A Woman of Substance (86 page)

But Emma did not come to the village—at least not until Gerald Fairley had vacated Fairley Hall. Two days after his departure her silver-grey Rolls-Royce pulled up into the mill yard and she went into the mill to hold a meeting with the workers. The manager, Josh Wilson, son of Ernest, who had served Adam so well, assembled the men and women in the weaving shed. Emma, wearing a navy-blue tailored dress, a navy cloche, and pearls, cordially greeted some of the men she remembered from her childhood and then addressed the gathering.

She was direct: ‘As you are only too well aware, there has been a slump in the cloth business for almost eighteen months, ever since the price of wool hit ??ock bottom, to be followed by the price of cloth. Due to ?? inferior management of the previous owner, Fairley mil?? h?? been limping along and I know that many men were laid off over the past few months.’ Emma paused and cleared her throat. ‘I am afraid I cannot reinstate those men.’ She held up her hand as loud groans and mutterings rippled through the audience. ‘However, I am going to give a small pension to the men who have been laid off and who have not found work in the nearby towns. I would also like to say now, and most definitely, that I have no intention of closing the mill, as I believe many of you thought I would. But under the present circumstances, I must retrench, economize, reorganize, and decrease the staff. Therefore, all men of retiring age and close to it will be retired immediately. Each man will receive a pension. Younger men, especially those who are single, will be offered jobs in my other companies, if they are willing to leave Fairley and carve out a niche for themselves in the cities of Leeds and Bradford. Those who do not wish to take advantage of this offer may remain. Of course, I hope some of you will consider it, so that I can reduce the work force here in order to operate more economically. As I told Josh, I am going to sell the quality cloth we produce to the three Kallinski tailoring factories in Leeds, but even their
orders will not be sufficient to keep the mill in full production. I have a solution to that problem. I am going to start making a lower-quality cloth immediately, to be sold at cheaper prices abroad, and I hope there will be a demand for it here, too.’

Emma smiled confidently. ‘I am fortunate in that I can afford to ride out this slump, and with a little luck, and your cooperation, I know we can turn this mill around and put it on a paying basis quickly. Let me say again, I am not going to close the mill, so I don’t want any of you to worry about your jobs. I don’t intend to let this village starve.’

They cheered her rousingly, and one by one, clutching their cloth caps, the men came to shake her hand, to thank her, and to welcome her back to Fairley. ‘I knew yer dad, love,’ one man told her, and another added, ‘By gum, Big Jack’d be right proud of yer, lass.’

After a meeting with Josh Wilson, Emma stepped into her Rolls and told the chauffeur to drive her to Fairley Hall. Blackie O’Neill’s workmen were already swarming all over the house, scrambling up ladders and across the roof. Windows were being removed, chimneys dismantled, and slates ripped off. Emma smiled to herself, and returned to Leeds.

At first the villagers believed the Hall was being renovated and they were excited about this development and looked forward to welcoming Emma Harte as the lady of the manor. But within the space of a week, they realized, to their shock, that the house was being slowly demolished, and they were baffled.

In the middle of May, Emma made a second trip to Fairley Hall. She walked along the terrace, which still remained intact, and regarded the great tract of rough bare ground where the house and stables had formerly stood. Not one brick was left and the rose garden, too, had disappeared. Emma felt an enormous surge of relief and an unexpected sense of liberation. Fairley Hall, that house where she had suffered such humiliation and heartache, might never have existed. It could no longer hurt her with the painful memories it evoked. She had exorcized all the ghosts of her childhood. She was free at last of the Fairleys.

Blackie, who arrived a few moments later, put his arm around her shoulders. ‘I followed your instructions down to the letter and removed the monstrosity, mavourneen. But like the whole of the village, I am eaten up with curiosity, Emma. Tell me, darlin’, what are you going to do with this land?’

Emma looked up at him and smiled. ‘I am going to turn it into a park. A beautiful park for the villagers of Fairley, and I am going to name it after my mother.’

A week later, on a lovely evening at the end of May, Emma stepped out of a taxi at the Savoy Hotel in London and hurried through the lobby to the American Bar. She saw Frank before her saw her. He was seated at a table facing the lobby, and as she mounted the short flight of steps into the bar she noticed that he looked reflective and brooding as he nursed his drink.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ she said, coming to a standstill in front of him.

Momentarily startled, Frank raised his head quickly and his eyes lit up. ‘There you are!’ He rose and pulled out a chair for her. ‘And don’t you look lovely, our Em.’

‘Why, thank you, darling.’ She smoothed the skirt of her lime-green silk dress and took off her white kid gloves. ‘It is a scorcher, isn’t it? I think I’ll have a gin fizz, Frank, please. It will refresh me. I had quite a hectic day at the store.’

Frank ordered the drink and lit a cigarette. ‘I’m sorry to drag you all the way down to the Strand, but it is closer to Fleet Street and I’ve got to be back at the paper in a short while.’

‘I didn’t mind coming here. I rather like this bar. Anyway, why did you want to see me? You sounded urgent when you phoned me at the store. I was a little worried, to tell you the truth.’

‘I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to do that. Actually, it’s not all that urgent, but I did want to talk to you.’

‘What about?’

‘Arthur Ainsley.’

Emma’s shapely brows shot up. ‘Arthur. Good heavens, why do you want to talk about
him
?’

‘Winston and I have been worried about you lately. You’re sitting in a hopeless marriage and it disturbs us both. In fact, we think you should divorce Arthur. I promised Winston I would broach the idea to you.’

‘A divorce!’ Emma laughed gaily. ‘Whatever for? Arthur doesn’t bother me.’

‘He’s not right for you, Emma, and you know it. There’s his terrible drinking, for one thing, and the way he carries on with—’Frank swallowed and drew on his cigarette.

‘Other women,’ Emma finished for him. She looked amused. ‘I realize the wife is always supposed to be the last to know. However, I’ve been aware of Arthur’s activities for a long time. You don’t have to spare my feelings.’

‘And it doesn’t upset you?’ Frank asked.

‘My monumental lack of interest in Arthur Ainsley and the way he conducts his life must surely negate the idea that I
care
for him. Actually, I have no feelings for Arthur whatsoever.’

‘Then why not get a divorce, Emma?’

‘Because of the children, mainly.’

‘Fiddlesticks! You’re using them as an excuse. Edwina and Kit are away at boarding school. They wouldn’t be affected—’

‘I was thinking of the twins, Frank. They are Arthur’s children and they need a father.’

‘What kind of father is Arthur?’ Frank snorted.

Emma picked up the drink the waiter had placed before her. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers. Now, come on, give me an answer.’

‘Well, he is a presence in their lives. He’s very fond of them, and quite good with them, really.’

‘When he’s sober,’ Frank pointed out with a degree of acerbity.

Emma sighed. ‘There’s a grain of truth in what you say, of course. But look here, Frank, I honestly don’t want to divorce
Arthur, even though I have grounds. At least, not right now. You know I hate upheaval and I really
do
think it’s the wrong time. Perhaps when the children are older I’ll consider it.’ Her voice trailed off and she looked pensive. She cheered. ‘I’m reasonably content. Arthur doesn’t interfere with me, or the business, and you know how much I love that.’

‘You can’t take ledgers to bed with you, our Em. They don’t keep you warm on a cold night, and they certainly can’t cherish and love you as you should be cherished and loved.’

Emma laughed. ‘Why is it you men are always thinking of sex?’

‘I did say “cherished” and “loved”. You’re a young woman. You should have some companionship, a relationship with a decent man. My God, you must be bloody lonely!’

A cloud passed over Emma’s face and her eyes were briefly sad. She shook her head slowly, ‘I don’t have time to be lonely. I’m very busy these days, as you well know, constantly travelling between here and Leeds. And I am adamant about the divorce, Frank. Now, let’s not waste any more time talking about Arthur. Tell me about the house you found in Hampstead. Does Natalie like it?’

Frank groaned, acknowledging it was useless to pursue the conversation, and said, ‘Yes, she does. So do I. It’s ideal for us. But I would like you to take a look at it, and give me your opinion. It’s quite expensive, you know.’

‘I’d be delighted. And don’t worry about the price, Frank. If it’s more than you can afford, I’ll give you the difference.’

‘Oh, Emma, I couldn’t take it,’ Frank protested.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Years ago Blackie told me that money was meant to be spent and he was correct. I want you to have a nice house, to start this marriage off on the right foot. I want you to be happy, Frank.’ She laughed. ‘Whoever said money doesn’t buy happiness was misinformed, in my opinion. It buys a lot of happiness, for a lot of people. And frankly, I’d rather be miserable with money than without it.’ She squeezed Frank’s arm. ‘You know anything I have is yours and Winston’s. It will be part of my wedding present to you and Natalie.’

‘You’re so generous, Emma. I really appreciate it. And what
can I say but thank you very much.’ Frank sipped his drink and continued, ‘Can you spare an hour to view it tomorrow?’

‘Indeed I can. How is dear Natalie?’

Frank beamed. ‘She’s marvellous. A treasure. I love that girl, Emma. I really do.’

‘I know. You’re lucky, Frank. You’re going to have a wonderful marriage. She’s—’ Emma stopped and caught her breath. From her position at the table, a vantage point in the bar, Emma could see a major portion of the lobby and her eyes were now riveted on two men talking together near the reception desk.

Frank, watching Emma carefully, said, ‘What’s wrong?’

Emma glanced at Frank, white with shock. ‘It’s Paul McGill!’ She looked down the steps again. ‘Oh my God! He’s coming this way. I think he’s heading for the bar. I must leave immediately, before he sees me.’

Frank put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘It’s perfectly all right, Emma. Don’t get excited. And please don’t leave,’ he implored softly.

Emma’s eyes blazed. ‘Frank! You knew he was in London, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You didn’t—you couldn’t possibly have asked him to join us?’

Frank did not answer. He looked down at his drink.

Emma hissed, ‘My God! You did!’

‘Guilty, I’m afraid,’ Frank murmured.

‘Oh, Frank, how could you?’ Emma half rose, and Frank pressed her gently back into the chair.

‘Please, Emma. You have to stay.’

She looked at him furiously. ‘This sudden desire to talk about Arthur and the house was just a ruse, wasn’t it?’ she cried accusingly.

‘No!’ Frank exclaimed. ‘It wasn’t! I did want to discuss your marriage. I have for a long time. I told you, Winston and I are very perturbed. And I do need your advice about the house. However, I did agree to arrange this meeting.’

‘My God! What am I going to do?’ Emma whispered hoarsely.

‘You are going to be your civilized self and have a drink with Paul.’

‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘You don’t understand. I must go!’ As she spoke, Emma knew it was already too late to make a graceful exit. Paul was bounding up the steps and then he was standing at the table, his bulk casting a shadow on them. Emma lifted her eyes slowly and looked at him looking down at her. She was relieved she was, seated. Her legs had turned to jelly and her heart was palpitating.

‘Hello, Emma,’ Paul said, and stretched out his hand.

Automatically she gave him hers. ‘Hello, Paul,’ she responded in a strangled voice, shaking internally. She felt his strong fingers tighten on hers, felt the bright colour flooding her face. She extracted her hand quickly and gazed blindly at the table.

Paul greeted Frank like an old friend and sat down. He ordered a scotch and soda, leaned back, crossed his legs non-chalantly, and lit a cigarette. He turned his attention to Emma. ‘It’s good to see you, Emma. You look lovely. You haven’t changed a bit. And I must congratulate you. Your store in Knightsbridge bowled me over. It’s magnificent. A monumental accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, not daring to look at him.

‘I must congratulate you, too, Frank. Your new book is splendid. Thanks for the copy. I was up half the night reading it. Couldn’t put it down, in fact.’

Frank grinned with pleasure. ‘I’m glad you like it. I’m also happy to say it’s doing very well.’

‘And so it should. It’s one of the best novels I’ve read in years.’ Paul’s drink arrived and as he lifted it he said, ‘Here’s to old and dear friends, and your impending marriage, Frank.’

Emma was silent. She had never thought her brother capable of duplicity, but he had certainly been devious in this instance, and was obviously on cordial terms with Paul.

Frank said, ‘I’m delighted you will be here in July. Natalie and I hope you can come to the wedding.’

Emma could not believe her ears. She glared at Frank, who ignored her penetrating look and continued,’And thanks for the invitation to dine with you later this week. Natalie suggested Friday, if you are free.’

‘I am. And I wouldn’t miss the wedding for anything.’ Paul’s eyes rested on Emma. ‘Could you join us for dinner on Friday, Emma?’

‘I’m quite sure I can’t,’ she responded, avoiding his eyes.

‘Why don’t you check your appointment book later?’ Frank suggested.

‘I don’t have to. I am positive I have a dinner engagement,’ she enunciated clearly and in a firmer tone, her eyes signalling her displeasure to Frank.

Recognizing the stubborn expression settling on her face, Paul refrained from pressing the point and, turning to Frank, he said, ‘Where are you planning to go on your honeymoon?’

‘We’ve been considering the South of France, although we haven’t definitely decided yet.’

Emma sat back in the chair, no longer listening to them. Their conversation washed over her as she retreated into herself. She had been utterly thrown off balance by Paul’s unexpected arrival and she could, at this moment, have cheerfully killed Frank for his participation in the scheme. She felt dazed, and many mixed emotions, so well controlled over the years, broke free in her. The impact of seeing him was devastating. Paul McGill was sitting
here
, unconcernedly chatting to Frank, smiling, nodding, and behaving as if nothing had happened between them. She felt the enormous power of him, his sheathed strength and virility, and she remembered every detail of the days they had spent together at the Ritz. And then she recalled, with a stab of sadness, how she had yearned for him. Pined for him. Needed him in the past. Now he was only inches away, and she stifled the impulse to reach out and touch him, to reassure herself he was real. Instead she looked at him surreptitiously. He was as immaculate as always, dressed in a dark grey chalk-striped suit and gleaming white silk shirt. Sapphire-and-gold links glittered in the French cuffs and he wore a deep blue silk tie, and a white handkerchief flared in his breast pocket. She knew he had been forty-two at the beginning of February, but he looked exactly the same as he had in 1919, except that his face was more deeply tanned and there were additional character lines around his eyes. His colouring was as vivid as it had ever been, and his chuckle was deep and
throaty. How well she knew that amused, sardonic chuckle. Sudden anger swamped her. How dare he come back here so casually and expect her to treat him with civility after all the pain he had caused her. What audacity. What arrogance. Resentment edged out all other feelings, and she steeled herself against his potent charm.

Dimly, she heard Frank saying goodbye. He was leaving her alone with Paul. The idea terrified her.

‘I must go,’ she said, picking up her gloves and her purse. ‘Please excuse me, Paul. I have to leave with Frank.’

‘Don’t go, Emma. Please. I would like to talk to you,’ Paul said in the softest of voices. It was imperative that he detain her at all costs, yet he dare not exert obvious pressure on her.

Frank threw Paul a conspiratorial glance and addressed Emma. ‘I have to get back to Fleet Street. I’m running late.’ He kissed her on the cheek perfunctorily and departed before she could protest further, and she knew she was trapped.

Paul summoned the waiter and ordered more drinks, and then he leaned forward intently. His eyes were serious, his face grave. ‘Please don’t be angry with Frank. I persuaded him to arrange this meeting.’

‘Why?’ Emma asked, and for the first time she looked at Paul fully and with coldness.

Paul winced. He knew he had a difficult time ahead of him, but he was determined to convince her of his sincerity. ‘As I said, I wanted to see you and to talk to you. Very desperately.’

‘Desperately!’ she echoed, and laughed cynically. ‘That’s a strange word to use. You can’t have been all that desperate, otherwise you would not have let so many years elapse.’

‘I understand your feelings only too well, Emma. But it does happen to be the truth. I have been
really
desperate. And for the past four and a half years,’ he insisted.

‘Then why didn’t you write to me?’ she demanded, and her voice shook unexpectedly. She took furious control of herself, determined not to show any emotion whatsoever.

‘I did write to you a number of times and I also sent you three cablegrams.’

Emma stared at Paul, a look of disbelief crossing her face. ‘Don’t tell me they all got lost in the post! And that the cable
grams disappeared into thin air! I would find that very hard to swallow.’

‘No, they didn’t. They were stolen. As your letters to me were stolen,’ Paul said, his eyes not leaving her face.

‘Stolen by whom?’ Emma asked, returning his intense stare.

‘By my private secretary.’

‘But why would she do a thing like that?’

‘It’s rather a long story,’ Paul said quietly. ‘I would like to tell it to you. That was the reason I wanted to see you. Will you at least give me the courtesy of listening, Emma? Please.’