For the Love of Emma

by Lucy Gordon

  “Yes, I can. That’s just what—I’m sorry, it’s impossible.”

  “Why?” He stood and confronted her. “Are you afraid it’ll take up too much time? I’ll pay you anything you ask. You’re relieved of all duties at the office, and I’ll write you a blank paycheck, but you have to do this.”

  “I don’t have to,” she said passionately. “I don’t want your money. If I could do it, I would, but I can’t. It’s you she needs, not me. I can’t be more to her than her father.”

  “But she sees you as a mother figure, and that means that you are,” he said, very pale. “Maybe that’s another measure of my failure, but I have to accept that it’s true. Please do this, Briony.”

  She felt she would go mad if she endured any more. She began to gather her things together in a rush. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. Please don’t press me. It’s impossible.”

  “Briony—” He seized her arm.

  “No,” she cried. “Let me go. I—I can’t stay here.”

  He made no move to release her and she wrenched herself free. She had a last vision of his distraught face before she fled. The front door banged behind her and she was running down the long drive, into the street. She had no idea where she was but she ran without stopping until she reached an underground station.

  Her journey took half an hour, and for all that time she kept herself in a state of frozen control. It lasted until she was home with her own front door safely shut behind her. As she went to put her doorkey away she saw the little whale in her bag, where she’d thrust it for safety. Somehow it was that sight that broke her, and she buried her face against the furry creature and sobbed helplessly. Oh, Sally! Sally!

  She slept badly that night. When she managed to doze off she was tormented by dreams of Emma collapsing into her father’s arms. Then Carlyle would turn to Briony, holding out his daughter, saying, “She’s dying.” Briony would wake with a start, splash cold water on her face and resolve not to doze again.

  Lying awake was almost worse because she couldn’t forget the moment when Carlyle had looked into her eyes; she’d seen his defenseless pain, and felt it as acutely as her own. Her heart had gone out to him and for a moment she’d been almost ready to do anything he asked. But only for a moment. Then she’d flinched away.

  It wasn’t only her memories of Sally that had made her back off. That afternoon she’d been touched by the compelling magnetism that surrounded Carlyle Brackman like an aura. Even when he was wandering through a funfair, thinking only of being a father, that magnetism had been there, filling the air with excitement. For Briony he was a dangerous man.

  She had the poorest opinion of her own attractions. Although her figure was slender, it was the slenderness of an athlete rather than a model. Her shoulders were too square and, to her critical eyes, her whole body seemed angular.

  She knew that her blond hair and blue eyes were good features, and if forced to considet her face she’d have said guardedly that it was “all right.” But nothing could be more absurd than for her to fall under the spell of a man like Carlyle, who could attract any woman he wanted.

  And she wouldn’t allow it to happen, she assured herself. Just because their eyes had met and she’d felt she understood him as no other woman could, that didn’t mean she had to walk into danger like someone hypnotized. She was a grown woman with a strong will of her own, and she would use that will to break the bond that threatened to join her heart to his: a bond that existed only on her own side.

  Suddenly her hands seemed to tingle with memory. Only a few hours ago he’d clasped them in his own, passionately communicating his agony. There’d been need in that touch, and a desperate reaching out for help. Something in her longed to reach out in return, offering him all the consolation in her passionate, protective nature. But common sense forced her back. Getting close to Carlyle Brackman would only cause her more pain, and she didn’t feel as if she could face any more just now.

  By morning her mind was made up. She would hand in her notice today and ask the agency to find her something else. Before leaving home she put the little whale into her bag so that Carlyle could give it to Emma.

  She walked slowly to the bus stop, held back by a dead weight that lay on her will. She didn’t want to go into the office, see Carlyle, and be forced to confront her demons again.

  Jenny was there ahead of her. She glanced at the clock. “It’s all right,” she said. “He isn’t here yet.”

  “At this hour?”

  “I know. It’s incredible, isn’t it? Oh, Briony, I’ve got such news.”

  Her shining face told the whole story. “You and Michael have made up,” Briony said.

  “He came here yesterday afternoon, with just one red rose. It’s so lucky Mr. Brackman was out because we had a long talk and everything’s perfect again. We’re getting married next month.”

  Briony’s own pain eased. It was good to know that there was happiness in the world for nice people like Jenny. She listened to the whole story twice over, smiling and saying the proper things. But her mind’s eye kept seeing Carlyle’s suffering face.

  At last Jenny said, “Hey, what happened after you all left yesterday?”

  “We went to the funfair,” Briony said.

  “With Emma? Isn’t she a darling? You know, it’s a funny thing about that child. I’ve worked here for three years and until a few months ago I didn’t even know he had a daughter. Then suddenly she started appearing in the office, and he’d always put work aside to take her out. She’s pretty, isn’t she? She’s going to grow up a real beauty.”

  Briony made a noncommittal reply and tried to get on with her work, but she couldn’t concentrate. She wondered if Carlyle’s lateness meant that Emma had got worse. She knew how heartless her refusal to help must have seemed to him, but she couldn’t face it. She’d spoken the truth when she said she liked Emma too much. It would be easy to love the mischievous child, whose frail health hadn’t lessened her spirit. And Briony couldn’t bear to love another little girl and see her die.

  He came in midway through the morning, and strode straight to his office without looking at them. Almost at once the buzzer went on Briony’s desk. “Come in here, please,” he said over the intercom.

  He looked as if he’d had a terrible night. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his face was drawn. She guessed that she looked as bad as he, because when he glanced up at her she saw something in his eyes—perhaps recognition, or fellow feeling—that made him grow still.

  “How is Emma?” she asked at once.

  “Well enough. I sat up with her most of the night, but she slept well. I’ve told Nora to make sure she stays in bed today.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t do what you ask. In fact, I can’t go on working for you, Mr. Brackman.” She held out the whale. “I’d like you to give Emma this, and say goodbye to her for me.”

  He surveyed her out of hard eyes. “You really are abandoning us, aren’t you?”

  “You’ve no right to say that,” she flashed. “I have good reasons.”

  “Are there any good reasons to turn your back on a sick child?”

  She flinched but stood her ground. “You’ll just have to believe that there are,” she said.

  He didn’t answer in words but thrust a hand into his briefcase and brought out a pink envelope. “Emma’s written you a letter,” he said, holding it out to her. “Will you take it, or shall I tell her you threw it back at her?”

  “That’s blackmail,” Briony flashed angrily.

  He shrugged. “My daughter’s dying and I’ll be as unscrupulous as I have to be to get her what she wants.”

  She almost snatched it from him. The envelope contained a crayoned picture of herself, Carlyle and Emma at the fair. Underneath Emma had scribbled “Please come to tea with me.”

  Conscious of Carlyle’s sharp eyes on her, Briony struggled with herself for a long moment before saying, “All right. Just this once. You can tell Emma I’ll be glad to
have tea with her.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “It’ll mean the world to her.”

  “As soon as she’s better I’ll visit her and—”

  “Why not just come home with me this afternoon?”

  “All right. This afternoon. This one time. After that—”

  “We can discuss it on the way home,” he said. “Now, can we get on with some work?”

  Once that would have sounded like the heartless robot she’d called him, but she knew Carlyle Brackman better now. It shamed her to think how only yesterday she’d said that he could have no personal life and therefore no personal problems. The truth was that he was a proud, sensitive man who kept his agony hidden from the world because he couldn’t bear to share it. Only by accident had she been granted a glimpse of his breaking heart. He didn’t like that. His manner told her so. He’d invited her back in for Emma’s sake, but it galled him that she’d seen his wounds. It would be better for both of them when she’d gone.

  In the early afternoon he looked out of his office and nodded to her without speaking. As they walked to the car he said, “I called home and told Emma you were coming. She’s thrilled.”

  Briony said nothing. She had a feeling of being drawn in against her will. But she wasn’t going to let it happen. As he maneuvered the car into the stream of traffic she resolved to tell Carlyle about Sally. She’d flinched from speaking of it before, but it was better for him to understand her reasons.

  “I’m sorry about the way I just ran off yesterday,” she began.

  “That’s all right. I was only concerned about you getting home. If you’d waited, Tom would have driven you.”

  “I got home all right, thank you. But what I wanted to say—”

  “Just a minute. There’s something blocking me up ahead.” He leaned out of the window and called to another driver. “That’s better,” he said, coming in again. “The traffic’s always terrible on this road. What were you saying?”

  “There’s something I need to explain so that you—” She stopped as Carlyle swerved quickly down a side road, escaping a jam up ahead. “It had better wait,” she said.

  “Uh-huh!”

  After about fifteen minutes they swung into a pleasant, tree-lined drive. Briony had had no attention for her surroundings the day before, but now she could see that Carlyle’s large, detached house stood well back from the road, almost hidden by the trees in the garden. Like the car, it was quietly luxurious, the property of a man who’d made a fortune but didn’t need to brag about it; or perhaps simply a man whose wealth meant nothing to him, because it couldn’t save the one he loved.

  As they got out he said, “What was it you were going to tell me? Oh, no, what’s she doing there?”

  Briony followed his pointing finger to a window overlooking the drive, where they could see Emma. “She’s supposed to be in bed,” Carlyle said. “She’s not even in her room. She must have come into the hall to reach that window.”

  As they watched, Nora appeared, drawing Emma away from the window. Briony followed Carlyle up the wide staircase. Nora was just emerging from Emma’s room. “I’ve made her get back in bed,” she said. “Honestly, I did my best to stop her getting up—”

  “All right, it’s not your fault,” Carlyle said. “I know what a handful she can be. Let’s not keep her waiting.” He opened the door of Emma’s room. “Guess who’s here,” he said, standing aside to reveal Briony.

  Until this moment Briony had promised herself to stay detached, but that was before she saw Emma, propped up by pillows in bed. At the sight of her the child’s face broke into a beaming, joyous smile and she held out her arms in a gesture of wholehearted invitation and acceptance. The last of Briony’s detachment fell away, and in another moment she ran across the floor to enfold Emma in a hug.

  “I knew you’d come. I knew you’d come,” Emma whispered in her ear. “Daddy said you wouldn’t, but I knew you would.”

  “Of course I came,” Briony said with an inward prayer of thanks that she’d been saved from disappointing this trusting child.

  “We’re all ready for you,” Emma declared.

  “We?”

  “Oswald said he had to come to tea, as well, so I let him.”

  A small table, laid out for tea, had been set up by the bed. Oswald was perched on a chair, surveying the feast. Inspired, Briony plunged into her bag. “Look who else insisted on coming,” she said, producing the little whale.

  Emma beamed, clearly taking this for evidence that they were on the same wavelength. “You brought him,” she squealed. “You knew.”

  “Yes, I suppose I must have known,” Briony said guardedly. She was intensely conscious of Carlyle’s cool eyes on her. He knew she hadn’t brought the toy to work to please Emma. The little’s girl’s insistence on ascribing the best motives to her was painful.

  “We’ve got tea and toast, and honey,” Emma said, like a good hostess.

  “That’s good.” Briony settled the whale in the crook of the penguin’s flipper. “Because Oswald likes honey. Shall I pour?”

  “Yes, please. Daddy has his tea without sugar.”

  “Oh, am I invited, too?” Carlyle enquired. “I thought it was just for you two, plus Oswald and Oswald.”

  Emma giggled, and Briony looked at Carlyle with new respect. It wasn’t much of a joke, but it was a good effort from a man whose heart was breaking. Her respect for him increased even more when he sat down and joined in the tea party with every sign of enjoyment. Emma was in seventh heaven and it was clear her father’s presence had put the seal on her pleasure.

  “Do you like my room?” Emma asked her.

  It was an enchanting room for a child, large and airy, with pale-colored decor and furnishings, and a huge window that looked out onto the garden. On the bedside table stood a large photograph of a young woman whose startling resemblance to Emma left no doubt that this was her mother. The walls were covered in pictures of ballerinas, and a pair of ballet shoes hung over the bed.

  “I’m going to be a dancer,” Emma confided. “When I’m older, Daddy says I can go to ballet school.”

  “That’s right, darling,” Carlyle agreed. “In a couple of years.”

  “Oh, sooner, Daddy, please.”

  “Well, maybe one year. When you’re stronger.”

  She pouted. “You’re always saying that. I wish it was next year now.”

  “I don’t,” Carlyle said involuntarily. Then he checked himself and added, “I just don’t want you to grow up too fast.”

  “I want to grow up ever so fast. I want it to be next year, and the year after and the year after—”

  “I think Oswald wants some more tea,” Briony said quickly, seeing the strain on Carlyle’s face. How much of this could he take? she wondered.

  Nora put her head round the door. “Telephone for you,” she said.

  Carlyle kissed his daughter and left, promising to be back soon. Briony happened to be watching Emma as he left and saw her relax slightly as soon as he’d gone, in a manner that uncannily echoed his own way of switching a cheerful face on and off for her.

  Oh, no, she thought. She can’t really have any idea. It’s impossible. I’m imagining things.

  She saw Emma trying to plump up the pillows and went to help her. “Is that better?” she said when she’d finished.

  “Yes, thank you.” Emma lay back and Briony’s arm went out instinctively to draw her in so that the child was lying in its curve. This was how Sally had often lain, but Briony refused to let the memory of that hurt her now. She felt ashamed of the way she’d tried to avoid Emma.

  How could I do it, when she needs me so much? she thought. As though anything mattered but helping her.

  “Do you ever go to the ballet?” Emma asked.

  “Yes, I love ballet.”

  “Will you take me, one day?”

  “Of course I will. What shall we go and see?”

  “Well, my favorite is The Sleeping Beauty, but I
like Giselle too—”

  Briony let her ramble happily through her thoughts, now and then putting in a word of encouragement. Emma seemed to need not so much conversation as her physical presence to snuggle against. Gradually her voice slowed and her head began to droop as weariness overtook her again. At last there was silence.

  There was a click of the door as Carlyle entered. When he saw Emma motionless against Briony, a look of fear came into his face, but she put a finger to her lips and mouthed “Asleep.”

  He came quietly forward and looked at his daughter with an expression of such anguished love that Briony felt she should turn away.’But she couldn’t make herself do it. Carlyle’s face was poignant as he gently brushed the hair back on Emma’s forehead.

  “Let’s settle her,” Briony whispered.

  She eased Emma down in the bed, removed the extra pillows and drew the cover up. Emma seemed fast asleep, but she murmured something.

  “I didn’t catch that,” Briony said. “What was it?”

  “She asked for Oswald,” Carlyle said in a voice that sounded faintly husky. He put the penguin into bed beside her.

  “No, Oswald,” Emma whispered.

  Understanding now, he added the whale, and Emma’s blissful smile told him he’d got it right.

  “Good night darling,” Briony said, kissing her, and felt an arm go around her neck. She walked out quickly, leaving Carlyle alone with his daughter.

  Downstairs she took deep breaths to steady herself, and was calm by the time he joined her in the front room. From the look on his face she guessed that he, too, had had to fight for control.

  “You know you can’t abandon her now, don’t you?” he said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Emma needs you.”

  “Yes. I’ll come to see her—”

  “That’s not good enough. You handed in your notice this morning—”

  “I’ll take it back.”

  “And give it in again whenever you like. Besides, I don’t need you in the office, I need you here, loving her, and letting her love you. That’s what she wants to do more than anything.”