When Philip had returned to Sydney in March of that year, fully recovered from the minor injuries he had suffered on the mountain that fateful day, he had been an extremely troubled young man of twenty-five. He was not only grieving for his father, but filled with anxiety and concern about the future. He had a mighty business to run, enormous responsibilities to shoulder, and he was entirely alone with Emma and his father now dead.
Paula, never anything but devoted and loyal, had her own problems to contend with, and he could not inflict his terrible worries on her.
His mother, Daisy, who had returned to Australia with him at Paula’s urging, was crushed by sorrow at the loss of her husband. And although The McGill Corporation was hers, technically speaking, she had never been involved in business, and he knew she could be no help whatsoever. In fact, he was aware that she was looking to him for strength and support.
But quite apart from these problems, Philip was grappling with another emotion at this particular point in his life: Survivor guilt.
Few people would be left unaffected after surviving an avalanche in which other members of the family had been killed, and Philip was no exception. He had floundered, been unable to come to grips with himself. Why had he been singled out to live when the others had died? This question had dominated his thoughts, jostled for prominence in his mind.
He had no ready answer.
However, gradually, he had recognized that he must get over the traumatic experience, put it behind him, and if at all possible, somehow turn it to a positive. His mother and sister needed him, and he had the conglomerate to run, he repeatedly reminded himself in the ensuing months. And so he focused on the future, and hoped that perhaps the reason for his survival, the purpose of it, would one day be revealed to him.
With the blood of Emma Harte and Paul McGill coursing through his veins, Philip was nothing if not a hard and dedicated worker, and as he began to marshal his turbulent emotions he directed his full energies into The McGill Corporation. Work blocked out problems and worries, and, as far as he was concerned, it was also the most satisfying way to lead his life, to fill his days and nights.
And so it was that by 1981 Philip McGill Amory had become one of Australia’s leading industrialists, an important man in his own right, and one to be reckoned with.
The conglomerate had had its ups and downs in the eleven years since Emma’s death. But he had held the helm firmly, kept it steady, and steered the company ahead. He had divested himself of losing divisions, diversified his holdings, purchased other companies which mined iron ore and harnessed natural resources, and he had branched out into communications with the acquisition of newspapers and magazines, radio and television stations.
Under Philip’s aegis, the company founded and brought to prominence by his forefathers, and immeasurably strengthened by Emma during the years of her trusteeship, had moved forward into the 1980s with greater power and financial growth than it had ever known in the past.
The phone on Philip’s desk buzzed several times. He picked it up.
‘Yes?’ he asked, glancing at his watch.
‘It’s Ken, Mr Amory, I have the car waiting.’
‘Thanks, Ken, I’ll be right down.’ Philip replaced the receiver, put a pile of financial statements, other documents and the Asian Wall Street Journal in his briefcase, snapped it shut, and left his private office.
His wine-coloured Rolls-Royce stood outside the McGill Tower on Bridge Street, and Ken, his driver of the last five years, leaned against the hood.
‘ ’Evening, Mr Amory,’ Ken said, straightening up, opening the back door for him.
‘Hello, Ken,’ Philip replied and stepped into the car. A second later they were pulling away from the kerb, and he instructed, ‘Rose Bay, please, Ken. Mrs Rickards’ house.’
‘Right you are, sir.’
Philip settled back into the soft, beige-leather upholstery, trying to shed the general preoccupations of the business day.
He closed his eyes, relaxing, letting the tension ease out of him. He thought of Paula and experienced a small rush of happiness, knowing she would be arriving in Sydney in the morning. He missed her. So did their mother. Philip’s mind swung instantly to Daisy. He had not seen her for the past week, since she had been in Perth with her husband, Jason Rickards, and had only returned to the city late last night. But he had no doubt she was hardly able to contain herself, impatiently waiting for Paula’s arrival.
He was well aware that the only thing casting a faint shadow across their mother’s happiness these days was being so far away from her daughter and grandchildren. But she did have Jason, and for that he was extremely thankful.
What a vital role timing plays in life, Philip suddenly reflected. He had introduced his mother to the Perth industrialist in 1975, when Jason had finally recovered from his messy divorce of three years earlier, and when his mother was at last ready to enter into a relationship with another man. Despite their busy lives and their many commitments, both Daisy and Jason had been lonely, and they had welcomed the introduction. And then, lo and behold, much to everyone’s surprise but his, these two had fallen in love and had married a year later.
Seemingly it was a good marriage. Jason had a permanent smile on his rugged face and his mother never looked anything less than radiant these days, and she had put her sorrow truly behind her. But then his mother was a wise woman.
In the years immediately following his father’s death, she had done her level best to make the most of her new life in Australia. She had acted as Philip’s hostess, had then gone on to create her own social circle, and she had eventually thrown herself into charity work with a great deal of zeal and dedication to her chosen causes, mostly do with the welfare of children. This had given her tremendous satisfaction, added purpose to her existence.
As the only child of Paul McGill, who had been one of the richest men in Australia, heiress to his great fortune, and half Australian herself, Daisy believed that doing good works was her duty, the responsibility of wealth and privilege such as hers. She had created the McGill Foundation, had endowed millions to medical research, children’s hospitals and education. Yes, living in Sydney had been good for his mother, just as she, in her way, had been good for Sydney.
Jason Rickards was an added bonus in her life, in all of their lives, really. He was well liked by everyone, was very much a part of the family. Childless, Jason had thrown himself heart and soul into being an adopted grandfather, and Paula’s children adored him.
Yes, timing was on their side, Philip thought. And luck…lots of it.
He opened his eyes, pulled himself upright on the seat, smiled ruefully. His timing was invariably wrong and he never had any luck when it came to women. Just the opposite. But he didn’t really care. He had no desire to get married, much preferred the life of a bachelor. There were, after all, worse fates.
Chapter 14
The balmy night air drifting in through the open French doors was fragrant with a variety of mingled scents…honeysuckle, wisteria, rambling roses and eucalyptus, and inside the room there was a faint hint of Joy, Daisy’s favourite perfume, the one she invariably wore.
A Chopin étude played softly on the stereo in the background, and silk-shaded lamps added their mellow glow to the gracious drawing room, where peach, white and pale green predominated, and where a certain gentle calm prevailed.
Philip sat facing his mother across the antique Chinese coffee table made of hand-carved ebony, enjoying a snifter of cognac after the delicious dinner they had just shared. Fernando, the Filipino chef, had prepared Barramundi, his favourite fish, and Daisy had made an English trifle, which had always been a special treat when he was a child, and now he was feeling well satisfied, replete with good food and vintage wine, and completely spoiled as he relaxed on the comfortable sofa.
He brought the brandy balloon up to his nose and sniffed, appreciating the strong, almost harsh bouquet of the alcohol. He took a swallow, savoured it, then sat
back, nursed the balloon in his hands, nodding from time to time as he listened to her softly modulated voice, giving her his entire attention.
‘And since Jason will be back from Perth on Thursday, I thought it would be nice to take Paula up to Dunoon for the weekend. Don’t you, darling? And you will come with us, won’t you?’
Philip put the balloon down on the end table and frowned. ‘Do you honestly think she’ll want to start travelling the minute she gets here, after she’s flown half way across the world?’ He shook his head. ‘I doubt it, Mother.’ Instantly a grin surfaced, replaced his frown. ‘Besides, if I know my sister, your daughter, she’ll have her nose to the grindstone on Saturday, trying to bring order to the boutique at the Sydney-O’Neill. That’s why she’s flying out here, remember.’
‘Oh but she’s coming to see us as well!’ Daisy asserted, giving him a sharp look. She wondered if either of her children ever thought about anything else except business. She doubted it. They took after her mother.
Daisy’s face changed, became reflective, and after a moment she said, ‘But perhaps you’re right, Philip. It is rushing her a bit, I suppose. Maybe we can go up to the sheep station the following weekend.’
‘Yes, why not, Mother,’ he agreed, humouring her.
The smile flicked into Daisy’s vivid blue eyes again, and she leaned forward, her face full of enthusiasm and eagerness. ‘Jason and I have decided to spend an extra month in England, Philip. We’re leaving at the beginning of November instead of December, and we won’t be back until January. Three months…and I’m so looking forward to them, to being in London and at Pennistone Royal. Christmas in Yorkshire with Paula, Shane and the grandchildren, and the rest of the family as well, is my idea of sheer bliss. It’s going to be like old times…when Mummy was alive.’
‘Yes,’ Philip said. A brow lifted as he next asked, ‘Can Jason afford to be away so long though?’
‘Of course. And it’s one of the reasons he’s been spending so much time in Perth these last few weeks, making sure everything will run smoothly during his absence. And in any case, he has every confidence in his staff, just as you do.’ She smiled at him. ‘You’re coming too, aren’t you? To England for Christmas, I mean.’
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ he began, and stopped abruptly when he saw his mother’s expression. Her face had dropped.
‘I hope I can get away, darling,’ he muttered noncommitally, having no desire to make a decision about Christmas so far in advance, or to promise her anything. She would hold him to it.
‘Oh Philip, you must! You promised Paula! Have you forgotten about the sixtieth anniversary of Harte’s? You have to be at the dinner dance she’s giving on New Year’s Eve. Everyone’s going to be there, and it will look simply awful if you’re not.’
‘I’ll do my damnedest, Mother, okay?’
‘Yes, all right,’ she responded quietly, leaning back against the big pillows on the sofa, smoothing the skirt of her silk dress, sighing under her breath. After a moment, Daisy raised her eyes, studied Philip, trying to gauge his mood, wondering if she dare mention his current girlfriend. He could be touchy at times, and especially when it came to his private life.
Deciding to take a chance, she said in her low, even tone, ‘If you do come to England, I think it might be rather nice if you bring Veronica with you. She’s such a lovely young woman.’
Philip started to laugh and gave his mother an odd look.
Daisy stared back at him in surprise, perplexity flitting across her face. ‘What is it?’
Still chuckling and catching his breath, Philip finally managed to say, ‘Honestly, Mother, you are behind the times. I broke up with Veronica Marsden weeks and weeks ago. It’s over…finished…kaput.’
‘You didn’t tell me,’ Daisy replied, sounding reproachful. She filled with dismay. ‘Oh darling, I am sorry. As I said, she is a lovely person, and, frankly, I thought the two of you were quite serious about each other. But never mind, I expect you know best, Pip,’ she murmured, using the diminutive of his childhood.
Her look became quizzical when she ventured, ‘Perhaps you’d like to bring the current favourite?’
‘There isn’t a current favourite, Mother. And please stop trying to get me married off!’ he exclaimed crossly. At once conscious of the hurt invading her eyes, he softened his harsh tone, added, with a light laugh, ‘You just want to get me hitched so that you can have lots of grandchildren to fuss over here in Australia.’
‘Yes, there’s some truth in that,’ Daisy admitted.
She lifted her cup, took a sip of the lemon tea, and fell silent, slipping down into her thoughts. And she asked herself why her son continually broke off with suitable young women at the most crucial time in his relationship with them. She remembered Selena, his girlfriend before Veronica, who had come to see her after she and Philip had parted company last year. Selena had confided that Philip had the need to end a relationship the moment it became serious, or rather, became threatening was the way Selena had put it. Daisy wondered if the girl had been correct. She stifled another sigh. Her son was as baffling to her as he was to many other people. There were those who said he was an enigma, and wasn’t that the absolute truth?
Philip, watching her closely, said, ‘Hey, Ma, what are you cooking up in that head of yours? I can almost see your mind working.’
‘Nothing, nothing at all, darling.’ Then Daisy gave a little laugh, and went on confidingly, ‘Actually, I was asking myself if you would ever marry.’
‘I have the reputation of being the biggest playboy in the western world. I aim to keep the title.’ Lifting the brandy balloon to his mouth, he winked at her over its rim, his expression mischievous.
‘Hardly a playboy, not the way you work, Philip. That’s an exaggeration, and merely the press pinning a label on you, because you’re so eligible.’
Now Daisy shifted on the sofa, crossed her long legs, and a new seriousness entered her voice, as she continued, ‘But I can’t bear to think of you being alone later in your life, Philip. That’s a terrible prospect for you, and not a very comforting one for me to envisage either. And I certainly don’t want you to become a crusty old bachelor.’
Daisy paused, gave him a penetrating stare, hoping her words would sink in. ‘Not like poor John Crawford,’ she finished, thinking of her solicitor in London. He had once had a crush on her, had wanted to marry her after David’s death. But she had harboured only friendship for John, nothing deeper than that.
‘Yes, poor John indeed,’ Philip agreed. ‘He is a bit of a sorry case these days. Yearning after you, Ma, I do suspect. But me crusty? Never. The ladies will keep me young and merry into my old age.’ He gave her a cheeky grin. ‘You know what they say…variety’s the spice of life, and so I shall always make sure I have a pretty girl on my arm, even in my dotage.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Daisy conceded, laughing with him. But privately she wondered if these fleeting liaisons with countless women were ever going to be enough for her son in the final analysis. If that was what he wanted then she supposed they would be. On the other hand, he was missing so much, not being married. She longed to continue the conversation, to speak to him very seriously about his personal life, his future, and the future of The McGill Corporation if he did not produce heirs. But instinct, and her better judgement, told her to keep quiet. After all, Philip was thirty-five and answerable to no one but himself, and he might easily resent her probing.
The phone trilled in the adjoining library, and a second later Daisy’s Filipino houseman, Rao, appeared in the arched doorway to the living room. ‘Excuse me, madam, it’s Mr Rickards.’
‘Thank you, Rao,’ Daisy said, and glanced across at her son. ‘I won’t be a moment, darling.’
There was a faint swish of silk, a whiff of Joy, as Daisy rose and hurried out.
Philip’s eyes followed her.
He could not help thinking how young his mother looked tonight. She had celebrated her fifty-sixth
birthday in May, but she appeared to be years younger. She had a slim, almost girlish figure, and her lovely face was quite unlined, and because she had stayed out of the sun most of her life, she had preserved her flawless English complexion. There was a freshness, a youthfulness about her still, and even the few strands of grey streaking her black hair did nothing to age her. She was remarkable; but then Emma had been well-preserved too.
Philip was finishing the last of his cognac when Daisy returned to the living room.
She said, ‘Jason sends his love, Pip. I told him what you said about dragging Paula to Coonamble, and he tends to agree with you that it wouldn’t be fair. Perhaps we’ll have a little dinner party for her on Saturday. Is that all right with you? You will come, won’t you?’
‘Of course! I wouldn’t miss being with old Beanstalk for anything. Listen, Mother, I’d really like you to take a look at the financial statements and balance sheets I brought with me. I want to go over them – ’
‘You know very well that’s not necessary, Philip,’ Daisy interrupted. ‘I don’t know a blessed thing about business, yet you constantly force these papers on me.’
‘But The McGill Corporation is your company, Mother.’
‘Oh fiddlesticks, Philip, it’s yours and Paula’s, except in name, and you know that. And obviously I trust you implicitly. Good Lord, darling, my mother trained you all those years ago to do the job properly. She had immense faith in your judgement and business acumen, and so do I.’
‘Thanks for that lovely vote of confidence, Ma, but I insist you look at the papers. Let me go and get them.’ As he was speaking he hurried out to the foyer and returned at once with his briefcase.
To Be the Best (Emma Harte) Page 16