‘I had to be. For the catering.’
‘Now tell me you aren’t grateful,’ Matthew interrupted, ‘it was me who encouraged you to bring your light from under its bushel and show the world how well you cook?’
The old Emma would have immediately taken Matthew to task for his audacious remark. For his arrogance. But was it either of those? Wasn’t it simply the truth? Matthew had encouraged her, given her confidence in herself, hadn’t he? When she’d been little more than a child, he’d cared for her when no one else did – or could. He’d loved her, he’d said back then, like a father would.
But now? Emma was no longer a child, was she? And Matthew’s feelings for her certainly weren’t paternal at this moment.
Matthew exerted the gentlest of pressures on Emma’s back as he spoke, but it was enough that their cheeks actually touched now. Enough that her breasts were deliciously pressed against his chest.
‘I wish,’ Emma said, ‘you’d told me you were going to be here. I wouldn’t have wanted to be here, at the dance, if I’d known.’
‘Your body is telling me no such thing,’ Matthew said.
His voice was husky with what Emma knew had to be desire rather than a cold or a sore throat or some other physical complaint.
‘My body’s got a mind of its own at the moment,’ Emma whispered. ‘But you should have told me.’
‘And deny myself the pleasure of this dance? I’d rather – as you once said yourself – gouge my eyes out with something very sharp than have denied myself this.’
‘It’ll be just the one dance,’ Emma said, her heart hammering in her chest. ‘We couldn’t possibly—’
‘Couldn’t possibly what?’ Matthew interrupted. ‘Cause a scandal?’
‘By?’
‘Dancing right across the room, down the steps and … well, I don’t need to say the rest do I?’
‘No,’ Emma said.
‘But we won’t,’ Matthew said. ‘We’ll exercise restraint. For now.’
‘Just dance,’ Emma said. ‘Please.’
She didn’t want this feeling of being in Matthew’s arms to come to an end, although she knew it would have to soon. She didn’t want to think what would happen when the music stopped. And she didn’t want to catch Seth’s eye, not for a second, because she knew he would be able to read her feelings just by looking at her.
Matthew whirled Emma round and round, making her totally breathless and unable to remonstrate with him further.
Which was – she suspected – his intention.
As they twirled past the band, Emma saw Matthew raise an eyebrow and mouth something to the pianist who smiled and gave the briefest of nods.
‘I think,’ Matthew said, ‘everyone is going to be amazed at just how long one dance can last.’
And for me, Emma thought, it could never be long enough.
‘You needn’t have looked as though you were enjoying it quite so much, Emma,’ Seth said.
‘I can’t deny I enjoyed dancing with Matthew. He’s a good dancer. I think he could make a plank of wood dance the waltz and look elegant.’
‘If that is supposed to make me laugh, it doesn’t. I don’t find it funny. Everyone was watching you.’
‘Were they?’
‘You wouldn’t know because you only had eyes for Caunter.’
Seth heard Emma’s sharp intake of breath, not because of shock that everyone was watching, but because he’d noticed she’d been so content in Caunter’s arms that the rest of the room had ceased to exist for her.
‘We were set up, Matthew and me. By Mr Smythe. You heard what he said.’
‘Yes. And I’d like to know what his intentions were.’
‘Then ask him,’ Emma said. ‘Not me. Had Matthew come to ask me to dance then I would have declined.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yes,’ Emma said.
A wave of cold fear swept through Seth. She would have refused for one reason and one reason only, because she was afraid of her feelings for Caunter. And now she had danced with him, those feelings had risen to the surface and something had changed for Emma, he was sure of it. But he was too terrified to ask what.
They stood looking at one another for a long moment. Then Emma began to unpin her hair. She shook it loose but didn’t brush it. She slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders and let the dress drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and lifted the dress to drape it on the back of a chair.
And all the while Seth watched. He felt sick with jealousy that Emma might be wishing that it was Caunter watching and not him.
She looked wonderful in her underthings – froths of lace and bits of ribbon and all the things women love. He’d bought it all for her as a present for no other reason than that he loved her. She fingered the ribbons to loose her stays and shrugged the garment off. Normally, at this stage of the proceedings, Seth would have rushed to help and they’d have been making love on the floor if they weren’t able to get to the bed in time to satisfy their longing for one another.
‘Let’s get to bed,’ Emma said, her voice weary – weary of him? ‘It’s late. Lily will be knocking on the door before we know it to say Fleur is up and what do I want her dressed in today.’
‘Another half-hour won’t make much difference,’ Seth said. He took Emma’s nightdress from its hanger behind the door and handed it to her. ‘Slip into this. I’ve got something for you.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ Emma said, yawning. ‘I just want to get into bed.’
‘I’ll help you,’ Seth said.
And as though she was a child Emma allowed herself to be undressed completely. It was all Seth could do not to kiss her from head to foot and all her secret places in between, but it wasn’t what either of them wanted – or needed – at that moment. He slipped her nightdress over her head, threaded her arms for her through the armholes and pulled it down past her waist.
Emma gave a little wriggle and the nightdress carried on down to her ankles. But still she stood there as though expecting Seth to lift her into bed as he’d done so many, many times before.
Instead, Seth strode across the room and reached between the drawn curtains until his fingers found the painting in the place where he’d put it before going over to Nase Head House. It was wrapped in brown paper, and, as he walked back towards Emma with it, he saw her smile gently. The old Emma – his Emma. Almost.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ he said, holding it out towards her.
‘Oh!’ Emma said. ‘It is, isn’t it? Valentine’s Day. And I forgot with all the work to do for … well, you know for what. I haven’t got you a present. Or even a card. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t want a card. Or a present. I only want you.’
Again, Seth inched the present a little nearer Emma, terrified she wouldn’t take it. But at last she did. She took the wrapped parcel from him and sat down on the edge of the bed, holding it out in front of her.
‘Thank you.’ Emma looked up at Seth and smiled, tiredness making her eyes smaller somehow. Her forehead furrowed. ‘A painting?’ she said, undoing the string so slowly Seth thought he might die of frustration watching her. She rolled the string into a ball before opening up the brown paper – almost as though she was afraid of what the painting might be.
‘I only finished it this evening. It’s why I was late coming over. I had to wait for the varnish to dry.’
‘It’s me,’ Emma said, her eyes widening with surprise. She put one hand to her mouth and with the other ran her fingers over the brass frame. ‘But you’ve painted me in my rags when I’ve got so many lovely things now.’ She looked up from the head and shoulders portrait. ‘That blouse had seen better days and it was darned badly on the collar. Why in rags that weren’t even mine, but Mrs Phipps’s cast-offs?’
‘They weren’t rags, not really. Just too big for you because you’d lost so much weight and they could have used a wash in the tub, I agree. I’ve tried to capture the moment when I first knew I loved you. It was
like a flash of lightning in my heart. I knew in that moment that I’d defy my father in loving you. That I’d be only half a man if I couldn’t love you to the end of my days. Look at your eyes in the painting, sweetheart, and tell me you didn’t feel the same for me that day. You looked at me just like that.’
‘I don’t need to Seth,’ Emma interrupted. ‘You had that look in your eyes, too. You’ve painted a reflection of what I saw. Oh yes, I felt it. I looked at you like that, didn’t I? Because I loved you.’
Felt – past tense. Loved – past tense.
He had to ask.
‘And do you still? After tonight?’
Emma swallowed hard. She stared at the painting for a long, long moment before placing it on the bed beside her.
‘You’re a very, very good artist, Seth,’ Emma said. ‘You could do this. For a living, I mean. I can see you have a future doing this. Why, there must be hundreds of women who would sit for you and pay you to make them look beautiful.’
‘I needed no artifice to make you look beautiful, Emma, because you are. But answer my question. Please. Do I need to repeat it?’
‘No.’ Emma took a deep breath. ‘I heard you the first time. But love has to be given, not asked for. After tonight, I’m scared, Seth. You’re all I ever wanted – well, apart from a baby of our own – and now I don’t know what I want any more. I really don’t. But what I do know is that my stubbornness in not wanting to go to Canada has brought this situation on me.’
Seth felt sick. Emma was as good as saying she had feelings for Caunter, wasn’t she? He had to admire her honesty, however carefully she was veiling it, instead of giving him a false speech denying everything. But still he felt sick.
‘Then we’ll go,’ Seth said. ‘Just as soon as we can.’
He didn’t want to hear Emma say that if they’d gone she wouldn’t have had the feelings for Caunter that she’d just discovered she had. He couldn’t lose Emma, he just couldn’t. And certainly not to that sure-of-himself bastard, Caunter.
The fact that he and Emma weren’t married was there in the room – a fact as solid as the wardrobe in the corner – between them, although he knew neither of them would mention it. She could walk out at any time and there’d be nothing Seth could do about it. Just as he could walk away. Not that he ever would.
‘Canada,’ Emma said, and nothing else, as though she’d run out of thoughts. ‘Perhaps we should have gone ages ago.’ She began to cry then. Silent tears that slid down her cheeks, around the side of her neck, and damped the shoulder of her nightdress.
Seth went to her, folded her in his arms. He half expected her to push him away, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked up at him.
‘Turn the light out,’ she said, ‘and then come and love me. I do love you, Seth. I felt half empty inside up there at Nase Head House waiting for you to arrive. Scared even, that you wouldn’t turn up at all. And that’s the truth.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Love – our love – will make it all right, won’t it?’
Seth did as he was asked. How could he fail her now? The strands of their relationship had been frayed a little. But they hadn’t snapped yet, had they?
‘Power of attorney? Am I hearing you right, Seth Jago? What the hell was in the punch last night – or whatever noxious substance Smythe was providing for his guests – up at Nase Head House?’
‘It was nothing in the drink, Olly,’ Seth said.
‘So, let me just check I’ve got this right. You want me to have power of attorney over your affairs? To sign cheques on your behalf? To sell Mulberry House for you?’
‘That’s the sum of it,’ Seth said. ‘And as you see, I won’t be working for you today. Not with Fleur to take care of.’
‘Dare I ask?’ Olly said. ‘The nursemaid’s walked out? Or is it that the delectable Emma is up to her neck in French pastries following the stunning success of last night’s wedding dance?’
‘None of those things,’ Seth said.
He set Fleur down on the floor and gave her a dustpan and brush to play with; to his relief she immediately began to scoop up wood-shavings quite happily. Perhaps it had been rash of him to pay Lily Richardson off and leave the house with Fleur without telling Emma where he was going, but he’d done what he thought best at the time, and now here he was – a surprised Olly questioning his rationale.
Olly took some cork off-cuts from the bench and gave them to Fleur to play with.
Neither man spoke.
‘Mama,’ Fleur said, looking up at Seth. And then she said something in French he didn’t understand.
‘She’s calling you a mean old bastard for not buying up Pugh’s entire toy collection for her,’ Olly laughed.
‘She could be for all I know,’ Seth said.
They both knew the last thing Seth was was mean with his money, and that Fleur had more toys than most children in the town.
Seth took some pennies from his pocket and gave them to Fleur to play with, too. He knew it was a delaying tactic and that Olly was waiting for an explanation.
But it was Olly who broke the silence. ‘I don’t need a degree in psychology to know something’s up between you and Emma. But I’m also not going to ask what.’
‘But you will do as I ask? The power of attorney thing?’
Olly nodded.
‘Thanks.’
Another long silence while Fleur continued to play happily. An uncomfortable silence. Olly was too good a friend to call Seth a self-centred bastard, but Seth could tell that that was what Olly was thinking at that moment.
‘How’s your ma?’ Seth asked. ‘I should have asked before, I know, but —’
‘But you’re asking now. She’s in the cottage hospital. She was taken in last night. It seems pneumonia is going to do for her in the end.’
‘God, I’m sorry,’ Seth said.
‘Don’t be. It’s the kindest thing. And in a way, when she does go, it will set me free. You see, there’s this nurse, Lizzie, who’s been coming in to nurse Ma at home. We’ve got to know one another when sitting either side of Ma through the night, talking, sharing our dreams. I haven’t asked her yet, and what with Ma being ill and me with the business we haven’t exactly been able to do any courting the way I know a girl likes to be courted, but, well, we’ve had our moments, if you get my meaning.’
Olly spread his arms wide. He had a silly grin on his face – a grin of pure happiness and hope for his future, whereas at this moment Seth was full of fear as to what lay ahead for him. And Fleur. And was Emma going to be in the equation or not?
Seth forced himself to smile and thumped Olly playfully on the shoulder. ‘You dark horse!’
‘Aren’t I? And pure thoroughbred, too.’
‘As modest as ever,’ Seth quipped. ‘I’m pleased for you.’
Olly laughed. ‘You couldn’t inflect a little more joy into that last sentence, could you? You made it sound like a man going to the gallows.’ Then the smile slid from Olly’s face. ‘Oh God, sorry … gallows is not the right word to use seeing as Carter hanged for his crimes.’
‘Forget it. No offence taken. But I am pleased for you.’
‘Then you’ll be even more pleased that I’m going to ask you for first refusal on Mulberry House, seeing as you’re selling. Ma’s not in her grave yet, I know, but it can’t be long. And I’m going to miss her something terrible, but it’s the way of things. Now Lizzie’s come into my life, and … well, you can’t believe the coincidence of things sometimes, can you? You wanting to sell, me needing a house before much longer, and having the wherewithal to buy one seeing as I’ve lived at home and cared for Ma for so long.’
Coincidence of things? Seth thought. Is that what you call it? Having your wife’s heart turned by the coincidence of Caunter back on the scene?
‘And I take it,’ Olly said, ‘it’s hush-hush about the power of attorney thing and you selling?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘I hope things work out for you and Emma, I really d
o,’ Olly said, as though Seth hadn’t so rudely interrupted.
‘Me, too.’ Seth bent and scooped Fleur up off the floor, dusting bits of sawdust and wood-shavings from her clothes. He was going to have to think about something to feed her for lunch, but he had no idea what – that had always been Emma’s preserve. And before that dear old Mrs Drew. Now if only she were still here, she’d make Emma see the sense of going to Canada. ‘I’ll be off. Thanks for being such a good friend. And it might be best if you find someone to take my place. Here, I mean.’
‘Stupid bugger,’ Olly said. ‘I’ve worked that out for myself. Now go and give that wife of yours a good rumble between the sheets so she knows where she’s best off and …’
But Seth, Fleur wriggling in his arms and telling him very loudly that she wanted to get down, fled before he could hear any more of Olly’s marriage-guidance advice.
If only it were that easy.
Seth had the surprise of his life when he got home to find Matthew Caunter on his doorstep. He’d been out for most of the day. After talking to Olly, he’d visited the bank, Tapper’s Travel, the railway station for the train times to Bristol, and his ma’s grave. He was dog-tired and the last person he wanted to see was Caunter. He’d purposely spent the day away from the house to give Emma time alone to think, if she needed it. To leave of her own free will, if she wanted to. But he and Fleur were going to Canada – that was a certainty now.
Seth’s heart sank to somewhere south of his boots and his mouth went dry, so he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to say the words he wanted to – clear off! But he was damned if he was going to be intimidated by Caunter on his own doorstep.
‘This is a surprise,’ Seth said, his voice measured. Fleur was holding onto his hand, having walked from the car, refusing to be carried because she was, she said, a big girl now. ‘Have you been waiting long?’
‘About half an hour. I didn’t knock. Although it might surprise you to hear it, it’s not your wife I’ve come to see, it’s you.’
There was no slickness, no smugness in Caunter’s voice, or in the way he was looking at Seth. If anything, Caunter looked concerned. And that concern made a ripple of cold fear snake up Seth’s spine. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to hear whatever it was Caunter had come to say. Well, whatever it was he’d better get it out and then go away again.
Emma: There's No Turning Back Page 27