A Woman of Substance

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  On the drive back to Fairley, Edwin thought of Emma. The impact of seeing her had been so tremendous he knew at last why he had dreaded it whilst striving towards that goal. She had awakened old longings and also made him painfully conscious of the emptiness of his life. She had rekindled his guilt and shame, never far from the surface anyway.

  The memory of her tortured him. Why could he find no satisfaction in the arms of other women? And there had been plenty in the last five years. Why, oh God, why did he persistently seek out women that resembled her if only vaguely? Searching, always searching for another Emma. Irresistibly drawn to green eyes, russet-brown hair, silken white skin, only to be disappointed, dissatisfied, and torn apart in the end. Awake or alseep, Emma haunted him.

  He contemplated their child. He had a compelling yearning to see it. It must be eight years old now, if it had lived. Of course it has lived, he told himself firmly, wanting to believe that part of Emma and himself existed in another human being. Was it a girl or a boy? Did it favour Emma or himself? Or was it a mixture of them both?

  A bitter smile slid on to his pale face, gaunt in the dim light of the car. How ironic that Emma had borne him a child out of wedlock, a child forbidden to him, whilst Jane had never conceived and given him the son or daughter he craved. Had she presented him with a child their union might have been more bearable. He pictured Emma, and then Jane. He should never have married her. He should have resisted all that family pressure. His barren, dull, insipid wife. She was the cross he had to bear in life. No, that was a dishonourable thought and unfair. He could not condemn poor Jane. She was lovely, and adoring, and it was hardly her fault that he had nothing of himself to give her. He belonged to Emma Harte; that was unalterable and would never change except in death.

  Edwin’s bleak mood engulfed him all afternoon and well into the evening. He struggled through the family dinner, which seemed more interminable than usual to him, making polite but strained conversion. He was glad when his father suggested they retire to the library. Edwin was also vastly relieved Gerald was absent, for he had been seeking an opportunity to speak to his father alone since his return from Leeds.

  Adam poured the drinks and they settled themselves in front of the fire. His father chatted amiably about inconsequential things until finally Edwin could no longer contain himself. ‘Father, there’s something I must speak to you about,’ he announced abruptly.

  Adam looked at him closely, frowning. ‘You sound serious, Edwin. In fact, you have been very morose all evening. Nothing wrong, I hope.’

  ‘No, Father, everything is fine.’ Edwin hesitated and cleared his throat. ‘I wanted you to know that I made a decision today. A decision about joining the army. Immediately.’

  Adam’s face changed radically and he placed the brandy and soda on the table with the utmost care. ‘Edwin, I think you are being hasty. These are early days yet. I don’t want you rushing off to war until we have more news, see what the developments are. I beg you to reconsider, my boy.’

  ‘I can’t, Father. I don’t want to upset you, or worry you, but I must go. Please, do try to understand my point of view.’

  ‘Edwin, you don’t have to volunteer. Only single men have been asked to go to the front.’

  ‘Yes, I know that, Father. Nevertheless, I have made the decision.’ Edwin stood up, reached for the Yorkshire Morning Gazette on the library table, and said, ‘I don’t have to read this government bulletin to you, Father. You must be familiar with it. The paper has been running it for several days now. But I am going to read it to you.’

  ‘Look here, Edwin—’ Adam began.

  Edwin held up his hand and looked at the newspaper, reading from it carefully and slowly.

  ‘Your King and Country Need You! Will you answer your country’s call? Each day is fraught with the gravest possibilities and at this very moment the Empire is on the brink of the greatest war in the history of the world. In this crisis your country calls on all of her young men to rally round the Flag and enlist in the ranks of the army. If every patriotic young man answers her call, England and Empire will emerge stronger and more united than ever. If you are unmarried and between eighteen and thirty years old, will you answer your country’s call and go to the nearest recruiting office, whose address you can get at any post office. AND JOIN THE ARMY TODAY!’

  Edwin dropped the newspaper on the chesterfield and sat down, his eyes resting on his father.

  Adam shook his head wearily. ‘Oh, Edwin, Edwin, don’t try to appeal to my own sense of patriotism. I know the country is in grave danger, but I am concerned about you. That governmental bulletin asks for single men. I beg of you, Edwin—’

  ‘It’s too late, Father. I joined up this afternoon when I was in Leeds. I have to report on Monday.’

  ‘Oh, my God! Edwin!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Father. Please don’t be angry, and please give me your blessing. I don’t want to leave here with your disapproval—’

  ‘Good heavens, Edwin, I wouldn’t let that happen for the world.’ Adam sprang up and joined his son on the sofa. He put his arm around Edwin’s shoulder and for a horrible moment he thought he was going to cry. ‘Now, my boy, enough of that nonsense. I do wish you had waited, of course. But naturally you have my blessing.’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’

  Adam rose and fixed himself another drink. He propped himself against the mantelshelf and gazed down at Edwin, filled with anguish. I’ve known for days he would do this; nonetheless, it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. ‘I imagine I would do the same, if I were your age, and I’m quite certain my father would have felt the way I feel.’ Adam shook his head. ‘But you’re so young, Edwin. So young.’

  ‘So is every other Englishman who’s going, Father.’

  Adam glanced at Edwin. ‘Have you told Jane about this, my boy?’

  Edwin nodded. ‘I told her when we were dressing for dinner. She was upset, but she understands. There has been a long line of soldiers in her family, you know. Her brother told us that he intends to volunteer this coming week.’

  ‘I see.’ Adam said, looking thoughtful. ‘Will Jane come and live with us in South Audley Street? We’d like that, you know, and I don’t think she should be on her own in Eaton Square. She will be awfully lonely in that big house by herself, with only the servants.’

  ‘Thank you, Father. I appreciate your kindness. However, Jane told me she wants to go to London next week, close up the house, and return to Yorkshire. She would like to be with her father, since her brother will be going. She likes the country and I think that would be the wisest thing, under the circumstances. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Edwin. Well, it seems it’s all settled,’ Adam finished, staring gloomily into the fire.

  After a small silence, Edwin said, ‘Father, there’s something I want to give you. I’ve had it for years.’ He reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and removed a silk handkerchief. He handed it to Adam, who took it absently.

  As his father unwrapped the object in it, Edwin went on, ‘I found it years ago. Now I’d like you to have it. I know you painted it, and also that it bears a striking likeness to Aunt Olivia.’

  Adam was staring at the round pebble in the silk handkerchief, his eyes resting on that sweet face. The oils were remarkably well preserved. He smoothed one finger over it. ‘Did you varnish this again, Edwin?’

  ‘Indeed I did, Father. To protect the paint.’

  Adam continued to gaze at the pebble, faded memories returning. He had painted this stone when he had been seventeen or thereabouts. The decades dropped away. He saw her standing under the crags at the Top of the World, her dark hair blowing in the breeze, her eyes as blue as speedwells and radiant with light, and he heard her voice echoing faintly across the years. ‘Adam, I’m going to have a baby.’

  Edwin was looking up at his father, puzzled by the expression on his face. ‘It is Aunt Olivia, isn’t it?’ he said insistently, shattering Adam’s memories.
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br />   Adam did not respond. He smiled, remembering. But then he had never really forgotten. He wrapped the stone in the handkerchief, almost with tenderness. He returned it to Edwin. ‘You keep it, my boy. You found it. I want you to have it. One day I will tell you the story behind that stone, but not now. This is not the time.’ He flashed Edwin a curious look. ‘I presume you came across it in that old cave up on the moors by Ramsden Crags.’

  Edwin was watching his father intently. ‘Yes, I did.’ He swallowed and said, ‘There’s something else, Father. Something I have wanted to tell you for years. Unfortunately my courage has always failed me. It’s been on my conscience for so long. I must unburden myself to you before I go off to war.’

  Adam sat down in the wing chair, nursing his drink. ‘Then unburden yourself, Edwin,’ he said gently. ‘Perhaps you will feel easier after you have spoken to me. Certainly I shall give you all of my understanding.’

  ‘Well, you see, it was like this,’ Edwin began nervously. ‘Oh God, I need another drink,’ he cried, and leapt up, hurrying across the room.

  He not only resembles me in appearance but in every other way as well, Adam said to himself, staring after Edwin. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair, waiting. He’s going to tell me about Emma Harte and the child, Adam thought, and his heart went out to his son.

  FORTY

  Lord Kitchener had been appointed Secretary of State for War and had raised an army of one hundred thousand volunteers with his first appeal. Winston Churchill already had the Fleet on standby and between August 6 and August 20 the first four divisions of the British Expeditionary Force had crossed the Channel and the fifth and sixth divisions followed early in September. Not a ship was sunk, not a life was lost, and it was a triumph for Churchill, militant trustee of the British Royal Navy. The rest of Great Britain mobilized for war with ferocious speed and not one of its citizens was unaffected as the grim days rolled by.

  The guns of August roared on through September, October, November, and December of 1914, and into 1915. They wrought slaughter, ruin, and misery. Hundreds of thousands of young men, the hope of a new generation, were felled on the bloody battlefields of France and Belgium.

  The stakes were terrifying to the British and their allies: annihilation or survival. They understood this was not a war for the possession of a fortress or a country, but for the inalienable right of any nation to live and develop as it wished.

  Like every other intelligent person, Emma Harte Lowther often contemplated the aftermath of the war, the conditions they would be facing, and the future of business, but she did not dwell unduly on the years stretching ahead. Her priorities were all immediate, leaving no room for speculation. She was not blind to the commercial opportunities now presenting themselves, nor was she adverse to accumulating money, and whenever she felt a prick of conscience about making a profit from war she dispelled her discomfiture with logical reasoning: Somebody had to produce the uniforms for the fighting men, and if she did not do it, others would. In fact, were doing it. The majority of the cloth manufacturers of the West Riding were making khaki and navy and air force blue for Great Britain and the Allies, and millions of yards were coming off the looms of Yorkshire to clothe the forces.

  Lately it struck Emma that she devoted herself entirely to work these days and shamefully neglected her family. But guilty feelings were swept away by the pressure of her business and the knowledge that she had no choice but to steer the same course. She raced between Harte’s, the Gregson Warehouse, Layton’s mill, and the clothing factory at breakneck speed, handling everything with her own brand of efficiency, charm, and assertiveness. And yet somehow the days were never long enough for her.

  To her relief, Harte’s was steady and holding its own. Although business had fallen off to a degree, she did not envision any serious setbacks. The stock housed in Gregson’s Warehouse was lasting because she allocated it sparingly and she had also found several new sources of supplies. Layton’s, under the skilful management of Ben Andrews, was running smoothly and the mill was meeting the huge government contracts with apparent ease and more promptly than many of her competitors. David and she had temporarily discontinued the line of Lady Hamilton Clothes at the outset of the war, and the factory’s entire production had been turned over to the manufacture of uniforms. All in all, everything was under control, her business enterprises were stable, and, in particular, the mill and the factory were operating at a high level of super-efficiency and were flourishing money-makers.

  But now, on this cold afternoon in December of 1915, Emma’s mind was not preoccupied with business. Sitting next to the driver in one of Harte’s vans, on her way to a meeting with David, her mind dwelt on the Christmas holidays. She was determined to make it as festive an occasion as possible, despite shortages and the depressed mood that engulfed every-one.

  Frank was coming to stay for several weeks and she was looking forward to it with the excitement of a child, thrilled at the prospect of seeing her brother again. He had been wounded in November, but his injuries were fortunately not serious. He had been hit by a bullet in the right shoulder and had been shipped back to England to recuperate. If only Winston could get home on leave the family would be complete, but she acknowledged realistically that there was not the remotest possibility of that. The navy was in the thick of the fighting and the news was grim on all fronts. Nevertheless, there would be a Christmas tree, and a turkey dinner with a plum pudding and all the traditional trimmings, mulled wine, and presents for everyone. Most importantly, Frank would receive the love and rest he needed so badly, and all the comforts of home she could provide.

  The van arrived at the clothing factory in York Road within minutes. Emma told the driver to wait and hurried inside. As she entered David’s office she was surprised to see Abraham Kallinski ensconced with David.

  Her old friend stood up and embraced her warmly, his bright dark eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. He scrutinized her appraisingly and said, ‘Well, Emma, you look wonderful. And it is a pleasure to see you. So long it has been.’

  Emma smiled. ‘How are you? And how is Mrs Kallinski?’

  ‘She is well. I am well. Janessa is always asking for you. She misses you, Emma. I miss you.’

  ‘I am sorry I have neglected you both lately,’ Emma said. A rueful smile touched her lips. ‘But business does seem to take up all my time these days.’

  ‘Ah, yes! My little Emma has become the lady tycoon,’ Abraham exclaimed, regarding her with affection and pride. She continued to amaze him with her success, which he considered remarkable, and especially since she was a woman.

  David was standing behind his desk, obviously in the throes of a mountain of paper work. He laughed. ‘Don’t sound so surprised, Dad. I always predicted she would go far.’ He came around the desk, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her cheek. Her arms automatically went around him. She felt the strength of his hands gripping her tightly as the pressure of her own fingers increased gently. They pulled away without releasing their hold on each other and exchanged a long gaze.

  Abraham Kallinski, observing them paternally, thought with an unexpected flash of dismay: My son. My son. He holds her too long. Ach and I know that look in a man’s eyes! I pray to God that his wife Rebecca and Joe never notice it. Clearing his throat, Abraham said, ‘Come, Emma. Come, sit here next to me.’ He indicated the other chair in front of David’s desk.

  She sat down and said, ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? Why did you want to see me so urgently, David?’

  David leaned back in his chair, his vivid blue eyes focusing on hers. ‘I have a proposal to make and I hope you will approve. And go along with it.’

  Emma laughed lightly. ‘You know I trust your judgement implicitly. What is it?’

  ‘Dad has been harassed of late. He’d like to ease up a little. Not work so hard.’ David lit a cigarette. ‘We’ve been discussing his problems and I think I have a solution that would be beneficial to everyone conce
rned. It occurred to me that we could merge his company with ours, take over his factory and its management with relatively no problems at all. That would relieve him of running it entirely on his own. He would continue there, of course, but he wouldn’t have to work such long hours.’ David looked at her expectantly. ‘Well, what do you say?’

  Instantly recognizing the enormous potential inherent in this proposition and visualizing a means of simple but swift expansion, Emma did not have to think twice. ‘It’s an excellent suggestion.’ She turned to Abraham. ‘Would you be happy if we did that, Mr Kallinski?’

  ‘I would, Emma. And so would Janessa. She worries about me. Worries so much I worry about her worrying,’ he responded with a wry laugh.

  ‘Then let’s combine the two companies, David,’ Emma said. ‘I’m all for it. And now is certainly the right time to do it.’

  ‘There are a number of details to be worked out, Emma. But before we get into those I would like you to know my personal feelings about the proposed idea,’ David said. ‘If you’re agreeable, I think we ought to purchase Dad’s business outright, for a fair price that would give him a decent profit. After all, he has devoted years to building it up. We would make him a director of the parent company and pay him director’s fees. I also think he ought to share in the profits, as we do. In addition, he would receive a salary for running his factory. How do you feel about these terms, Emma?’

  ‘I’m in accordance with you, David. Your father should have something to show for all the years he’s been in business. Why don’t the two of you settle on an equitable price. Whatever you decide will be acceptable to me, I’m quite certain.’ She laughed and shook her head, giving David a fond look. ‘I can’t imagine why you thought I would object. This is basically your business, David. You run it and you’re the majority shareholder.’

  ‘You pull your weight and you are my partner.’ He smiled, looking relieved. ‘Good. Dad and I will thrash it out. You and I can go over the final details later. Then I’ll talk to Frederick Ainsley and have him draw up the agreements in a week or so.’