For the Love of Emma

by Lucy Gordon

  “With one aim.”

  “Well, don’t blame me for that. Don’t make so much of it. It’s just fooling.”

  “So you say.”

  “Well, you don’t seriously think it was anything else, do you?” she demanded incredulously. “I’ve only met him once before, at our wedding.”

  “At which time, I remember, you enjoyed his company a great deal.”

  “I should think anyone would enjoy his company. He’s fun.”

  “Fun?” Carlyle looked as if he’d never heard the word before. “Do you think this is about fun?”

  “Yes,” she said, giving him a warning look. “It’s Christmas, and Christmas should be fun—for everyone. Especially Emma.”

  “Ah, yes, Emma. I’m glad you remembered her. Do you think she’d have understood your notion of fun?”

  “What on earth—?”

  “Suppose she’d seen you?”

  “I honestly doubt if it would have bothered her. She’s seen Denis kissing most people under the mistletoe today. That’s what mistletoe is for.”

  He rounded on her, his face furious. “If you want to be kissed under the mistletoe, you have a perfectly good husband available for the purpose.”

  “Stop talking to me like an interdepartmental memo,” she snapped back. “My ‘perfectly good husband’ has been oblivious to mistletoe all day.”

  “Well, we’ll put that right now,” he said, reaching for her swiftly.

  The next moment she was pulled hard against him, her mouth crushed by his. There was anger in his movements, in the determined way he held her against him, his lips forcing hers to accept him. This was a new kind of passion, not the gentle loving kindness of the time they’d lain together, but a fierce, driving desperation that she could feel welling up in him, forcing him on.

  Once before, on the night of the party, he’d kissed her like this, and she’d dreamed of it happening again. This was how she wanted him, not asking but demanding, taking insistently because possession was the only thing that mattered. The strong male body pressed close to hers was as unyielding as steel, and his arms held her in a grip that left her helpless.

  “Carlyle…” she murmured.

  “Shut up,” he said against her mouth. “There’s nothing to say.”

  No, there was nothing to say. There was nothing in the whole world but the mad pounding of the blood in her veins and the thrilling tremors that went through her at the insistence of his lips.

  “I can’t breathe,” she gasped through the dizzying of her senses.

  “Good,” he grated. His lips trailed heatedly down her check to her throat. He was murmuring and she couldn’t quite take in the words, but he might have said, “I’ve wanted you…”

  “What—did you say?”

  “Quiet. This is how you ought to be kissed. Do you know the difference now between a man and a boy?”

  She could only gasp, “Yes—yes—”

  “You’re mine,” he murmured. “You belong to me…”

  “Yes…”

  “The hell with bargains. You belong to me.”

  She was half out of her mind with pleasure and the unexpected happiness of this moment. If only it would go on forever.

  “Carlyle—Carlyle—”

  His face was above hers again, dark with some predatory emotion she’d never seen there before. “Let me hear you say ‘Denis,’” he demanded.

  “Denis—who?”

  “That’s better.” His breath was still coming raggedly, but her answer seemed to have calmed him. There was tenderness in his lips again as he lowered them to hers. She was possessed by joy at the feel of his caressing mouth. This was how it ought always to be…

  And then the spell was broken by one dreadful noise.

  A smothered, childish giggle.

  Like dreamers they pulled apart and turned horrified eyes to the kitchen doorway. It was empty but another giggle came from the hall. With a muttered sound Carlyle strode over and was just in time to see three children vanishing in different directions.

  “Emma!”

  A bland, innocent face appeared over the banisters. “Yes, Daddy?” she said meekly. “Did you want me?”

  Carlyle sighed. “Not right at that moment, no,” he said under his breath.

  Briony was still rooted to the spot, shaking with the tumultuous thing that had happened to her, and the suddenness of its ending. Had he really said those things, or had her fevered brain imagined them? What would he say to her now?

  He came back to her, looking rueful. “We should have remembered that we were practically in public. At least, I should. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry—”

  “No, well—”

  Paula appeared in the doorway. “Carlyle, you went to fetch some mince pies and were never heard of again. How like a man to go on a simple errand and forget what he went for!”

  “Forget—Oh, yes, I forgot why I came in here. Briony, mince pies.”

  “They’re here,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t shake.

  “Come on, then,” Paula urged. “Emma wants to play that word game where she beats us all hollow.”

  The house was silent. Downstairs, the tree still glowed. Upstairs, all was dark. Briony, coming out of her room to make a final check on Emma, found the little girl sitting on the stairs with Carlyle, whispering. “Sorry, Daddy. Truly.”

  “You’re not sorry at all. You were having the laugh of your life.”

  “Just a teeny, little laugh.” Emma giggled. “It was nice to see you and Mummy like that.”

  “Well, I’m glad we gave you some fun,” Carlyle said lightly.

  “Not just fun. It was nice to think that you and Mummy—you know.”

  Briony saw him slip an arm round Emma’s shoulders and draw her close. “As long as it made you happy,” he said. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Really happy?”

  “Really and truly.”

  “Then everything’s all right. Because your happiness is the most important thing in the world.”

  “Thank you for a lovely Christmas.”

  “You should thank Mummy. Nobody knows how much she does for us.”

  “I do. I know.”

  “That’s all right then. Come on. Time you were back in bed.”

  He lifted her in his arms. Briony stepped back into the shadows as Carlyle carried his child past. And neither of them saw her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  EVERYDAY that Emma lived was a gift. Better still, she showed no signs of failing. As February passed into March they began to hope that she would see the spring, perhaps even the summer. They watched her constantly, torturing themselves when she caught a tiny chill, rejoicing when she came through it. There were still alarms, times when she overexerted herself and collapsed, puffing. There were things she couldn’t be allowed to do. But her strength held out better than they’d feared.

  The ballet dress was still her favorite wear in the home. Emma had accidentally spilled grease on the first one and been so distraught that they immediately replaced it. It happened that Briony was confined to the house with a heavy cold, so rather than make Emma wait Carlyle went to the shop himself and collected the new one. Emma put it on at once, and Briony found her posing in front of the mirror, wearing not only the dress, but also a tiny swan’s crown on her head.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” Emma asked. “Daddy gave it to me.” She smiled. “I ‘spec you picked it.”

  “No, I didn’t, actually,” Briony admitted. “I didn’t even know he was going to get it.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. He must have had the idea when he was in the shop.”

  A look of blissful content came over Emma’s face. Briony understood its meaning. Emma loved her new mother, but it was her father who held first place in her heart. And that was as it should be.

  “You love Daddy very much, don’t you?” she asked fondly.

  E
mma nodded. “Ever so and ever so,” she confirmed. “He’s the best Daddy in the world.”

  “Do you ever tell him so?”

  Emma frowned, considering. “Well—not—just like that.”

  “I think you should. Just like that. It would mean so much to him.”

  Emma’s little face grew suddenly very wise. “You love Daddy, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Briony said simply. With Carlyle she kept her secret, but with this child only the truth would do.

  “Ever so?” Emma persisted anxiously.

  “Ever so and ever so,” Briony whispered.

  Emma relaxed visibly, as though inwardly she were saying, “That’s all right, then.” Again Briony wondered just how much the little girl knew. Could she really be looking ahead, past the end of her own life, to the father who would be devastated without her? Surely it wasn’t possible? Yet Emma’s eyes were on her, gentle and full of an understanding that was too much for a child.

  The following day, when they arrived at Brownies, Emma scampered straight off to join her friends. The Brown Owl signaled to Briony that she wanted a word, but was immediately distracted by a small Brownie with a question. By the time she’d sorted it out, the meeting was under way, and Briony was left wondering what Brown Owl wanted to talk about.

  She soon found out. When it was time to leave Emma dashed across to Briony, big with news. “We’re going away to camp,” she said. “For a whole week.”

  Briony raised dismayed eyes to the Brown Owl who came hurrying toward her. “Go and get your things, darling,” she told Emma.

  When the child had gone, Briony said helplessly, “I can’t possibly let her go to camp.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the Brown Owl. “I meant to warn you so that you could tell her in advance that she couldn’t go, but as you saw, I got sidetracked.”

  “Now she’s got her hopes up and I’ve got a real problem,” Briony said with a sigh.

  All the way home Emma babbled merrily about the Brownie camp. Not until they were safely home did Briony say, “Darling, you must be realistic. You know you’re not strong enough to go to camp.”

  “But everyone’s going,” Emma protested.

  “Everyone else hasn’t got a weak heart. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s impossible.”

  “But I want to,” Emma wailed.

  “I know,” Briony said tenderly. “But we’ll find some other treat for you.”

  “I don’t want another treat. I want to go to camp.”

  “You’re not strong enough—”

  “I am, I am,” Emma protested. “I’m heaps stronger now. Heaps and heaps—”

  Briony dropped to one knee and tried to take Emma in her arms, but the child pushed her away.

  “We’ll go to the ballet that week,” Briony pleaded.

  “I don’t want to go to the ballet.” Emma wept. “I hate the ballet. And I hate you. I hate everyone.” Her tears became noisy sobs.

  From there it escalated into a full-scale tantrum. Briony’s heart was wrung with pity for the child, denied her chance to enjoy life with other children, but she knew she must calm her down before she exhausted herself. At last Emma solved the problem for her by running upstairs to her room and hurling herself on the bed in a passion of sobs. With any luck, Briony thought, she would cry herself to sleep. Sure enough, silence followed in a few minutes, and when she looked in to check, Emma was sleeping peacefully, clutching Oswald Penguin. Oswald Whale had been hurled onto the floor where he lay stranded, a forlorn testimony to Briony’s fall from favor.

  She called Carlyle to tell him what had happened.

  “Is she all right?” he asked sharply.

  “Yes, she’s asleep. But when you come home she’s going to start work on you, so I thought I’d warn you.”

  “There’s no way I’ll give in. I just think it’s a pity this situation arose.” He hung up, leaving Briony with the shocked realization that he blamed her.

  But perhaps she really was to blame, she thought unhappily. If she hadn’t insisted on letting Emma be a Brownie this would never have happened.

  As she’d feared, Emma woke as soon as her father’s car turned into the drive, and she came hurrying downstairs.

  “Mummy says I can’t go to Brownie camp, but I can, can’t I, Daddy?”

  “No, darling,” he said gently but firmly. “You’re not strong enough.”

  Emma stuck out her lower lip mutinously. “It’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s not fair,” Carlyle agreed. “It’s not fair that you’re ill when other little girls are well.”

  “But I’m not ill,” Emma shouted. “I’m better now and I want to go to camp.”

  Carlyle shook his head. Recognizing final authority, Emma gave up the argument and kicked the furniture instead.

  “That’s enough, Emma,” Briony said.

  For answer Emma kicked the furniture again.

  “Go up to your room,” Briony said firmly. “I won’t have that kind of behavior.”

  Emma met her eyes, as if calculating whether to risk another kick, then seemed to think better of it. Turning, she began to trail disconsolately upstairs.

  “Look,” Carlyle said in a low voice, “does she really need to—”

  “Yes,” Briony said. “Just for a while. She can come down later.”

  Carlyle went into the front room and poured himself a drink. “Why the hell did this have to happen?”

  “You blame me, don’t you?”

  “Are you surprised? I said she shouldn’t join the Brownies.”

  “She’s loved it there.”

  “Until now. This was bound to happen.”

  “Would it have been better to keep her under lock and key? Surely it was better for her to have some pleasure in her last few—Oh, my God!”

  Her horrified eyes were fixed on something over Carlyle’s shoulder. He turned to see the trouble and for a moment they both stood petrified at the sight of Emma climbing down a tree immediately outside the house. As they watched she missed her footing and slithered down several feet, finally saving herself by grabbing at branches.

  It was only a short distance through the hall and out of the front door, but it seemed to take them an eternity while visions of the worst that might happen to Emma shuddered through Briony’s brain. They arrived as she was scrambling down the last few feet. She reached the ground, gasping and holding on to the tree. Without hesitation Carlyle scooped her up into his arms.

  “Call the doctor,” he told Briony through gritted teeth. “Get him over here at once.”

  “I’m all right, Daddy,” Emma protested through gasps. But he was already running toward the house with her.

  Briony called the doctor, then hurried upstairs to Emma’s room. She was lying on the bed and seemed cross at the fuss that was being made about her.

  “I’m all right, Daddy,” she said insistently.

  “We’ll let the doctor decide that,” Carlyle said, very pale. He looked up sharply at Briony. “Is he coming?”

  “He’ll be here in a few minutes.” To Briony’s relief Emma’s color was good and her breathing was easier. But Carlyle seemed not to have noticed these hopeful signs. He was regarding his daughter with a look of terror and anguish.

  Dr. Canning arrived and talked to Emma like an old friend. Then he asked to be left alone with her. As they waited for him downstairs, Carlyle said, “I’m sorry for what I said. It was cruel and stupid.”

  “Then you don’t blame me?”

  “No, I just lashed out because I was frightened, but you’re the best friend I have. Without you—”

  At that moment the doctor came in. His first words fell on them like a blow. “I should like to take Emma into hospital tomorrow.”

  “Oh, God,” Carlyle said, turning his head away.

  “No, no, it’s not what you think,” the old man told him. “The fact is that she seems stronger than I’d expected. She took that fall remarkably well. I’d like to d
o some tests.”

  As Carlyle seemed too dazed to speak, Briony said, “Do you mean—You can’t mean that Emma’s actually getting better?”

  “Let’s say that she’s improved a little. She can’t really recover without that operation, but if she’s fighting back as well as I think she is—well, it may be something to consider again.”

  Carlyle stared. “Are you saying that she actually has a chance of life?”

  “Let’s do the tests, and then we’ll see,” the doctor said cautiously.

  Carlyle suddenly seemed like a man in a state of shock. It was Briony who asked, “Have you told any of this to Emma?”

  Dr. Canning’s eyes twinkled. “It was more of a case of her telling me. She kept insisting that she was better. At first I dismissed it as wishful thinking, but then I thought perhaps I should listen to her. She jumped at the idea of tests. She’s sure they’ll prove her right.”

  “But—how has this happened?” Carlyle asked in a dazed voice. “We were all so sure that she was slipping away.”

  “She was, once. And without an operation she’ll lose what she’s gained. But she has great determination. And perhaps—” The doctor’s wise eyes rested on Briony. “Perhaps there are also other reasons, things that medical science can’t put in a bottle.”

  Briony showed him to the door. She returned to find Carlyle rooted to the same spot. “Did you hear what he said?” he asked.

  “Every word,” Briony confirmed. She was dazed with hope.

  “But it couldn’t be true, could it? Could it?”

  Their eyes met. The next moment they’d thrown themselves into each other’s arms, hugging fiercely. “It can be true,” Briony cried. “We’ve got to believe that. She believes it. We can’t let her down.”

  He drew back to look at her. “And it’s all due to you. That’s what he was saying. You made her strong again.”

  “We both did.”

  “Let’s go up and see her.”

  Like two excited children they raced up the stairs to find the object of their concern regarding them with an air of triumph.

  Emma went into hospital next day. Briony went, too, settling into a small room with a connecting door. As the doctor had said, Emma was full of enthusiasm, and it carried her through the tedious round of tests and the endless questions.