Emma and Her Daughter

by Linda Mitchelmore

‘Good, I’m glad they haven’t died from age or neglect,’ Emma said, and then she realised what she’d said. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean you weren’t looking after my property and garden. I …’ Best shut up now before she said too much, dug herself into a deeper hole.

  ‘I ’aven’t been,’ Tom said, solemnly. He didn’t elaborate. He pushed the flower back into the makeshift vase and slid it to the centre of the table. But the tone of his voice and the way he held Emma’s gaze as he spoke said volumes … he was on the mend.

  ‘We’ll stop for lunch soon,’ Emma said. ‘Not that we’ll want much.’

  She’d made some fresh tomato soup and bought a loaf of bread from May’s Bakery the day before which she’d sprinkle with water and then warm through in the oven to freshen it up. And then she’d have to leave Tom and Fleur to do a final tidy up while she went to Tolchard’s for some birthday champagne.

  Champagne. Matthew. His name would forever be linked to champagne in Emma’s mind. Her first taste of it had been at Nase Head House with Matthew, and when she’d said that it tickled her nose because there were bubbles in it Matthew had said, ‘Champagne usually does have bubbles, Emma’. Seth had bought her lots of champagne but none of it had tasted the same as that first bottle – the sheer delight of it.

  ‘What will the children drink, Tom?’ Emma asked, hoping that guilt wasn’t showing in her voice that she’d been thinking of a man who wasn’t her husband. ‘Lemonade?’

  ‘They gets water mostly. A drop of milk if there’s any spare.’

  ‘I know!’ Fleur joined the discussion. ‘Why not ring Paolo’s pa and ask him to bring some ice cream. We could get some soda from Dey’s and then we could give the children ice cream sodas. And maybe some straws? They’d love that, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’m certain they would. But Signor Cascarini might have things to do.’ Emma wasn’t sure now that she wanted to be beholden to Eduardo for anything. He’d been kindness itself, but …

  ‘Ma? Paolo’s pa has gallons and gallons of ice cream. It’s not as if he’s got to stop and make it fresh!’

  ‘No, but I don’t think they sell soda in England yet.’ Emma knew she was sounding like a damp squib, spoiling Fleur’s excitement, throwing cold water on her bright idea. ‘But lemonade would probably be just as good,’ she said, trying to sound more enthusiastic for the idea because in her heart she was thrilled that Fleur was now embracing her birthday treat and wanting to please Tom and Ruby’s children, whom she hadn’t yet met. ‘You ring him, will you? Oh, I’ve just remembered,’ Emma went on before Fleur could answer although she knew the girl wouldn’t give up a chance to talk and bill and coo down the telephone to Paolo, ‘I’ve made some bunting out of fabric scraps. It’s on the table in my atelier. I thought it might look good strung between the trees either side of the drive. I’ll just go and get it.’

  Then I’ll see about lunch and after I’ve eaten I’ll have to be off.

  Fleur changed into her new dress the second her ma had left the house. She went into her ma’s bedroom and drenched herself in her ma’s Chanel No 5. Heavenly! She’d have to wander about the garden for a while to dilute the scent of it a bit or her ma would notice. Maybe she’d spend her birthday money on some perfume? She twisted her arm this way and that admiring her new wristwatch, and the way the sunlight streaming in the large bay window caught the light and made the diamonds sparkle like a whole night sky of stars.

  ‘Fleur!’

  Tom’s voice. What did he want? She thought he’d said he was going to rake the gravel on the drive and then give the stone gateposts a brush to rid them of any spiderwebs, before he put up the bunting.

  She checked the time on her watch. Her ma should be back by three because Stella Martin was coming for a fitting for her wedding dress. Fleur didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so beautiful. Not that she wanted to get married. Well, not yet. Not for ages and ages, although Paolo was always going on about it. His cousin, Marianna, back in Naples, had married at fourteen years old and had a baby nine months later. No thank you!

  Perhaps Stella Martin had arrived early. She’d have to go downstairs and see. No hardship because they could discuss what colour dress Fleur was going to have as a bridesmaid’s dress. Anything but green!

  ‘Coming!’ she yelled and skittered down the stairs.

  Tom was dressed in his best clothes, his hair brushed and slicked with Brylcreem.

  ‘I’ve strung up the buntin’ like your ma asked but now I need to go into town,’ he told her. ‘Everythin’ your ma ’ad on the list is done as well. Looks proper ’an’some out there it does.’

  ‘Thank you, Tom,’ Fleur said.

  No reason for Tom going into town was forthcoming and Fleur didn’t ask. She knew her ma had paid him earlier so perhaps he had things to buy in town – like a present for her.

  ‘You’ll be all right on your own while I’m gone, will you?’

  Of course she’d be all right.

  ‘I won’t be on my own for long,’ she said checking the time on her birthday wristwatch. ‘Ma will be back with your wife and the children soon and Miss Martin should be here in a few minutes.’

  Paolo and his pa weren’t due to arrive until four o’clock. They’d asked if nonna could come with them, and Fleur’s ma had said that of course she could. Fleur wasn’t so sure about that. The old woman spent most of her time sniffing and crying when she wasn’t forced to serve customers it was obvious she didn’t want to serve. She’d rung about the ice cream and the straws but it had been Paolo’s nonna who had answered and Fleur couldn’t be sure Paolo’s pa would get the right message even though she’d said ice cream in Italian – gelato. The old woman had said, ‘Si, si’ to everything Fleur had said. Out of devilment, Fleur had said, ‘I think it’s going to rain later.’ And nonna had said, ‘Si. Bene.’ Which had made Fleur laugh and nonna had laughed with her, which made Fleur wonder if she was getting over the death of her daughter at last, and that a birthday tea was just what the woman needed. And at best, Fleur would get an extra present, wouldn’t she?

  ‘Oh, and the postman gave me these for you,’ Tom said.

  He handed Fleur a small bundle of cards. Two had Canadian stamps on. Delia would have sent one, she knew that. And maybe Delia’s ma. One envelope was in her ma’s large and loopy handwriting, and one had been written in the smallest upper case. The postman must have strained his eyes reading it.

  ‘Ruby’s bringin’ ’er card with ’er,’ Tom said. ‘I’m off.’

  And he was gone.

  Fleur wandered out into the garden, leaving the front door open so she’d hear the telephone should anyone ring: Paolo or his pa, or maybe Stella Martin saying she’d be late. Or her ma to say the car had broken down. Oh, no, why had she thought that? Everything about today was perfect. Well almost … her pa wasn’t here in person, although he was in her heart, always.

  Fleur counted the number of guests on her fingers. Eleven. There were eleven chairs around the tables but what if Stella Martin’s fiancé, whatever he was called, came after all? It would look very unwelcoming not to have a chair for him, wouldn’t it? She’d have to go and find another one.

  Then she heard a car pull up in the road outside and voices. Then the car began to pull away again. Stella Martin arriving by taxi probably. Fleur walked towards the drive.

  But it wasn’t Stella. A woman who looked as though she’d stepped straight out of a Hollywood film was walking towards her. Gosh, how glamorous! What clothes! What a brilliant shade of scarlet lipstick! What presence she had! But who was she? And why was she here?

  Well, her ma would kill her if she didn’t make her welcome, wouldn’t she? She might be a client come to call to ask her ma to make her an outfit or two. So Fleur walked towards the woman, a smile on her face. Now she was closer, Fleur could see that the woman wasn’t as young as she appeared from a distance. Older than Ma, but she had style, and she was tall – holding herself erect as though there was a rod of
iron sewn into her corsets. Her face was made-up and her skin looked matt, not healthy and glowing as her ma’s did. But she had perfect teeth when she smiled. She oozed money.

  But before Fleur could greet her, the woman said in an American accent, ‘Were you expecting me?’ and grinned. ‘All this bunting!’

  ‘No,’ Fleur said. ‘At least, I don’t think so. The only person I’m expecting is Miss Martin and I know you’re not her. And the bunting’s for my birthday tea. At four o’clock.’

  The woman’s smile slipped for a moment. She fiddled with the cuffs of her gloves.

  ‘If you’ve come about having a dress made, I’m afraid my ma’s not here but—’

  ‘I haven’t. But how interesting. A little dressmaker, you say?’

  A little dressmaker? Although Fleur had never told her ma as much, she was more than a little dressmaker. She could make just about anything – dresses, jackets, coats. Hats even. There wasn’t a thing her ma couldn’t make.

  Fleur wasn’t sure she liked this woman now. Her voice had turned to ice.

  ‘The little dressmaker, as you put it, made me this. And it’s as good as anything you can buy in Paris. But if you haven’t come about having something made, why are you here?’

  ‘To see you. You’re the image of your father. And I’m your mother.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Pipe down you lot!’ Ruby shouted to her children sitting on the back seat of Emma’s car, wriggling like a whole can of worms. All were talking excitedly at once.

  ‘Faster, Mrs Jago!’ Thomas yelled. ‘Faster!’

  ‘Didn’t you ’ear?’ Ruby said. She sat with her hands clasped tight over her knees, staring straight ahead, and Emma knew she wasn’t as happy and excited as her children who were having their first ride in a motor car.

  ‘Probably not,’ Emma told her. She patted the backs of Ruby’s hands. ‘Not with all the din they’re making. Leave them. They’re excited and we’re nearly there. Don’t you remember how excited you were that first time I drove you in Seth’s Wolseley?’

  ‘Yeah. And it were a darned sight bigger than this rattle-trap. It’s makin’ me feel a bit queasy in ’ere.’

  ‘Rattle-trap?’ Emma said, laughing. ‘This cost me just a few pennies short of two hundred pounds, I’ll have you know.’

  But the second the words were out of her mouth she regretted them because Ruby turned sharply to look at her.

  ‘So you said,’ she mumbled. ‘More than once.’

  ‘The Fair! The Fair!’ Sarah screamed from the back seat, crawling over her brother to get closer to the window so she could see, and Emma was glad of the diversion.

  She and Ruby were almost back to the friendship they’d had before she and Seth went to Canada, but not quite. The difference in how their lives had turned out was as wide as the ocean sometimes.

  The Fair had arrived on the seafront the night before. Emma had woken at around three o’clock to the rumble of wheels. There had been lights on the road that ran between the green and the beach. And now Emma could see the big wheel going around and steam from the engines that powered the rides billowing into the bluest of blue skies. A perfect day for Fleur’s birthday.

  ‘I’ll take you all later,’ Emma said. ‘After Fleur’s party. A treat for being good.’ She hoped that might cover her faux pas about the cost of her car in Ruby’s eyes.

  ‘If they’re bleedin’ good an’ eat all the crusts on their sandwiches and don’t talk with their mouths full,’ Ruby said. ‘My girls look like angels in those frocks but—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ Emma stopped her. ‘Don’t tempt fate.’

  ‘No, miss!’ Ruby giggled. ‘Canada didn’t knock the bossy out of you, then?’

  Emma chose not to answer that because she had to negotiate the tight turn into Cleveland Road. A taxi was making a three-point turn in the road outside her house.

  ‘Oh, heck,’ Emma said. ‘It looks as though Stella Martin is a bit early. I did say three. This doesn’t look very professional, does it?’

  ‘Gawd, girl, but you ain’t perfect. None of us is. Say you got caught behind Farmer Treeby leadin’ his cows along the road at Churston, or summat.’

  Lie? Emma had thought she’d left all that behind her when she’d sailed from Bristol with Seth for their new life. She’d had to do it when she’d been a young girl to save her skin, to keep a roof over her head and food in her belly, but she had those things now.

  ‘An’ if you ask me, Em, the woman will more ’n likely be so excited about the beautiful weddin’ dress you’re makin’ for ’er to be cross about you bein’ a few minutes late. If what you’re makin’ is anythin’ like this what you’ve loaned me.’ Ruby fingered the hem of her borrowed dress – it was putty-coloured with white trim on the cap sleeves and the collar. A band of white ran down the centre of the dress and Emma had made a white belt to wear, slung low, on the hip. Ruby looked a treat in it. ‘An’ what those two little madams are gettin’ all creased up back there.’

  Emma slowed, changed into first gear and drove carefully between the pillars into the drive. Oh, good, Tom had hung up the bunting.

  ‘Good,’ Emma said. ‘Tom’s given the pillars a going over with a brush. And cut the overhanging branches back a bit. They were almost touching the roof of the car when I left.’

  ‘Thanks for, you know,’ Ruby said, lowering her voice. She jerked her head slightly towards the children and Emma knew Ruby didn’t want to mention their father’s problems. ‘’E’s come back to me a bit, if you know what I mean?’

  Emma wrinkled her brow.

  ‘In the bedroom department,’ Ruby whispered. ‘We’re goin’ to try for another one. I expect it’ll ’appen as fast as the others. As soon as ’e ’angs ’is trousers on the bedpost … ’ Ruby gave a contented sigh at the thought of it.

  Emma’s heart froze. She was happy for Ruby, of course she was, but another baby … when she herself had never known what it was like to be pregnant, and give birth, and hold a child of her own in her arms. She swallowed back tears of regret. And longing. A baby wasn’t going to happen for her now, was it? But she had Fleur. And maybe one day Fleur would have a child of her own and Emma would know the feeling of cradling a newborn baby.

  ‘Penny for ’em, Em,’ Ruby said. ‘Or maybe in your case that should be a pound.’

  ‘Don’t. Don’t be jealous, Ruby. There’s nothing to be jealous of.’

  But I am. I’m surprised Ruby can’t see me going green.

  Emma drove on down the drive, past the front of the house to where she always parked the car under a tree, to keep it shaded from the sun when it was hot. The leather seats burned like crazy through her clothes if she didn’t.

  ‘Right, out you get, you lot,’ Ruby said. ‘And no runnin’ off until Mrs Jago tells you where it is you can run to.’

  ‘Anywhere,’ Emma said. ‘The lawn might be a good place to start.’

  The children scampered away and Emma got out of the car and closed the door. Ruby came around to her side and linked her arm through Emma’s.

  ‘I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ that girl of yours,’ Ruby said.

  ‘And she, you. She gets on well with Tom.’

  ‘I know. ’E’s forever tellin’ me she makes the best cup of tea in the world. And ’ow beautiful she is. Not that I’m jealous. ’E’ll get ’is tea ’ow I makes it or go without.’ Ruby leaned into Emma. ‘My, but it’s so good us all bein’ together again.’

  Emma hurried up the drive, pulling Ruby with her. ‘You can get to know one another, you and Fleur, while I’m fitting Stella Martin into her dress.’

  But as they rounded the corner of the house and the lawn came into view Emma could see it wasn’t Stella sitting with Fleur. Fleur had her legs crossed and her arms folded over her chest and a thunderous look on her face.

  Emma froze and pulled Ruby back.

  ‘Oh, bleedin’ ’ell, Em,’ Ruby said, gripping Emma’s arm tight. ‘Caroline bleedin’ P
rentiss.’

  ‘Shush, Ruby. Keep your voice down.’

  ‘’Er’s ’ardly likely to ’ear me from ’ere unless ’er’s got ears what can ’ear a gnat fart at an ’undred paces.’ Ruby wheeled round so her back was to the party on Emma’s lawn.

  ’I ’eard rumours, Em, as ’er’s Caroline Jago now. ’Er married Miles over in America before ’e was ’anged. Well, of course it would ’ave been before ’e was ’anged and not after, wouldn’t it?’ Ruby prattled on, nervously. ‘’Er’s been back ’ere for a while lookin’ after her sick ma, although if you ask me it was only so as others didn’t get any of ’er ma’s money and jewels and that. But now the old girl’s gone and died. There’ll be a funeral soon if there ain’t been already. I should ’ave told you ’er was back.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma said, disentangling Ruby’s arm from hers. ‘I think you should. How many times have you seen her?’

  ‘Two or three. The last time ’er ’ad a man with ’er. Tall. ’E were wearin’ one of they long coats like Mr Smythe used to wear when ’e were goin’ somewhere important when us used to work for ’im.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  Ruby shrugged. ‘’E ’ad an ’at down over ’is eyes, didn’t ’e? Gurt big thing it were.’

  ‘I get the picture. Come on. We’ll have to go. You can tell me anything else you remember afterwards.’

  But if Caroline, with whatever surname she was going by these days, thought she could spoil Fleur’s birthday tea and stop Emma from seeing to her client, and building up a dressmaking business, then she’d got on the wrong boat!

  She and Fleur had a good relationship – most of the time – and they’d see this through. They had to.

  Emma marched across the lawn, Ruby scurrying along beside her, her shorter legs struggling to keep up but being there for Emma – solidarity between friends. Emma’s mouth was scarily dry with nerves and she ran a tongue over her lips to moisten them.

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ Ruby asked.

  Fleur shrugged. Without looking at Ruby but staring with blatant hostility at Emma, she said, ‘He got all dressed up then he said he had to go into town for something. He said he wouldn’t be long.’