A Woman of Substance

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  All in all, he had thought his idea foolproof—until Winston’s revelations a few minutes before. Suddenly Blackie saw Emma in a wholly different light, saw her now as a woman of undeniable power and enormous wealth. He had never underestimated her, for he was too intelligent by far for that. He had simply not realized or, in fact, recognized exactly what she had become, being too subjective to focus on her as a woman of the world and a successful tycoon. He himself had done well, but she had more than outstripped him, and David Kallinski, and in the most staggering manner. Furthermore, he now admitted that she would never be like a normal woman, dedicated to a husband, a family, and a home. She could never be wrested from her business. In many ways it was her.

  Blackie was no longer sure she would accept him as a husband and, perhaps more cogently, he was uncertain of his ability to handle her. And so Blackie O’Neill, thirty-three years old, charming, rich, and hitherto a man of self-assurance and élan, lost a fraction of his confidence because of Emma’s incredible achievements. And he faltered in his determination to propose.

  He caught Emma’s attention and she excused herself from the Ainsleys and glided over to him. ‘It’s a lovely party, Blackie, and I can’t get over the house. It’s superb. ‘She looked up at him, her eyes glittering vividly in that pale oval. ‘And it is exactly as you said it would be, with your light greens and blues and fine Georgian furnishings.’ She laughed. ‘Do you remember when I asked you who Hepplewhite, Chippendale, and Sheraton were?’

  ‘I do. I also remember I told you then that you would be a grand lady one day. My prediction came true.’

  She smiled.

  Blackie became aware of Arthur Ainsley’s eyes on them and he said with a frown, ‘I always thought you couldn’t stand young Ainsley, but tonight you appear to be quite kindly disposed towards the fellow.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not so bad. He’s much more intelligent than I thought and amusing. Actually, I find him rather charming as well.’

  Blackie’s eyes flared. ‘Aye, he is. If he weren’t a Sassenach I’d swear he’d kissed the Blarney stone,’ he pronounced.

  Emma laughed at Blackie’s sarcastic retort and admitted, ‘Yes, I suppose he is a bit too smooth sometimes. But at least he’s entertaining and easy to be with.’

  ‘Have you been spending a lot of time with him?’ Blackie asked evenly enough, although he experienced a twinge of jealousy.

  ‘No, not at all. I only see Arthur on business matters. Why?’ She gave him a puzzled look.

  ‘No particular reason. I just wondered. Incidentally, talking of business, where do you intend to build your store in London?’

  ‘I’ve found a large piece of land in Knightsbridge and I can get it for a good price. I would like you to see it.’ She touched his arm. ‘Could you come to London with me next week, darling?’

  ‘Sure and I’d be delighted. If you go ahead with the purchase I can start the plans immediately. I’ll build you a magnificent store, Emma. The best in London.’

  They talked for a while about the intended department store. Emma expounded her ideas, which were grandiose, but her enthusiasm was so infectious Blackie found himself growing unexpectedly excited about the challenge she was presenting to him and his talents. After a little further discourse, Blackie seated himself at the piano and began to play. He sang a number of amusing Irish jigs and Emma sat back, as always enjoying his marvellous voice. Many of the guests thronged around the piano, just as they had done in the Mucky Duck, and Emma remembered the old days, and smiled to herself. And then she froze as Blackie’s rich baritone rang out again, pure and clear, in the opening strains of ‘Danny Boy’. Familiar words invoked in her a terrible yearning and a sadness that was overwhelming.

  His voice swelled and filled the room as he commenced the second verse: ‘But when ye come, and all the flow’rs are dying—’

  Emma could not bear to listen any more. She slipped out of the room, her heart tearing inside her, and her throat was choked as she thought of Paul, and only of him: gone from her for ever.

  Frank and Winston exchanged alarmed glances and Frank shook his head as Winston rose. ‘I’ll go. You stay here with Charlotte.’ Frank followed quickly on Emma’s heels and caught up with her in the entrance hall. He took her arm and propelled her into the library without saying a word. He closed the door, put his arm around her shoulders, and then said, ‘He’s not coming back, Emma. You might as well face the facts.’

  ‘I have, Frank,’ she responded in a low resigned voice.

  ‘You know I would never interfere in your life, but I can’t stand to see your heartbreak any longer, Emma. There are certain things I must tell you. That you must know. I can’t hold them back.’

  Emma looked at him warily. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Paul McGill is married.’

  ‘I know, Frank dear. I’ve always known.’

  ‘I see.’ His sensitive mouth settled into a grim line.

  ‘I suppose Dolly Mosten told you,’ Emma ventured.

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘Dolly’s a gossip! She had no right to—’

  ‘I asked her, Emma. Forced her to tell me, in point of fact. Only out of concern for you, though.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emma said, and stared down at her hands miserably.

  ‘So Paul told you he was married. I suppose he also promised to get a divorce.’

  ‘He said he’d sort it all out after the war,’ Emma whispered, conscious of the venom in Frank’s voice.

  She fell silent and Frank went on furiously, ‘Did he tell you he’s married to the daughter of one of the most prominent men in Australian politics and that her mother is from one of Sydney’s first families?’

  ‘No, he never discussed his wife.’

  ‘I bet he didn’t! I bet he didn’t tell you he had a child either.’

  Emma gaped at Frank, her lip trembling. ‘A child!’

  ‘Yes. A boy. I gather he refrained from passing on that piece of vital information.’

  ‘He did,’ Emma confessed, her heart sinking. A wife he was estranged from she might have been able to compete with, but she could not fight a child. A son. Men as wealthy as Paul McGill pinned all of their hopes on the new generation, on the heir to the dynasty. He would never give up his son for her.

  ‘I need a drink,’ Frank said, standing up. ‘And so do you, by the looks of you.’ He poured a glass of champagne for Emma and a brandy for himself, observing his sister closely. By God, she is a strong woman, he thought admiringly. He knew she was shocked and distressed, but she was in full control of herself. He said, ‘I’m so sorry I had to hurt you, love, but you had to know.’

  ‘I’m glad you told me, Frank.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘You certainly gave Dolly a grilling, didn’t you?’

  ‘You’d be surprised what a woman will confide in her lover, especially in the intimacy of the bedroom.’

  ‘You and Dolly! Frank, I don’t believe it!’ she cried incredulously.

  ‘Yes, for the moment anyhow.’

  ‘But she’s years older than you.’

  ‘Ten to be exact. However, I don’t think my relationship with Dolly is the issue right now, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Emma leaned forward intently. ‘How does she know so much about the McGills?’

  ‘She used to be Bruce McGill’s mistress several years ago.’

  ‘Philandering seems to be a family characteristic!’ Emma exclaimed contemptuously. ‘What else did she tell you? I might as well know all the details.’

  ‘Not much, really. Mostly Dolly talked about their wealth and their power. Actually, she didn’t seem to have much information about Paul’s wife or his son. In fact, I rather got the impression there was a bit of mystery about the wife. Dolly said something about Paul always appearing alone in public, even in Sydney before the war, and she indicated that he is a—’ Frank stopped short, and looked down at his drink.

  ‘A what?’

  Frank cleared his throat. ‘Well
, if you must know, Dolly implied he is a womanizer.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, Frank. Don’t be upset you told me.’

  Frank tossed down the brandy. ‘I’m not upset. I’m just angry that you have been hurt.’ He rose and crossed to the console, returning with the bottles of cognac and champagne. He filled Emma’s empty glass and said, ‘I always liked Paul. I didn’t think he was such a bastard. Just goes to show you how wrong one can be in life. Why don’t you tell me about it, Emma? It sometimes helps to unburden yourself.’

  Emma smiled grimly. ‘I doubt it. But I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Frank. Perhaps you can explain his behaviour to me.’

  As Emma confided in Frank she slowly drank the whole bottle of champagne and for the first time in her life she deliberately got drunk. When Winston appeared in the doorway an hour later he stared at her in surprise. ‘You’re three sheets to the wind, Emma!’ he cried, moving with unusual swiftness across the floor.

  Emma lifted the glass and waved it in the air, spilling half of the champagne. ‘Splishe the brashemain. I mean splishe the mainbrashe,’ she slurred, and hiccuped.

  ‘How could you let her get so pie-eyed, Frank!’ Winston exploded in an accusatory tone. He regarded Emma reclining languorously on the sofa, her eyes half closed, her mouth twitching with silent laughter. ‘She’ll have some head tomorrow,’ he muttered crossly.

  ‘So what? Don’t be so harsh, Winston,’ Frank said quietly. ‘For once in her life I think she really needed to let her hair down.’

  FORTY-NINE

  Edwin Fairley’s face was grim and there was a cold anger in his eyes as he said, ‘You put the noose around your neck all by yourself, Gerald. There is absolutely nothing I can do to help you.’

  Gerald gaped at his brother in stupefaction. His sly black eyes, narrowing in the bloated face, appeared smaller and more evil than ever. ‘Are you telling me that Procter and Procter are really within their legal rights? That they can take over the mills just like that?’ he asked fearfully.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I am, Gerald. A noncontestable note is just that—noncontestable. And since you attached the deeds as collateral you don’t have a leg to stand on if you can’t pay off the note. That was most foolhardy. Why did you do it?’

  ‘I needed the money,’ Gerald muttered, unable to meet Edwin’s direct stare.

  ‘To pay off your blasted gambling debts! I know that. I mean, why did you hand over the deeds to the mills without seeking legal advice first? If not from me, at least from the family solicitor.’

  ‘There would have been no point to that. I needed the money desperately. I had nowhere else to go and those were the only terms acceptable to Proctor and Procter. My talking to the family solicitor wouldn’t have changed their minds. I had no option, and anyway I thought Alan would be reasonable. Give me time to repay the loan.’ A bitter look slid on to Gerald’s face. ‘As it is, Alan Procter has turned on me. He’s a bloody thief! He’s stolen my mills!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gerald,’ Edwin countered impatiently, staggered at his brother’s lack of business acumen. ‘Alan hasn’t stolen the mills. You handed them to him on a plate. I’m appalled by your lack of foresight. Furthermore, from what you have just told me, Alan has been very understanding. The note was for six months. It’s been extended three times, for an additional period of eight months all together. I would say he has been exceptionally considerate under the circumstances. After all, it was a company loan. Alan has a board of directors to answer to.’

  Gerald dropped his head in his hands, overcome as always by self-pity. After a few minutes he looked up and said in a demanding voice, ‘You have to lend me the money, Edwin.’

  Edwin sat bolt upright on the Chesterfield and stared at Gerald in amazement. ‘Are you joking! I don’t have two hundred thousand pounds, plus the interest due. You must be mad to think I do.’

  ‘Father left you a trust, Edwin. You must have it. You don’t want to help me out of a jam,’ Gerald whined.

  ‘The income from my trust is meagre and you know it!’ Edwin cried, infuriated. ‘Father lived lavishly all of his life and spent lavishly, particularly after he married Aunt Olivia. What he left me was negligible compared to what you received, and you’ve thrown most of it down the drain.’ Edwin glared at Gerald with disdain. He then said, ‘Besides, as little as it is, I need the income from the trust. I have a wife and son to provide for and a household to maintain.’

  ‘But you’re doing well in your law practice—’

  ‘Yes, but not well enough to support your bad habits!’ Edwin snapped peremptorily.

  ‘Father left you the majority of his shares in the Yorkshire Morning Gazette. You could borrow against them,’ Gerald said, scowling at his brother.

  ‘I could, but I have no intentions of doing so. I promised Father I would hold on to them and take an active interest in the newspaper and I will not renege on my promise,’ Edwin responded with firmness. ‘I can’t understand how you could get yourself into such a predicament—’

  ‘Don’t start giving me another bloody lecture!’ Gerald shouted, lumbering out of the chair. He began to pace up and down the library, his cringing fear palpable.

  He is a coward and a fool, Edwin thought, scrutinizing his brother. Gerald’s gluttony had only increased over the years and he was now elephantine and gross in his ugliness, and the dissipation of his life was revealed on his ravaged face. To Edwin, Gerald appeared obscene and he looked away in revulsion.

  Gerald plodded over to the black-walnut chest and poured himself a large neat whiskey. ‘I don’t suppose you want a drink, do you?’ he mumbled without looking around.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Edwin snapped. ‘I have to be going.’

  Seating himself opposite Edwin, Gerald pinned his crafty eyes on him. ‘You believe yourself to be the brain in the family, so you tell me what to do, brother,’ he said scornfully.

  ‘Listen to me, Gerald. Things could be worse for you. After all, you still own the mill here in Fairley and the brickyard. I suggest you tighten your belt, cut down on personal expenditures, stop gambling, and retrench in every way. Devote your attention to the one mill you still have. I don’t know much about the woollen business, but only a fool could fail to realize the cloth trade is booming. Actually, I don’t understand why the Fairley mill isn’t going better. Surely you can turn it around.’

  Always full of self-justification, Gerald countered in a defensive tone, ‘Things are different than they were in Father’s day. You don’t know the burdens I have to carry. There’s a hell of a lot more competition now, Edwin. Thompson’s makes the same cloth as us and they’ve swiped many of my customers of late. So has your bloody Emma Harte. She owns Layton’s mill, in case you didn’t know, and she’s giving me a run for my money as well. If the truth be known, she helped to ruin me. My problems started when she stole Ben Andrews and some of the best workers away from Thompson’s in 1914.’ Gerald’s voice echoed with invective as he declared, ‘Yes, your bloody whore has been a thorn in my side for a long time. The bloody little whoring bitch. She’s—’

  ‘Don’t let me hear you call Emma a whore ever again! Do you hear me, you filthy bastard!’ Edwin cried, clenching his hands and leaning forward threateningly. His face had whitened and his eyes blazed.

  Gerald grinned derisively. ‘Still carrying the torch for the servant girl, eh, Edwin? Whatever would the Lady Jane say if she knew you had an itch in your crotch for that bit of working-class—’

  ‘That’s enough, you rotten swine!’ Edwin shouted, springing up. It took all of his self-control to restrain himself from hitting Gerald in the face. ‘I drove over to Fairley with the best of intentions, hoping to help you with legal advice. I did not come to listen to your obscenities about Emma,’ he said furiously. He glowered at Gerald and his contempt was so clearly written on his face Gerald shrank back in the chair. Edwin went on, ‘I happen to be very proud of Emma. She’s made something of herself and she’s a damn
ed sight better than you. You—you—piece of scum!’ Edwin stepped away from his brother abruptly, conscious that he was prepared to inflict bodily damage on him if further provoked. ‘Goodbye. You won’t be seeing me for a long time.’

  Gerald taunted, ‘You’re too transparent, Edwin. So Emma Harte’s in your blood, is she? My, my my! She must have something sweet between her legs to hold your interest all these years. Tried to make it with her myself once when I found her living in Armley—’

  ‘You did what!’ Edwin, who was halfway to the door, spun around and shot across the library. He lept at Gerald, clutched his lapels, and shook him fiercely, his rage exploding. ‘If you so much as rest your eyes on Emma I will kill you! Kill you! I swear to God I will!’ Edwin’s face, so close to his brother’s, was twisted with a mixture of loathing and deadly intent, and this registered forcibly with Gerald, who flinched, suddenly afraid.

  Edwin let go of Gerald’s lapels and wiped his hands on his trouser legs with the utmost distaste, his lip curling. ‘I don’t want to soil myself by touching you,’ he hissed. ‘You are a foul specimen of humanity! You are contemptible!’ He turned on his heel and walked out, his limbs shaking, his head spinning with unbridled hatred and disgust.