She looked down at the picture. ‘Why didn’t you come back, Paul? You promised! You vowed nothing could keep you from me!’ Her question echoed hollowly around the room, and she had no answer for herself, once more baffled and racked with despair. Paul had written to her twice and she had replied immdiately. To her surprise he had never responded to her second letter. At the time, wondering if it had gone astray, she had written again. This letter had also remained unanswered. Finally, swallowing her immense pride, she had penned a circumspect note, and then had waited for word from him. The weeks had turned into months, and the silence had been absolute. In a state of bewilderment and shock, she had done nothing. She had lost her nerve. By October, Emma had miserably resigned herself to the fact that Paul was not man enough to write and tell her that he no longer loved her. That it was over. It was the only conceivable conclusion she could draw in her heartsick state. He simply has no further use for me, she thought. I served a purpose when he was alone in England. He has resumed his old life in Australia. He is a married man.
Emma leaned back, staring into space abstractedly, her face cold and set, her eyes wide and tearless. She had cried all the tears she would ever cry for Paul McGill, night after night for months past. Paul McGill did not want her and that was that. There was nothing she could do about it…
‘Mother, may I come in?’ Edwina asked, poking her head around the door.
‘Yes, darling,’ Emma said, slipping the photograph under the chair and forcing a smile. ‘Did you have a nice morning? I’m sorry I had to go to the factory on your day. It was an emergency.’
‘You work too hard, Mother,’ Edwina said reprovingly. She sat down in the opposite chair and smoothed her tartan kilt.
Emma disregarded the remark and the offensive tone and said cheerfully, ‘You haven’t told me yet what you would like for Christmas. Perhaps you would like to come to the store with me next week and look around, darling.’
‘I don’t know what I want for Christmas,’ Edwina said, her silvery eyes observing Emma. ‘But I would like to have my birth certificate, please, Mother.’
Emma froze in the chair. She kept her face bland. ‘Why do you want your birth certificate, Edwina?’ she asked, adopting a mild voice.
‘Because I need it to get a passport.’
‘Good heavens, why do you need a passport?’
‘Miss Matthews is taking the class to Switzerland next spring and I am going, too.’
Emma’s sweeping brows puckered together. ‘I notice you have simply assumed you are going. You haven’t asked my permission. I find that quite dismaying, Edwina.’
‘May I go, Mother?’
‘No, Edwina, you may not,’ Emma said firmly. ‘You are only thirteen. In my opinion that’s far too young for you to be travelling to the Continent without me.’
‘But we will be chaperoned. Most of the girls are going. Why can’t I?’
‘I have told you why, dear. You are too young. Furthermore, I find it hard to believe that most of the girls are going. How many exactly will there be in the group?’
‘Eight.’
‘That’s more like it! Eight girls out of a class of twenty-four is merely a third. You are prone to exaggerate sometimes, Edwina.’
‘So I can’t go?’
‘Not this coming year. Perhaps in a couple of years. I will have to give it some careful thought. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you should have discussed it with me first. And my decision is quite final, Edwina.’
Knowing that it was useless to argue with her iron-willed mother, Edwina sighed theatrically and stood up. She hated her. If her father were alive he would have let her go abroad. She smiled at Emma, craftily concealing her dislike. ‘It’s not that important,’ she said, and glided across the room to Emma’s dressing table. Picking up the brush, she began to brush her waist-length silver-blonde hair, staring with total absorption in the mirror. Emma watched her with mounting annoyance, her eyes narrowing as she saw the self-gratified smile on her daughter’s face revealed in the glass.
‘You know, Edwina, for a little girl you are terribly vain. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone gaze into a mirror as often as you do.’
‘Now you’re exaggerating, Mother,’ Edwina countered haughtily.
‘Don’t be impertinent,’ Emma said crossly. Her patience was worn thin this morning and her nerves were on edge. But regretting her flash of temper, she said in a lighter tone, ‘Your Uncle Winston is coming to tea today. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you, darling?’
‘Not particularly. He’s not the same since that woman got him.’
Emma suppressed a smile. ‘Your Aunt Charlotte hasn’t got him, Edwina, as you so curiously put it. She’s married to him. And she’s awfully nice. You know, too, that she is very fond of you.’
‘He’s still not the same,’ Edwina said stubbornly. She stood up. ‘I have to finish my homework, Mother. Please excuse me.’
‘Yes, dear.’
When Emma was alone she returned Paul’s photograph to the drawer, her mind preoccupied with Edwina’s request for her birth certificate, a disastrous development she had not anticipated. She ran downstairs to the study, closed the door firmly behind her, and telephoned Blackie in Harrogate.
‘Hello, me darlin’,’ Blackie said.
‘Blackie, something perfectly dreadful has happened!’
He heard the fear in her voice. ‘What’s wrong, Emma?’
‘Edwina just asked me for her birth certificate.’
‘Jaysus!’ He recovered himself swiftly. ‘Why does she suddenly want her birth certificate?’
‘To get a passport for a school trip to the Continent next year.’
‘You refused, I presume.’
‘Of course. But the day will come when I can’t stall her, Blackie. What am I going to do?’
‘You’ll have to give it to her. But not until she’s old enough to handle the situation, Emma.’ He sighed. ‘This was bound to happen one day.’
‘But how will I explain your name on the certificate? She thinks Joe was her father.’
‘You could let her think that I really am her father.’
‘But that’s such a responsibility for you, Blackie.’
He laughed. ‘I have a broad back, me darlin’. You should know that by now.’ His voice changed perceptibly, and he went on, ‘Of course, you could tell her who her real father is. But I don’t suppose you want to do that, do you, Emma?’
‘No, I definitely do not!’ Emma made a decision, drew in her breath, and plunged. ‘You know who he is, don’t you?’
Blackie sighed softly into the phone. ‘I can hazard a guess. She looks too much like Adele Fairley for me to be in doubt any longer. It was Edwin, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, Blackie,’ Emma responded quietly, and felt a sudden rush of relief that she had finally told him the truth. ‘But Edwina will never know. Must never know. I have to protect her from the Fairleys all of her life.’
‘Then you will just have to let her believe that I am her true father. I don’t object, Emma.’ He chuckled quietly. ‘Come on, me darlin’, relax. I can feel your tension coming over the wire. Forget this little problem for the moment. Delay as long as you can. You’re a clever woman. You can skirt the issue for several years. At least until she’s seventeen or eighteen.’
‘I suppose I can,’ Emma said slowly. ‘We’re never free of the past, are we, darling?’
‘No, mavourneen, that’s the sad truth, I’m afraid. But let’s not dwell on the past. It’s fruitless. Now you haven’t forgotten me party on Boxing Day, have you?’ Blackie went on in an effort to distract her. ‘The party for me new house. It’s a beauty, Emma, even though I do say so meself.’
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Frank is coming to Yorkshire for Christmas and he’s promised to bring me. And I’m longing to see the house. You’ve been so secretive about it.’
‘Ah, but you’ll be recognizing it the minut
e you see it, Emma. It’s exactly the way I described it to you all those years ago on the moors. Me fine Georgian mansion right down to the last detail.’
‘I’m so thrilled for you, Blackie. It was always one of your dearest dreams.’
‘Aye, that’s so. Emma, I must hang up. I can see me beautiful Bryan coming up the drive with Nanny. Now don’t you worry about that birth certificate. Forget it for the next year or so. We’ll deal with it only when it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘I’ll try. And thank you, Blackie. You’re always such a comfort to me.’
‘Sure and it’s nothing, mavourneen.’
Emma hung up the telephone and sat lost in introspection, her mind dwelling on her daughter. There was something so unapproachable about her, an innate coldness in her nature, and Emma was aware at all times of a curious disapproval in Edwina’s manner, and she was often at a loss to deal with it effectively.
How will I ever find the courage to face that child with the truth? she asked herself. How can I tell her without losing the little affection she has for me? She flinched at the thought of a confrontation, however far off it was, and for the first time in months Emma momentarily forgot about Paul McGill and her own misery.
Blackie O’Neill strolled across the magnificent entrance hall of his Georgian mansion in Harrogate, his arm around Winston’s shoulders. He ushered him into the library and locked the great double doors behind them.
‘Why are you doing that?’ Winston asked, looking puzzled. ‘I thought we came in here for a quiet brandy.’
‘True. True. But I want to talk to you privately and I don’t want any interruptions.’
‘Who would interrupt us? Everyone’s too busy enjoying the party.’
‘Emma, for one.’
‘Aha! You want to talk about my sister. Is that it?’
‘It is indeed.’ Blackie busied himself at the console, pouring generous amounts of the Courvoisier into two brandy balloons.
From his stance by the Adam fireplace, Winston watched Blackie, wondering what he had on his mind. He shook his head in bafflement and glanced around with admiration, appreciating the elegance of the furnishings and the beauty of the setting. The bleached pine walls, interspersed with bookshelves, were balanced by forest-green velvet draperies, and a carpet of the same colour covered the centre of the mahogany parquet floor. A number of deep sofas and armchairs were upholstered in lighter green velvet and rose damask and this warm colour highlighted the cool greenness. Tables, consoles, and a fine desk in the mingled designs of Sheraton and Hepplewhite graced the room, and a spectacular Waterford crystal chandelier dropped down from the soaring ceiling. The library, like the rest of the new house, was a splendid tribute to Blackie’s sense of perspective and colour and his knowledge of the decorative style of the Georgian period.
Looking exceptionally handsome and prosperous in his dinner jacket, Blackie handed Winston a balloon of the cognac. ‘Cheers, Winston,’ he said.
‘Cheers, Blackie.’
Blackie selected a cigar, clipped off the end, lit it slowly. He puffed on it for a few seconds and finally fixed his bright black eyes on Winston. ‘When is she going to stop all this foolishness?’
‘What foolishness?’ Winston demanded with a frown.
‘Throwing money around. She’s gone crazy in the past six months. At least so it seems to me.’
‘Emma’s not throwing money around. In fact, she’s not very extravagant with herself at all.’
Blackie raised a black eyebrow quizzically and a faint smile flitted across his mouth. ‘Now, Winston, don’t play the innocent with me. You know damn well what I mean. I’m talking about the way she’s been plunging into the commodities market. Recklessly so, I might add.’
Winston grinned. ‘Not recklessly at all. She’s made a fortune, Blackie.’
‘Aye, and she can easily lose it! Overnight! Speculating in commodities is the most dangerous game there is, and you know it.’
‘Yes, I do. And for that matter, so does Emma. She is something of a gambler in business, Blackie. We’re both aware of that. However, she’s also astute and she knows what she’s doing—’
‘It’s all much too chancy for my liking! She could easily be ruined!’
Winston laughed. ‘Not my sister. You’ve got to admit it takes real genius to start out with nothing and build what she has so brilliantly built. Only an idiot would be stupid enough to risk throwing it all away. Emma’s nobody’s fool and, anyway, she stopped buying and selling commodities several weeks ago.’
‘Thank God for that!’ Blackie looked relieved, but his tone was worried as he continued, ‘Still, I am concerned about all this rapid expansion she’s undertaken. The new stores in Bradford and Harrogate were admittedly good buys, but the renovations she insists I make are going to be very costly. And I couldn’t believe my ears tonight when she told me she’s thinking of building a store in London. As usual, her ideas are pretty grandiose. To be honest, Winston, I was dumbfounded. How the hell is she going to pay for it all? That’s what I want to know. It’s my opinion she’s over-extending herself.’
Winston shook his head adamantly. ‘No she’s not! She’s as smart as a whip and never does anything rashly. How is she going to pay for it? I just told you she made a hell of a lot of money in commodities. And she has been selling off Joe’s remaining properties for very high prices. In fact, she’s gradually divested herself of all the real estate he left her, except for that plot of land in the centre of Leeds. She’s hanging on to that, because she thinks it will increase in worth, and you know she’s right. The store in Leeds is in profit and, also, this boom in the cloth trade since the end of the war has turned Layton’s into a bigger money-maker than it ever was. Orders are pouring in from all over the world and Ben Andrews has had to put most of the workers on overtime to meet them. The Gregson Warehouse is fully operating again, and don’t forget, Emma is David Kallinski’s partner—’
Pausing, Winston eyed Blackie with amusement. ‘Does that answer your questions about how she intends to pay for everything?’
Blackie had the good grace to laugh. ‘Aye, me boyo, it does.’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘She’s obviously become a very rich woman—richer than I had imagined, from what you tell me.’
Winston nodded, a proud look on his face. ‘How much do you think she’s worth?’ he said with a spontaneity he instantly regretted, since he could not tell the truth.
‘I couldn’t even hazard a guess.’
Winston took a sip of brandy to hide his hesitation. He could not admit Emma’s true worth, because he dare not reveal the existence of the Emeremm Company and her ownership of it. Therefore he selected a conservatively low figure and said, ‘A million pounds. That’s on paper, of course.’
‘Jaysus!’ Blackie exclaimed. He knew Winston was not lying or exaggerating and he was immensely impressed. Blackie lifted his glass. ‘That deserves a toast. Here’s to Emma. She has surpassed us all, I do believe!’
‘To Emma.’ Winston eyed Blackie thoughtfully. ‘Yes, she has. Do you know why? Do you know the secret of my sister’s great success?’
‘Sure and I do. I attribute it to a number of qualities. Shrewdness, courage, ambition, and drive, to name only a few.’
‘Abnormal ambition. Abnormal drive, Blackie. That’s the difference between Emma and most people. She won’t allow anything to stop her and she will go for the jugular with a business adversary, especially if her back is against the wall. But those are not the only reasons for her success. Emma has the killer instinct to get to the top.’
‘Killer instinct! That’s a hell of a thing to say about her. You make her sound ruthless.’
‘She is in some ways.’ Winston could not help laughing at Blackie’s startled expression, and said, ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never recognized that trait in her!’
Blackie pondered, recalling incidents from the past. ‘At times I have thought her capable of ruthlessness,’ he murmured slowly.
‘Yes, you have. I’m glad we had this talk, Winston. I’ve been concerned about that commodity lark ever since she mentioned it. Scared the hell out of me, if you really want to know. Well, now we’ve got that out of the way, shall we go back to the party?’
‘Whenever you wish. Incidentally, talking of killers, I notice the lady killer is on the prowl tonight. He can’t take his eyes off Emma and he’s certainly fawning all over her.’
Blackie was alert and interested. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Why, Arthur Ainsley, of course. The great hero of the war—according to him. Conceited bastard.’
‘I always thought Emma didn’t like him.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. I wasn’t around, remember? But she did tell me that he’d changed and she seems unperturbed by his attentions tonight.’
‘I hadn’t really noticed,’ Blackie said curtly, and stood up with abruptness. He was preoccupied as they returned to the drawing room. Immediately upon entering, Winston drifted off to join Charlotte and Frank, and Blackie ambled over to the piano. He leaned against it nonchalantly, but his full attention was focused with intensity on Emma, who was engaged in conversation with Frederick Ainsley and his son Arthur.
Blackie thought Emma looked particularly lovely tonight, if a little paler and wistful. Her hair was worked into a coronet of plaits atop her head and the upswept style made her face seem more delicate than ever. She wore a white velvet gown, cut low and off the shoulder, and pinned on to one of the small sleeves was the emerald pin he had given her for her thirtieth birthday. It was the exact replica of the cheap little green-glass bow he had bought for her when she was fifteen, but larger and more exquisitely worked. He had been gratified at her obvious surprise that he had remembered a promise made so long ago, and thrilled at her delight in the costly gift. Now, to him, it looked like a trumpery bauble in comparison to the magnificent emerald earrings that sparkled with such brilliance at her ears.
Automatically his hand went into his pocket, his fingers curling around the jewellery box that reposed there. It contained the diamond ring he had purchased last week. He had intended to ask Emma to marry him tonight. After their recent conversation about Edwina’s birth certificate and the dilemma it posed, he had finally made the decision he had been toying with for months. Lately he had come to understand that if he did not love Emma in quite the same worshipful and spiritual way he had loved his Laura, love Emma he did. He had always loved her, ever since she had been an innocent child, his starveling creature of those bleak and misty moors. Her happiness was important to him. He found her physically alluring, she amused him, and he valued her friendship. Apart from his own deep attachment to her, Bryan adored her and his darling Bryan needed a mother. Also, Blackie had concluded, if he married Emma perhaps the sting would be taken out of the blow Edwina would receive when she discovered her illegitimacy. He would be like a father to the child, would try to replace Joe in her affections. If she learned to love him in return, then she might not be so resentful when she saw his name on the birth certificate, and he would willingly give her his name legally.
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