‘Oh Gran, this is going a bit fast isn’t it?’ Paula asked softly, and with a hint of concern, staring at Emma.
‘I wouldn’t say that, dear,’ Emma remarked. ‘They’re hardly strangers, Paula. They grew up together, and I should think they know each other pretty well by now. They won’t have any unpleasant surprises about each other after they’re married. Of course the wedding can’t take place until next summer, what with my trip to Australia and their travelling. But frankly, I’m relieved to know Emily has someone to look after her…I won’t be around forever, you know. Yes, I find it most satisfying that those two are settling down together, most satisfying indeed. It gives me a lovely warm feeling here.’ She patted her chest, continuing to smile.
‘If you’re happy and Emily is happy then I am too,’ Paula said. ‘And come to think of it, she and Winston were extremely close when they were little…they’re admirably suited. Shouldn’t I call her, Gran, to congratulate her?’ Paula half rose, made to reach for the telephone on Emma’s desk.
Emma said, ‘I don’t think you’ll find her at Belgrave Square. She was going to the theatre with Winston, and she’s probably left the flat by now.’ Glancing at her watch, Emma nodded. ‘Yes, it’s already turned seven. You’ll have to ring her late tonight. In the meantime, I really think I’ve got to get out of this place, I’ve been here since eight this morning. I’ve had it – and you look as if you have too.’ Emma stood up, frowning at Paula as she did. ‘Are you sure you’re quite well?’
Paula summoned a smile. ‘Never better, Gran,’ she fibbed, not wanting to worry her grandmother.
Privately Emma thought that Paula looked completely exhausted, worn down. She had never seen the girl like this and it concerned her. But she made no further comment, and turning away she picked up her handbag. Her mouth tightened imperceptibly. She had a sneaking suspicion that for all his easy grace and lighthearted charm and boyish manner, Jim Fairley was a difficult man. But she would not pry, nor would she try to live her granddaughter’s life for her.
As they left the office, Emma said, ‘I’ve booked a table at Cunningham’s – I hope you fancy fish.’
‘Yes, and I’m not very hungry anyway, Gran.’
Later, over dinner at the Mayfair oyster bar and fish restaurant, Paula’s appearance underwent a change, one which pleased Emma. Her alabaster complexion took on a soft shell-pink cast, and her eyes lost their haunted expression as she visibly relaxed. By the time coffee was served Paula seemed so much more like her normal self, Emma made a decision: She would take Paula into her confidence. Before they left Cunningham’s this evening she would make brief mention of her suspicions about Jonathan, but casually so, and in passing. She felt it was necessary to warn Paula; on the other hand she did not wish to alarm her unduly. And tomorrow, when she had dinner with Alexander, she would apprise him of the situation. In one sense it was more important that he was alerted, put on his guard, since Jonathan Ainsley worked for Harte Enterprises.
CHAPTER 20
It was 30 April and today she was eighty years old.
She awakened early, as was usual, and as she lay in her bed, shaking off the residues of sleep, she thought: Today is a special day, isn’t it? And then instantly she remembered why this day was different from others. It was her birthday.
Emma had an aversion to lying in bed once she was awake, and she pushed herself up and brought her feet to the floor, half smiling to herself as she padded across the carpet to the windows. She had made it. She had never imagined she would live so long. Why, she was eleven years older than this century. In 1889, in that small cottage in Top Fold in Fairley village, her mother Elizabeth Harte had brought her into the world.
Drawing the draperies, she peered out. Her smile widened. It was a gorgeous day, full of sunshine and a startling brilliance. The sky was a crystalline blue and cloudless, and the trees below her in Belgrave Square were full blown and brightly green, their heavily-laden branches undulating with shimmering light under the breeze. She had been born on such a day as this, a balmy spring day, her mother had once told her, a day that was unusually warm for this time of year, especially in the cool Northern climes of Yorkshire.
Emma stretched. She felt alert and refreshed after a good night’s rest, and as vigorous as she had ever been. Full of piss and vinegar, she thought, and immediately an image of her brother Winston flashed into her mind. That had been his favourite expression to describe her, when she had been revved up and bubbling over with enthusiasm, energy and drive. She wished he was still alive, and her younger brother, Frank. Sudden sadness streamed through her, but it was fleeting. Today was not a day for feeling sorry for herself, for missing those whom she had so dearly loved and who had departed this world. Today was a day for positive thoughts. A day for celebration. A day for looking to the future, concentrating on the younger generation…her grandchildren.
If all of her children except Daisy were lost to her, at least she had the immense satisfaction of knowing that their offspring would carry her bright banner forward, continue the great dynasty she had created, preserve her mighty business empire.
She stopped abruptly, paused in her progress across the room, and asked herself if it was a ferocious personal vanity that had fostered the dynastic impulse in her. A desire for immortality perhaps? She was not certain. But she did comprehend one thing – to produce a dynasty such as she had done, it was absolutely necessary to view ambition on the grandest of scales, to imbue it in others.
Emma laughed out loud. It was just conceivable that she had always envisioned herself as being larger than life, different, and so truly indomitable she was not mortal at all. Egotism, she thought, and once more her rippling laughter filled the silent bedroom. Her enemies had frequently labelled her the total and supreme egotist. But why not? It was the truth, indeed it was. And without her enormous ego surely she would never have done the things she had done, accomplished all that she had. That ego, that belief in herself, had given her courage and self-confidence, had propelled her forward and upward, right to the top. To the glittering pinnacle of success.
Well, she didn’t have time to waste this morning, contemplating her motives, analysing the internal forces that had driven her all the days of her life. She had done what she felt had to be done, and, very simply, that was that. She walked purposefully into the bathroom to prepare herself for the day facing her, shoving to one side these thoughts, deeming them unimportant.
An hour later, after she had bathed, dressed and breakfasted, Emma hurried downstairs to the second floor of her maisonette. She looked fresh and vitally alive, dressed in a crisply tailored light-wool dress in a shade of delphinium blue. She wore splendid jewellery with it – sapphire earrings and a matching brooch pinned on to one shoulder, a double strand of pearls, Paul’s wedding ring and Blackie’s large diamond. Not one hair of her immaculate, gleaming silver head was out of place, her makeup was perfect, and the bounce in her step belied her great age.
Emma still lived in Belgrave Square in the elegant, beautifully appointed mansion which Paul McGill had purchased for them in the late summer of 1925, soon after the birth of their daughter Daisy. At the time, catering to Emma’s fear of vicious gossip, her reluctance to flaunt their relationship and her overwhelming need to be discreet and circumspect, he had had the house remodelled into two flats. And he had spared no expense in the process. The noted architect he had engaged had designed small bachelor quarters on the ground floor for Paul; the three floors which soared above were transformed into the luxurious triplex flat for Emma, Daisy, the nanny, and the rest of the staff. To the outside observer, the bachelor apartment and the large airy flat spanning three floors were entirely separate, were two distinct, self-contained dwellings, each having its own entrance. However, the two were ingeniously linked by a private interior elevator, which ran between the small hall in Paul’s bachelor quarters to the larger and more elegant foyer in Emma’s flat on the next floor. Because of this lift, the dwellings
operated efficiently as one house.
During the war years, immediately following Paul’s crippling accident and tragic suicide in Australia in 1939, Emma had closed up his bachelor flat. Unable to enter it without breaking down with uncontrollable grief and searing despair, she had turned her back on these rooms, ignoring them except for having them regularly cleaned. In 1948, when she was finally able to confront his possessions, she had had some of the rooms modernized and redecorated. Since then she had utilized the smaller downstairs flat as guest quarters for visiting friends or her grandchildren.
Parker, her butler, was busy sorting the morning post when Emma walked into her study. This was a pleasant, airy room of medium size, comfortably furnished with country antiques.
‘Happy birthday, Mrs Harte,’ said Parker, looking up and smiling. ‘Quite a heavy post this morning, madam.’
‘Oh my goodness, I see what you mean!’ Emma exclaimed. The butler had stacked a staggering amount of mail on the chintz-covered sofa, and was methodically opening envelopes with a paper knife, removing the birthday cards, and throwing the envelopes into the wastepaper basket.
Emma joined him in this task, but soon she had to keep breaking off to answer the phone, and then, not long afterwards, the door bell began ringing as flowers and gifts arrived in a steady and continuing stream. Parker and Mrs Ramsey, the housekeeper, had their hands full, and Emma was left alone to cope with the post.
At about eleven-thirty, when the activity was at its height Daisy McGill Amory walked in, unexpected and unannounced.
Emma’s youngest daughter would be forty-four in May, but she did not look her age. She had a slender figure, softly curling black hair that framed her tranquil, unlined face, and luminous blue eyes that mirrored her lovely disposition and gentle nature. Unlike her daughter Paula, who favoured a hard-edged chic and was extremely fashion conscious, Daisy was more like Emma in her taste in clothes. She always chose soft, rather feminine outfits, and this morning she wore a simple lilac wool suit and a matching blouse with a frilly jabot which fell down the front, gold jewellery, and black patent pumps and handbag.
‘Happy happy birthday, Mother,’ Daisy said from the doorway, her expression loving, her eyes awash with tenderness.
Emma looked up from the pile of envelopes and broke into smiles. She was delighted to see Daisy, welcomed her calm presence. Springing up from behind the desk, Emma went to greet her with affection and warmth.
‘This is from us…David and I do hope you like it, Mummy.’ She laughed. ‘You’re awfully hard to buy for, you know. You do have everything.’ She thrust a package at Emma.
‘Thank you, Daisy, and since you have the best taste in the world I’m sure it’s going to be something quite lovely.’
Sinking on to the sofa, Emma began to unwrap Daisy’s gift. ‘All this fuss! And at my age!’
Daisy knew that her mother was enjoying every minute, despite her protestations. She joined her on the sofa and said, ‘But Mummy, that’s just the point. This is an important day…you must sit back, relax, and savour every minute of it.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. But it certainly looks as if I’ll never get to the store this morning.’
Daisy stared at her, her bright blue eyes aghast. ‘You can’t go to work this morning, darling, it –’
‘Why ever not?’ Emma interrupted. ‘I always go to work.’
‘Not today you’re not! It wouldn’t be appropriate.’ Daisy shook her head vigorously. ‘Besides,’ she paused, glanced at her watch and went on, ‘in a short while I’m going to take you off to lunch.’
‘But I –’
‘No buts, my darling Mamma,’ Daisy said, her tone amused yet firm. ‘I’m not your daughter, and Paul McGill’s, for nothing. I can be just as tough as he was, and as you are, when I want to be. And this is one of those days when I’m putting my foot down. Hard. We haven’t had lunch together for the longest time, and in a few days you’ll be leaving with Uncle Blackie – and you’ll be gone for months, from what I hear. Please don’t disappoint me, I’ve been so looking forward to it, and I’ve already reserved a table at the Mirabelle.’
Emma smiled at Daisy, her favourite, her best-loved child. She had always found it hard to refuse her anything. ‘All right,’ she said, relenting. ‘We’ll have lunch together, and then I’ll go to the store this afternoon. Oh Daisy, this is lovely!’ Emma now exclaimed, staring at the solid gold, handmade evening bag she held in her hands. ‘Why, darling, it’s simply beautiful.’ Her pleasure was apparent as she turned the bag around, opening it, looked inside, closed it. After examining it for a few seconds longer, she returned it to its protective black leather case, leaned over and kissed her daughter. ‘Thank you, Daisy, this is stunning. And perfect for my trip, since it’ll go with all my evening clothes.’
Daisy nodded, pleased and relieved that the gift was a success. ‘That’s what David and I thought, and we really racked our brains to come up with an unusual present. Are you sure you like the style? If you don’t, Asprey’s will be happy to send a salesperson over with two or three others for you to look at.’
‘No, no, I don’t want to see anything else, I like this one,’ Emma assured her. ‘Actually, I shall carry it tonight.’
The phone rang. ‘Shall I get that for you, Mummy?’
‘Would you, darling, please?’
Daisy leaned over the desk, took the phone, answered crisply. There was a brief exchange of pleasantries and after a moment Daisy said, ‘I’ll see if she can come to the phone. It’s a little hectic here this morning. Just a minute, please.’ Depressing the hold button, Daisy glanced at her mother. ‘It’s Elizabeth. She’s back in London. Do you want to speak to her? I think perhaps you should.’
‘Of course I’ll speak to her.’ Emma crossed to the desk. If she was surprised she did not show it, and she said steadily, ‘Hello, Elizabeth.’ Sitting down, she leaned back in the chair and cradled the receiver on her shoulder, toying with the pen in the onyx inkstand.
‘Thank you,’ she responded shortly, ‘yes, it is a grand age, but I don’t feel eighty. More like fifty-eight! And I’m as fit as a fiddle.’ There was another pause. Emma focused her eyes on the wall opposite. They narrowed slightly and suddenly she cut in peremptorily, ‘I think Winston was simply being courteous when he asked my permission. It wasn’t really necessary. I don’t think I have to remind you that Emily is of age. She can do anything she wants. And no, I didn’t speak to Tony. I thought it was up to Emily to break the news to her father.’
Emma fell silent as her middle daughter talked incessantly at the other end of the phone. She looked across at Daisy, and made a face, rolled her eyes heavenward. Her patience began to dwindle and she interrupted again. ‘I thought you phoned to wish me a happy birthday, Elizabeth, not to complain about Emily’s engagement.’
An ironic smile flitted across Emma’s face as she listened to Elizabeth’s protests that she was not complaining.
‘I’m glad to hear you say so,’ Emma said into the receiver, ‘because that would be a waste of breath. Now, how was your trip to Haiti? And how’s your new boyfriend – Marc Deboyne?’
Elizabeth gurgled ecstatically into Emma’s ear for a few more minutes, and finally Emma brought their conversation to a close with a brisk, ‘Well, I’m glad you’re happy, and thank you for calling, and for the birthday present. I’m sure it will arrive here any minute. Goodbye, Elizabeth.’ She hung up.
Daisy asked, ‘Is she upset about Emily and Winston?’
Emma laughed with some acerbity. ‘Of course not. She’s just making appropriate noises because she wasn’t informed first, before me. You know Elizabeth as well as I do, she’s very self-involved. But it was nice of her to ring up for my birthday.’ Emma walked back to the couch and sat down. She gave Daisy an odd look, and half shrugged. ‘Edwina phoned earlier, and so did Robin and Kit…I must say, I was very surprised to hear from my sons. I haven’t heard a peep out of them, since that debacle over the will las
t year. Then today they’re as nice as pie, and tell me they’ve sent me gifts too. Can you believe it?’
‘Perhaps they’re sorry, Mother, regret their plotting –’
‘I doubt it!’ Emma exclaimed softly. ‘I’m far too cynical to think that either of them would have a change of heart. No, I’m sure their wives were behind the calls. June and Valerie have always been decent women. I can’t imagine how they’ve managed to put up with my sons all these years. Kit plots. Robin schemes. Oh well –’ Emma reached out now and took Daisy’s hand in hers. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, darling. It’s about this house…are you sure you don’t want it?’
Daisy was startled, and she said in a surprised voice, ‘But you’ve left this house to Sarah, haven’t you?’
‘Yes. However, I only bequeathed it to her because you indicated that you weren’t interested in owning it, when we discussed the matter last year. But it should be yours or your children’s. After all, your father did buy it for us.’
‘I know, and I’ve always adored this house. It holds so many special memories for me…of my years growing up, of Daddy and you, and the lovely times the three of us had here. It is a little big though, and –’
Emma held up a silencing hand. ‘Not if you think of it as two flats rather than one house. He did that for me, as you know. I did so want to keep up appearances…’ Emma broke off and started to laugh. ‘Goodness, Daisy, how times have changed. People think nothing of living together quite openly these days. Anyway, getting back to the disposition of this house, I thought you might want to reconsider. You have grandchildren now. Philip’s bound to marry one day and in the not too distant future, I expect. He’ll have children, he may even want to send them to school in England. Two self-contained flats under one unifying roof is awfully useful.’