Swearing under her breath, she marched downstairs, found a dustpan and broom and returned to gather up the fragments of the shattered vase and lamp. A small sliver of crystal pierced one of her fingertips and she watched in wonderment, grimly surprised to discover that she felt no pain. It was as if her capacity for feeling anything had frozen, but she went into the bathroom, washed her finger and put a piece of sticking plaster on it. After that, still moving jerkily like a robot, she took the Wagner CD out of the player and dropped it into the waste-paper basket. Then, picking up her dustpan and brush, she went downstairs to the kitchen. She was tempted simply to go out into the night and walk herself into a state of exhaustion, but something restrained her. You must take care of yourself for the baby’s sake, an inner voice whispered. Don’t let this destroy you, Emma; you’re stronger than you think.
Finally, obedient to that prompting, she boiled some water and made herself a cup of tea. Yet even that simple action seemed to be fraught with dangerous emotional consequences. As the light, steamy fragrance of the Earl Grey rose to her nostrils, she had a vivid flash of memory about Richard bringing her breakfast in bed, and that one image triggered off an army of others. Memories of Richard, a blond giant in a pale grey suit, at their registeroffice wedding with love and pride shining from his blue eyes. Memories of the powerful embrace of his arms as he carried her across the threshold of their tiny terrace house, In her mind’s eye she saw again how he had filled the entire place with flowers. White liliums, creamy frangipani, tubs of pink and white begonias. Even the bed had been hung with garlands, so that her first sexual experience had taken place under a canopy of flowers. Now, remembering it, she closed her eyes and shuddered. He must have loved her once, mustn’t he? Even if he had nothing but cruelty and bitterness left for her now, he had loved her when she was his bride! Hadn’t he?
Don’t think about it Emma! she told herself savagely. That’s not what it would be like if you stayed with him now. Even supposing he allows you to stay. The rest of your life won’t be a bed of flowers, it will be like this! Exactly the way it was tonight! Suspicion, pain, squalid little discoveries about other women and an ongoing pretence that everything is all right. Is that what you want? Is that really what you want? With a muffled groan she set down her teacup and buried her face in her hands.
‘No!’ she exclaimed aloud. ‘No! I want something better than that. For myself. For my baby.’
How long she sat there she didn’t know, but when at last she picked up the tea again and sipped it it tasted cold and bitter. She could hear the night-time noises of the house—the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the rustle of an untrimmed tree beating against the glass of the dining-room window. She had always meant to get that tree pruned, or even dug out Well, it would be up to Richard to do it now, for she wouldn’t be living here for a day longer.
Even now, fool that she was, that thought sent a barb of pain through her. Ever since Richard had come back into her life, some blind, stupid optimism had made her cling to the hope that everything was going to come right between them. That they would resolve their differences, fall passionately in love again, stay in this beautiful old house and raise a family together. How gullible could she be? Well, it was time she started planning her future alone. Her three-month reunion wasn’t over, but there was no way she could remain for the rest of the time, no matter what he did to Prero’s. There was only one course which her pride would allow her to take now. She must pack her belongings, move out and file for a divorce. There was no other choice.
For the remainder of that night and most of the next morning Emma moved about the house, stormily packing her possessions. It was surprising how much she had accumulated in the few short weeks that she had been living there, but at last the job was done. She was just closing the locks of the last suitcase when she heard the sound of car wheels outside on the drive. In spite of all her good resolutions her heart leapt and then plunged again. Sooner or later she would have to face Richard and it was probably better to get the ordeal over immediately. With her head held high and her jaw jutting at a dangerous angle, she went to the back door. But it was not Richard who stepped out on to the brick patio, it was Amanda.
Dressed in a Prince of Wales checked suit, a white silk shirt and black Italian pumps, she looked as brisk and dangerous as a storm-trooper. Casting Emma a swift assessing glance, the young woman picked up her black leather briefcase and strode confidently towards the door.
‘I’d like to talk to you,’ she said without any preliminary greeting.
‘What about?’ demanded Emma coldly.
‘About the divorce.’
‘What divorce?’
Amanda smiled contemptuously, as if amused by these childish delaying tactics. Her carefully plucked blonde eyebrows rose into sardonic peaks.
‘Yours and Richard’s of course,’ she said sweetly.
Emma caught her breath and stepped back a pace.
‘What makes you think we’re getting a divorce?’ she challenged.
Amanda gave a faint sigh. ‘Do you mind if I come inside?’ she asked. ‘It’s a rather delicate matter. I’d like to discuss it somewhere a little more private.’
Feeling as if she were giving ground before an enemy attack, Emma ushered her inside the house and led her into the sitting-room. As if she were preparing for a consultation in her office, Amanda unclasped her briefcase and laid a couple of folders on the coffee-table. Then she uncapped a gold pen and looked up expectantly at Emma.
‘Richard has asked me to sound you out on the subject of the divorce,’ she said. ‘He’s prepared to be generous if you’re co-operative.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Emma, aghast, wondering why Richard couldn’t at least have the decency to deal with the matter himself.
Amanda shrugged.
‘Well, it’s obvious that this trial reconciliation with you hasn’t worked out, so Richard wants to end it. If you agree to leave quietly, he’ll make sure you get a generous settlement.’
Emma bristled with anger.
‘And where do you come into this? Are you acting as his lawyer?’
Amanda swallowed a secretive smile.
‘No. Somebody else will handle the court work for the actual divorce case. It wouldn’t be ethical for me to do it, since I’m an interested party.’
‘"Interested party"?’ flared Emma. ‘In what way?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Richard and I have been lovers for over a year; we even lived together for a while. But he was always haunted by his first marriage to you. He told me that he wanted a trial reconciliation with you to make certain that things were really over between you. If they were, he promised he would get a divorce and marry me.’
This glib announcement pierced Emma’s heart like the thrust of a dagger. What Amanda was saying was outrageous and yet it tallied with everything Richard had told her. Wasn’t it the most likely explanation of his extraordinary decision to bring Emma back for a short trial period?
‘I see,’ she said evenly, striving to keep her composure. ‘And now?’
Amanda smirked.
‘Now he’s certain. He wants to divorce you and marry me. But he still feels financially responsible for you so he asked me to sound you out about a discreet solution for everybody. If you go overseas now without any fuss and stay away for at least eighteen months, Richard is prepared to offer you a very generous settlement. I can’t make any promises, but I imagine it will be in the region of twenty million dollars. I’ve a first-class round-theworld ticket here, made out in your name. You can go wherever you like—Europe, the United States, it’s your choice. Just make sure you stay away for a long time.’
‘And if I refuse?’ demanded Emma.
With a shrug Amanda put the folders back in her briefcase, leaving the airline ticket on the coffee-table.
‘Financially you’ll be much worse off if you refuse,’ she replied. ‘But that’s not
the point, is it, Emma? The real point is this—if you leave now you’ll go with your pride intact. Richard will simply tell everybody that the reconciliation didn’t work out and you left him again. But if you stay you’ll have to suffer the humiliation of having Richard walk out on you and move in with me. And how will that feel? You’d be wise to think about it and give in gracefully, Emma.’
A blaze of hatred surged through Emma as she stared down at the pert young woman callously telling her that her marriage was over. For a moment she was tempted to slap the mocking smile off Amanda’s face, but she clenched her fists and restrained herself.
‘Leave my house,’ she hissed.
Amanda rose to her feet with a graceful, unhurried movement that showed off her long, elegant legs.
‘All right,’ she agreed sweetly. ‘But I suggest that you leave too. Now. Today. Before Richard moves back in with me and the gossip columnists get wind of what’s happening. Think about it, Emma.’
Emma could think about nothing else. She thought about phoning her mother or Jenny or Miss Matty and pouring out all her troubles, but she shrank from the humiliation of revealing that Richard could be such a callous swine. Meanwhile the airline ticket lay on the coffee-table, as unwelcome as a redback spider, drawing her gaze each time she passed it with a hateful, hypnotic magnetism. What should she do? What on earth should she do? She hated the thought of giving in to Amanda’s demands. It seemed so cowardly to surrender without a fight! And yet wasn’t the battle already lost? Richard had made it clear to her from the very start that their reunion was not a genuine trial reconciliation, that he had no long-term hope of reviving their marriage. All it had been was a callous exercise in power politics on his part. So what would she gain by staying around for further humiliation? Even if she moved back to her own house in another part of Sydney, she was haunted by the certainty that Amanda would carry out her threat— that there would be yet another wave of speculation in the newspapers and the glossy magazines about why her marriage to Richard had failed for a second time. She didn’t feel she could bear it. And the image of Bali rose like an inviting sanctuary from all the troubles of the last few weeks… In the end she simply climbed into her car and drove around for several hours, fruitlessly trying to sort out her tangled thoughts and emotions.
When she returned home she was surprised to find a grey limousine at rest in the driveway of the house, with a bored-looking youth of about nineteen leaning against it drumming his fingers on his thigh. At her approach he leapt into action, straightening his tie and walking across towards her.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Fielding,’ he said, touching his cap. ‘Mr Fielding sent me to remind you that you’re attending the crippled children’s dinner and ball tonight at the Dunsford House. I’m supposed to drive you there.’
‘I’m not coming,’ said Emma flatly.
The young man’s expression of dismay was immediate and unmistakable.
‘Oh, please, Mrs Fielding,’ he begged. ‘You’ve got to come. Mr Fielding said he’ll fire me if I don’t bring you.’
‘What?’ she demanded in outrage. ‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘It’s true!’ he exclaimed. ‘He means it too. And this is the first job I’ve had since I left school. I’ve been unemployed for over two years. Please, Mrs Fielding, just come for a little while.’
That rotten schemer. Emma bit back the actual words, but they burnt the back of her throat like battery acid. Trust manipulative old Richard to think of some way to get her to do what he wanted. Well, it wouldn’t work; she wasn’t going to be swindled like that! Then she looked into the boy’s pleading brown eyes.
‘You will come, won’t you?’ he begged.
Emma surrendered.
‘All right, I’ll come,’ she agreed. ‘Just wait while I change into my evening dress.’
Fifteen minutes later, her eyes sparkling angrily and her head held high, Emma swept out of the house to the waiting limousine. Determined not to show any sign of weakness, she had dressed carefully in a stunning scarlet chiffon evening dress. Her dark hair was swept up into a gleaming chignon, her make-up was flawless and she wore an ornate gold and ruby necklace with matching earrings and bracelet. As the young driver held open the door for her, he gave her a glance of unmistakable admiration. Leaning back in the deep, cushioned leather seat, she consciously tried to calm her racing pulse and turbulent breathing. Try as she might, she could see no good reason why Richard had summoned her to this ball, unless he saw it as another opportunity to humiliate her. Well, if he did, he was going to have another thought coming! Emma was fed up with appeasement. If a confrontation was brewing, she would welcome the opportunity to tell Richard a few home truths about himself. No longer was she going to be the good, humble little wife, following in her husband’s shadow. No! If Richard dared say a word to her tonight, she would let him have the full force of her scorn and then walk off and leave him!
It was nearly eight o’clock when the limousine pulled up outside a beautiful old Georgian house in Elizabeth Bay set in a couple of acres of lush, subtropical garden. Although there was a huge golden moon already rising in the dark blue sky, the gravel driveway was softly lit by yellow coach lamps and the same golden glow from concealed lights bathed the front facade of the house.
As the limousine drew up in front of the main door, Emma leaned forward and spoke to the young driver.
‘I want you to wait for me in the side-street next to the house. I may not be staying long.’
‘Yes, madam.’
A doorkeeper in a black suit covered with gold braid, black top hat and white gloves helped her out of the car and escorted her to the front hall of the house. Once inside, she handed over her wrap to a cloakroom attendant and looked about her. Although tickets to the dinner and ball cost several hundred dollars per head, the house was already thronged with Sydney socialites. Overhead a massive Italian chandelier hung from an ornate ceiling rose, casting dancing beams of light on the crowd that thronged below. The men were in black dinner suits and the women in brightly coloured evening dresses and they were all talking so energetically that a low drone of conversation like a humming of a hive of bees rose into the air. As Emma stood hesitating on the outskirts, a waiter with a round silver tray glided up to her.
‘Champagne, madam?’
‘Thank you.’
She took the long-stemmed crystal glass, raised it to her lips and took a swift gulp. The fizzy, sparkling liquid seemed to diffuse instantly into her bloodstream, making her cheeks flush and her head swim. She smiled grimly. There were so many people here that with any luck she wouldn’t even have to see Richard. But then some instinct, a prickling sensation between her shoulderblades, made her turn around sharply and there he was. Even at such a moment she felt her heart give an unwelcome leap at the sight of him. Bulldozing his way through the crowd, he was a good five or so inches taller than most of the men present and with his wild, curly blond hair he reminded her of a surfer breasting the waves. Except that no surfer was likely to wear such an ominous scowl. The last remnant of people melted away before him and he appeared in front of her.
‘Emma.’
‘Richard.’
The very air seemed to crackle with their hostility. His powerful fingers closed on her upper arm and she gave a protesting gasp. Flagrantly ignoring this, he took the champagne glass from her nerveless fingers, deposited it on a polished blackwood table and steered her towards a side-door.
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘I’ve only just arrived. I’ve—’
He cut her off.
‘Outside. Into the garden. I want to speak to you.’
They turned a corner and the scent of expensive perfumes gave way to the warm, delicious kitchen odours of beef and red wine. Then he opened an outer door and she found herself on a brick terrace where a string quartet of musicians was playing a piece by Vivaldi. Still holding her arm in a grip like a vice, Richard hustled
her down a set of stairs into a sunken garden where a floodlit fountain played amid a grotto of volcanic rocks.
‘Why the hell did you shut me out last night?’ he demanded in a voice that was tense with suppressed rage.
Emma gasped angrily.
‘Oh, you don’t think I had sufficient reason?’ she hissed.
‘No, I don’t. You—’
At that moment the reverberating tones of a brass dinner-gong were heard from inside the house. Seizing her opportunity gladly, Emma wrenched herself free from Richard’s grasp, picked up her long skirts in her hands and fled nimbly back up the stairs.
‘I’m going in to dinner,’ she announced over her shoulder.
Once inside, Richard caught up with her and, for all her fuming, she could not avoid being seated next to him at the meal. In other circumstances, she would have loved the elegant dining-room, with its Regency striped gold and white wallpaper, its vast table set with heavy silver, Waterford crystal and fine Royal Doulton china and the silent, efficient waiters, gliding across the parquet floor. The food and drinks were excellent too. An assortment of Tasmanian seafood, followed by boeufen cro&te, new potatoes, mushrooms and courgettes, a raspberry torte, various delicious cheeses, and a subtle selection of fine Australian wines. But Emma might as well have been eating ashes for all the pleasure it gave her. She waved away the oysters, picked at a little asparagus with hollandaise sauce, pushed her beef and vegetables around her plate and refused all offers of pudding or coffee.
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