The look Emma gave Shane was full of love. ‘I will.’
‘Humph!’ Blackie’s eyes travelled from Emma to Shane. ‘And don’t think I haven’t got her number. I’ve always had it!’
Their laughter followed Shane as he walked to the door. He looked back over his shoulder as he went out, saw that they were already contentedly chatting away, retreating into their own private world, sharing their memories. He closed the door softly behind him.
Blackie glanced at the door, leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘Do you think Shane’s still leading a wild life and chasing fast women, like he used to do, Emma?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Emma reassured. ‘I’m perfectly sure he doesn’t have time for that, Blackie dear, not the way he works.’
‘Everyone’s getting married and he’s still single. And at twenty-eight,’ Blackie complained, sounding unusually fretful. ‘I’d hoped to see him settled down before I died, but it doesn’t look as if I will. No chance of bouncing his babies on my knee.’
Emma threw him a chastising look, clucked softly, said, ‘Of course there is, you silly old thing. What’s got into you tonight? You’re the one who’s forever telling me you’re going to live to be ninety.’
‘Ah, I’ve grave doubts about that, mavourneen.’
Ignoring this comment, Emma hurried on, ‘Shane will settle down, but only when he’s good and ready.’
‘Aye, I suppose so.’ Blackie moved his great white leonine head from side to side. A look of helplessness spread across his face. ‘This generation – I don’t know, Emma, they baffle me at times. They make such messes of their lives, or so it seems to me.’
Emma froze in her chair, watching him closely, her eyes growing sharper. Was he generalizing or was he referring to anyone in particular? Surely he had not guessed about Shane’s feelings for Paula. She said: ‘Were we any different? Our generation was just as bad, Blackie dear.’
He was silent.
‘Think about it – you’ll have to agree that I’m correct, you know that.’ She smiled and her shrewd green eyes danced. ‘Now who made a bigger mess than me at different times in her life?’
He had to laugh. ‘That’s true. And here I am, going on about Shane, and I haven’t even asked you how Paula is faring. Is she all right?’
‘Coping, poor girl. She does seem to have her hands full at the moment. However, Jim is on the mend, I think. I sincerely hope he is, for their sakes. She’s been worried to death about him, and so have I.’
‘I was about to ask you about Jim.’ Blackie gave her an odd look and there was a small pause before he asked, ‘How long is he going to have to stay in the mental asylum?’
‘Psychiatric clinic,’ Emma corrected. ‘About another month, maybe six weeks.’
‘That long! Oh dear, Emma, that is a terrible burden for Paula.’ He rubbed his chin, gave her a piercing stare. ‘He will get better, won’t he?’
‘Of course!’ Emma said in her most positive voice, but she couldn’t help asking herself if he would. Her mind strayed to his family’s troubled history.
As if he had read her thoughts, Blackie reflected out loud, ‘A funny family – the Fairleys.’ He looked at her again and for the longest moment. ‘Adele Fairley used to seem a shade demented to me…the way she wandered around Fairley Hall like an apparition. And then there was the dreadful way she died. Tragic. I can’t help thinking that this illness of Jim’s might be – ’
‘I’d prefer not to contemplate something like that, if you don’t mind, dear,’ Emma said firmly. ‘It’s all too depressing and worrying for everyone concerned.’
Leaning forward, Emma now smiled her most winning smile, and changed the subject. ‘You and I agreed that we wouldn’t go gallivanting off again, but I was wondering if you’d like to come and stay with me at my house in the South of France? This summer, Blackie, perhaps in the middle of June, after Emily’s wedding, and before Alexander’s in July. What do you think?’
‘That is a tempting idea. These old bones of mine could use a bit of warming sunshine. Like you, I’ve been feeling the bite of the Northern wind this past week or so. To tell you the truth, I thought I was coming down with the flu.’
‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ Emma’s quick darting glance betrayed her concern for him.
‘Oh sure and I am, me darlin’. Don’t be fussing over me, Emma, you know I’ve never been able to stand that.’ His wide Celtic mouth curved up in a smile of tenderness. ‘Let’s face it, we’re not spring chickens any more. We’re both very old now.’ He chuckled, eyeing her in amusement, his eyes suddenly teasing. ‘Two bags of ancient bones, that’s what we are, Emma.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ she retorted, but her expression was as loving as his.
They were interrupted by Mrs Padgett, Blackie’s housekeeper, who came in to tell them that dinner was served.
As they walked across the library and out into the lovely circular entrance hall, Emma noticed, as Shane had done earlier, that Blackie’s steps were belaboured this evening. She had to slow her own pace so that he could keep up with her, and this troubled her deeply.
During dinner she realized that he was picking at his food, not really eating. He seemed to have no appetite, and he hardly touched his glass of red wine, which was most unusual. But she made no comment, deciding instead that she would take matters into her own hands. Tomorrow she would telephone Doctor Hedley, ask him to drive over to give Blackie a thorough examination.
For a short while Blackie talked about the Grand National, and Emma let him ramble on, knowing how important winning had been to him. But at one moment he unexpectedly dropped this subject when he said, ‘It’s always seemed strange to me that Shane was never interested in one of your girls, Emma. There was a time, when they were growing up, that I thought he and Paula might end up marrying each other…one day.’
Emma held her breath. For a split second she was on the verge of confiding in him, and then instantly changed her mind. It would only distress him if he knew about Shane’s love for her granddaughter. Particularly since she had now come to the conclusion that Paula did not reciprocate Shane’s feelings. Blackie would not be able to bear the thought of Shane’s heartache.
Emma leaned over and patted his hand lying on the table. ‘I suppose being together all of their lives makes them feel like brother and sister.’
‘Aye, most probably, but it would’ve been lovely if they’d married, wouldn’t it, me darlin’?’
‘Oh yes, Blackie, it would have been wonderful.’
As they left the dining room, Mrs Padgett reminded Blackie she was taking the rest of the evening off, and bid them good night. Slowly he and Emma walked back through the hall and went into the library. Emma poured a cognac for him, a liqueur glass of Bonnie Prince Charlie for herself.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, lost in their own contemplations, as companionable tonight as they had been all of their lives. But eventually Blackie roused himself. ‘Don’t you think it would be nice to play some records, Emma? Listen to a few old tunes, the ones we used to love.’
‘What a good idea.’ Emma rose and went over to the small cabinet that housed the stereo, looked through the stack of records. ‘My goodness, I didn’t know you still had this…that John McCormack selection of old Irish ballads I gave you years ago. Shall I put it on?’
‘Aye, why not.’ Blackie gave her a small grin as she returned to her chair, boasted, ‘I still have a good voice, you know. I’ll sing along with the music, if you like.’
‘I always did love that rich baritone of yours.’
They listened to the selection and, true to his word, Blackie did sing a few snatches of the old songs now and then, but his voice was feeble and quavering, and so he mostly hummed the melodies.
When the record came to an end, Emma remarked, ‘Those songs bring back a lot of memories…especially Danny Boy. I’ll never forget that night I came looking for you, after I’d run aw
ay from Fairley Hall. I found you at the Mucky Duck, singing that ballad as if your life depended on it. Oh Blackie, you looked so marvellous, standing there next to the piano, and goodness me, you were so theatrical. A real ham.’
He smiled.
Emma’s eyes rested on him affectionately, took in the wavy hair, still thick but white as driven snow now, the craggy features, the broad face marked by the signs of age, and suddenly, in her imagination, she saw him as he had been in his youth, as he had looked that night in the pub. Vibrant black curls rippling back from a tanned face, black eyes dancing, white teeth flashing between rosy lips, his superb looks prominently highlighted in the glare from the burning gas lamps.
Leaning forward, Emma asked, ‘Do you remember that particular night, Blackie?’
‘How could I ever forget it, Emma? We went and sat together in the Saloon Bar and you drank a lemonade. I had a pint of bitter. Ah, such a little snippet of a lass you were…and you told me you were pregnant…and I asked you to marry me. Perhaps you should have.’
‘Yes, perhaps. But I didn’t want to burden you…’ Emma did not finish, and she picked up her liqueur, took a sip.
Blackie settled back in his chair, a faint smile playing around his mouth, and then he nodded to himself, said, ‘You do look bonny tonight, Emma. You’re the most fetching colleen in the whole country.’
‘You’re prejudiced,’ she murmured, returning his unwavering gaze, his gentle smile.
Blackie sat up a little straighter, peering across at her in the soft dim glow of the muted light in the room. ‘I’ll never be able to tell you what our holiday has meant to me, Emma. Those eight months with you have made up for all the bad things that ever happened to me in my entire life – the pain, the heartache, the sorrow. And I do thank you, me darlin’.’
‘What a lovely thing to say, Blackie. But it is I who should thank you for making your Plan with a capital P.’
‘It was a good plan – ’ Blackie stopped short and grimaced.
Instantly Emma was on her feet, leaning over him. ‘What’s the matter? Are you ill?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing…just a twinge of indigestion.’
‘I’m going to ring the doctor, and then I’m going to get you upstairs to bed.’ She turned away from him, made a movement towards the desk near the window.
‘No, no.’ He tried to restrain her but his hand fell away weakly. ‘I won’t make it, Emma.’
‘Yes, you will,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll help you.’
Blackie shook his head very slowly.
‘I am going to telephone Doctor Hedley,’ Emma announced with a show of her old firmness.
‘Sit down here with me, Emma. Please,’ he begged. ‘Just for a minute or two.’
Emma pulled up a hassock, seated herself, took his hand in hers, searched his face. ‘What is it, Blackie?’
He squeezed her fingers, then smiled at her. Suddenly his eyes opened very widely. ‘All my life,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘I’ve known you all my life. We’ve been through so much together, Emma.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we have and I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Blackie.’
He sighed a very long slow sigh. ‘I’m sorry to have to leave you alone. So very sorry, mavourneen.’
Emma could not speak. Tears rushed into her eyes, fell down her wrinkled cheeks, splashed over the white silk collar and the emerald bow, and on to their entwined hands.
Blackie’s eyes widened again, and he stared at her more acutely, as if memorizing her face. And then he said in a surprisingly clear voice, ‘I’ve always loved you, me darlin’.’
‘And I have always loved you, Blackie’
A fleeting smile struck his pale mouth. His eyelids fluttered, closed, lay still. His head fell to one side. His hand went slack in her tenacious grip.
‘Blackie,’ she said. ‘Blackie!’
The silence overwhelmed her.
She held on to his hand tightly, closed her eyes. The tears seeped out from under her old lids, ran down her face in streaming rivulets. She lowered her head and rested it on their clasped hands, drenching them with her tears.
‘Goodbye, my dearest friend, goodbye,’ she said at last. She continued to weep quietly, unable to stem the tears, and she sat there for a long time, her aching heart full of love for him.
But eventually she lifted her head, let go of his hand and pushed herself up on to her feet. She bent over him, gently smoothed his snow-white hair back from his forehead, and kissed his icy lips. How cold he is, she thought.
Emma’s pace was slow and her step faltering as she moved blindly towards his chair near the window, where he had so often sat lately looking out at his garden. She took the small wool blanket patterned with the tartan of the Seaforth Highlanders and brought it to him and covered his legs and tucked it around him.
And then at the same snail’s crawl she went to his desk. She lifted the phone and with trembling hands she dialled Beck House.
It was Shane who answered. ‘Hello?’ he said.
On hearing his strong and vibrant tone her tears began to flow once more. ‘It’s Blackie,’ Emma said through her tears in a voice that shook. ‘He’s gone…please come, Shane.’
Shane arrived within the hour, bringing Paula, Emily and Winston with him.
They found her sitting on the hassock next to Blackie, her hand resting on his knee, her silver head bowed. She did not turn nor did she move at all, merely went on sitting there, staring into the fire.
Shane hurried to her, put his hand on her shoulder lightly, brought his face to hers. ‘I’m here, Aunt Emma,’ he said in the kindest of voices.
She made no response.
Shane took her hands in his and brought her to her feet slowly, gentleness flowing out of him.
Emma finally lifted her face to look up into his and she began to weep and Shane took her in his arms and held her close, soothing her.
‘I miss him already and he’s only just died,’ Emma said with a small heartbreaking sob. ‘Whatever am I going to do without Blackie?’
‘Hush, Aunt Emma, hush,’ Shane murmured and then he led her over to the sofa, motioning with his eyes to Paula, who stood in the doorway white-faced and trembling. She came and sat with her grandmother, began to comfort her, and Emily joined them.
Shane stepped over to Blackie. His throat was thick with emotion and the sorrow rose in him and tears ran down his cheeks. He gazed at Blackie’s face and saw how peaceful it was in death and then he leaned forward and kissed his withered cheek.
‘God speed, Grandfather,’ he said in a low and saddened voice. ‘God speed.’
CHAPTER 41
Paula began cautiously, ‘It’s your birthday in two days, Grandy, and I thought we might have a – ’
‘Oh dear,’ Emma interrupted softly, with a small frown. ‘Don’t bring that up. Blackie’s only been dead a couple of weeks and I’m not in the mood for a celebration.’
‘I know, and I wasn’t talking about a big party. Just a small dinner here at Pennistone Royal. There would only be me, Emily, Winston and my parents. We thought it would cheer you up.’
‘Cheer me up,’ Emma repeated hollowly, and then reached out and patted Paula’s hand. ‘I don’t think anything would cheer me right now. But I suppose I have to keep plodding on. All right then…just the five of you, though. Please don’t invite anyone else. I’m not in much of a mood for people right now. They tire me.’
‘I promise I won’t invite another solitary single soul,’ Paula assured her, pleased that the suggestion had met with success.
‘And no presents, Paula. I don’t want any presents. As far as I’m concerned reaching eighty-one is cause for lament, not receiving gifts and whooping it up.’
‘Don’t worry, Grandma, we’ll keep it very simple and casual. And it’ll be nice for you to have Mummy and Daddy here for a few days.’
‘Yes,’ Emma murmured. She glanced down at the album on her lap. She had been lo
oking at it when Paula had arrived a short while ago. She stared at the old photographs absently, her thoughts drifting into the past for a few seconds. Then she lifted her head, pushed the album towards Paula, remarked, ‘Look at us here – Blackie, Laura and me. We’re standing outside my first shop in Armley. That’s me – in the tam o’shanter.’
‘Yes, I recognize you.’ Paula had seen this picture many times before, knew the pages of the album by heart. But wanting to humour her grandmother, she said, ‘Let’s look at some of the others, and you can tell me a few of your lovely stories about your early days in business. You know how I like hearing them.’
Emma nodded and at once began to talk with sudden animation as they leafed through the book, and for the next twenty minutes the two of them sat side by side in the upstairs parlour, reliving parts of Emma Harte’s life.
At one point Emma broke off, peered at Paula and said, ‘How long do you think I’m going to live?’
Taken aback at this question, Paula stared at her grandmother askance, filling with sudden alarm. She cleared her throat, said firmly, ‘A long time, darling.’
‘You’re very optimistic,’ Emma said and turned away, looked out into space, a faraway expression settling on her face.
Paula exclaimed, ‘You’re extremely fit for your age, remarkable really, and not a bit forgetful. You have years ahead of you, Grandy, as long as you take care of yourself.’
Emma brought her ancient and wise green gaze to meet Paula’s troubled face, and she smiled slowly. ‘Yes, yes, you’re quite right. I don’t know what’s got into me today – I’m being morbid, aren’t I? Blackie’s death has been such a terrible blow to me, but I suppose I must be positive.’ She let out a chuckle. ‘Anyway, I might be old and a trifle weary these days, but I don’t want to leave this world yet.’
‘That’s the spirit, Grandy.’
Emma did not reply. She rose and walked over to the oriel window, stood looking down at her gardens and the daffodils blowing in the breeze. It’s such a beautiful afternoon, she thought. Another perfect spring day…just like the day of Blackie’s funeral. How eternal the land is, constantly renewing itself. Yes, in death there is always life. Sighing again, Emma returned to the fireplace and sat down in the chair next to it. She said, ‘It was lovely of you to come over to see me, Paula dear. But I think I’d like to be by myself for a while, to have a little rest before dinner.’
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