‘You’ll be fine, Emma. I’m very sure of you. You’re so good; so brave. And remember, God never gives us a burden that is too heavy to bear.’
‘Oh, Laura, I can’t—’
‘And don’t forget my Christmas presents for the children, will you? The dog is at the kennel for Kit and the jasmine scent for Edwina is all wrapped. In my bedroom. You’ll find it. There’s something for you, too, my dearest Emma—’ Laura closed her eyes and the smile, so radiant a moment before, was a mere fleeting shadow on her face.
‘No, I won’t forget, darling.’
Emma felt Laura’s hand go slack in hers. ‘Laura! Laura!’ she cried, pressing the cold hand to her lips.
Dr Stalkley had to forcibly uncurl Emma’s fingers from Laura’s hand, so tightly was she grasping it. The priest led her out of the room, murmuring words of condolence. Emma closed her ears, drained and numb in her terrible sorrow.
After a few minutes the doctor joined them. ‘I think we will be able to discharge the baby in a few days, Mrs Lowther. We’ll let you know when you can come and fetch him. That was Mrs O’Neill’s wish.’
Emma hardly heard him. ‘Yes, I understand,’ she responded automatically in a low voice. ‘You have my address and telephone number.’ She left them abruptly and without saying goodbye.
Emma pushed open the door of St Mary’s Hospital and walked along the drive and out through the iron gates, moving like a somnambulist. She turned and headed up over Hill Top, climbing steadily, gazing ahead yet seeing nothing. It was a cold December afternoon and the empty sky was bloated with snow and sunless, and the harsh wind blew hard over the hill and dried the tears coursing down her cheeks.
Emma trod the path of her grief in measured steps—steps that sometimes faltered and often slowed but which never failed completely. She buried her pain deep and the world saw only that face of inscrutability, and as the weeks and months passed she learned to live with her heartbreak and the crushing loneliness of her life.
The baby, Bryan, lived with her and the children. Blackie, who had come home briefly on compassionate leave, had agreed this was the most sensible course to take under the circumstances, recognizing that his son would be in a more normal atmosphere with her than if he was put in charge of a nurse at his Uncle Pat’s house. Blackie, unconsolable, and burdened down by his grief, had returned almost at once to the front, and Emma was alone again.
At first Emma had resented the baby, seeing it as the instrument of Laura’s death, but one day it struck her, and most powerfully, that she was being unjust and bitter. She came then to understand that she was betraying Laura’s love and trust in her and was also negating her own abiding love for Laura with her attitude. This was Laura’s son, the child she had yearned for and had died for so that he might live. Emma was seized by remorse and became ashamed of herself and she took the child to her compassionate heart as if he were her own. Bryan had Blackie’s dark colouring and jet-black hair, yet his eyes were Laura’s, large and limpid and of the same soft hazel. He was a good baby, with Laura’s sweet disposition, and when he smiled it was Laura’s smile that Emma saw and she would pick Bryan up out of the crib and hold him fiercely to her breast, overcome with love, and she determined to cherish him always.
Sometimes Emma forgot that Laura was dead, and her hand would automatically reach for the telephone whenever she had a special confidence to impart, and then it would fall away and she would sit for a while, lost in memories of the past ten years, her eyes moist, her heart aching. But there were always the children to help dispel her sadness and pain. Emma devoted all of her free time to them, aware that they needed her more than ever now, with Joe gone and in their most formative years, and she gave of herself unstintingly. Winston came home on leave and Frank visited her regularly and she found solace in her family.
PART FIVE
THE PINNACLE
1918—50
He who ascends to mountaintops, shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
He who surpasses or subdues mankind
Must look down on the hate of those below.
—LORD BYRON, ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’
FORTY-FOUR
‘Why are you angry, Frank?’ Emma asked, staring at her brother across the dinner table in the Ritz Hotel.
Consternation swept across Frank’s sensitive face and he reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘I’m not angry, love. Just worried about you, that’s all.’
‘But I’m feeling so much better, Frank. Truly I am, and I’ve quite recovered from the pneumonia,’ she reassured him with a vivid smile.
‘I know, and you look wonderful, Emma. But I do worry about you. Or rather, your life,’ he responded quietly.
‘My life! What do you mean? What’s wrong with my life?’ she exclaimed.
Frank shook his head regretfully. ‘What’s wrong with your life? you ask. Oh, Emma, don’t you ever stop to think? You’re on a treadmill, love. In fact, you’re as much a drudge now as you ever were at Fairley Hall—’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Emma interjected, her face clouding over.
‘You’re not scrubbing floors, I’ll grant you that,’ Frank countered quickly, ‘but you’re still a drudge, albeit in luxury. You’ve put yourself in bondage with your business, Emma.’ He sighed. ‘You’ll never break free.’
‘I don’t want to break free,’ Emma said, suddenly laughing. ‘Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I might enjoy my work?’
‘Work! That’s all you do, and that’s exactly what I’m getting at. Isn’t it about time you had a bit of fun in life? Now, while you’re still young.’ He threw her a wary look and his tone was cautious as he added, ‘Also, you’re going to be twenty-nine in a few months. I think you ought to consider remarrying.’
Laughter rippled through Emma. ‘Remarry! Frank, you’re absolutely crazy. Who would I marry? There are no men around. There’s still a war on, you know.’
‘Yes, but it’s bound to end later this year. When America got in, the situation started to change and the Allies are making great headway. I’m positive armistice will be declared within nine months or so, and men will be coming back.’
‘But it’s still only January,’ Emma gasped, still laughing, her eyes wide. ‘All the young men are noticeably absent. You’re a little premature, darling.’
‘What about Blackie O’Neill, for one thing?’ Frank suggested, watching for her reaction. ‘He’s always adored you. And you’re both free now. Not only that, you’ve been looking after Bryan as if he were one of your own for the past year.’ Noting she was not perturbed, he grinned and finished, ‘It’s not as if you are strangers.’
‘Oh, Frank, don’t be so silly,’ Emma said dismissively, with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Blackie is like a brother to me. Besides, I’m not sure I want to remarry. Apart from anything else, I don’t think I would like a man interfering with my business.’
‘That blasted business, Emma! I don’t understand you sometimes.’ His eyes were thoughtful when he glanced up at his sister. ‘Surely you must feel secure these days. You are a rich woman in your own right and Joe left you well provided for. How much is going to be enough money for you, our Em?’
A small smile flitted across her mouth on hearing this affectionate diminutive from their childhood, and she shrugged casually. ‘It’s not the money, really. I do enjoy business, Frank. Honestly, I get a lot of gratification out of it and I do have the children to think about as well. Their futures. And I can handle my life without any help from anyone, or advice, however well-intentioned.’
Frank held up his hand. ‘I simply think you ought to take it a bit easier and relax for once in your life.’
Emma leaned forward. ‘Look, Frank, do stop worrying or I shall get awfully cross and take the next train back to Leeds if—’ She broke off and dropped her eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Well, it’s the two men at the table directly opposite.
They keep staring at us. I wondered if you knew them. But don’t look now, they’ll see you.’
‘I noticed them when they came in. The maître d’ was bowing and scraping all over the place. However, I don’t know them. But I do know that the younger one, the handsome major, is an Australian, from the insignia on his uniform. He’s with the 4th Brigade of the Australian Corps.’
‘A damned colonial! No wonder!’
Amused at the anger flaring in her eyes, Frank said, ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘He’s been quite insufferable since he sat down. Every time I look up I find his eyes on me. And speculatively so,’ she said furiously.
‘Come on, Emma. What do you expect? I don’t think you realize how beautiful you really are, love.’ Frank took in the bottle-green velvet gown, the creamy pearls at her throat and ears, the sleek hair pulled back in a chignon. ‘You look about eighteen, Emma. And I’m glad you don’t wear all that muck on your face most women have taken to using lately.’ He smiled. ‘Yes, you’re undoubtedly the best-looking woman in this room.’
‘There’s not much to choose from,’ Emma replied pithily, but she smiled and asked in a curiously shy voice, ‘Am I really, Frank?’
‘You are indeed.’
The waiter approached the table and said deferentially, ‘Excuse me, sir, but you’re wanted on the telephone.’
Frank nodded and turned to Emma. ‘I won’t be a minute. Excuse me.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Why don’t you look at the menu and decide what you want for a pudding.’
‘Yes, all right, dear.’ Emma watched Frank cross the floor of the Ritz Hotel dining room. He looked so distinguished and well bred in his dinner jacket, and she was extremely proud of his achievements and the shape his life had taken. He was a dear, and always concerned about her happiness. Emma smiled, wondering what Frank would say if he knew about the Emeremm Company. He’d probably give me another lecture and say I was taking on too much, she mused. But that company’s going to be the making of my real fortune. The new business had been a brilliant concept, even if she did say so herself. It was an acquisition and holding company, which she had financed by selling Joe’s shoe factory and the tannery for exorbitant prices, and in the eleven months it had existed it was already in the black. The name Emeremm was her invention, a contraction of the words emerald and Emma. One day she intended to call it Harte Enterprises, but for the moment she did not want the world to know she was associated with it. For her own reasons she sought concealed ownership. Although she was the sole shareholder she did not appear on the board, nor was she an officer of the company. Ostensibly it was run by the managing director and the two other directors she had appointed. Men bought by her and therefore owned by her. Men of straw who would do her bidding.
Emma looked around the elegant dining room absently, her mind dwelling on the Emeremm Company and its endless financial possibilities. As her glance swept past the other tables her eyes inadvertently met those of the Australian major, and Emma found to her amazement she was momentarily unable to look away. He’s too handsome, too sure of himself, Emma thought with a stab of annoyance. The sleek hair, the thick brows, the clipped moustache above the sensual mouth were too glossily black against the deep tan of the rugged and arresting face. And those eyes were of a blue so deep they were almost violet. Even the cleft in his chin was more deeply indented than was normal. His wide mouth lifted in a tantalizing smile, brought dimples to his cheeks, and his gaze was now so bold and so provocative she flinched. Blushing, she turned away. Why, he’s positively indecent, she thought, her cheeks burning. She had the odd feeling he knew exactly what she looked like stark naked. Embarrassed, Emma reached for the glass of wine and in her nervousness she knocked it over. Further mortified, she began to dab at the cloth with her serviette.
The waiter promptly came to her rescue, murmuring that he could easily repair the damage, and quickly placed a clean serviette over the stain. He cleared away the dirty dishes and Emma thanked him as he moved away. The major was once again in her direct line of vision and she saw to her indignation that his audacious gaze still rested on her. There was an amused smile playing around his mouth and undisguised challenge in his eyes. Emma picked up the menu angrily and buried her flaming face behind it. She cursed the intolerable fool across the dining room who was so blatantly trying to flirt with her, and doubly cursed Frank and his interminable telephone call.
Bruce McGill’s tanned and weather-beaten face was a study in fond amusement and his clear blue eyes twinkled as he said, ‘If you can drag your gaze away from that fetching creature for a brief moment, perhaps we can have a little decent conversation with dinner, my boy.’
‘Oh, sorry, Dad,’ Paul McGill said. He shifted in his chair and gave his father his full attention. ‘But she is undoubtedly the most fascinating woman I’ve ever seen. Don’t you agree?’
Bruce nodded. ‘I do, my boy. You inherited my taste for the ladies, I’m afraid. Never could resist a beauty. However, I would like to talk to you, Paul. I don’t get to see you that often these days.’
‘You’ll be sick of the sight of me in a few weeks. This blasted wound is taking a hell of a long time to heal.’
Bruce looked concerned. ‘Not too painful, I hope.’
‘No, just aggravating and especially so in this lousy English weather.’ Paul smiled wryly. ‘I shouldn’t be grumbling, should I? Instead I ought to be thanking my lucky stars. It was a miracle I got through the Gallipoli campaign without a scratch. Then this had to happen in France.’
‘Yes, you were lucky.’ A sober expression crossed Bruce’s face. ‘I had hoped you would get out after this, so that you could come back to Coonamble with me. But I suppose there’s no chance of that. Will you be going back to France to join Colonel Monash?’
‘I expect so. But let’s not worry about that tonight. I intend to have a whale of a time while I’m in good old Blighty.’
‘Glad to hear that, son. You damn deserve it after the hell you’ve been through. But take it easy, laddie.’ Bruce laughed, his eyes merry again. ‘No more little scandals this time. Dolly hasn’t let me forget that last romantic encounter you had with her friend.’
‘Oh, Jesus, don’t remind me, Dad. I swear off women every time I think about that particular mess. When are we supposed to be at Dolly’s?’
‘Any time after dinner, my boy. You know Dolly and her theatrical friends. Those parties of hers usually last until dawn. Incidentally, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided not to go. You can pop along there alone. You’ll enjoy it. Give her my regrets. Afraid I’m not up to it tonight. Also, I would like to drop in at South Audley Street and see Adam Fairley.’
Paul’s dark head came up sharply. ‘How is he these days?’
‘Not well at all, poor chap. Very sad really—that whole business. He was never the same after Olivia’s death, and now the stroke. It’s hard for me to see him confined to a wheelchair. He was always so active. Olivia’s death was a tragedy and he’s taken it hard. Leukemia, you know. Such a vivacious, lovely woman. I remember the first night I met her, about fourteen years ago. Rather fancied her myself, to tell you the truth. I can still remember the way she looked. Ravishing. Wearing a kingfisher-blue dress and sapphires.’
At this moment Emma and Frank rose and left the dining room. Paul McGill’s eyes were riveted on Emma for every step she took. He observed the proud set of her head, her straight back, her total self-assurance, and her regal bearing as she glided out, and he was further intrigued.
Paul caught the headwaiter’s eye and motioned to him. To his father he said, ‘I’m going to find out who she is right now…Charles, who was the gentleman who just left with the lady in the green velvet?’
‘That was Frank Harte, sir. The Frank Harte of the Daily Chronicle. Fine young gentleman. Made quite a name for himself as a war correspondent.’
‘And the lady?’ Paul asked.
‘Forgive me, Major, but I’m afraid I
don’t know.’
‘So Mr Harte is well known, is he?’ Bruce interjected.
‘Oh yes, indeed, sir. He writes on politics now. I understand he was, and is, quite a favourite of Mr Lloyd George’s.’
‘Thank you, Charles,’ Bruce said. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’ He leaned forward and fixed his thoughtful gaze on his son. ‘Look here, Paul, I don’t want you doing anything foolish. Just watch your step. I’m heavily involved with a number of politicians in this country. I would hate to have problems because of your romantic philanderings. That might easily be the chap’s wife, you know, and since he’s well connected it could be a dangerous game you’re contemplating.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t embarrass you. However, I am going to find out who she is if it kills me.’ Paul sat back in his chair and took out a gold cigarette case. He lit a cigarette, his mind turning rapidly. His father’s immense fortune had opened every door for him, all the right doors, and he began to enumerate his friends, wondering who would be the most suitable candidate to arrange an introduction to Frank Harte.
There were a dozen or so people in Dolly Mosten’s drawing room when Emma and Frank entered it later that evening. Emma had only taken three small steps into the room when she halted abruptly and grabbed Frank’s arm. Startled, he turned to her quickly.
‘Frank, we’ve got to leave!’ she hissed.
Surprise flickered on to his face. ‘Leave! But we’ve only just arrived.’
Her fingers tightened on him and her eyes were pleading. ‘Please, Frank! We’ve got to leave. Immediately!’
‘Don’t be foolish, Emma. It would seem most odd and I don’t want to offend Dolly. That’s a fate worse than death. Anyway, apart from the fact that she’s London’s leading actress and not to be slighted, she’s been very helpful to me in the past. She would never forgive me. Why the sudden turnabout? You wanted to come earlier.’
A Woman of Substance Page 73