For the Love of Emma

by Lucy Gordon

  There was a short silence, during which Briony waited to be fired. But he merely frowned at her. “You’re Miss…er?”

  “Fielding,” Briony said, a slight edge on her voice.

  “Yes, I remember. Your work is excellent”

  He recalled work but not names, she noted crossly. It was clear that personalities made no impact on this man: except for one personality, the eager little daughter hugging him now. Briony watched as he set her gently down, and thought she saw an odd look on his face when Emma’s head was turned away. His delight in his child was real enough, but it had something uneasy about it, as though a shadow hung over them. That, Briony thought, was more like the Carlyle Brackman she knew.

  “Are you ready to go?” Emma demanded.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve got a thousand things to do—”

  “Daddy!”

  He grinned. “I guess they’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Come on, let’s have a wonderful time.”

  “And Briony,” Emma said. “She can come with us, can’t she?”

  “I really do have a thousand things to do,” Briony protested.

  “No you don’t,” Carlyle told her unexpectedly.

  “But you said—”

  “Never mind what I said then. Listen to what I’m saying now. Your only job is to take my orders, and my orders for this afternoon are to come to the funfair.” Then, as she stared in astonishment, he grinned again and said, “No, I haven’t gone mad. Emma wants you, and that settles it for me.”

  “But the office—”

  “Yes, it would be better if Jenny had returned. Never mind. Get one of the assistants in and tell her—” But at that moment Jenny entered. “That solves the problem,” Carlyle said. He tried to address Jenny over Emma’s boisterous greeting, and was obliged to order his daughter to hush, which did nothing to depress her high spirits.

  “Tom will be waiting,” Emma said at last.

  “And we mustn’t keep Tom waiting,” Carlyle agreed. Taking her hand, he indicated for Briony to leave the room ahead of him. “Tom does odd jobs for me,” he explained. “Today he’s acting as driver. He brought this imp to the office and when we get to the funfair we’ll leave him with the task of parking the car while we enjoy ourselves.”

  Tom turned out to be a bull of a man with a broad, good-natured face. “This is Miss Fielding,” Carlyle told him. “Emma dragooned her into coming with us, but it’s under protest, isn’t it, Miss Fielding?”

  If this hadn’t been Carlyle Brackman she might have suspected he was being humorous. Then she saw him looking at her with raised eyebrows and realized that the impossible was possible. He was actually making a joke.

  “Not at all,” she said with dignity. “I love funfairs.”

  “See?” Emma nudged her father with her elbow.

  “Get into the car,” he ordered with mock ferocity. “Or we’ll miss everything.”

  “Oh, no,” Emma said at once. “Briony says it won’t run away until after I’ve been.”

  “And, if Briony says it, it must be true,” Carlyle agreed. “Now, will you please get into the car?”

  Emma jumped into the front seat beside Tom, leaving Carlyle and Briony to get in the back. It was a luxurious car with a pale gray interior and plenty of leg room.

  “Sorry about this,” he said wryly as they began to move.

  “Not at all. It’s better than being cooped up in an office all day.”

  “With an ogre,” he supplied.

  Briony colored. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “Of course you did,” he said affably.

  “Well, I’d never have said it if I’d known she was your daughter,” Briony said desperately.

  “Naturally you wouldn’t. Just think that I might have missed hearing the truth about myself for the first time.”

  “Oh, surely not for the first time,” she replied with some asperity. “I imagine you must know it by now.”

  “Certainly I do, but I don’t get it said to my face. It’s an interesting experience. But you’ll agree that I’m not being an ogre now?”

  “You’re like a totally different person now,” she said in wonder.

  “Human, you mean?” he challenged her wryly.

  “Well—yes—since you put it that way—human.”

  “As opposed to an ogre in the office?”

  “I think robot would be more correct,” she said with a touch of demure mischief.

  His grin illuminated his face again. Now that it was beamed onto her she could see how delightful it was, and she laughed out loud. He laughed with her. It was a marvelous sound, rich and bass, with a vibrancy that made her sharply aware of him as a man. His eyes were gleaming with an expression she’d never seen before, and suddenly she had difficulty in getting her breath.

  Then Emma leaned over from the front seat and said, “It’s going to be fantabulous.”

  Carlyle laughed and told her to sit straight, and, to Briony’s relief, the dangerous moment was past.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE funfair was exactly what a funfair should be, a riot of gaudy color and flashing lights, with plenty of cheerful noise. Tom dropped them at the entrance and drove off to find the car park. “Where do we start?” Carlyle demanded.

  “Everywhere.” Emma sighed happily. “The Big Dipper and—”

  “No Big Dipper,” he said at once, to Briony’s relief. “The doctor said nothing too energetic.”

  “But going on the Big Dipper isn’t energetic at all,” Emma assured him, wide-eyed. “All you have to do is sit there. Just sit there. You don’t actually have to do anything.”

  This novel view of the matter made Carlyle and Briony catch each other’s eye, slightly aghast. Sensing she’d caught them off guard Emma pressed her advantage home.

  “You don’t have to stand up or run about, or jump up and down—” she explained.

  “You are not going on the Big Dipper,” Carlyle repeated gamely.

  “You don’t have to do handstands, or cartwheels—”

  “Emma—”

  “You don’t have to sing or dance, or anything. You just have to sit there, and sitting there doesn’t take any energy,” Emma finished triumphantly, evidently having explained the matter to her own satisfaction.

  Briony turned her head away and for a moment her eyes were blurred. Here was another likeness to Sally, who had also possessed a childlike, ruthless logic that enabled her to keep on and on until she’d driven her opponent onto the ropes. Briony had conceded many an argument through sheer weariness.

  Then she pulled herself together. This was Emma’s treat and she wasn’t going to spoil it. She smiled at Carlyle and said, “Why don’t you just give in and take her on the Big Dipper?”

  “You take her,” he responded so promptly that Emma giggled.

  “Daddy’s scared,” she whispered conspiratorially to Briony, just loud enough to be overheard.

  “Scared stiff,” he agreed affably. “You’re not going on that thing, with me or without me. So hush up, and let’s have some ice cream.”

  Recognizing the voice of authority Emma subsided and turned her attention to the various merits of chocolate and vanilla. Having decided on chocolate, she said, “And one for Briony.”

  “I don’t think—” Briony began, and faltered under Emma’s disappointed gaze.

  “Don’t you like ice cream?”

  “Yes, I do,” Briony said firmly. “I like ice cream very much indeed. I’ll have vanilla please.”

  They wandered happily among the stalls and rides, arguing the merits of each. Briony felt a small hand slip into hers, and glanced down, but Emma didn’t return her look. She was gazing entranced at a fearsome machine that hurled chairs around in the sky, while all the time her hand clutched Briony’s in a gesture that was clearly unconscious. Briony’s heart was touched.

  Suddenly Emma exclaimed, “Daddy, look!” and flung out an arm, spraying ice cream around. They all followed her indication to
a shooting arcade where a sign proclaimed that three bull’s-eyes would win the top prize. Hung about the stall was a plethora of fat, furry penguins. “Aren’t they beautiful?” Emma breathed.

  “You’re a bit old for a toy like that, aren’t you?” Carlyle suggested.

  His daughter eyed him and for an uncanny moment Briony could see the likeness between them. It lay not so much in feature or coloring as in an expression in the eyes that spoke of a determination to get their way, directly if possible, by cunning if necessary. At last Emma sighed. “Sorry, Daddy. It wasn’t really fair of me to ask you.”

  “Why not?” he asked unwisely.

  “Well, three bull’s-eyes,” she said. “It’s impossible, isn’t it?”

  “How much?” Carlyle demanded of the stall attendant. As he reached into his pocket for the money he became aware of Briony making choking sounds. “Miss Fielding, if you don’t stop laughing right now, you’re fired.”

  “Well, you walked right into the trap, didn’t you?” she said defensively.

  “I’m fully aware of that.”

  “But you should be pleased. Think what a tycoon Emma will make later if she can ambush you so skillfully now. In a few years you’ll be able to hand over the business to her with an easy mind.”

  A change seemed to come over him. The summer sun was as bright as ever, but a light had gone out of his face, leaving it bleak and shadowed. He turned away and lifted the rifle to his shoulder. Briony stared, wondering what she’d said to produce that reaction.

  He got the first bull’s-eye, then the second, but failed on the third. “Again,” he growled, handing over the money. “Everybody please be quiet.”

  They both fell obediently silent, but Emma and Briony caught each other’s eye, exchanging silent laughter until Carlyle’s glare stopped them. He raised the rifle and fired, but this time he only achieved one bull’s-eye.

  Emma pulled at his sleeve. “It’s all right, Daddy. I knew you couldn’t really do it,” she said with suspicious innocence.

  “You’ll go too far young lady,” he growled, paying for a third go.

  Again he managed the first two bull’s-eyes, but as he raised the rifle for the third attempt his nerve failed him.

  “Couldn’t I just buy the penguin for you?” he pleaded.

  “That wouldn’t be the same,” Emma said inexorably.

  “Naturally it wouldn’t,” he muttered. “What was I thinking of?”

  It took him five attempts but he managed it at last. Emma opened her arms to receive a fat penguin, that she cuddled blissfully. “You are clever, Daddy,” she rewarded him, and to Briony’s delight Carlyle Brackman grinned and looked sheepish. But Emma had more terrors in store for him.

  “Now Briony,” she said.

  Carlyle’s grin faded abruptly. “Briony what?”

  “You must win one for her, too.”

  “No thank you,” Briony said hastily.

  “But you must have something,” Emma persisted. “It’s not fair otherwise.”

  “I’ll have a whale,” Briony said, thinking fast. “They’ve got some lovely whales on that stall over there. A little whale.”

  As they headed for the stall, Carlyle muttered, “It’s not the top prize is it?”

  “No, it’s the booby prize. You’re quite safe.”

  The words were out before she could think about them, and she turned alarmed eyes toward him. But he was laughing. “Nice one,” he said.

  He won her a small whale on the first attempt. “Now we’ve both got something,” Emma said happily. “What are you going to call him?”

  Briony gave the matter serious consideration. “Oswald,” she said at last.

  “That’s a lovely name.”

  “What are you going to call your penguin? Percy?”

  “No. Oswald.”

  “But Briony’s whale is Oswald,” Carlyle said.

  “I know.”

  “They can’t both be Oswald,” he objected.

  “Yes, they can,” Emma said in a voice that settled the matter.

  “Certainly they can,” Briony told Carlyle severely. “You should have known that.”

  “Of course I should,” he said at once.

  Tom appeared, having parked the car, and eating a toffee apple. Emma promptly begged for one.

  “But you’ve only just finished the ice cream,” Carlyle protested.

  “But I haven’t had anything else since breakfast,” she said forlornly.

  “It was an enormous breakfast.”

  She sighed and looked starving. “I’ve forgotten it.”

  “Tom.” Carlyle reached for his money. “Toffee apples.”

  “Not for me,” Briony said quickly. “It’s years since my stomach could cope with toffee apples and ice cream in quick succession. I think you need to be under ten years old.”

  “I agree,” he said with feeling.

  As the afternoon progressed it became clear that Emma was a child of more than usual intrepidity. Left to herself she would have sampled all the most hairraising rides, plus the Ghost Train. Only after determined argument did Carlyle manage to steer her toward an innocuous carousel, and then his suggestion that she ride safely on one of the inside horses was treated with the contempt it deserved. Emma installed herself firmly on the outside row, and patted the saddle behind her, with an inviting smile at Briony. The two men were left behind on the ground, holding the Oswalds.

  “Next time you’ll take him with you,” Carlyle informed his daughter when he returned her property, adding quickly, “He prefers it that way.”

  Emma gave him a fond look, but it was Briony’s hand she took, and Briony whom she dragged eagerly to the Hall of Mirrors. Inside the distorted mirrors threw back monstrous reflections of the four of them, making them all shout with laughter. But Briony’s acute ear had detected something about Carlyle that didn’t quite ring true. He joined in the laughter, but conscientiously rather than with a full heart. His love for his daughter was obvious, but Briony had a strange feeling that he was making a determined effort to be a good father, rather than enjoying her company spontaneously. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but it nagged at her.

  When they emerged, blinking into the sunlight, she suggested a cup of tea.

  “I thought a little later,” Carlyle said.

  “Yes, but there’s an outdoor café over there with plenty of places free. And we’re going to need lots of room.”

  He frowned but followed her directions, and instantly realized her wisdom. Emma insisted on treating her penguin with full honors and assigning him a chair of his own. She’d have claimed a chair for the whale, too, but for Briony, who, with admirable presence of mind, asserted that the two Oswalds would be happier together.

  “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” Carlyle asked, looking at her with appreciation.

  “I could make a good guess. She adores that penguin. I’ve no doubt that by now she’s invested him with a full personality.”

  In fact Emma had gone further. In her mind both the penguin and the whale were individuals with likes and dislikes, and even a source of dispute between them. “They both like shrimps, and they keep eating each other’s,” she explained confidentially. “And they get very cross.”

  Luckily, since both Carlyle and Briony were rendered speechless, Tom filled the breach, asking intelligent questions about their furry companions, which Emma answered in detail. She consumed lemonade and cream buns, then turned her attention to the boating lake alongside them, filled with colorful little motorboats shaped like cartoon characters. After a while she begged for a ride.

  “I’ll take her,” Tom offered.

  Emma scrambled down, seizing the two Oswalds in her arms.

  “You’re not going to take them in a boat,” Carlyle protested.

  “They want to ride, too,” Emma assured him. Carlyle regarded her helplessly.

  “Don’t worry,” Tom said. “She’ll be safe with me.”
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  “But will he be safe with her?” Briony murmured as they watched the other two make their way to the entrance to the lake. “What would you offer against the chance of her persuading him to go on the Big Dipper?”

  “She’ll try,” Carlyle agreed. “But she won’t succeed. Tom knows it’s more than his job is worth.”

  They watched as their companions secured a boat and began to chug around the lake, with the penguin upright between them. Emma had the little whale in her hand and was making swooping movements over the water.

  “Heaven help me!” Carlyle groaned. “She’ll drop that thing into the water and I’ll have to win another one. Oh, what does it matter? It’s been a good day.”

  “Yes, she’s really enjoyed herself,” Briony said, watching Emma tenderly.

  Slightly to her surprise he seized on this. “She has, hasn’t she?” he said eagerly. “She’s had a wonderful time.”

  “It was good of you to bring her yourself,” Briony said with a touch of curiosity. “Many men with your commitments would have left it to Tom.”

  “You mean, you’re surprised that I didn’t?”

  “Well—yes.”

  “Emma is different to everything else in my life.”

  “More important?” she encouraged.

  “Yes. More important.”

  “Doesn’t she have a mother?”

  “My wife died when Emma was a week old.”

  “Poor little soul. You mean, she’s never had a mother?”

  “Never. My female relatives have all rallied round wonderfully. She’s got aunts and grandmothers who love her. But it’s not the same. I’ve tried to be mother and father to her, but I’m not very good at either, I sometimes think.”

  “But she adores you, so you must be doing something right.”

  “I hope so. But that doesn’t mean I always know what I’m doing.” He regarded Briony. “I dread to think what today would have been like without you. You saw that Oswald business coming a mile off.”

  She smiled. “When I was Emma’s age I had four dolls all called Saucepan.”

  “Saucepan?”