When finally she stood in front of it, she caught her breath. It was extraordinary, just as Paula had said, so very lifelike, and so much better than any of those she had seen in the Harte Stores, even superior to the one at Pennistone Royal in Yorkshire.
She gazed at it for the longest time, marvelling at the vividness of the painting, and the exceptional brushwork. It had obviously been painted in the 1930s; the evening gown Emma wore was of the period and made of white satin, and Madelana felt that if she reached out, touched the painting, her fingers would rest against the real fabric. Emeralds blazed around Emma’s throat, at her ears and wrists, and there was a square-cut emerald on her left hand; the stones echoed the colour of her radiant eyes.
What small hands she had, Madelana thought, stepping closer, peering at the picture. Why, they’re so tiny, they’re almost a child’s hands.
The portrait which hung next to Emma’s was of a darkly handsome man, elegant in a white tie and tails. He had the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen, a strong, very arresting face, a black moustache, and a deep cleft in his chin. Clark Gable, Maddy thought, and then smiled to herself, knowing it could not possibly be the late movie star. It was undoubtedly Paul McGill.
Tilting her head to one side, she studied the painting carefully, thoughtfully, wondering what kind of man he had been. A match for Emma Harte, she had no doubt.
Philip came running downstairs as the grandfather clock in the entrance foyer was striking seven.
He crossed the vast hall, heading in the direction of the breakfast room, when he noticed that the double mahogany doors leading into the gallery were slightly ajar. He walked over, intending to close them, and immediately saw the young woman inside. She stood at the far end, leaning towards the painting of his grandfather, studying it, and he realized she must be Paula’s American assistant.
As if she sensed his presence, she swung around swiftly. When she saw him in the doorway her eyes opened very wide and a look of astonishment crossed her face. She stared at him intently.
And in that instant his life changed.
It seemed to Philip that all about her was the light. Not simply the bright sunlight pouring in through the big window, but the light which emanated from within her. She was an incandescent being.
He knew at once that he wanted her, and that he would have her. Philip could not comprehend how he knew this, but it flashed through his brain like a bolt of lightning striking, and he accepted it as the undeniable truth.
Slowly he began to walk forward, his riding boots clattering loudly against the wood, and the noise was overwhelming to him, a dreadful intrusion on the perfect stillness enveloping her. She stood there waiting for him, not moving, appearing hardly to breathe, still watching him intently. And his eyes did not leave her face.
She was a stranger, yet entirely familiar to him, and he experienced a deep sense of predestination – of fate – as he finally drew to a standstill in front of her.
Looking up into his face, she smiled a slow, tentative smile, and he was aware that something stupendous was happening to him, and what startled him the most was that it was happening here, in his own home, in the one place he truly loved on this planet. She continued to smile up at him, and he felt as though a burden was lifting from his shoulders, and there was the total cessation of pain; a sense of peace flowed through him.
Dimly, as though from faraway, he heard his own voice. ‘I’m Philip, Paula’s brother,’ he was saying, and he was surprised he sounded so normal.
‘I’m Madelana O’Shea.’
‘So I’d guessed.’
She put her hand in his, and he clasped it firmly; he knew he had been waiting for her all his life.
Chapter 17
It was a great effort for Philip to let go of Madelana’s hand, but he did so – with some reluctance.
Immediately, Madelana slipped it into her pocket quickly. The feel of his strong fingers lingered, as though their imprint had been permanently burned onto hers. She shifted on her feet, and glanced away. Philip McGill Amory unnerved her.
Philip, watching her closely, said, ‘You looked surprised when I appeared in the doorway. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘I thought for a minute that Paul McGill had suddenly sprung to life – ’
His vibrant laughter cut into her sentence, echoed around the quiet gallery, and he glanced at the painting but made no comment.
‘Also,’ she went on, ‘Paula said you wouldn’t be arriving from Sydney until around noon today.’
‘I changed my mind, decided to fly up last night. I got in at eleven-thirty, but everyone was already in bed.’
She nodded, said nothing, stared up at him.
‘You were studying my grandfather’s portrait very closely.’ He gave her a lopsided grin and his bright blue eyes were full of laughter, danced teasingly. ‘Did it reveal anything to you? Secrets of his character, perhaps?’
‘I was thinking that he must have been very special, a true man, to have won Emma Harte and to have married her.’
‘From what my grandmother told me about him, Paul McGill was everything you or I could ever imagine him to have been. And more, I suspect,’ Philip said. There was a slight pause, before he went on in a softer tone, ‘But they were never married, actually…his wife wouldn’t divorce him. So they took matters into their own hands, flouted convention and lived together for about sixteen or seventeen years. Until his death in 1939, in fact. I suppose what they did was considered quite scandalous in those days, but they didn’t care.’ Philip shrugged. ‘They were madly in love, wildly happy, and apparently they never regretted a thing. And naturally they adored their only child, my mother.’ There was another pause, then Philip said, ‘She’s illegitimate, of course.’
Madelana was taken aback. ‘I didn’t know that, or any of the things you’ve just told me. Paula has never said anything about your grandmother’s personal life. And what I’ve heard or read has been to do with her business achievements.’
‘Yes, she had quite a success story, didn’t she? She was so far ahead of her time. A brilliant and truly emancipated woman who showed a lot of other women the way…into big business and the corporate world. And I’m glad she did. I for one don’t know what I’d do without the women executives in our company.’
Philip chuckled, suddenly looked amused again. ‘But I’m sure everybody’s forgotten about Emma’s private life by now. It’s old history. After all, it happened so long ago. Anyway, she has become something of a mythical figure. A legend. And there are any number of keepers of the flame around, both in the family and out…who don’t want her image tarnished in any way.’ He pursed his lips, shook his head. ‘Of course, as far as I’m concerned, nothing could tarnish Emma’s image, least of all living out of wedlock with a man she truly loved – and with all her heart.’
‘I agree with you. But why wouldn’t she divorce him? His wife, I mean.’
‘Her religion got in the way, and rather conveniently, I think. Constance McGill was a Roman Catholic, and I feel she simply hid behind the church and its teachings in order to frustrate Paul. She didn’t want him, but she didn’t want anyone else to have him. And she didn’t want him to be happy, that’s an absolute certainty. So, she put a bunch of priests and a lot of ridiculous religious mumbo-jumbo in the middle of their marital affairs, merely to confuse the issue, in my opinion.’
‘Oh – ’
Philip was acutely aware of Madelana, and he immediately saw the oddest look entering her eyes. Shrewd, sensitive, he knew instinctively that he had blundered. ‘I’ve offended you…you’re a Roman Catholic, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am, but you haven’t offended me. Honestly.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s all right, really Philip…’ Her voice trailed off. She glanced up at him.
Their eyes met and held. Neither of them could look away. The silence between them deepened.
As he stared into her lum
inous eyes, silvery, curiously transparent, Philip understood that it was all right. She meant exactly what she said, and would always mean it. For there was no guile in her. She was open and honest, and this pleased him. Once more, he had that peculiar feeling of familiarity. It was as if he had known her long ago, had been separated from her, and had found her again. He felt natural with her, comfortable as he had never been with any other woman, and completely at ease. I want her, he thought for the second time that morning. And I aim to have her. But go slowly, go very slowly, a voice inside him cautioned.
Madelana, held by his mesmeric blue gaze, was also filled with strange feelings, ones she had hitherto never experienced. Her throat was constricted and dry, she had a tight pain in her chest, and she was shaking inside. She was reacting strongly to Philip, physically and emotionally, and in a way she never had in her entire life, not even with Jack Miller. But then Philip McGill Amory was unique…she had never met anyone like him before. He was so masculine, so potent, and there was all that charm. Fatal charm. He threw her off balance. And, worse still, he frightened her.
Inexplicably, Madelana thought she was about to burst into tears. She averted her head swiftly, broke the eye contact between them. She had begun to tremble, and, afraid that he would notice, she walked to the other side of the gallery.
Clearing her throat, she said, without looking back at him, ‘And which ancestor is this?’
Philip followed her across the room.
He stood directly behind her, breathing in the fragrance of her hair, her perfume. It was something spicy, musky almost, and he found it provocative. He had the sudden urge to put his arms around her, and he had to exercise enormous constraint not to do so.
In a tightly controlled voice, he said, ‘Oh, that’s Andrew, the Scottish sea captain, who came to Australia as a free settler in 1852, and that’s his wife, Tessa, in the portrait next to his. Andrew was the founding father, settling here on this land, starting the sheep station, and putting down the original foundations of this house, which he called Dunoon, after the place he came from in Scotland.’
‘It’s a very beautiful house,’ Madelana murmured in a husky voice, so conscious of Philip’s proximity she could barely speak.
‘Thank you…I think so, too. But actually, it was Andrew’s son, Bruce, my great-grandfather, who gave the manor its feeling of the American Old South in the early 1900s, after a trip to America. He built the new façade, added the pillars, and superimposed the look of the plantations of Georgia and Virginia.’
‘And Kentucky…it reminds me of home.’
Philip walked around her so that he was able to see her face, and his dark brows lifted in surprise. ‘You come from bluegrass country?’
Madelana nodded.
‘But you don’t sound at all southern.’
‘And you don’t sound particularly Australian,’ she said, and then she laughed for the first time since meeting him, and this eased the tension which had been building inside her. ‘I was born and raised in Lexington.’
‘Then you must have grown up around horses. You did, didn’t you? And you do ride, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
His eyes lit up, and his voice was buoyant as he exclaimed spontaneously, ‘Come riding with me! Now. I want to show you the land, take you over the station…you can’t have seen very much last night, especially in the dusk.’ He glanced at her clothes. ‘I’m sure we have breeches and boots to fit you.’
‘I brought my own riding things,’ Madelana said, then explained, ‘Before we left New York, Paula told me we’d probably be coming here for a weekend, and to be prepared. In fact, she told me exactly which clothes to bring.’
‘Smart girl, my sister,’ he said, the lopsided grin sliding onto his mouth again. ‘Come on then, what are we waiting for!’
Philip grabbed hold of her hand, hurried her out of the gallery and into the hall, adding, ‘I’ll have a quick cup of coffee in the breakfast room while you’re changing. I’ll be waiting for you in there.’
‘I’ll only be a few minutes,’ she said quietly, swept up by the power and magnetism of this man.
True to her word, she arrived in the breakfast room within the space of ten minutes.
When she appeared in the doorway so quickly, he was surprised, but pleasantly so. Women who fussed about their hair and their makeup, and dawdled, and kept him waiting had always been an irritant to him. He was accustomed to the Harte women, who rarely primped but always looked smart, and he was glad Madelana fitted into this mould.
As he rose and went over to her, admiration flickered in his eyes. He liked the way she was dressed. She was obviously a genuine horsewoman, not an amateur who merely fancied herself in the get-up, and did not take riding seriously. Her clothes announced this to him. Her man-tailored, red-and-purple plaid wool shirt and cream breeches were in good condition, but by no means new, and her black boots, as highly polished as his own, were well worn and obviously a few years old.
Smiling broadly, taking her elbow, he led her out of the house and across the back courtyard to the garage.
As they walked past the collection of vintage cars lined up against the wall of the roofed-in walkway, he asked, ‘Which way did you drive to the manor from the airfield last night?’
‘Tim Willen brought us on the main road,’ Madelana answered. ‘I saw quite a lot of the station – the sheep pens, the shearing sheds, and that whole area of work buildings, as well as the compound.’
‘Good-o…then we can get out to the countryside immediately, go for a real ride, instead of just puttering around,’ he announced, helping her into his dark blue Maserati.
Philip had phoned through to the stables while she was changing, and when they arrived at the old buildings which she had so admired the night before, their horses were already saddled.
The head groom was waiting for them, and after Philip had introduced her to Matt, he took her over to the stalls. ‘This is Gilda,’ he said, opening the stall gate, leading out the roan mare. Handing Madelana the reins, he went on, ‘She’s all yours. You’ll find she’s gentle, but with enough spirit not to be too boring for you.’
Philip stepped away from the horse, and resisted the temptation to help Madelana mount.
‘Thanks, she’s beautiful,’ Madelana said, looking at the roan appreciatively. She began to stroke and fondle the young mare’s nose and head, and nuzzle her, then she whispered in her ear, endeavouring to make friends, as the grooms in Kentucky had taught her always to do with a strange horse. After a couple of minutes of this play, Madelana felt that they knew each other well enough, and she put her left foot in the stirrup, swung herself up into the saddle.
Philip had watched her performance with Gilda, nodding to himself at her expertise, and smiling inwardly. Now he mounted Black Opal, his glossy ebony-coloured stallion, and led the way out of the cobbled stable yard, across the main road, and down a dirt track that sloped towards a small copse.
They trotted single file along the narrow track overhung with golden elms and willows, and soon came out into a wide meadow where the green grass rippled under the light breeze. For a while they cantered side by side, and then unexpectedly Philip broke into a gallop, spurring Black Opal forward, leaving Madelana behind.
‘Come on, Gilda girl, come on mah honey,’ Madelana cooed, leaning forward on the mare’s neck, rising slightly out of the saddle, standing as she broke into a gallop and streaked after Philip.
She caught up with him, and they galloped together through several adjoining meadows, jumping fences, racing neck and neck, until Philip finally slowed and reined-in Black Opal.
Madelana instantly followed suit, knowing that she must take his lead, since she was on strange ground and in unfamiliar surroundings.
As they caught their breath, they looked at each other.
‘That was great. You’re terrific,’ Philip said. ‘But we’ve got to cool it now, we’re coming to the sheep and cattle grazing fields.’
/> ‘Yes, I understand,’ she said.
They wandered at a gentle pace through the beautiful pastoral countryside, passing herds of cattle and flocks of sheep roaming the meadows and the lower slopes. They skirted copses filled with the ever-present golden elms and eucalyptus, and travelled along a deep and lovely valley, following the winding, silver thread of the river Castlereagh for a short way, and finally they went slowly up into the green hills of Dunoon.
They spoke intermittently.
Madelana asked the odd question now and again, and occasionally Philip volunteered bits of information, but for the most part they were quiet.
This pleased Philip. He did not always wish to talk, was frequently introspective and preoccupied and women who chattered nonstop got on his nerves. Her silence was like a balm. He was conscious of her in every respect, yet she was not an intrusion on him or his inbred sense of privacy, and there was no awkwardness between them, at least as far as he was concerned. In fact, just simply riding along with her like this made him feel lighter, happier than he had in years.
Madelana was having similar feelings.
The anxiety and tension she had experienced in the portrait gallery had lessened when she was in her room changing her clothes, had dissipated almost entirely during the time she had been out here in the open air with him.
Although New South Wales was as far away from Kentucky as anyone could get, she felt closer to home than she had since leaving her beloved bluegrass country four years ago. The stillness of the gardens, which had struck her so forcibly earlier that morning, was even more pronounced in this vast landscape, and the overwhelming peacefulness was filling her with a sense of tranquillity. And because she was relaxed, she was unexpectedly at ease with herself and with Philip.
They rode together across his land for almost two hours.
At last they came to the place he had been heading for since they had left the stables. It was the highest point on Dunoon, and Philip led the way up the steep incline. When he reached the top of the hill, he jumped down off Black Opal, stood waiting by the side of the horse for Madelana, who was only a short distance behind him.
To Be the Best (Emma Harte) Page 19