Emma and Her Daughter

by Linda Mitchelmore

  ‘You come here many times,’ Signor Cascarini said. ‘You will be perfetta.’

  He leapt up and crossed the room, went behind his counter and came back with a bottle of wine. From his pocket he pulled out a folding corkscrew and while Emma tried to get a huge forkful of spaghetti and sauce into her mouth in something resembling an elegant fashion, he opened the bottle.

  Her mouth too full of food to refuse, Emma could only watch as he filled the wine glasses with wine the colour of blood.

  ‘Chianti,’ Signor Cascarini said. ‘The best vino in the world.’

  Emma swallowed her food.

  ‘Just one glass,’ she said. ‘I’ve a busy day tomorrow. I’m renting a house, you see, and I have to find someone to take our luggage from the hotel to Cleveland Road in Paignton. Do you know any taxi drivers, Signor?’

  ‘I, Eduardo, bella donna. Eduardo. Eduardo take luggages. No pay. Is gift for you, bella donna.’

  A torrent of rapid Italian filled the air. Eduardo’s motherin-law’s cheeks were pink and she glared first at Eduardo and then at Emma. What was she saying?

  Emma thought she could guess.

  ‘I’m sure the hotel will be able to find a taxi for me,’ Emma said. ‘I don’t want to upset your motherin-law. I—’

  ‘She say I have ice cream to make, cupboards to paint, new cloths to buy for the tables.’ Eduardo laughed. ‘She wrong, bella donna.’

  Emma wondered just how many aperitifs and glasses of wine Eduardo might have drunk before she got there. Dutch courage, perhaps? Well, she could understand that, although he didn’t look or sound in the slightest bit drunk. Perhaps he was used to drinking alcohol?

  ‘Bella donna?’ Fleur said, looking quizzically at Emma.

  ‘He call your mama “beautiful lady”,’ Paolo told her.

  ‘Then I think,’ Fleur said, taking a huge swallow of wine, ‘your pa needs to see an optician.’ But she giggled as she said it and Emma giggled with her.

  ‘Op, op?’ Eduardo said. ‘What is optishoo? Is like sneeze, yes?’

  ‘Nothing like it, Papa,’ Paolo said, and everyone laughed.

  He leaned over for the bottle of wine and topped up Fleur’s glass and Emma did nothing to stop him. Fleur needed to relax a little too – not too much wine, but a little more wouldn’t hurt for now.

  This whole evening was surreal almost.

  Emma couldn’t wait to be in her own home now. She felt she’d made a friend in Eduardo Cascarini, although she realised it could get awkward if Fleur were to fall out with Paolo. First love seldom lasts, although it had for her and Seth. And there was his motherin-law to consider, too, because from what Emma had seen so far around the table, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be happy about another woman taking her daughter’s place. Not happy at all.

  Goodness, what was getting into her tonight? Even thinking about Eduardo being a permanent fixture in her life! She looked up and caught Eduardo’s eye and he wrinkled his nose at her and smiled broadly. And then he winked.

  Winked. Would she ever be able to see a man wink and not think of Matthew whose wink had often told her what words couldn’t? Although Eduardo’s wink had been friendly enough and probably something he did all the time, she wished he hadn’t done it. For her a wink meant Matthew. And even though she didn’t know if she would ever see him again, there was something fluttering around her heart, and something making colour rush up to the sides of her neck, that told her she wanted to – really, really, wanted – to see him again. But would she?

  ‘I happy you like my ristorante, bella donna,’ Eduardo said. He patted the side of his neck to let Emma know he’d seen the flush on it.

  She flushed some more. He was totally misinterpreting the reason for it.

  ‘Emma. Please call me Emma, Eduardo.’

  ‘Emma, my mama.’ Fleur giggled.

  No, I’m not. Not really. Suddenly the fun had gone out of the evening for Emma. Is this how it was always going to be, harbouring her secret? Fleur needed to know who her real mother was – she should have been told before. When they were settled at Romer Lodge and Emma’s dressmaking business was up and running, she’d tell her then. She had to.

  ‘If you could help me with my luggage that would be wonderful, Eduardo. Thank you,’ she said. ‘And if you could tell me where I might buy a car of my own, then that would be wonderful, too.’

  Chapter Five

  MAY 1927

  ‘An opal,’ Stella said. ‘I think I’d rather have an opal than a diamond if it’s all the same to you, Matthew.’

  The salesman in Jamieson’s Jewellers in Gandy Street looked up sharply at Stella’s words. He looked from Stella to Matthew, and back again to Stella.

  ‘An opal, madam. Are you sure?’

  Oh for goodness sake, let the woman have what she wants, Matthew thought. For his part he was finding it quite touching and rather humbling that Stella wasn’t going for the most expensive ring on display. They’d looked in three jewellers’ shops before lunch. Then they’d enjoyed a good and leisurely plate of lamb chops with mint sauce and roast potatoes in the Beaufort Hotel, washed down with a bottle of red wine between them, and they’d been in two more jewellers afterwards. So far Stella hadn’t seen the perfect engagement ring for her. But now it seemed she had, and some stuffed-shirt was questioning her.

  ‘Quite sure,’ Stella said. She turned to smile at Matthew, and the smile told him she meant she was sure about her choice of stone, and also sure about marrying him. ‘The one on the middle shelf in the cabinet over there, second from the right.’

  She waggled the fingers of her left hand in the air. How slim her fingers were – like the rest of her. Sometimes, when Matthew held her in his arms, he was afraid he’d break a bone somewhere – a collarbone perhaps. Or a rib. It amazed him to think that she had to lift heavy and often unconscious patients about, day in, day out, and sometimes through the night, too. Would she miss all that when they married? he wondered. Had she thought the whole thing through about giving up a career for marriage?

  ‘If madam is sure,’ the salesman said.

  Matthew couldn’t help himself: ‘Madam is,’ he snapped.

  The assistant blinked in shock at his sharpness but rallied quickly. He leaned towards Matthew, turning his head away slightly from Stella.

  ‘Opals, sir, have an element of bad luck about them,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘They’re considered unlucky as a betrothal stone.’

  Before Matthew could think of a retort, Stella laughed loudly.

  ‘I consider myself the luckiest woman in the world at the moment, that Matthew’s said yes to my proposal!’

  ‘She proposed to you, sir?’

  ‘I most certainly did,’ Stella said, flushing. Her eyes shone. She had had, Matthew thought, perhaps just a little too much wine at lunch, seeing as she had told him she’d skipped breakfast so as not to miss the train from Torquay. ‘And in case no one’s told you,’ she continued with a giggle, ‘she is the cat’s mother. Now, the opal, if you please.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Matthew said as the assistant walked – like a man going to the gallows, Matthew couldn’t help thinking – to fetch the ring of Stella’s choice. Stella had spirit and he liked a woman with spirit. Emma had had spirit. He hoped she still did have. Wherever she was. Oh, he knew he would be able to find her if he really wanted to – or had to if he ever learnt that her life was in danger, as it once had been – but it wasn’t his intention to meddle in her life. She’d chosen Seth over him back in 1913 and he had to leave it at that, even though she’d never left his heart. And he hoped against hope that he would be the sort of husband Stella deserved because always in the back of his mind would be Emma. ‘And if the day comes when you are a free man and I am a free woman you can put my amethyst necklace around my neck for me,’ she’d said. What a bittersweet moment that had been – and how he’d relived it in his mind a million times over. It seemed disrespectful to the good-natured and trusting
Stella to be thinking of Emma. Especially right at this moment.

  ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’ Stella said, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

  Matthew tensed.

  The assistant seemed to be taking an age unlocking the cabinet and Matthew placed a finger under Stella’s chin and tilted her face up. Kissed her lightly on her wine-scented lips. Yes, she’d definitely had a bit too much to drink at lunch. He hoped the kiss would answer her question.

  ‘Phew!’ Stella said, her arm threaded so loosely through Matthew’s that he had to put a hand on her wrist to check she was still there, as they made their way over cobbled Gandy Street towards the city centre. ‘He was a hard nut to crack! He certainly didn’t want me to have this!’

  She waved her left hand in the air, twisting it this way and that, admiring her opal. It was catching the light from the shop windows and it seemed, to Matthew, as though all the colours of the rainbow were trapped in it, the way oil spilled on water brings rainbow colours to it. Sometimes it seemed he was walking through a rainbow when the forecourt of his garage business was puddled after a downpour. He thought about finding a telephone box so he could ring William to check there were no problems at Exe Motors but decided against it – Stella might think his mind was on his business and not on her. He didn’t want to be the one to take the wonderful smile off her face and the joy from her voice.

  ‘Any ideas when you want me to put the plain band one on to go with it?’

  ‘Gosh, no,’ Stella said, leaning into him. ‘I want to enjoy this stage of the whole proceedings first. I won’t be able to wear my lovely opal on the wards, of course. Well, not on my finger, but I’ve got a thin gold chain I could put it on and wear it around my neck. Matron might not see – if I’m lucky! And besides, I’ll need to think about a dress and shoes and all the other things. I’ll have to start looking at wedding dress patterns and material and see if I can find a good dressmaker to make it for me. No immediate rush. Maybe September. I love autumn. Or February. I love the cold, crisp days of February and the way the sun is low in the sky deepening colours. Snowdrops. I could carry snowdrops, perhaps?’

  ‘Venue?’ Matthew asked, happy for Stella that she was indulging herself in some fantasy. ‘I’m a divorced man so …’

  ‘I know. The church won’t marry you, although I’ve heard the vicar at Cockington often turns a deaf ear and a blind eye. I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. It’s the marriage that’s important, not the fancy ceremony. Perhaps a chapel would marry us? I don’t know. If not, then a registry office will suit me fine. I’ve hardly anyone to ask to a wedding anyway. Have you?’

  They’d reached the main street now and Matthew steered Stella towards South Street. They turned the corner, going down the hill, back towards the quay where Matthew had his business beside the canal.

  ‘My son, if he wants to come, William who works for me and I dare say he could rustle up a girlfriend to bring along. That’s about it.’

  ‘Tell me about your son,’ Stella said.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Unless you have another one you haven’t told me about!’ Stella laughed.

  They crossed the road and began walking down the steep hill to the quay. Matthew pulled Stella closer because the path was slippery from a recent shower.

  ‘Harry’s coming up for eighteen. He wants to go to university. He has a fancy to be a scientist. Goodness only knows where he got that notion from. Not me.’

  Matthew had already told Stella about his wife – well, ex-wife now – Annie, and how she’d left him for another woman. They were still together, Annie and Patricia. What a strange life it must have been for Harry with, effectively, two mothers bringing him up. Sometimes Matthew regretted moving back to England from America which had meant he saw little of Harry – once a year at the most if he could get away and if it suited Annie for him to see his son.

  ‘Oxford? Cambridge?’ Stella asked, her voice still a bubble of happiness.

  ‘No. Somewhere in America. Yale or Harvard. I’m not too up on American universities but everyone’s heard of those. We’ve not discussed it. He’ll write to me when he’s decided where. And I’ll send him a wad of cash, I suspect.’

  ‘As is right for a father to do, of course,’ Stella said. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting him. But do you know something, Matthew Caunter, although I know you have a garage business and you drive a Clyno, and that you have a Norton motorcycle and a big house in Polsloe Road, I don’t know what you did before all that.’

  I was responsible for sending men to the gallows. Two of them Jagos – Carter and Miles. I know every spying trick in the book. I’ve risked my life more than a few times but, so far, got away with it. I’ve been paid to spy on husbands with their lovers, and the other way around. I’ve been in places you don’t want to know about in the pursuance of my quarry.

  ‘HM Customs,’ was what Matthew chose to say. ‘Or HM Customs and Excise as it is now. I was in covert surveillance. Then, when I went to America, I ran a private detection agency. A lot of people hated me for both occupations, but I have no regrets whatsoever about anything I’ve done.’

  Stella turned to look at him with a surprised look on her face. And then she smiled her wonderful, accepting smile. ‘I’d better watch my step then, and not go flirting with anyone I shouldn’t once we’re married!’

  Matthew laughed, if a little uneasily. Sometimes he woke in the night wondering if someone would come after him; if someone was, right at that moment – as he listened to the night sounds and the sound of his own breathing – outside and about to break in. He’d fitted good locks to all his doors – window locks, too – but he could never be sure.

  ‘You will,’ he said. ‘As, I think, will I. A girl like you knows what to poison a man with, I should think.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Stella giggled. ‘A needle in your buttocks while you sleep – you wouldn’t feel a thing!’

  It began to rain then. Sharp spits of it that stung Matthew’s face. He prised Stella’s arm from his and put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Come on. Run. We’re going to get soaked. Tea and cake at the Swan’s Nest and then I’ll drive you to the station. Unless you want to stop the night?’

  Stella brushed raindrops from her eyelashes. She slid an arm around the back of Matthew’s waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  ‘And you don’t think you’ve given me enough pleasure today? Lunch? The ring? Indulging me in my wedding planning?’

  Her voice was teasing, and yet there was a tremor of something running through her because Matthew could feel it where their bodies touched.

  ‘A girl can’t have too much pleasure,’ he said.

  It had been a while since he’d made love but hell, it was like breathing, wasn’t it – while the heart was beating you never forget how to do it.

  ‘But not just yet.’ Stella laughed. She waggled her fingers, kissed her engagement ring.

  Bugger, Matthew thought. Bugger. But he was a patient man – he could wait a while longer.

  Chapter Six

  JUNE 1927

  Emma didn’t know when she’d last been so busy. May had flown by and now June was coming to a close. Eduardo Cascarini had been as good as his word and turned up at the Grand Hotel to take Emma’s and Fleur’s luggage to Romer Lodge. He’d even pitched in and helped Emma give the tiles in the hall a good scrub. And it had been a great help having him there to move heavy furniture about.

  What else could she have done but accept his invitation to dine with him? He seemed to have forgotten he’d said he didn’t like eating in grand places because he’d taken her to the Imperial Hotel and paid a small fortune for food which Emma thought was way below the standard of the meal Eduardo had cooked for her in his ristorante. And she’d told him so which put a grin on his face, like a child in a toyshop, for the rest of the evening. When he’d kissed her goodnight – one feather-light touch of his lips on each cheek – and asked
if she would like to take a drive with him along the coast on Sunday afternoon, after church, she’d said ‘yes’.

  Eduardo’s disgust that Fleur wasn’t Catholic, and his implication that she wouldn’t make a proper wife for Paolo, didn’t apply to himself it seemed. He hadn’t asked Emma her religion and she hadn’t told him. But, whatever those differences between them might be, she found herself enjoying Eduardo Cascarini’s company more each time she saw him. He’d promised to look for the telephone number of the garage he used in Exeter where he had bought his van and had the signage for the ice cream business painted on.

  ‘He good man,’ Eduardo had said. ‘No charge fortuna. He know I not rich.’

  And he’d laughed. Emma had laughed with him because it was obvious from the quality of his leather shoes, the gold fob watch in his waistcoat pocket, and the cut of his suit that Eduardo Cascarini was far from poor.

  ‘Hmm, I must remember to ask him for that telephone number,’ Emma said out loud now as she busied herself in her atelier. She had set aside a room in Romer Lodge for her sewing with a large table for cutting out, and a chest of drawers – brought down from one of the bedrooms – in which to keep all her sewing notions; the pins and the scissors and a selection of threads. Somewhere she could bring her clients, to measure them, and to talk through their requirements for dresses and blouses, skirts and coats. She’d been buying Vogue magazine for weeks now and had a little pile of them on a small table in the corner for clients to look through. She’d even put a small chaise longue against one wall – somewhere for clients to sit. Doing that had brought back memories of Seth. There’d been one in the house Seth had been gifted by his father, and it was as though it was yesterday that she’d escaped from Nase Head House to Hilltop. Mrs Drew, Seth’s housekeeper, had let her in and they’d waited half the night it seemed for Seth to come home. And when he had, he’d been bloodied and bruised and half-unconscious. Emma always thought that was the moment she really fell in love with him – the fear of losing him heightening her feelings.