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Emma's Secret [Hardcover]

Barbara Taylor Bradford
2.7 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (32 customer reviews)

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Product Description

From Publishers Weekly

It has been nearly 25 years since Bradford made her name with the female rags-to-riches saga A Woman of Substance, the first in a trilogy of novels that concluded with 1988's To Be the Best. Gambling that there is still life to be squeezed out of the story of indomitable super-survivor Emma Harte and her descendants, Bradford returns to the chase with this present-day sequel. The novel opens in 2001 at Pennistone Royal, Emma's magnificent country estate in Yorkshire, now occupied by her granddaughter Paula's family. Paula heads the Knightsbridge store, flagship of the nationwide Harte chain, and her grown daughters, Linnet and Tessa, work there. A young American, Evan Hughes, with an uncanny Harte family resemblance, appears one day seeking a job. She's hired at once, since Linnet needs help with an upcoming fashion spectacular, a retrospective featuring Emma's couture wardrobe. Linnet's cousin Gideon, who works for the Harte newspapers, is smitten with Evan, and soon the mystery of her background is of concern, especially when it's discovered that Evan's grandmother had a close relationship with Emma. The overwhelming amount of descriptive detail clothing, interior decor, food and drink slows down the narrative, but such Victorian props as a decorative locked box, a key taped behind a photograph and long-lost diaries provide mild suspense. The saga was already losing steam with To Be the Best, and this fourth installment is further diluted. Lacking the dynamic impact of the original, it will be best appreciated by those with an irresistible desire to follow the further adventures of the Harte clan.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist

Emma Harte, the heroine of Bradford's novel A Woman of Substance (1979), has been dead for more than 30 years when Emma's Secret opens, but her past factors heavily into the events of the novel. At the bequest of her dying grandmother, young American Evan Hughes arrives at Emma's magnificent English clothing store, Hartes, only to find out that Emma has long since died. She is soon hired as a store assistant to Linnet O'Neill, Emma's great-granddaughter, who can't help but notice the American's resemblance to her own mother, Paula. Evan and Gideon Harte, Paula's cousin, fall in love amid whispers that Evan might be the descendant of one of Emma's husbands. The truth lies in Emma's diary, but Paula is reluctant to read it. Curiosity finally gets the better of her, and the journal takes Paula to Emma's life during World War II, and at least partially answers the family's questions about Evan's heritage. It is up to Paula to figure out the rest. Readers new to the series might have a hard time getting a handle on the large cast of characters and their relationships to each other, but those familiar with Emma Harte and her large family will feel right at home. Kristine Huntley
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

Review

"Emma Harte is one of those characters whom we never want to leave behind, and thank goodness Bradford has brought her back to us with a story worthy of this truly remarkable woman."
--RT Book Reviews
 
"Barbara Taylor Bradford has woven yet another enchanting episode in the continuing saga of the Harte
family .... It is no surprise that Barbara Taylor Bradford's books have sold more than 70 million copies in over ninety countries and forty different languages."
--Bookreporter.com

From the Back Cover

Praise for Barbara Taylor Bradford and Her Novels:

"Barbara Taylor Bradford is the storyteller of substance."--The Times (London)

"An extravagant, absorbing novel of love, courage, ambition, war, death and passion."
--The New York Times on A Woman of Substance

"Pure gold."
--Cosmopolitan on Act of Will

"Legions of readers will be satisfied by the romantic fortunes of the cultured, wealthy, and powerful people she evokes."
--Publishers Weekly on The Women in His Life

"Few novelists are as consummate as Barbara Taylor Bradford at keeping the reader turning the page. She is one of the world's best at spinning yarns."
--The Guardian (UK) on Dangerous to Know

About the Author

Barbara Taylor Bradford was born in Leeds, England, and by the age of twenty was an editor and a columnist on Fleet Street. Her first novel, A Woman of Substance, became an enduring bestseller and was followed by eighteen others, including Emma's Secret. Her books have sold more than 70 million copies worldwide in more than ninety countries and forty languages. She lives in New York City with her husband, producer Robert Bradford.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

ONE
It was a blustery morning.
The penetrating wind blowing in from the North Sea was laden with moisture, and the dampness was heavy on the air, and icy. Linnet O’Neill felt as though it were seeping into her bones.
She huddled further into her thick, loden green wool coat and tied her scarf tighter around her head. Then, thrusting her gloved hands into her pockets, she trudged on, doggedly following the winding path which would bring her to the crest of the moors.
After a moment she lifted her head and glanced up.
Above her, the arc of the sky appeared hollowed out, resembled the inside of a vast, polished bowl. It was the color of steel, its metallic grayness relieved by a few scudding clouds, pale and wispy in the clear, crystalline light so peculiar to these northern climes. It was an eerie light that seemed to emanate from some hidden source below the horizon.
When she’d set out to walk up into the high country which soared above Pennistone Royal, Linnet had anticipated rain, but the massed black clouds of earlier had been scuttled by the gusting wind.
Since she had lived here all her life, she knew about the weather and its unpredictability, knew that the skies of Yorkshire were ever-changing. By lunchtime the sun could easily be creeping out from behind the grayness to fill the heavens with radiance, or rain might be slashing down in a relentless stream.
You took your chances when you went walking on the Yorkshire moors. But she didn’t care. Ever since she had been a small child, these moors had been irresistible to her; she had loved to come here with her mother when she was little, to wander amongst the heather and the bracken, content to play alone with her stuffed animals in the vast emptiness surrounding her. It was her world; she had even believed it belonged to her, and in a way, she still did.
It was quiet on the moors this morning.
In the spring and summer, even in the autumn, there was always the splash and tinkle of water as it tumbled down over rock formations into pebble-strewn becks, and the whistling of little birds, the rapid whirring of their wings, was ever-present.
All were absent on this cold January Saturday. The birds had long ago flown off to warmer places, the becks had a layer of ice, and it was curiously silent as she climbed higher and higher, the land rising steeply.
Linnet missed the sounds of nature so prevalent in the summer months. To her there was nothing sweeter than the twittering and trilling of the songbirds as they wheeled and turned in the lucent air. On those lovely, balmy days it was a treat to come up here just to hear the choruses of the larks and linnets, often delivered with gusto from an exposed branch of a bramble bush. They loved those bushes, these little birds, as well as the gorse that grew on the moors, where they often made their nests or searched for seeds.
And on those days, in the sunlight and under cerulean skies, were the scurry of rabbits, the calls of larger birds, the scent of warm grass, wildflowers, bracken, and bil-berry mingling, all so sweet and redolent on the air. Then the moors were at their most beautiful, except for late August and September, when the heather bloomed and transformed the dun-colored hills into a rolling sea of royal purple and soft, muted greens.
Suddenly the wind became fiercer, buffeting her forward, and taken by surprise, she almost stumbled on the path but quickly regained her balance. No wonder the wildlife has gone to ground, or gone away, she thought, and she couldn’t help asking herself if she had been foolish to come out in this bitter cold weather.
But whenever she returned to Pennistone Royal, even after only a short absence, she headed for the moors at the first opportunity. When she was walking across them, she felt at peace and at ease with herself. Up here she could collect her thoughts and sort things out. Most especially if she was troubled. These days her troubles centered on her sister, Tessa, who had become her rival in various ways, especially at Harte’s, the store where they both worked.
It pleased her to know that she was home again, in the place where she truly belonged.
Her mother also loved the moors, but only in the spring and summer months; Paula did not entirely share her daughter’s feelings about this wild and desolate landscape in the winter, considered by some to be the bleakest country in England at this time of year.
It was her father, Shane O’Neill, who had a deep affinity for the high country all year round and a rare, almost tender love of nature. She always thought of her father as a true Celt, a throwback to a much earlier century, and it was he who had nurtured her own love of the outdoors, of wild things, and of the flora and fauna which abounded in Yorkshire.
She knew from her mother that her great-grandmother had been just as passionate about the moors as she was, and had spent a considerable amount of time on them. “Whenever she was troubled, Grandy headed for her beloved moors,” her mother had told Linnet years ago. Linnet fully understood why they had given Grandy such solace; after all, she had been born in one of the moor villages, had grown up in the Pennine hills.
Her great-grandmother was the renowned Emma Harte, a legend in her own time; people who had known Emma said she was like her. Linnet laughed somewhat dismissively, but secretly she was thrilled. Who wouldn’t want to be favorably compared with that most extraordinary woman, who single-handedly had created a family dynasty and a business empire circling the globe?
Her mother said Linnet was a chip off the old block because she had considerable business acumen and a talent for merchandising and retailing. “Just like Grandy,” Paula would point out constantly, and with a proud smile.
Linnet felt warm inside when she thought about her mother, Paula McGill Harte Amory Fairley O’Neill. She was a very special person, and fair and just in her dealings with everyone, whatever others might believe. As for Linnet’s father, he was awesome.
Linnet had always enjoyed a most harmonious relationship with Shane, and they had drawn even closer after Patrick’s death ten years ago. Her elder brother had died of a rare blood disease when he was seventeen, and they had all mourned the sweet-natured Patrick, retarded from birth but so loving and caring. He had been every-body’s favorite; each of them, especially Linnet, had protected and nurtured him in her or his own way. She still missed him, missed mothering him.
As she tramped on, moving ever upward, Linnet noticed tiny icicles dripping from the bramble bushes; the ground was hard as iron. It was becoming colder now that she was almost at the summit, and the wind was raw. She was glad she was wearing warm clothes and boots, and a woolen scarf around her head.
Just as she knew it would, the path suddenly rose sharply, and she felt her calves tightening as she climbed higher. Within minutes she was puffing hard, so she paused to rest. Peering ahead, she realized she was only a few feet from the crest; there, a formation of jagged black rocks jutted up into the sky like some giant monolith erected as a monument to an ancient Celtic god.
Once she had suggested to Gideon Harte, her cousin and best friend, that the monolith was man-made, perhaps even by the Celts themselves. Or the Druids. But Gideon, who was well informed about a lot of things, had immediately dismissed that idea. He had explained that the black boulders piled so precariously on their pedestal had been carried there by a vast glacier during the Ice Age, long before man had existed in Britain. Then he had pointed out that the rocks had been sitting there for aeons and aeons, and therefore were not actually precariously balanced. They merely looked as if they were.
Anxious to reach the top, Linnet set off again, and suddenly there she was, stepping onto the plateau to stand in the shadow of the monolith floating immediately above her. Its pedestal of limestone, formed by nature millennia ago, was an odd shape, with two pieces protruding on either side of a tall, flat slab, which was set back. Thus was created a narrow niche, a niche protected from the winds that blew at gale force up here on the high fells.
Years ago Emma had placed a boulder in the niche, and this served as a makeshift bench. Linnet sat down on it, as she always did, and gazed out at the vista in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat; she never ceased to be awed by this panoramic spread. Her eyes roamed across bare, untenanted fells, windswept under the lowering sky, stark, implacable, and lonely, yet she never felt lonely or afraid up here. The wild beauty of the moors filled her with wonder, and she relished the solitude, found it soothing.
Far below her Linnet could see the pastures of the Dales, their verdant lushness temporarily obliterated in this harsh weather. The fields were gleaming whitely, covered as they were with winter frost, and the river flowing through the bucolic valley was a winding, silver rope that glittered in the cold northern light.
And there, in the center, sitting amidst the peaceful meadows punctuated by drystone walls, was Pennistone Royal, that ancient and stately house acquired by Emma Harte in 1932, almost seventy years ago. In the years she had lived there, Emma had turned it into the most magical of places. The grounds were extensive and picturesque. Lawns rolled down to the river, and in the spring and summer months the flower beds and shrubs were ablaze with riotous color.
But there were no roses anywhere in those lovely rambling gardens. It was a family legend that Emma Harte had detested roses because she had been spurned by Edwin Fairley in the rose garden at Fairley Hall. On that day, when she was just a young girl, she had told Edwin she was carrying his child. In his panic, and fearing his powerful father, Adam Fairley, he had repudiated her. He had offered her a few shillings; she had asked to borrow a suitcase.
Emma had run away. From h...
--This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.

From AudioFile

Bradford's novel continues the saga of the Harte family, begun with Emma Harte in A WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE. On her deathbed Evan Hughes's grandmother tells her to go to London, where Emma Harte holds the key to her future. But Emma Harte has been dead for 30 years. In London, Evan turns up at a flagship store in Knightsbridge looking for a job. Everyone notices the resemblance between owner Paula O'Neill--Emma Hart's granddaughter--and the young American. When a cousin of Paula's is smitten with Emma, it becomes imperative to find out Evan's lineage. As Bradford lets the story unfold in the present and the past, Kate Reading divulges Emma's family secrets one by one in a soothing, languorous voice and soft accents. Reading performs each scene with practiced aplomb and lets the multifaceted story gradually reveal itself. Love, friendship, and family are the keys to the Hartes, their kin, and the past they guard so zealously. M.B.K. © AudioFile 2004, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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