Emma

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘It ought to be Paris. That’s where I would like to take you, darling. One day I shall, I promise.’ He gave me a regretful look. ‘But it can’t be … but we’ll go somewhere.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me?’

  His eyes were bright with mischief. ‘It’s a surprise, darling.’

  I nodded, my lips parting in anticipation as he leaned towards me. We kissed, a slow, lingering kiss that made me tingle with pleasure.

  ‘I can’t wait. Oh, Jon …’

  ‘We’ve waited this long,’ he said. ‘We’ll wait a bit longer …’

  I found it difficult to sleep the night before my wedding. My dress was hanging in the wardrobe. Not white this time, but a simple plain ivory satin with long sleeves and a high neck.

  Once before I had lain wakeful, thinking about marriage. I had been desperately unhappy then, carrying the child of the lover who had deserted me and forced by my father to marry a man I did not love.

  What terrible results had come from that marriage! A man’s love – if Richard had ever truly loved me! – had turned to hatred. Greed and jealousy had played their part, and I had been caught between them.

  How different were my feelings now. I wanted this marriage with all my heart. I was looking forward to being Jon’s wife. I loved him, but I also trusted him: he was my friend.

  It was all going to be so wonderful! I could hardly wait for the moment we were alone at last.

  The wedding itself was beautiful. I carried a small bouquet of snowdrops and lily of the valley, which Pops had grown specially in pots under glass for me. The perfume of their delicate flowers was sweet, and the thought that had gone into Sir Roy’s loving gift to me was even sweeter.

  Tears gathered in my eyes as I took my vows that morning. I was so lucky to have such good friends … people who loved and cared for me. I could hardly believe it was all happening. Life had been so hard, so bitter for a time, and now I had so much.

  We were showered with confetti as bells rang out joyously, and then the wedding car was speeding through the damp streets to the reception.

  So many of the guests were strangers to me. The thought occurred to me that this wedding was more for Mrs Reece than either Jon or I – that the people I met for the first time were her friends, not ours.

  It did not matter. They were pleasant, kindly people and the gifts they had given us were generous: linen, silver, good china and expensive glass, quite different to the gifts I’d received on my first marriage. None of it was important. All that mattered was the look in Jon’s eyes when he smiled at me, and the certainty that I was loved.

  At last, at long last, the taxi arrived to take us to the station. Jon had decided to travel by train rather than drive all the way up to Scotland. He had told me our destination the night before, warning me to pack plenty of warm clothes.

  ‘It’s going to be cold, darling,’ he’d whispered, ‘but not for us. I promise I shall keep you warm …’

  We said goodbye to all our friends, kissing and hugging, thanking them for coming and for their good wishes and gifts.

  ‘Be happy, Emma,’ my mother said as she held me close. ‘You deserve happiness, my darling.’

  ‘I am happy, Mum. Jon loves me and I love him. I couldn’t ask for more.’

  ‘Be happy, Emma,’ Margaret said, ‘and don’t worry about James. He will be safe with us, and as loved as if he were our own.’

  ‘He loves you,’ I said. ‘Kiss him for me every night.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she promised.

  ‘Be happy, Emma,’ Sol said, his eyes twinkling. ‘Take care of that man of yours. He is about as good as they come.’

  Sol and Margaret had refurbished our bedroom for us, giving us the choice of whatever we wanted: a truly magnificent gift we would be able to treasure throughout our married life. But more than that, they had both given me so much support and love.

  ‘I know that, Sol,’ I said. ‘I’m so lucky in my friends …’

  At the station, Jon bought magazines and chocolates for the journey. It would take several hours and he had booked a sleeper cabin for us. Now we were truly alone. The cabin door was closed and locked. We were man and wife, and as Jon reached for me I knew true happiness – and it was as if the past had never been.

  The narrow beds in a sleeper cabin are perhaps not the most comfortable place to make love, but for me it was all we needed: with a few bumps of arms and legs and elbows, and some laughter, we managed. Jon was so sweet, and tender, so careful to give me pleasure.

  I had never known a man to be so unselfish in his loving, but Jon was always the same in everything he did: he would not have known how to be any different.

  ‘You are so lovely, Emma,’ he whispered as he caressed my breasts, kissing me, teasing me with his tongue, setting me on fire. ‘I’ve dreamed of you like this, wanted you so much …’

  ‘And I want you, Jon,’ I said, kissing him back. I was no shy virgin to be afraid of love, but a woman who wanted to give her man the love he needed. ‘I do love you, Jon. So much … so very much.’

  We came together, gently at first, a soft blending of hearts, minds and bodies, passionate but not desperate, not frantic. This was a new experience for me. It was as if we were somehow comfortable together, almost as though we had been married for some years, had always known each other’s thoughts and needs.

  Afterwards, I felt warm, safe, loved. There had been no crashing of drums, no wild, tempestuous crescendo of feeling, just contentment.

  I knew that it was possible to feel more excitement, but I was not disappointed as I nestled in my husband’s arms. Sexual desire was only a small part of what I felt for Jon. He had been so good to me, was so loving, so generous in all he gave of himself. I loved him and I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to be happy. I wanted quiet and contentment, the ordinary things of life … the respect decent people gave to each other every day.

  I was ready to settle for what I had. It was so much more than I had ever had before.

  Our days in the Scottish highlands were very precious: days of mists and bright clear mornings when the sun broke through, of dark nights and wood fires, and beauty that touched the soul.

  Jon had rented a wonderful cottage where we could be alone. It was part of a large estate and set in huge grounds, with a lake, a mountain in the distance, purple and grand, smudged against the skyline, and gentle hills where deer roamed amongst the heather.

  A gigantic hamper of food was waiting for us when we arrived. It was packed with all kinds of luxuries, from venison to pots of pates and peaches in jars of brandy syrup. Each day we were there, a man came down from the house with baskets of fresh provisions. Some of it was ready prepared, needing only to be reheated in the wood-burning oven, but there was also bacon, which I cooked for our breakfast, and fresh trout or salmon. Jon showed me how to poach these in a special fish kettle, and I discovered he was good at preparing these kinds of dishes. Yet another surprising aspect of this man who was so dear to me.

  ‘Where do you think all this food comes from?’ I asked Jon once. ‘Do they know there’s a war on?’

  ‘What war?’ Jon laughed. ‘Look around you, Emma. How can there be a war in such a perfect place?’

  ‘It is perfect,’ I said, leaning my head back against him as his arms surrounded me. ‘You were so clever to find it for us, Jon.’

  ‘I’ve been here before,’ he said, his breath warm against my ear. ‘For the fishing. It’s wonderful here in September, Emma. We’ll come again one day.’

  ‘Yes, please. I should love that.’

  ‘It would be wonderful to live in a place like this,’ Jon went on dreamily. ‘Don’t you think so, Emma? You said you wondered where the food comes from, but this estate must be almost self-sufficient, wouldn’t you think? They have so much game in their woods … deer, grouse at the right time of year, fish in the lake. I’m sure they live as people used to in the old days, make their own bread, milk their own cows �
��’

  I turned to look up at him, gazing into his eyes as I heard the wistful note in his voice. ‘Is that how you would like to live, Jon? Away from all the noise and turmoil of the city?’

  ‘Sometimes I think it would be paradise,’ he replied and then laughed. ‘I’m a dreamer, Emma. Life isn’t that simple, is it? Even here they must have their serpent.’

  I sensed something in him then … a kind of fear. What was Jon afraid of? I knew he hated the idea of war, of the wanton waste of life and destruction of all that made living good. Was he afraid of death – or that life would become too ugly?

  ‘Now what are you thinking?’ He lifted my chin with his finger. ‘Are you bored here, Emma? Would you rather I had chosen a city? Do you miss the noise of your beloved London?’

  ‘I think I might if I lived here all the time,’ I admitted. ‘I was born in a country town, Jon. I love the bustle of London. I love being able to go to a theatre when I want, and I love shopping – but this time here with you has been wonderful. Being together, walking, talking, listening to music on the radio when the fire is warm … I wouldn’t have changed it for anything.’

  ‘But we’ll spend the last two nights of my leave in London,’ Jon said. ‘I mustn’t be selfish. I want to please you, my darling. We’ll go to the theatre, and we’ll go shopping …’

  ‘Oh, Jon,’ I whispered as I turned in his arms to kiss him. ‘You could never be selfish …’

  ‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ he murmured as he bent his head to mine. ‘I want you so much, Emma. When a man loves a woman as much as I love you … pleasing her is selfish. I want to see your eyes light up, to see you smile and hear your laughter.’

  I laughed then as he kissed me. Jon’s idea of being selfish seemed funny to me. I was beginning to realize there was so much more to this man I had married than I had yet guessed. He went so deep, his thoughts so complex, way beyond my understanding. I could not hope to follow all the secret, twisting trails of his mind. I knew only that he was a sensitive, loving, gentle man, and that I loved him.

  When I thought about it, I realized we had met only a few times before our wedding. Jon had been there at a difficult period of my life. He had helped me when I needed a friend, but our meetings had been brief – apart from one holiday by the sea.

  It took more than that to know a man like Jon. But we had a lifetime before us, and I was sure deep inside of me that he would be worth the knowing.

  And so our lovely, special time drifted away, the days passing with a dreamlike quality as we walked the hills, the wind blowing fine, powdery snow into our faces when the weather turned colder, then racing back to the warmth of our cottage – to our bed. Was any woman ever as loved as I? Had lovers ever been so content as we were then?

  All too soon, we were back in London. James wept as he saw me for the first time, and held out his arms to Margaret. I felt guilty as I saw the accusation in my son’s eyes. For several days I had almost forgotten him.

  However, when he saw the teddy bear I had bought for him, he decided to forgive me. His arms closed about my neck, his tears drying as I held him to me and kissed his soft, baby curls and his face. He smelled so good, and I felt a wave of love for him.

  ‘Mummy is sorry,’ I whispered. ‘She won’t go away again, darling.’

  ‘We should have taken him with us,’ Jon said, a note of regret in his voice. ‘It was selfish of me, Emma. He loves you, too.’

  We both knew it had not been possible. James could not have shared our idyll. It would not have been the same. Besides, we had needed that special time alone together. Jon had needed it, and for this once at least his needs had necessarily come before my son’s.

  Now that we were back in London, Jon was more like the man I had known before we were married. Whatever part of him I had glimpsed during our time in the highlands was now safely hidden. He was his usual polite, smiling self.

  True to his word, Jon took me to the theatre two nights running. He also took me and my son to the park. We watched the horses parading past the palace, and Jon helped my son to sail a boat on the lake, then bought us all cream cakes and tea, most of which James managed to get all over his clean sailor suit. We were just like any other family on a day out.

  This was how I had always thought family life should be. It was what I had longed for, and it made me so happy.

  The night before Jon was due to return to camp, I clung to him after we had made love. I was crying, but trying not to let him see it.

  ‘Don’t, Emma,’ he whispered against my hair. ‘Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it that I may never see you again …’

  I leaned over him, my hair brushing his naked shoulder. For one terrible moment his soul was as naked as his flesh. I could see his fear, almost touch it. He was afraid of losing all that we had, all that we meant to each other.

  ‘It isn’t that I might die,’ he said, his throat caught with emotion. ‘We all have to die one day …’

  ‘What then, my darling?’

  ‘If something should happen … if you have reason to believe I am dead … don’t waste the rest of your life, Emma. I want you to be happy. More than anything else, that is what matters to me. I think I could face death if I knew that you would go on … that you would live for me.’

  ‘Oh, Jon …’ I could not hold back my tears now. ‘I can’t bear the thought that …’

  He kissed me. ‘Forgive me, darling. I just want you to be happy.’

  ‘I am happy, here with you.’ I bent to kiss his face. I touched my lips to his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and then his mouth. ‘I never want to be with anyone else,’ I vowed. ‘I love you, Jon. You’ve given me so much – and I don’t mean material things.’

  Jon smiled, reaching up to stroke my cheek. ‘I’m a fool, Emma. Take no notice. I have dark thoughts sometimes, but they are just bad dreams. I love you. I can’t die. I have too much to live for, my darling.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ I said. Then I began to kiss his body, tiny, teasing kisses that made him moan and throb with desire. I laughed as I moved lower, knowing what I was doing to him. ‘Just so as you remember exactly why you have to come home to me …’

  I didn’t go to see Jon off at the station the next morning. He wouldn’t let me.

  ‘Stay with James,’ he told me, kissing me goodbye. ‘He needs you, Emma. He needs you as much as I do. You mustn’t forget that, my darling. I know you enjoy your work, but make time for James. Think about me, my darling, and about the way it will be for us when all this is over. We shall be a family then. You, me and James …’

  ‘Yes, of course. I always do think of both of you.’

  I was a little hurt that Jon should think I would neglect my son. I spent as much time as I could with him, but perhaps it wasn’t enough.

  Watching him with Margaret later that day, I realized he went as easily to her as to me. For a moment I felt a pang of regret. James was very precious to me. I had never intended to neglect him, but perhaps I had without realizing it.

  Jon was so observant, so thoughtful. Damn this wretched war! I wished so much that we could be together as a family, that we could have our own home, live as we pleased … but I was not alone. All over the country women were wishing for the same thing, hiding their tears as their men went off to war, perhaps never to return.

  I held James on my lap after I had bathed him that evening, rocking him in my arms before putting him in his cot, my cheeks wet with tears.

  For a little while, a precious fragment of time, I had forgotten reality. I had believed in Jon’s paradise, but now the shadow of war loomed large. Until this moment, I had not really seen it as more than a nuisance, as an excuse for the Government’s petty restrictions – but quite suddenly I realized how terrifying it was.

  The dangers of training seemed puny against those Jon would face once he began flying missions for real.

  ‘Come back to me, Jon,’ I prayed. ‘
Please come back – for both of us. We both need you.’

  I smiled as I touched my son’s head, stroking the soft downy hair. He had fallen asleep almost as soon as I laid him down.

  I would spend more time with my son, even if it meant cutting down my hours a little at the workshop. And I would go to visit Mrs Reece when I could. I owed Jon that much.

  As I went downstairs, the telephone rang. I answered it.

  ‘Emma …’ Jon’s voice came to me sure and strong. ‘I just wanted to tell you … I’m all right. Last night, it was silly … all the chaps feel the same when they’ve been home. But I’m back now and it’s all right. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, of course, darling. I felt the same. It’s just the thought of saying goodbye.’

  ‘I’ll be home when I can,’ Jon said. ‘Just a few hours next time, but this damned war can’t go on forever, can it?’

  ‘No, of course it can’t,’ I replied, knowing that this was what he wanted me to say. ‘Don’t worry about us, we’re all fine. I’ve just put James to bed. I read him a story, and he’s fast asleep. He looked so sweet, Jon, all warm and pink and soft …’

  ‘Good – that’s how I shall think of you,’ Jon promised. ‘Sitting by his bed, your hair glinting with gold in the lamplight …’

  ‘My hair is a mousy brown,’ I said, laughing. ‘You ought to write poetry, Jon. You see everything with a rosy glow.’

  ‘You don’t see yourself the way I do,’ he replied. ‘Sometimes your hair looks like silk … and you are beautiful, whatever you say.’

  ‘Flatterer!’

  ‘Take care, Emma. I’ll telephone you again soon, my love.’

  ‘Yes, please do. I love you, Jon.’

  ‘Bye …’

  I replaced the receiver. My hand was shaking. Jon had not told me, but I knew he was going on his first mission that night …

  Also available from Ebury Press:

  The Downstairs Maid

  By Rosie Clarke

  She is a servant girl...