To Be the Best (Emma Harte) Read online

  I’m ahead of the game, Madelana thought with sudden relief, and nodded to herself, feeling gratified. She glanced out of the window, hardly noticing the tawdry glitter and squalor of Times Square with its hustlers and peddlers and drug addicts and pushers and undercover cops and hookers on the make. As the cab slid swiftly through this clamouring rinky-tink wedge of real estate and headed on downtown towards Chelsea, her mind focused on the trip to the other side of the world.

  They were going first to Sydney, then on to Melbourne and perhaps even to Adelaide after that, before returning to Sydney where they would spend most of their time. From what Paula had told her, they had a lot of work to do, and it would be a gruelling two or three weeks. But the prospect did not daunt her. She and Paula O’Neill worked well together, had always seemed to understand each other right from the beginning, and they were compatible.

  It struck her, and not for the first time, how strange it was that she, a poor Irish-American Catholic girl from the South, and an aristocratic Englishwoman, heiress to one of the world’s great fortunes and a noted international business tycoon, could have so many things in common, could be so similar, and in so many ways. They were both workaholics and had boundless energy, were sticklers for detail, disciplined, dedicated and driven, and extremely well organized. In consequence, they did not grate on each other’s nerves, or create problems for each other, and they seemed always to be in step. It’s like dancing with Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly, she thought and smiled inwardly, liking her analogy.

  In the year she had been Paula’s personal assistant, she had not put a foot wrong and she did not intend to, not ever, and especially not on their forthcoming trip to Australia. Paula was the key to her future. Her goal was to become President of Harte’s store in New York one day, and with Paula’s help she would achieve it.

  Ambition. She was loaded with it, she knew this only too well, and she was pleased that she was. She considered it to be a plus not a minus. It had goaded her on, helped her to arrive where she was today. Her father had occasionally complained that she was too ambitious. But her mother had merely smiled her lovely Irish smile at him, and behind his back had winked at her and nodded maternal approval and encouraged her at every opportunity.

  She wished her parents were still alive. And her little sister, Kerry Anne, who had died when she was four. And Joe and Lonnie. Her two brothers had been killed in Vietnam. She missed them so very much, just as she missed her baby sister and her parents, and at times she felt as though she had no roots, no centre to her life, with all of them gone from her. They had been close knit as a family, and very loving of each other. She considered her losses over the past few years, thought of her sorrow, and her heart clenched. Resolutely, she pushed the pain away.

  Madelana took several deep breaths, keeping absolute control of herself and her emotions, as she had taught herself to do after her father had been buried four years ago. Only when he was lying in the ground did her sense of aloneness truly overwhelm her, and only then did she fully comprehend that she no longer had any family left, except for Aunt Agnes, her father’s sister, who lived in California and whom she hardly knew.

  The cab drew up outside the Residence Jeanne D’Arc. She took the receipt from the driver, said goodnight, grabbed her shopping bag and alighted. She ran swiftly up the steps and into the building.

  The minute she walked inside, Madelana felt herself relaxing.

  This place was so familiar and cosy and welcoming…she had lived here in one of the rooms when she had first come to New York, had stayed for three years. It had been her home. She still thought of it as home, even though she now had her own apartment uptown in the East Eighties.

  She crossed the small entrance foyer and turned right, heading for the office.

  ‘Hello, Sister Mairéad,’ Madelana said to the nun behind the counter, who was in charge of the office this evening. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Why, Madelana, it’s nice to see you, and I’m just fine, very fine indeed,’ the sister replied, the faint Irish lilt echoing softly in her voice, her rose-apple cheeks dimpling with pleasure. The sister had had a soft spot for Madelana when she had lived here, and she was always delighted to see this lovely young woman who was such a credit to her parents, God rest their souls, and who in every way exemplified her good Catholic upbringing.

  ‘Sister Bronagh’s expecting me,’ Madelana said with a smile, and put the large Harte’s bag on the counter, took out a gift-wrapped package and looked at the sister. ‘Can I leave my shopping bag with you, please?’

  ‘Of course you can, Madelana.’

  ‘It’s full of my papers from work, so please put it somewhere safe, won’t you? It’d be more than a disaster if it got mislaid.’

  ‘Now don’t you be fretting yourself about it, I’ll keep it safe, and you know there’s no need to be worrying about anything you leave here. Sister Bronagh said for you to go to the garden. She’ll be up to join you in a few minutes. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.’ Sister Mairéad beamed and nodded to herself and picked up the phone, began to dial.

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ Madelana murmured, and swung around, heading for the small, box-like elevator that would take her up to the fifth floor and the stairs that led to the roof of the building.

  Surprisingly, the roof garden was empty.

  Usually in the summer, on pleasant evenings, some of the girls who lived at the residency came up here to chat and socialize with each other, and with the sisters, to share a drink of wine or juice, or read a book or simply be alone.

  It was a charming spot, planted with rambling ivy, and there were vines growing on trellis panels, and window boxes of bright red and pink geraniums, and pots of yellow and peach begonias, and the sisters grew vegetables up here. Scattered about were chairs and several small tables, and the atmosphere was inviting and suggested conviviality.

  She paused to look at the statue of the Blessed Virgin, surrounded by masses of flowers as it generally was in the summer, recalling how often she had tended the flowers when she had been living here. She had always thought of this spot as a little oasis, a lovely patch of green-growing things in the middle of the concrete canyons of Manhattan, and it had given her a feeling of wellbeing, had nourished her soul.

  Gliding forward, she went to one of the tables, put down the gift and her handbag, and seated herself in one of the chairs facing uptown. Straight ahead of her, in her direct angle of vision, were the Empire State and the Chrysler Buildings thrusting up above the higgledy-piggledy roofs and chimney pots of Chelsea and the less-distinguished skyscrapers of the city.

  Dusk was already falling, and the lavender-and-grey tinted sky was changing as a deep cobalt blue seeped in like ink and slowly extinguished these paler hues. The lights that washed over the towers of the two dominating buildings had been turned on, but the grandeur of the architecture would not be properly visible until the sky was pitch black. Then these towers would be thrown into relief, would shimmer magnificently against the dark velvet backdrop of the sky, and it was a sight that never failed to make her catch her breath in delight.

  Even in winter, Madelana had enjoyed coming up here when she had lived at the residency. Wrapped in warm clothes, she had huddled in a sheltered corner, admiring these two extraordinary edifices and a skyline that stunned with its unique beauty.

  The Chrysler, with its Art Deco sunburst motif on its elegant tapering tower, was only ever flooded with clear white light that gave it a pristine beauty and underscored the purity of its design, whereas the Empire State changed its colours to suit the season and the holidays. At Thanksgiving, the two tiers and the slender tower above were flooded with amber, gold and orange; at Christmas with red and green. The lights changed to blue and white for Chanukah and other Jewish holidays, became yellow at Easter, green on St Patrick’s Day, and red, white and blue for the fourth of July. And if the Chrysler Building really was the more beautiful of the two, then certainly the Empire State was the most eyecatc
hing when it blazed with a celebratory selection of its rainbow colours.

  ‘Good evening, Madelana,’ Sister Bronagh called as she walked across to the table, carrying two glasses of white wine.

  Madelana sprang up at the sound of her voice.

  ‘Hello, Sister.’ She hurried forward, smiling, and took the glass being offered to her, and the two women clasped hands affectionately, before sitting down together at the table.

  ‘You’re looking extremely well,’ Sister Bronagh said, peering at her in the gathering dusk.

  ‘Thank you, I feel good.’

  They touched glasses and sipped their drinks.

  ‘This is for you, Sister,’ Madelana said, after a moment, and slid the gift across the table.

  ‘For me?’ Sister Bronagh glanced at it, raised a brow, her warm hazel eyes suddenly twinkling merrily behind her spectacles, her face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘That’s why I came tonight…to bring you the present and to say goodbye. I won’t be able to come to your farewell party next week. I’ll be in Australia by then.’

  ‘Australia! My goodness, so far away, Madelana. But exciting, I think, for you. I’m so sorry you won’t be at the party…your absence will be noticed. It always has been, when you haven’t been able to make one of our little get togethers. And thank you for the gift, it was thoughtful of you.’

  ‘You’re quite welcome.’ ‘May I open it now?’

  ‘Of course,’ Madelana said, laughing, enjoying her obvious delight in the small token she had brought.

  Sister Bronagh untied the yellow ribbon, dispensed with the wrapping paper and lifted the lid of the Harte’s silver cardboard box. Underneath the layers of tissue paper were three different-sized toilet bags made of deep blue silk and trimmed with a lighter blue welting.

  ‘Oh, how lovely they are!’ Sister Bronagh exclaimed, taking one out, turning it over in her hands, opening the zip, looking inside. Her small, birdlike face was bright with sudden happiness and she took Madelana’s hand resting on the table and squeezed it. ‘Thank you so much, my dear, they’re just what I need.’

  ‘I’m glad you like them. I wanted to get you something that was pretty but also useful.’ Madelana grinned at her. ‘I know you…how practical you are. Anyway, I thought these would be perfect for travelling.’ She rested her elbows on the table. Her fingers toyed with the glass of wine. ‘When do you leave for Rome?’

  ‘On the tenth of September, and I’m becoming excited about going. It’ll be a challenge, helping to run the residency over there. It’s situated not very far away from the Vatican, and that’s an added joy for me, being so close to the Holy See.’ There was a lovely glow about her as she continued, ‘I must confess to you, Madelana, I was thrilled when Sister Marie-Theresa picked me to be the one to go.’

  Madelana nodded. ‘Everyone here at the residency is going to miss you, though, me included.’

  ‘Oh and I shall miss you, too, Madelana, and the other old girls who still come to see me, and the ones living here now, and the sisters.’ There was a brief pause. A fleeting sadness touched Sister Bronagh’s eyes, and they grew moist, and then she cleared her throat quickly, sat up, straightened the collar of her white blouse. She gave Madelana a warm smile. ‘Tell me about your trip to Australia. It’s rather sudden, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’m going on business with my boss, Paula O’Neill. We’re leaving for Los Angeles on Saturday morning, and we’ll spend the night there, since she thinks we’ll both be in better shape if we break the trip instead of flying direct. We take the Qantas flight to Sydney at ten o’clock on Sunday night.’

  ‘And how long will you be gone?’

  ‘Two or three weeks, perhaps even four. Paula may have to leave me behind to follow through for her. We’re going out there because of the boutiques in the hotels. She’s concerned they’re not being run properly. The manager has been sick, and her assistant seems to either panic or flounder on alternate days.’

  ‘You’ve done well at Harte’s, Madelana, I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Thank you. Anyway, my career’s very important to me, as you know…’ Madelana stopped, and there was a hesitation in her manner, and she looked down at her hands resting on the table. Shortly, she went on in a more muted, thoughtful tone, ‘But working so hard these past few years has also helped me to keep grief at bay, to come to grips with my losses…’ Her voice suddenly trailed off.

  The sister reached out, took Madelana’s hand in hers, and there was a sense of comfort in this gesture. ‘Yes, I know it has. But then so has your great faith, Madelana. Always remember that God has His reasons, and that He never gives us a burden that is too heavy to carry.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve told me that many times before.’ Madelana tightened her grip on Sister Bronagh’s hand. There was a short silence between them. She lifted her head then, and smiled faintly at this devout and gentle middle-aged woman who had been so warm and loving to her when she had lived here, who had singled her out for special attention.

  ‘I couldn’t let you leave for Rome without coming to see you, Sister Bronagh, to thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me to get through so much pain and sorrow, for making me feel so welcome when I first arrived. You gave me courage.’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t, Madelana,’ the sister said swiftly. ‘The courage was within you, already part of you then. As it is now. And as it will always be. If I did anything at all, it was simply to show you that it was there, to make you understand that all you needed to do was to reach inside of yourself, and to draw on it.’

  ‘Yes…But I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. And for all you’ve taught me – especially about myself.’

  ‘You were always very special to me, my child,’ Sister Bronagh replied in a soft voice. ‘If I had not chosen this way of life, had not chosen to be in service to God, to do His work, and if I had married and had had a daughter, I would have wanted her to be exactly like you.’

  ‘Oh Sister Bronagh, what a beautiful thing to say, thank you, thank you so much!’ Madelana experienced a sudden rush of emotion as her genuine feeling for this woman rose up in her and there was the unexpected sting of tears behind her eyes and she blinked them away, not wanting to break down. She realized how much she would miss Sister Bronagh after the nun had departed for her new job in Rome.

  Now Madelana said, ‘Your belief in me has been so important, Sister, it’s mirrored the belief my mother had in me. She encouraged me the way you have. I’ll try never to let you down.’

  The sweetest of smiles brushed across Sister Bronagh’s pale mouth and she said slowly, to give greater emphasis to her words, ‘The important thing is never to let yourself down, Madelana.’

  Chapter 9

  It was a long, hot ride uptown from the Residence Jeanne D’Arc to East Eighty-Fourth Street, and for the first time that day Madelana felt uncomfortably warm and damp when she finally alighted in front of the small apartment building where she lived.

  ‘Hi, Alex,’ she said, greeting the doorman breezily as he helped her out of the cab.

  The doorman responded in kind, and there was an admiring look in his eyes as he watched her walk rapidly across the sidewalk with her usual ease of movement and gracefulness. She swung into the building before he could rush to open the door for her, and appeared to float across the lobby, her feet hardly seeming to touch the marble as she sped ahead.

  She stopped to collect her mail and then took the elevator to the seventeenth floor. The phone was ringing inside her apartment when she put the key in the lock. It stuck, and she struggled with it, muttering under her breath, but finally she managed to get the door open and hurried in, and the phone continued its strident shrilling in the cool silence of the empty apartment.

  Snapping on the light in the minuscule, almost non-existent entrance hall, she dumped her things unceremoniously on the floor and ran to pick up the nearest extension.

  This was on the desk in the yellow-a
nd-white living room, which opened directly off the tiny entrance hall, and snatching the receiver, she exclaimed, ‘Hello,’ only to discover that there was no one at the other end. All she could hear was the faint burring of the dialling tone; the caller had obviously disconnected a split second before she had reached the phone.

  Oh well, she thought, whoever it is will call back, if it’s important, and she dropped the receiver into the cradle with a shrug of her elegant shoulders.

  Blinking in the shadowy half light that flowed in from the entrance hall, she switched on the desk lamp and swung around, making to leave the room, then hesitated, pivoted to look at the phone. She was on the verge of picking it up again, wondering if it had been Paula calling her, concerned with some last minute bit of business. Or about something they had forgotten. It was hardly likely, since it was almost ten o’clock. She immediately dismissed the idea of calling her boss at her Fifth Avenue apartment. That would be an unwarranted intrusion, and anyway, Paula always went to bed early when she first arrived in New York, in an effort to counteract jet lag.

  Madelana shivered, becoming aware of the chilly temperature. The air conditioning had been running at its highest all day, and the apartment was like a freezer. But her body would soon adjust, and she welcomed the coolness after the humidity of the stuffy, airless streets of Manhattan.

  She went to retrieve her things, and carried them back to the living room, sat down on the yellow-velvet sofa, and glanced at her mail. There was nothing of any importance and she put it on the glass-and-brass coffee table, rose, and went into the adjoining bedroom to change her clothes.

  A second or two later she emerged, barefooted and wearing a long pink cotton caftan, and hurried into the kitchen to prepare a light supper for herself, before digging into the work she had brought home from the store.

  The kitchen in her small apartment was long and narrow; it had reminded Madelana of a ship’s galley the first time she had seen it, just a year ago this month. And for this reason she had decorated it in various shades of blue with lots of white and dashes of brilliant red. She had covered the walls with nautical prints, ranging from Boston whalers, nineteenth-century sailing ships and Mississippi riverboats to oceangoing liners and modern yachts. All were framed in brass, and there were other touches of brass in small accessories; and copper moulds hung above the stove and the sink, and these added their own sparkle.