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‘Where is he staying?’
Emma chose to ignore this question for the moment. She said, ‘Anthony can’t understand why you’re so opposed to his divorce. It seems you’re making his life miserable, badgering him night and day to reconcile with Min. He is baffled and distressed, Edwina.’
‘So is poor Min! She’s heartbroken, and she can’t comprehend him, or his behaviour. Neither can I. He’s upsetting our lives in the most disturbing way, creating havoc. I’m almost as distraught as she is.’
‘Well, that’s understandable. No one likes divorce, nor the pain it involves. However, you must think of Anthony before anyone else. From what he tells me, he’s been very unhappy for – ’
‘Not that unhappy, Mother,’ Edwina interrupted, her voice snippy and high-pitched with tension. ‘He and Min do have a lot in common, whatever he might have told you. Naturally, he’s disappointed she hasn’t had a child. On the other hand, they’ve only been married six years. She could still get pregnant. Min is perfect for him. And don’t look at me like that, Mother, so very superior and knowing. It just so happens that I know my son better than you do. Anthony might have strength of character, as you’re so fond of pointing out to me whenever you get the opportunity. Nonetheless, he does have certain weaknesses.’
Edwina stopped, uncertain about continuing, then decided her mother might as well know the truth. ‘Sex, for one thing,’ she announced flatly, staring Emma down with a show of defiance. ‘He’ll go for a pretty face every time. He got himself into the most awful scrapes with women before he married Min.’ Edwina shook her head, and bit her lip, muttering in a low voice, ‘I don’t know how much Min actually knows, but I’m aware that in the last couple of years Anthony has had several affairs, and as usual with the wrong sort of women.’
Emma was not unduly surprised by this bit of information, nor was she particularly interested, and she did not rise to the bait. Instead she gave Edwina a curious look, asked, ‘What exactly do you mean by the wrong sort of women?’
‘You know very well what I mean, Mother. Unsuitable females with no background or breeding. A man in Anthony’s position, a peer of the realm with enormous responsibilities, should have a wife who comes from the aristocracy, his own class, who understands his way of life.’
Stifling her amusement at Edwina’s hidebound snobbery, Emma said, ‘Oh for God’s sake, stop talking like a Victorian dowager. We’re living in the twenty-first century – well almost. Your views are outdated, my dear.’
‘I might have known you’d say something like that,’ Edwina replied in a snooty voice. ‘I must admit, you constantly surprise me, Mother. For a woman of your immense wealth and power you are awfully careless about certain things. Background is one of them.’
Emma chuckled and sipped her sherry and her eyes twinkled over the rim of the glass. ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,’ she said, and chuckled again.
Edwina’s face coloured, and then wrinkling her nose in a gesture of distaste, she said, ‘I dread to think of who he’ll end up with, if this divorce ever goes through.’
‘Oh it’s going through all right,’ Emma said in her softest tone. ‘I think you would be wise to accept that. Immediately. It’s a fact of life you cannot change.’
‘We’ll see about that. Min has to agree before he can do anything.’
‘But, my dear Edwina, she has agreed.’
Edwina was shocked and she stared at her mother through horrified eyes, trying to grasp these words. For a split second she was disbelieving, and then with a sinking heart she acknowledged that her mother spoke the truth. Whatever else she was, Emma Harte was not a liar. Furthermore, her information was always reliable, deadly accurate. Edwina finally stammered, ‘But … but …’ Her voice let her down, and she was unable to continue. She reached for her glass with a shaking hand, and then put it back on the table without drinking from it. Slowly she said, ‘But Min didn’t say anything to me last night when we had dinner. How very strange. We’ve always been close. Why, she’s been like a daughter to me. I wonder why she didn’t confide in me, she always has in the past.’ Edwina’s face was a picture of dismay as she pondered Min’s extraordinary behaviour, and her very perplexing reticence.
For the first time, with a sudden flash of insight, Emma understood why her daughter was so frantic. She was obviously on intimate terms with Min, happy in the relationship. Yes, she was comfortable, secure and safe with her daughter-in-law. Anthony, in upsetting the matrimonial applecart, had put his mother’s world in jeopardy, or at least so Edwina believed. She was petrified of change, of a new woman in her son’s life, who may not accept her quite as readily as Min had, who might even alienate her son from her.
Leaning towards Edwina, Emma said with more gentleness than usual, ‘Perhaps Min was afraid to tell you, afraid of distressing you further. Look here, you mustn’t feel threatened by this divorce. It’s not going to change your life that much, and I’m sure Anthony won’t object if you remain friendly with Min.’ She attempted a light laugh. ‘And after all, Anthony is getting a divorce from Min, not from you, Edwina. He would never do anything to hurt you,’ she placated.
‘He already has. His behaviour is unforgivable.’ Edwina’s voice was harsh and unrelenting and her face flooded with bitterness.
Emma drew back, and the irritation she had been suppressing suddenly rose up in her. Her mouth curved down in a tight line, and her eyes turned cold. ‘You’re a selfish woman, Edwina,’ she admonished. ‘You’re not thinking of Anthony, you’re only concerned with yourself. You claim your son is the centre of your life, well, if he is, you have a damn poor way of showing it. He needs your love and support at a difficult time like this, not your animosity.’ Emma threw her a condemning stare. ‘I don’t understand you. There’s far too much resentment and hostility in you, for everyone, not only me. I can’t imagine why. You’ve had a good life, your marriage was happy, at least I presume it was. I know Jeremy adored you, and I always thought you loved him.’ Her glance remained fixed on Edwina. ‘I hope to God you did love him, for your own sake. Yet despite all the wonderful things life has given you, you are filled with an all-consuming anger. Please turn away from it, put this bitterness out of your heart once and for all.’
Edwina remained engulfed in silence, her expression as obdurate as ever, and Emma went on, ‘Trust your son, trust his judgement. I certainly do. You’re knocking your head against a brick wall, fighting this divorce. You can’t possibly win. In fact, you’ll end up the loser. You’ll drive Anthony away forever.’ She searched her daughter’s face, seeking a sign of softening on her part, but it was still closed and unyielding.
Sighing to herself, Emma thought: I give up. I’ll never get through to her. And then she felt compelled to make one last stab at convincing her to change her views. She cautioned gravely, ‘You’ll end up a lonely old woman. I can’t believe you would want that to happen. And if you think I have an axe to grind, remember I have nothing to gain. Very genuinely, Edwina, I simply want to prevent you from making the most terrible mistake.’
Although Edwina was unresponsive, sat huddled in the chair, avoiding her mother’s penetrating eyes, she had been listening attentively for the last few minutes, and digesting Emma’s words. They had struck home, Emma’s belief to the contrary. Now, in the inner recesses of Edwina’s mind, something stirred. It was a dim awareness that she had been wrong. Suddenly, discomfort with herself overwhelmed her, and she felt guilty about Anthony. She had been selfish, more selfish than she had realized until this moment. It was true that she loved Min like the daughter she had never had, and she dreaded the thought of losing her. But she dreaded losing her son more. And that had already begun to happen.
Edwina did not have much insight, nor was she a clever woman, but she was not without a certain intelligence, and this now told her that Anthony had turned to his grandmother in desperation, had confided in Emma instead of her. Resentment and jealousy, her worst traits, flared within her at the thought of this betrayal on her son’s part. And then, with a wisdom uncommon for her, she put aside these feelings. Anthony had not really been treacherous or disloyal. It was all her fault. She was driving him away from her, as her mother had pointed out. Emma was being sincere in trying to bridge the rift rapidly developing between herself and her son. Emma did want them to remain close, that seemed obvious, if she considered her words dispassionately and with fairness. This admission astonished Edwina, and against her volition she experienced a feeling of gratitude to her mother for making this effort on her behalf.
Edwina spoke slowly, in a muted voice. ‘It’s been a shock, the divorce, I mean. But you’re right, Mother. I must think of Anthony first. Yes, it’s his happiness that counts.’
For the first time in her life, Edwina found herself turning to Emma for help. Her anger and bitterness now somewhat diffused, she asked softly, ‘What do you think I should do, Mother? He must be very angry with me.’
Believing that her attempts to drill some common sense into Edwina had had no effect whatsoever, Emma was a bit taken aback by this unanticipated reversal. Rapidly regrouping her thoughts, she said, ‘No, he’s not angry. Hurt perhaps, worried even. He loves you very much, you know, and the last thing he wants is a permanent split between you.’ Emma half smiled. ‘You asked me what you should do. Why, Edwina, I think you should tell him exactly what you’ve just told me … that his happiness is the most important thing to you, and that he has your blessing, whatever he plans to do with his life.’
‘I will,’ Edwina cried. ‘I must.’ She gazed at Emma, for once without rancour, and added, ‘There’s something else.’ She swallowed, finished in a strangled voice, ‘Thank you, Mother. Thank you for trying to help.’
Emma nodded and glanced away. Her face was calm but she was filling with uneasiness. I have to tell her about Sally, she thought. If I avoid revealing his involvement with the girl, holy hell will break loose tomorrow. Everything I’ve accomplished in the last half-hour will be swept away by Edwina’s wrath when she sees them together. This way, she’ll have time to sleep on her rage, perhaps put it behind her. When she’s calm she’ll surely recognize she cannot live her son’s life for him.
Gathering her strength, Emma said, ‘I have something further to say to you, Edwina, and I want you to hear me out before you make any comment.’
Edwina frowned. ‘What is it?’ she asked nervously, clasping her hands together in her lap. Emma was silent, but her face was readable for a change. It telegraphed trouble to Edwina. Steeling herself for what she somehow knew would be a body blow, she nodded for her mother to proceed.
Emma said, ‘Anthony is in love with another woman. It’s Sally … Sally Harte. Now, Edwina, I – ’
‘Oh no!’ Edwina cried, aghast. Her face had paled and she gripped the arms of the chair to steady herself.
‘I asked you to hear me out. You just said your son’s happiness was the only thing that matters. I trust you really meant that. He intends to marry Sally when he is free to do so, and you are – ’
Again Edwina interrupted. ‘And you said you had no axe to grind!’
‘I don’t,’ Emma declared. ‘And if you think I’ve encouraged them, you’re mistaken. I was aware he’d taken her out several times, when he’s been in Yorkshire, I don’t deny that. But I hadn’t paid much attention. Anyway, it seems they are seriously involved. Also, Anthony came to announce his plans to me, not ask my permission to marry my great-niece. Furthermore, I gather he took the same Stance with Randolph, told him he was going to marry his daughter, and without so much as a by your leave. Randolph can be old-fashioned at times, and his nose was considerably out of joint when we spoke late last night. But I soon put him straight.’
Moving to the edge of the chair, the fuming Edwina let her furious glance roam over Emma. She examined that old and wrinkled face minutely, looking for signs of duplicity and cunning. But they were absent, and the hooded green eyes were clear, guileless. Then without warning, a vivid picture of Sally Harte flew into Edwina’s twisting mind. They had run into each other nine months ago, at the exhibition of Sally’s paintings at the Royal Academy. She had sought Edwina out actually, and had been charming, very friendly. At the time Edwina had thought that Sally had grown up to become one of the most beautiful women she had ever laid eyes on. A Harte though, through and through, with her grandfather Winston’s arresting looks, his carefree blue eyes, his dark windblown hair.
Edwina snuffed out the disturbing image of Sally Harte and concentrated her attention on the old woman sitting opposite her, who in turn was observing her acutely and with sternness. Always ready and willing to brand her mother a manipulator, a schemer who contrived to control them and run all of their lives, Edwina decided that in this instance Emma Harte had indeed been an innocent bystander. As much as she wanted to blame her for this … this disaster, she could not. She had the most dreadful conviction that it was her son’s doing, and his alone. Anthony would be unable to resist that lovely, laughing, bewitching face, which she had been so struck by herself. It was his pattern, after all … falling for beautiful features and a shapely figure. Yes, once again, Anthony had managed to get himself involved with the wrong sort of woman, and all because of sex.
With a little shiver, Edwina drew herself up, and said in a clipped voice, ‘Well, Mother, I must admit you’ve convinced me that you’ve not been a party to this unfortunate relationship. I give you the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ Emma said.
‘Nonetheless,’ Edwina continued purposefully, her face set, ‘I must voice my disapproval of this match, or I should say mismatch, to my son. Sally is not cut out to be his wife. She is most unsuitable. For one thing, she is dedicated to her career. Her painting will always come first with her. Consequently, she most certainly won’t fit into his life at Clonloughlin, a life that revolves around the estate, the local gentry and their country pursuits. He is making a terrible mistake, one he will live to regret for the rest of his life. So, therefore, I intend to put a stop to this affair at once.’
How could I have ever given birth to such a pig-headed fool? Emma asked herself. She stood up and said, with great firmness, her manner conclusive, ‘I must leave. Shane will be here any minute. But before I go I have two statements to make, and I want you to listen most carefully. The first concerns Sally. You cannot point a finger at her, since she is beyond reproach and her reputation is impeccable in every sense. As for her career, well, she can just as easily paint at Clonloughlin as she can here. I might also remind you, silly snob that you are, that she is not only accepted by those ridiculous nitwits in so-called high society, whom you have the desire to kowtow to constantly, but is assiduously courted by them. Thank God she has more sense than you, and hasn’t fallen for all that worthless, high-falutin clap trap.’
‘As usual, you’re being insulting, Mother,’ Edwina snapped.
Emma shook her silvered head disbelievingly, her lips pursing. Trust Edwina to interrupt a serious conversation because her sensibilities were offended. She said with a small, very cold smile, ‘Old people believe that age gives them the licence to say exactly what they think, without being concerned that they may be giving offence. I don’t mince my words these days, Edwina. I speak the truth. And I will continue to do so until the day I die. Anything else is a waste of time. But getting back to Sally, I would like to remind you that she is an artist of some repute, also, in case you’d forgotten, she is an heiress in her own right, since my brother Winston left his grandchildren a great fortune. Mind you, I’ll give you your due, I know money isn’t particularly interesting to you, or Anthony, for that matter. Still, that doesn’t change the facts, and you’re making yourself look ridiculous by saying she is unsuitable. Poppycock! Sally is ideal for him. And let’s not dismiss their feelings for each other. They are in love, Edwina, and that’s the most important consideration of all.’
‘Love? Sex, you mean,’ Edwina began, and then stopped, seeing the look of disapproval in Emma’s eyes. ‘Well, you are correct about one thing, Mother, money doesn’t matter to the Dunvale family,’ Edwina finished, looking as if she had just smelled something rotten.
Emma said with cool authority, ‘Anthony is his own man, and for that I will be eternally grateful. He will do as he wishes. And if this relationship is a mistake, then it will be his own mistake to make. Not yours, not mine. Anthony is a man of thirty-three, not a snot-nosed boy in short pants. It would behove you to stop treating him as such.’
Abruptly Emma swung away from Edwina and crossed to the desk in front of the window. She stood behind it, regarding her daughter intently. ‘And so, my dear Edwina, if you do speak to Anthony, I suggest you restrict your conversation to motherly words of love and concern for his well being. And I want you to restrain yourself when he mentions Sally, as no doubt he will. I don’t believe he will tolerate any criticism of her, or his future plans.’
A horn hooted outside the window, startling both women. Emma glanced over her shoulder, saw Shane getting out of his bright red Ferrari. Turning back to Edwina she lifted the address book off the desk and waved it at her. ‘You will find Randolph’s number in here. Anthony is staying at Allington Hall. Take my advice, call your son and make up with him.’ Emma paused, added with finality, ‘Before it is too late.’
Edwina sat rigidly in the chair and not one word passed her white and trembling mouth.
Emma gave her only a cursory glance as she passed the chair, picked up the jacket and evening bag, and left the library. Closing the door quietly behind her she reassured herself she had tried her very best to solve this troublesome family problem and make friends with Edwina at the same time. But she and Edwina did not matter. They would live with their armed truce as they had always done. Only Anthony and Sally were important in the scheme of things.
Emma threw back her shoulders and drew herself to her full height, striking out across the Stone Hall to the front door. And she hoped against hope that Edwina would come to her senses about her son and give him her blessing.
CHAPTER 8 (#ulink_1c374d5f-cd3e-5d4f-a44c-88d6ee3f90a6)
Blackie O’Neill had a plan.
Now, this plan vastly entertained him whenever he thought about it, which had been frequently in the last few days. He was mostly amused because he had never come up with a plan in his entire life.
It had always been Emma who had had a plan. When she had been a little snippet of a girl in patched clothes and worn-out button boots there had been her Plan with a capital P. That had been a plan so grand it had left no room for doubt, and when she had set it finally in motion it had carried her away from Fairley and out into the wide world to seek her fame and fortune. Later she had devised innumerable other plans – for her first shop, her second and her third; then she had created plans to acquire the Gregson Warehouse, the Fairley mills, and yet another for the creation of the Lady Hamilton line of fashions with David Kallinski. And of course there had been her Building Plan, which she tended to pronounce as if this, too, were capitalized. He had been very much a part of that most grandiose plan of all, drawing the architectural blueprints and building her enormous store in Knightsbridge. And this great edifice still stood and it was a proud testament to her most extraordinary achievements.
Yes, his Emma had lived with one kind of plan or another for as long as he had known her, and each one had been put into operation with determination and carried through with consummate skill in her inimitable way. And with every success she would give him a tiny smile of cold triumph and say, ‘You see, I told you it would work.’ He would throw back his head and roar, and congratulate her, and insist they celebrate, and her face would soften and he knew that she was giddy with excitement inside, even if she did not really want to show it.
But he had never made a plan before.
In fact, almost everything that had happened to Blackie O’Neill in his long life had been by sheer happenstance.
When he had first come over from Ireland as a young spalpeen, to work on the Leeds canals with his Uncle Pat, he had never imagined in his wildest fantasies that he would become a millionaire many times over. Oh, he had boasted that he was going to be a rich ‘toff’ to young Emma, when she had been a servant at Fairley Hall, but at that time it had seemed unlikely ever to come true. It had been something of an idle boast, and he had laughed at himself in secret. His boasting had proved not to be so idle after all.
Over the years, Emma had often teased him and said that he had the luck of the Irish, and this was true in many respects. He had had to work hard; on the other hand, he had also carried Lady Luck in his breast pocket, and great and good fortune had continually blessed him. There had been times of terrible sadness in his personal life, and sorrow too. For one thing, he had lost his lovely Laura far too young, but she had given him his son, and he considered Bryan to be his best bit of luck of all. As a child Bryan had been warm and loving, and they had stayed close, enjoyed a unique relationship to this day. Bryan had a shrewd, sharp brain, was inspired and fearless in business, a genius really, and together they had parlayed O’Neill Construction into one of the biggest and most important building companies in Europe. When Bryan’s wife, Geraldine, had inherited two hotels from her father, Leonard Ingham, it was Bryan who had had the foresight and brains to hang on to them. Those little hotels in Scarborough and Bridlington, catering to family holidaymakers, had become the nucleus for the great O’Neill chain, which was now an international concern, and a public company trading on the London Stock Exchange.
But had Blackie planned all this? No, never. It had simply come about by chance, through the most marvellous serendipity. Of course he had been smart enough to recognize his train when it had come rolling through his station, and he had jumped on it with alacrity, and he had used every opportunity that presented itself to his advantage. In so doing, he had, like Emma, created an empire, and founded a dynasty of his own.
These thoughts ran through Blackie’s head as he dressed for dinner, and he chuckled to himself from time to time as he contemplated his first Plan, also with a capital P. Not unnaturally, it involved Emma, with whom he spent a great deal of time these days. He had decided to take her on a trip around the world. When he had first suggested this a few weeks ago, she had looked at him askance, scoffed at the idea, and told him she was far too busy and preoccupied with her affairs to go gallivanting off on a holiday in foreign parts. His smooth Irish tongue and persuasive manner had seemingly had no effect. Nevertheless, he had made up his mind to get his own way. After a great deal of thought, and pacing the floor racking his brains, he had devised a plan – and the key to it was Australia. Blackie knew that Emma secretly itched to go to Sydney, to see her grandson Philip McGill Amory, who was being trained to take over the vast McGill holdings. He was also aware that Emma had balked at the thought of the long and exhausting trip to the other side of the world, and she was still vacillating about going.
So he would take her, and they would travel in style.
Naturally she would be unable to resist his invitation when he explained how comfortable, luxurious, leisurely and effortless their journey would be. First they would fly to New York and spend a week there, before going to San Francisco for another week. Once they were rested and refreshed they would hop over to Hong Kong and the Far East, and slowly head to their final destination in easy stages.
And he fully intended to make sure she had a little fun on their peregrinations. Blackie could no longer count the times he had asked himself if Emma had ever really had any honest-to-goodness fun in her life. Perhaps becoming one of the richest women in the world had been her way of enjoying herself. On the other hand, he was not sure how much pleasure she had derived from this consuming, back-breaking endeavour. In any event, he was planning all sorts of entertaining diversions, and young Philip was the tempting morsel he would dangle in front of her nose, and if he was not mistaken the trip would prove to be irresistible to her.
Blackie knotted his blue silk tie and stood away from the mirror, eyeing it critically.
It’s sober enough, I am thinking, he muttered, knowing Emma would make a sarcastic remark if he wore one of his gaudier numbers. Long, long ago Laura had curbed, at least to some extent, his exotic taste for colourful brocade waistcoats, elaborately-tailored suits and flashy jewellery; Emma had cured him completely. Well, almost. Occasionally Blackie could not resist the temptation to indulge himself in a few jazzy silk ties and handkerchiefs and ascots in florid patterns and brilliant colours, but he made certain never to wear them when he was seeing Emma. He reached for his dark blue jacket and put it on, smoothed the edge of his pristine white collar, and nodded at his reflection. I might be an old codger, but sure an’ I feel like a young spalpeen tonight, he thought with another chuckle.
Snowy-haired though he was, Blackie’s bright black eyes were still as merry and mischievous as they had been when he was a young man in his prime, and his bulk and size were undiminished by age. He was in remarkable health and looked more like a man in his seventies than one who was eighty-three. His mind was alert, agile and unimpaired, and senility was a foreign word to him, in much the same way as it was to Emma.
Pausing in the middle of the bedroom he dwelled momentarily on the evening ahead, the business matter he would discuss with Emma. He was glad Shane and he had decided to broach the subject to her. Once that was out of the way, and when they were alone, he would move gently into the conversation about the trip. It won’t be easy, he told himself, you know she’s the stubborn one. When he had first met Emma he had recognized at once that she had the most pertinacious will it had ever been his misfortune to encounter, and it had only grown more inflexible over the years.
A scene flashed, transporting him back to the past. 1906. A bitter cold January day. Emma sitting next to him on the tramcar going to Armley, looking impossibly beautiful in a new black wool coat and the green-and-black scarf and tam-o’-shanter he had given her for Christmas. The green tones in the tartan bringing out the green depths in her eyes, the black showing off the flawlessness of her alabaster skin.
What a pallor her face had held that Sunday, nonetheless, it had not marred her loveliness, he ruminated, remembering every detail of that afternoon so clearly. She had been seventeen and carrying Edwina, and oh how rigid she had been in her obstinacy. It had taken all of his powers of persuasion to manoeuvre her on to that tram. She had not wanted to go to Armley, nor to make the acquaintance of his dear friend, Laura Spencer. Still, when the two girls had met they had taken to each other instantly, and were the closest of loving friends until the day poor Laura died. Yes, Emma’s terrible burdens had eased, once she had moved into Laura’s snug little house, and he had experienced an enormous sense of relief, knowing Laura would mother her, watch over her. And he had won that day, as he fully intended to win with her now, sixty-three years later.
Opening the top drawer of the bureau at the other side of the room, he took out a small black leather jewel box, stared at it thoughtfully, and then slipped it in his pocket. Humming to himself he strode out and went downstairs.
Blackie O’Neill still lived in the grand mansion he had built for himself in Harrogate in 1919. A handsome wide staircase, so beautifully designed it appeared to float, curved down into a charming circular entrance hall of lovely dimensions, where walls painted a rich apricot acted as a counterpoint to the crisp black-and-white marble floor. The square marble slabs had been set down at an angle, so that they became diamond shapes, and they led the eye to the niches on either side of the front door. White marble statues, of the Greek goddesses Artemis and Hecate, graced these niches and were highlighted by hidden spots. An elegant Sheraton console, inlaid with exotic fruitwoods, stood against one wall underneath a gilt Georgian mirror, and was flanked on either side by Sheraton chairs upholstered in apricot velvet. Illuminating the hall was a huge antique crystal-and-bronze-dore chandelier which dropped down from the domed ceiling, and the setting had elegance without the slightest hint of ostentation.
Crossing the hall, Blackie went into the drawing room. Here a log fire burned cheerily in the Adam fireplace, and the silk-shaded lamps cast rafts of warming light on to the cool green walls, on the sofas and chairs covered in darker green silk. Splendid paintings, and Sheraton and Hep-plewhite antiques, added to the graciousness of the room, which exemplified Blackie’s sense of style and colour and perspective in furniture and design.
He fussed with the bottle of champagne in the silver wine cooler, turning it several times, shifting the ice around, then he took a cigar from the humidor and went over to his favourite chair to wait. He had no sooner trimmed the cigar, and lighted it, than he heard them in the hall. He put the cigar in the ashtray, and rose.
‘There you are, mavourneen,’ he cried, hurrying to meet Emma as she came into the room. There was a wide smile on his ruddy face as he exclaimed, ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes.’ He hugged her tightly to his broad chest, held her away and looked down at her. He smiled again, admiration shining in his eyes. ‘And aren’t you my bonny colleen tonight.’
Emma smiled back at him, love and warmth overflowing in her. ‘Thank you, Blackie dear. And I must admit, you don’t look so bad yourself. That’s a beautiful suit.’ Her eyes twinkled merrily as she ran a hand down his arm expertly. ‘Mmmm. Very nice cloth. It feels like a bit of my best worsted.’
‘It is, it is,’ Blackie said, and winked at Shane who was standing behind Emma. ‘Would I be wearing anything else now. But come, me darlin’, and sit here, and let me get you a glass of champagne.’
Emma allowed him to guide her across the room to the sofa. She sat down, and a brow lifted. ‘Are we celebrating something?’
‘No, no, not really. Unless it’s reaching our grand old ages and being in such good health.’ He squeezed her shoulder affectionately, added, ‘Also, I know you prefer wine to the stronger stuff.’ He glanced at Shane. ‘Would you do the honours, me boy? And make mine a drop of me good Irish.’
‘Right you are, Grandfather.’
Blackie seated himself in the chair facing Emma, picked up his cigar and puffed on it reflectively for a moment, then said to her, ‘And I expect you’ve had a busy day as usual. I’m beginning to wonder if you’ll ever retire … as you’re constantly threatening to do.’
‘I don’t suppose I ever will,’ Emma laughed. ‘You know very well I plan to go with my boots on.’
Blackie shot her a chastising look. ‘Don’t talk to me about dying. I’ve no intention of doing that for a long time.’ He chuckled softly. ‘I’ve a lot more damage to do yet.’
Emma laughed with him, and so did Shane, who carried their drinks over to them. He fetched his own, and they clinked glasses and toasted each other. Shane took a swallow of his scotch, and said, ‘Would you both excuse me for a few minutes. I have to phone Winston.’
Emma said, ‘I hope you have better luck than I did. I was trying to get him for ages, earlier. First the line was busy, then there was no answer.’
Shane frowned. ‘Perhaps he’d slipped down to the village. Any message, Aunt Emma?’
‘Tell him that we didn’t – ’Changing her mind, she broke off and shook her head. ‘Never mind, Shane. It’s not important. I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, and I’m sure we’ll have a chance to chat at some point then.’
When they were alone, Blackie reached across and took Emma’s hand in his, and stared deeply into her face. ‘It’s grand to see you, me darlin’. I’ve missed you.’
Emma’s eyes danced. ‘Get along with you, you silly old thing. You just saw me the day before yesterday,’ she exclaimed, amusement surfacing. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our dinner at Pennistone.’
‘Of course I haven’t. But it seems like a long time to me, caring about you the way I do.’ He patted her hand affectionately and sat back in his chair, giving her the fondest of looks. ‘And I meant it when I said you looked bonny, Emma. You’re a real bobby dazzler in that dress, it’s very flattering on you, me darlin’ girl.’
‘Some girl! But thank you, I’m glad you like it,’ she answered with a smile of real pleasure. ‘My friend Ginette Spanier, at Balmain’s, picked it out for me and had it shipped over from Paris last week. Mind you, Edwina was rather scathing earlier. She told me it was too young for me, the colour, you know.’
Blackie’s expression altered radically. ‘She was just being catty, Emma. Edwina’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of that old oak tree out yonder in my garden. She’ll never change.’ He noticed the look of pain flit across Emma’s face, and he frowned with concern for her, cursing her daughter under his breath, Edwina had always been troublesome. But then so had most of the others, and there were a couple of Emma’s children whom he could quite cheerfully strangle with his bare hands. He cried heatedly, ‘I hope she’s not been giving you a hard time!’
‘No, not really.’
She sounded unusually hesitant, and Blackie spotted this immediately, and shook his marvellous white, leonine head, and exhaled in exasperation. ‘I’ll never understand Jim. I don’t know what prompted him to invite her. It was stupid on his part, if you ask me.’
‘Yes, and Paula was upset too, but I decided not to intervene. I thought it would look petty. But …’ Emma shrugged, and, since she confided most things in Blackie these days, she told him about her conversation with Edwina, her attempts to reason with her daughter.
Blackie listened carefully, occasionally nodding, and when she had finished he said, in a low voice, ‘Well, I’m happy for Sally, if this is what she wants. She’s a lovely lass, and Anthony is a nice chap. Down-to-earth, and not a bit stuck up, which is more than I can say for that mother of his.’ He paused. Recollections swamped him. Slowly, he added, ‘She was most peculiar when she was growing up, and never very nice to you, Emma. Always slighting you, if I remember correctly, and believe me, I do. I haven’t forgotten how she used to show her preference for Joe Lowther, making it so bloody obvious too. She was a little bitch, and she hasn’t changed. Please promise me you’ll let this matter about Anthony rest. I don’t want you getting agitated because of Edwina. She’s not worth it.’
‘Yes, you’re right, and I. promise.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Let’s forget about Edwina. Where are you taking me to dinner? Shane was most mysterious when we were driving over here.’
‘Was he now, mavourneen.’ Blackie grinned from ear to ear. ‘To tell you the truth, Emma, I couldn’t think of a nice enough place, so I told Mrs Padgett to prepare dinner for us here. I know you like her home cooking, and she’s rustled up a lovely bit of spring lamb. I told her to make new potatoes, brussel sprouts and Yorkshire pudding, all your favourites. Now, me darlin’, how does that sound to you?’
‘Delicious, and I’m glad we’re not going out. It’s much cosier here, and I do feel a bit tired.’
