrogate store would come to an end so that he could impart his news.
Paula put down the receiver, made a little moue.
‘Sorry about that,’ she apologized. Leaning back in the chair, she went on, in an affectionate tone, ‘It’s lovely to see you Michael … and how was New York?’
‘Terrific. Hectic. I was up to my neck with work, since our business is going well over there right now. Still, I also managed to enjoy myself, even had a few weekends out in the Hamptons.’ He leaned closer to the desk. ‘Paula – ’
‘Yes, Michael?’ she cut in, eyeing him astutely, alerted by the urgency in his voice.
‘I think I may have found it … what you’ve been looking for in the States.’
Excitement flew onto her face. She sat forward slightly, her eagerness only too apparent. ‘Private or public?’
‘Private.’
‘Is it for sale?’
‘Isn’t everything – if the price is right.’ There was a hint of mischief on his face as he held her eyes.
‘Come on, don’t tease me!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is it actually on the market?’
‘No, it isn’t. But what does that mean in this day and age of the takeover? The owners can be approached … it doesn’t cost anything to do that.’
‘What’s the name of the company? Where is it? How big is it?’
Michael chuckled. ‘Hey, steady on, I can only answer one question at a time. The company is called Peale and Doone and it’s in the midwest. It’s not big, only seven stores … suburban stores. In Illinois and Ohio. But it’s an old company, Paula, founded in the 1920s by a couple of Scotsmen who settled in the States and at first dealt only in Scottish imports. You know, woollen goods, tartans and plaids, cashmeres and the like. They extended their inventory during the ’forties and ’fifties. But the merchandise is supposedly stodgy and the company’s in the doldrums, management-wise that is. Quite solid financially, or so I’ve been led to understand.’