A Woman of Substance

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Adam spoke urgently. ‘Olivia, I understand the way you feel. Believe me, I do. You are a good and honest person. Duplicity and intrigue are not in your nature. I know, too, that you have a strong sense of personal honour. As I do myself. I fought my emotions, my desire for you, very hard last night.’

  He paused and gazed deeply into her eyes. He touched her face tenderly. ‘I suppose it was wrong, in a way. But we didn’t hurt anyone, least of all Adele. And I certainly don’t feel any remorse or guilt. You shouldn’t either. That would be pointless, for we cannot undo what we did, nor can we alter the fact that we love each other. And I do love you. More than I have ever loved any other woman.’

  ‘I know,’ she murmured sadly. ‘Nevertheless, we cannot think of ourselves, selfishly. We must put duty first.’ Her eyes filled with tears she had been trying to withhold, and her face overflowed with her love for him. ‘I know it is not in you to behave shoddily, Adam.’

  ‘Everything you say is true, of course. But I cannct live the rest of my life without you, my love.’ He shook his head. ‘I cannot!’ His luminous eyes implored her. ‘Please stay with me, at least until July, as you planned, and as you promised last night. For my part, I promise, I will never intrude on you, or force myself upon you.’ Adam took her hands in his again. ‘Such a thing would be irremissible, in view of the circumstances and your feelings about Adele, and your position in this house. But please, Olivia, stay with me for a few months,’ he beseeched her, his voice low and hoarse with his desperation. ‘I swear I will not attempt to make love to you. Please, please don’t abandon me to life in this mausoleum. To life alone in this loveless house.’

  Olivia’s heart went out to him. She did love him, so very much, and life had dealt him a cruel blow, saddling him with her sick and disturbed sister. He who was so vital, so full of life, and so fine and good. As she studied that strained and suffering face before her, Olivia felt her resolution wavering, her determination to leave Yorkshire dissolving. Slowly she began to weaken, for she found it hard to deny him. And what he asked was really not all that unreasonable. ‘All right, I will stay,’ she said at last, in the gentlest of voices. ‘But it must be on the conditions you have just mentioned.’ She moved closer to him on the sofa, took his agonized face in her hands, and kissed his cheek. ‘It’s not that I don’t desire you, my darling. Because I do,’ she murmured. ‘However, we cannot be lovers in this house.’

  Adam exhaled a long and deep sigh. ‘Thank God!’ he exclaimed. That deadening coldness that had afflicted his body gradually seeped out of him, and his sense of relief was so enormous it was almost euphoric. Now he took her in his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair. ‘I need you so very much, my love. Your presence is as vital to me as breathing. But I swear I will not lay a finger on you, or compromise you in any way. I am happy just to be with you, to have your companionship, to know you love me. You feel the same way, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Olivia responded. ‘We must be discreet, though, and not display our affection for each other so readily, or so openly.’ She looked into his face, so close to hers, and smiled for the first time. ‘Like this. It would be most embarrassing if Gerald, or one of the servants, walked in now.’ As she finished speaking she extracted herself from his embrace.

  ‘Quite right,’ Adam remarked with a small dry laugh. He was ready to acquiesce to anything she wanted, if it meant keeping her by his side. ‘Well, my love, if we are going to be circumspect, perhaps we had better have a sherry, and sit on opposite sides of the room, and chat about inconsequential things.’ He made his voice light and he was able, at last, to laugh. ‘Would you like a drink before dinner, my sweet?’

  ‘Yes, that would be lovely, Adam. And most natural-looking wouldn’t you say, should we be surprised by any member of the household.’ Her eyes were suddenly merry and she found herself laughing with him.

  Adam grinned at her and stood up. Her eyes followed him across the room. She felt an unexpected ache in the region of her heart, and she wondered if they would have the strength to control their emotions, to deny each other. We must, she said firmly to herself.

  Adam returned with the sherries. He handed her one, clinking her glass. ‘Cheers, my dear.’ He smiled wryly and, very pointedly, sat in the chair opposite. ‘Is this a discreet enough distance?’ he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  ‘I should say so,’ she said, laughing again. She sat back on the Chesterfield and relaxed, her usual equanimity fully restored. She trusted Adam implicitly. He would keep his word, and his distance, and that in itself would give her the necessary strength to do the same thing.

  ‘There is just one thing more,’ Adam began cautiously. ‘You said we could not be lovers in this house. However, if I saw you in London, might it—could it be—different? We would be free there,’ he asserted.

  Olivia’s pretty mouth curved into a small smile. ‘Oh, Adam, darling, you are impossible,’ she said, shaking her head. Then her eyes became quiet and grave. ‘I don’t know how to answer that. We would still be committing a sin, wouldn’t we?’ She blushed and dropped her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to say. I must think.’

  ‘Please, don’t get upset again, my love,’ Adam cried, conscious of her discomfiture. ‘We will not discuss that side of our relationship again. Not until you wish to discuss it. Could I ask one favour of you, though?’

  ‘Of course, Adam,’ said Olivia.

  ‘When I am in town, you will dine with me, won’t you? And accompany me to the theatre? You will see me, won’t you?’ he asked, his desperation again apparent in his voice.

  ‘You know very well I will. We have always spent time together when you have been in London. Why should it change now, Adam? We have even more reasons to see each other—socially,’ she declared in a positive voice that was also calm.

  This reassured him. ‘Good. Then it’s all settled.’ Adam stood up and threw a log on to the fire, pushing back the memory of their mutual passion of the night before.

  ‘Was Edwin glad to be back at school?’ Olivia asked.

  Adam was lighting a cigarette. He drew on it and said, ‘Yes, he was delighted to be back. Poor Edwin has been quite frustrated, cooped up with Adele all these months.’ He sighed. ‘She does coddle him so.’ Adam rested an arm on the mantelshelf and lifted one of his highly polished brown boots on to the hearth. He threw Olivia a swift glance, and, leaning closer to her, went on, in a lower voice, ‘I do hope you are aware that Adele and I have not lived together as man and wife for over ten years.’

  ‘Yes, I had assumed that,’ said Olivia. She stood up and went to him. She kissed his face and stroked his hair. ‘Everything will be all right. I know it will. Now, let me get you another sherry.’

  She took the glass from him, and he smiled at her, thankful she was with him, and that now she intended to stay at Fairley through the summer. He watched her gliding across the floor of the library, graceful and elegant and self-assured, and he realized, with a sudden flash of perception, that without her his life would sink into darkness again. She was his life, and he resolved never to be apart from her ever again, as long as he lived.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘I just don’t understand how our Winston could do a thing like that,’ Big Jack Harte said to Emma. ‘Running away so soon after thee mam died, without so much as a ta’rar.’

  ‘But he did leave yer a note, Dad,’ Emma said quickly. When he made no response, she went on, ‘Don’t worry, Dad. He’ll come ter no harm in the navy. He’s a big lad, and he can take care of himself.’ She leaned across the table and squeezed his arm in a reassuring way.

  ‘Aye, I knows that, lass. Still an’ all, it was right deceitful of him ter do a moonlight flit, packing his stuff and creeping out in t’middle of t’night. It weren’t like our Winston at all,’ Jack grumbled, his disgruntlement obvious. He shook his head. ‘And there’s summat else—I’d like ter know how he managed ter get inter the Royal Navy without me signature on his
papers. He’s under age, thee knows, Emma, and he would’ve had to have me signature on ’em.’

  Emma sighed. This conversation had been going on endlessly and repetitively for the last three days, since she had come home from the Hall, and it was beginning to irritate her.

  But before she could answer, Frank piped up, ‘He forged yer signature, Dad. Yes, I bet that’s what he did! He had ter do that, ter get the recruiting officer ter accept him.’

  Emma threw Frank the most furious glance, and said harshly, ‘Hush up, Frank. Yer just a little tiddler. Yer don’t know owt about such things.’

  Frank was sitting at the other side of the kitchen, scribbling away, as was usual these days. He said, in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘I knows all sorts of things, our Emma. From them there illustrated magazines and newspapers yer brings home from the Hall. I reads every line, yer knows.’

  ‘Then I’ll have ter stop bringing ’em,’ she snapped. ‘If they’re going ter make yer so big-headed and cheeky. Yer getting ter be a right know-it-all, our Frank.’

  ‘Oh, Emma, leave the bairn alone,’ Jack muttered. He sucked on his pipe, engrossed in his thoughts, and then he said, ‘Frank’s right, yer knows. Our Winston must’ve forged me signature. No two ways about it, that’s what he did. Sure as eggs is eggs.’

  ‘I expect he did,’ said Emma, ‘since that’s the only way he could’ve joined up. But what’s done is done, and there’s nowt we can do about it now. He’s more than likely well on his way—to wherever they’re sending him.’

  ‘Aye, lass,’ Jack said, settling back in the chair.

  Emma was silent. She regarded her father intently, a worried frown slicing across her smooth wide brow. Her mother had been dead almost five months, and whilst Jack strived always to conceal his agonizing grief, Emma knew it was eating away at him inside. He had lost weight, for he hardly ate, and his great powerful body seemed to have shrunk. He was frighteningly contained, and, sometimes, when he was unaware of Emma’s close scrutiny, his eyes would fill with tears, and his sorrow was most shockingly revealed on his drawn face. Emma would turn away helplessly, her own grief rising up in her so rabidly she found it hard to conquer. But she had to control herself. Someone had to hold the family together, and that apathy which had assailed her father months before her mother’s death was even more apparent. Emma feared for her dad, and as the days went by her worry increased. Now this fresh problem of Winston’s stealthy departure last week had imbued in Jack a new despondency.

  Emma sighed. She had temporarily postponed her Plan with a capital P. She could not bring herself to leave for Leeds just yet, in view of Winston’s scarpering off, even though she had saved quite a lot of shillings. She had over five pounds, a princely sum with which to finance the initial stages of her plan to make her fortune. But now was not the time to leave. And anyway, she had promised her mam she would look after the family. It was a promise that Emma felt honour-bound to keep. For the moment.

  She picked up one of Olivia Wainright’s recipes, coated the back of it with paste she had made from flour and water, and stuck it carefully into her exercise book for future reference. She looked at Olivia Wainright’s handwriting. It was so beautiful. Rounded and elegant and flowing. Emma was striving to copy it. She was also paying strict attention to the way Olivia spoke, for she was endeavouring to imitate the way she pronounced her words. Blackie kept telling Emma she would be a grand lady one day, and she knew grand ladies had to speak proper like. She corrected herself silently. Yer didn’t say ‘proper like’. You said ‘properly’, or ‘correctly’.

  Suddenly, the silence in the small kitchen was broken, as Frank cried excitedly, ‘Hey, Dad, I just thought of summat. If our Winston forged yer signature, then his papers aren’t legal like, are they?’

  Jack look startled at this mature comment from Frank, which he himself had not even thought of. He contemplated his youngest child in wonderment. Frank continually amazed him these days. Eventually, Big Jack said, ‘There’s summat in that, Frank. Aye, there is, lad.’ He was nothing short of impressed, for Frank was becoming a fountain of information, and all manner of intelligent comments fell from his lips when Jack least expected them.

  ‘So what?’ said Emma, glaring at Frank with open hostility, which was unparalleled for her, as protective as she was of Frank. But she wanted the subject of Winston’s running away dropped. She knew that prolonging the discussion would only upset her dad further.

  ‘If the papers aren’t legal, our Emma, then me dad can get him out of the navy. Don’t yer underatand? They’d have ter—ter—discharge him! For falsifying the papers. Yes, that’s it,’ shouted the triumphant Frank, delighted with his shrewd deduction.

  ‘He’s right, Emma,’ Jack said, his voice more positive, quite visibly cheering up.

  ‘Our Frank might be right, but how are yer going ter go about getting Winston out, Dad?’ Emma asked with her usual bluntness. ‘Are yer going ter write ter the Royal Navy then? And who would yer write ter, anyroads?’ She frowned at Frank, who had a pleased smile on his pale, freckled face. The boy was intelligent, Emma could not deny that, but he annoyed her when he created additional unrest in the house with his comments, which were sometimes far too clever for her liking.

  ‘Yer could ask the Squire what ter do, Dad,’ suggested Frank.

  Jack mused on this, but Emma shrieked, ‘Ask the Squire what ter do? I wouldn’t ask him for owt. Why, he wouldn’t give yer ha’porth of spit without charging yer for it!’ Her voice was icy and dripped scorn.

  Jack ignored her remarks, and now said, ‘Well, I could go inter Leeds and call at the recruiting office, and ask about our Winston. Find out where they sent him. What barracks he was shipped ter. They must’ve got records. And I could tell ’em what he did. Thee knows—forging me signature an’ all.’

  Emma salt bolt upright in the chair, her face formidable, and said in her firmest tone, ‘Now listen ter me, our Dad. Yer not going ter do owt. Our Winston’s always wanted ter go inter the Royal Navy, and now he’s gone and done it. And think on one thing, our Dad. Winston’s better off in the navy than slogging long hours at the Fairley brickyard, working in all that dust and muck. Leave him be, Dad.’

  She paused and gave her father a long look that was also loving, and she softened her voice considerably. ‘He’ll write, our Winston will, when he gets settled in. So just leave him be, as I said afore.’

  Jack nodded, for he respected Emma’s judgement. ‘Yes, luv, there’s common sense in what thee says. He always did want ter get away from Fairley.’ Jack sighed. ‘I can’t say as I blame him for that, mind thee. It was just the way he did it, sneaking off like.’

  Emma couldn’t help smiling. ‘Well, Dad, I expect he knew if he asked yer permission yer’d have said no, and that’s why he ran off, afore yer could stop him.’ She stood up and went over and hugged her father. ‘Come on, Dad luv, cheer up. Why don’t yer go ter the pub, and have yerself a pint, and enjoy a bit of company with the lads,’ she suggested. Fully expecting him to dismiss this suggestion, as he always did of late, she was amazed when he said, ‘Aye, I thinks I will, lass.’

  Later, after her father had left for the White Horse, Emma turned to Frank. ‘I wish yer hadn’t said that, Frank, about Winston forging me dad’s signature and it not being legal, and getting Winston out of the navy. It only upsets our dad more. Now listen ter me, luvey—’ She shook her forefinger at Frank, her face grave. ‘I don’t want no more talk about our Winston when I’ve gone back ter the Hall. Do yer hear, our Frankie?’

  ‘Yes, Emma,’ said Frank, biting his lip. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean owt wrong. I didn’t think owt of it. Don’t be cross with me.’

  ‘I’m not, luv. But just think on what I said, when yer alone with our dad.’

  ‘I will. And, Emma.’

  ‘Yes, luvey?’

  ‘Please don’t call me Frankie.’

  Emma concealed a smile of amusement. He was so serious and adopting such a grown-up a
ir. ‘All right, Frank. Now, I thinks yer’d best be getting yerself ready for bed. It’s eight o’clock and we all have ter be up early for work termorrow. And don’t sit up half the night reading yer newspapers and books.’ She clucked and shook her head. ‘No wonder we never have any candles! Off yer go, lad. And I’ll be up in a minute ter tuck yer in. And I’ll bring yer a glass of milk, and an apple, as a special treat.’

  He scowled at her. ‘What do yer think I am, Emma Harte? A big baby? I don’t wants yer ter tuck me in,’ he cried as he picked up his notebook and newspapers. He turned when he went out of the kitchen door. ‘But I’d like the apple,’ he said with a small grin.

  After she had washed up the dirty supper dishes stacked in the sink, Emma went upstairs. Frank was sitting up in bed, writing in his notebook. Emma put the apple and the milk on the table and sat down on the bed. ‘And what’s this yer writing now, our Frank?’ she asked curiously. Like her father, she was constantly astonished by Frank’s superior intelligence and his fertile brain. He also had an amazingly retentive memory.

  ‘It’s a g-g-h-o-s-t s-t-o-r-y,’ he told her in a moaning voice. He looked at her solemnly and made his eyes large. ‘A ghost story! All about haunted houses, and the spirits of the dead rising from their graves, and walking around. Oooooohhh!’ he whispered, his voice low and ominous. He fluttered the sheet at her. ‘Shall I read it for yer, our Emma? It’ll scare yer ter death,’ he warned.

  ‘No! Thanks very much! And don’t be so daft,’ she cried, straightening the sheet. Then she shivered involuntarily, at the same time chiding herself for being foolish, for she knew Frank was teasing her. But the grim superstitions of the North were ingrained in her, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. Emma cleared her throat and assumed a superior expression. ‘And where’s all this scribbling going ter get yer, our Frank? It’s a waste of the good paper I brings home from the Hall, if yer asks me. Yer can’t make no money, scribbling this junk.’