For the second time that day, Emma was greatly moved. She could not speak, and she turned away quickly so that he would not see her misty eyes. She sat down, took a sip of her drink, composed herself, and finally murmured, ‘That’s lovely, just lovely, darling.’
After propping the painting against a console table, and making sure it was in her direct line of vision, he returned to his seat and lifted his own glass. ‘And it is a lifetime, too, Emma. Sixty-six years to be precise.’ He nodded at the painting. ‘Aye, the Top of the World – your mother’s name for Ramsden Crags. I’ll never forget the day you found me lost on the moors, and we came up out of the Ghyll and I saw the Crags for the first time.’
Emma followed the direction of his eyes. Over six decades dropped away and she saw herself as she had been at fourteen. A poor little servant girl…trudging across the moors at dawn in her broken-down button boots and the old patched coat Cook had given her. That coat had been a treasured item too, even though it had been small and tight and threadbare. It had hardly protected her from the rain and snow and bitter North wind.
Now she stared fully at Blackie, seeing him as he was tonight, but remembering how he had looked in his rough, drab workman’s clothes and his cheap cloth cap worn at such a cheeky angle, carrying his sack of tools slung over his broad shoulder. Disreputable, Cook had called the dirty old burlap bag that contained his most treasured possessions – his hammers and trowels and mortar board.
Emma said slowly: ‘Who would have thought that we would both live to such great ages…that we would acquire so much in our lifetimes…immense power, immeasurable wealth…that we would become what we are today.’
Blackie gave her an odd look, then chuckled, at the amazement ringing in her voice. ‘I for one never doubted our rosy futures,’ he announced, his voice underscored by a bubbling merriment. ‘I told you I was going to be a toff, a real millionaire, and that you would be a grand lady. Mind you, me darlin’, I’ll be confessing to you now that I never suspected you’d be quite as grand as you are.’
They both smiled, their wise old eyes holding, secure in their love and friendship, revelling in the knowledge that they truly understood each other, and as no other person alive did. So many years…so many experiences shared welded them. The bonds between them were like steel, and so strong they were unbreakable.
The silence drifted for a while.
Eventually Blackie roused himself. ‘Now, mavourneen mine, tell me about your busy day.’
‘One thing surprised me, Blackie. They called. The plotters. I was startled to hear from my sons and Elizabeth, I don’t mind telling you. She’s back in London of course. No doubt with the French boyfriend. Edwina gave me a ring this morning, and she was pleasant, believe it or not. Perhaps she’s mended her ways finally. And I had two other most wonderful calls…they really touched me.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Philip rang from Sydney, and your Shane from New York. Wasn’t that nice?’ He nodded, smiling, and she continued, ‘It seems that your grandson and mine are planning birthday parties for me when we arrive in their cities, so be prepared. As for my day, well you can see for yourself what it’s brought.’ Emma waved her hand around, her eyes sweeping the room. ‘Flowers, cards and so many gifts. And I had lunch with Daisy, David and my grandchildren at the Mirabelle.’
She proceeded to recount every detail of the luncheon party, then told him how they had whisked her away from the restaurant at three-thirty and taken her to her store in Knightsbridge. Marched by her grandchildren into her board room, she had been greeted by her top executives who were anxiously awaiting her arrival at the special reception they had arranged for her.
When she had finished this somewhat breathless recital, Emma rose and picked up the Imperial Easter egg, said confidingly, ‘This is what my grandchildren gave me, and like your painting it is a most meaningful gift. I shall treasure them both always.’
‘So you had a lovely day – I’m glad. That’s the way it should always be.’ Blackie stood up. ‘Come along, I think we’d better be on our way. We’re meeting in Bryan’s suite at the Ritz for a drop of bubbly before we go down to dinner.’
Ten minutes later when they arrived at the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly, Blackie ushered Emma up the steps. He paused briefly at the reception desk, asked the young man behind it to announce his arrival to his son, Mr Bryan O’Neill, and gave the number of the suite.
‘Of course, Mr O’Neill.’ The young assistant manager smiled at Emma. ‘Good evening, Mrs Harte.’
Emma acknowledged his greeting pleasantly, and after Blackie had expressed his thanks they proceeded along the lobby unaware how striking they looked and of the heads turned to watch them.
Emma remained silent as they rode up in the lift, and Blackie stole several surreptitious looks at her, wondering if she had any inkling about the party which had been planned with such secrecy. He could not hazard a guess. Her face, as always, was inscrutable. He believed Emma would not be angry, despite Daisy’s prediction that her mother might easily react adversely. He knew his Emma, understood that she was like a child at times. She enjoyed surprises and gifts and special occasions, particularly when those occasions revolved around her.
That’s because of the deprivations of her youth, he said to himself. In those days she had had nothing, nothing of any real value. No, that wasn’t strictly true. She had had her startling looks, her brains, her stamina and her extraordinary health, and her enormous courage. Not to mention that terrible pride of hers. Oh that pride, and oh the shame she had experienced because of that pride and because she was poor. ‘But poverty’s not a crime, even though people who’re better off always try to make you feel like a criminal,’ she had once cried to him, her anger bringing a fierce dark gleam to her young eyes. Ah yes, he remembered everything…Emma had had more than her fair share of pain and sorrow and grief in her life. But she would not suffer again, nor ever be deprived again, and there would be no more pain. They were both far too old for tragedies…tragedies were for the young.
Finally they drew to a stop in front of the door to the suite. Blackie smiled inwardly. The phone call from reception had been the alert signal for Bryan and Daisy to keep the guests absolutely quiet. Obviously they had succeeded admirably. A pin dropping would have sounded like a gun going off in the silence permeating the corridor.
Giving Emma a final rapid glance, Blackie raised his hand and rapped. The door was opened almost at once by Daisy. ‘There you are, Mother, Uncle Blackie. We’ve been waiting for you. Do come in.’
Blackie propelled Emma forward and stepped inside after her.
‘Happy birthday!’ fifty-eight people shrieked in unison.
That Emma was thunderstruck was immediately evident to everyone present. She stared at the crowd made up of relatives and friends who had gathered together to celebrate her birthday, her expression startled, and she coloured slightly, the blush rising from her neck to suffuse her face. Her eyes immediately swivelled to Blackie’s, and she whispered, ‘You devil! Why didn’t you give me a hint, some warning at least?’
He grinned, gratified that the secret had obviously been well and truly kept. ‘I didn’t dare. Daisy said she’d kill me. And don’t start telling me you’re annoyed, because I can see from your face that you’re not!’
‘That’s true,’ she admitted and finally permitted herself to smile.
She swung her head, faced the packed room, and was momentarily rooted to the spot. The lingering smile slowly grew wider and wider as she noted the familiar faces smiling back at her in welcome.
Her two sons, Kit Lowther and Robin Ainsley, were there with their wives, June and Valerie; her daughters Edwina and Elizabeth flanked a distinguished-looking man who was outrageously handsome. She supposed this was the notorious Marc Deboyne – International White Trash, Emily had so succinctly labelled him. Still, he did have a rather fascinating smile and a glamorous aura. Elizabeth always went for the pretty ones, of course. Well, she was hardly the one to criticize. The me
n who had tenanted her life had had their fair share of good looks.
Daisy had slipped across the room, stood with her arm linked through David’s, and he, in turn, was positioned next to her sisters-in-law, the two old ladies, Charlotte and Natalie, who were dressed to the nines and dripping with jewels. Paula and Jim hovered next to them; Winston was shepherding Emily, Amanda and Francesca, and was apparently enjoying his role of protector. Emma’s eyes automatically dropped to Emily’s left hand and she winked at her granddaughter when she spotted the glittering emerald engagement ring.
She stared beyond them into the adjoining suite, saw Sarah, Jonathan, Alexander and his girlfriend Maggie Reynolds crowded together in the entrance. On their left was the entire Kallinski family, and edging up to them were Bryan, Geraldine and Merry O’Neill. Positioned next to the latter were the rest of the Hartes. Randolph’s beaming face peered out at her, just visible above the shoulders of his two daughters, Vivienne and Sally. Anthony, her grandson, smiled back at her from Sally’s side.
Henry Rossiter was leaning against the fireplace at the far end of the second suite. He looks better than ever, Emma thought, and eyed his current girlfriend, the noted model Jennifer Glenn. She was at least forty years younger. That’s one way to ensure a heart attack, dear Henry, Emma thought to herself, her eyes amused. Gaye Sloane, her private secretary, graced Henry’s right, and the remainder of the guests were made up of old friends, as well as close business associates such as Len Harvey, who ran Genret, and his wife Monica.
Emma’s initial stunned surprise had completely dissipated in the few minutes she had stood motionless surveying the gathering. Now she was again totally in command of herself, all those present, and this occasion. Looking autocratic, proud, dignified, and supremely elegant she took a step forward and inclined her head.
‘Well,’ she exclaimed, her strong clear voice ringing out as she broke the silence at last, ‘I never realized I knew so many people who were capable of keeping a secret. At least, from me.’ Their laughter rippled around her as she glided forward into their midst, accepting their affectionate greetings and good wishes with a graciousness that few could match.
Blackie edged over to Daisy, stood watching Emma circulating, dispensing her inimitable charm. And by the ladleful, he muttered under his breath. A huge grin suddenly illuminated his face and his eyes crinkled with humour. He exclaimed to Daisy, ‘And you worried yourself to death, thinking she was going to be upset! Just look at her…she’s in her element, handling them all with aplomb and behaving as if she’s Royalty.’
CHAPTER 21
An hour later, at eight o’clock, Blackie escorted Emma into the private dining room farther along the corridor where the birthday celebration dinner was to be held.
Bending towards her, he whispered, ‘Daisy didn’t want anybody’s feelings to be hurt, nor did she wish to be accused of favouritism, so none of your children or grandchildren will be sitting at our table.’
‘That was smart of her,’ Emma murmured, her mouth twitching with hidden laughter. Well, Daisy was the one true diplomat in the family; on the other hand, she knew her sons would not exactly be clamouring to sit with her. Emma was still astonished that they had deigned to come at all. Elizabeth’s presence did not surprise her. It was just conceivable that her daughter wanted to make friends again, since she always had her eye on the main chance. No doubt she thought she could ingratiate herself, probably with the hopes of extracting more money. Her other motivations would be a desire to see her children and show off her new boyfriend. As for Edwina, she was currying favour with Anthony, who would have disapproved if his mother had declined the invitation.
Slowly she and Blackie crossed to the main table, which was flanked on either side by two other tables. All were arranged in a semi-circle around the small dance floor, and at the opposite side of this square of polished parquet a band was already playing a selection of popular music.
Emma’s all-encompassing glance took in everything. In the flickering candlelight emanating from the five round tables, the room resembled a charming summer garden, with masses of flowers banked on every side, and small colourful bouquets decorating the tables. The latter were covered in shell-pink tablecloths and gleamed brightly with the sparkle of crystal, silver and fine china.
Nodding with pleasure and smiling with approval, Emma turned to Blackie as they came to a standstill, and said, ‘What a lovely setting Daisy has created…it’s so very festive.’
Blackie beamed. ‘Yes, she worked hard with the banqueting manager, and supervised everything herself.’ He pulled out a chair for her, but remained standing himself.
Once she was seated Emma squinted at the place cards on either side of her, and said, ‘I see you’re on my right, Henry on my left, but who else will be joining us?’
‘Charlotte and Natalie of course, Len and Monica Harvey, and Henry’s girlfriend Jennifer. We’ve also got Mark and Ronnie Kallinski and their wives with us, which makes twelve altogether.’
‘Oh I am glad some of the Kallinskis will be sitting with us. I couldn’t help thinking of David tonight, wishing he were here. Although Ronnie doesn’t look as much like David as Mark, he does remind me of his father. He has many of his mannerisms. Don’t you agree?’
‘I do indeed, me darlin’. Ah, here comes Randolph with his mother and his aunt.’
Emma half turned, welcomed Charlotte and Natalie, and with his usual flourish and show of old-world gallantry, Blackie ushered Emma’s sisters-in-law to their seats.
Randolph, bluff and hearty as always, squeezed Emma’s shoulder and boomed, ‘I’m sitting at Bryan’s table, over there. But I’ll be back, Aunt Emma.’ He winked at her. ‘I intend to claim at least one dance.’
Laughing, Emma said, ‘A foxtrot, Randolph, nothing more energetic than that.’
‘You’re on.’
His mother leaned over to Emma and confided, ‘Emily’s the best thing that has happened to that grandson of mine. I couldn’t be more delighted about the engagement.’
‘Oh so am I, Charlotte, and that was a sweet gesture of yours, giving Emily the strand of pearls as an engagement present. I remember when Winston gave them to you.’
Charlotte beamed. ‘Yes, when we became engaged in 1919. Now, about the wedding. I do hope they’ll get married in Yorkshire, Emma. Elizabeth was talking to me earlier, and she seems to think the wedding should be in London.’
‘Does she now,’ Emma said with dryness. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it for one moment. Elizabeth’s always had grand ideas, and usually they’re self-serving. Under the circumstances, I think it’s for Emily and Winston to decide, and they’ve indicated to me that they want to get married in Ripon Cathedral. I think that’s a lovely idea, and then we can have the reception at the house.’
The three women talked about Emily’s wedding, planned for the following summer, for a few minutes longer and then Emma started to tell them about her impending trip with Blackie and the places they would visit on their journey to Australia.
Blackie continued to direct traffic, and within a few minutes the room had filled up, everyone was seated, and the waiters were gliding between the five tables, filling glasses with white wine. There was a feeling of conviviality and gaiety in the air. Laughter reverberated, the cacophony of voices rose to a crescendo, the hubbub of noise balanced by the strains of the light music playing in the background.
Emma, her mind as razor-sharp as always, her eyes everywhere, soon discerned that her family and friends were enjoying themselves wholeheartedly, appeared to be having the best of times. After the first course of smoked salmon had been served, some of the younger guests immediately took to the dance floor, and Emma watched them, filled with pride, thinking how attractive they looked…the girls in their pretty dresses, the young men in their smart dinner jackets. They whirled around the dance floor, their clear young faces shining with happiness, their eyes bright with hope and limitless expectations for the future, their lives ahead of t
hem, offering so much.
Jonathan’s bland and smiling face came into her line of vision as he guided young Amanda around the perimeters of the floor, and for a split second she wondered if she had been wrong about him. She clamped down on this thought, not wanting to dwell on problems tonight, and swung her eyes to his father. Robin was dancing with his half-sister, Daisy, and oozing charm. Dark, exotic-looking Robin, once her favourite son, the dashing Member of Parliament, currently politically secure after a few rocky rides. Well, he was shrewd and smart when it came to his own career. He had always been the dyed-in-the-wool politician, the consummate deal maker, and, she had to admit, popular in the Labour Party, not to mention with his constituents in Leeds.
Blackie cut into her thoughts when he touched her arm lightly, pushed back his chair, and said, ‘Come on, Emma, you owe me the first dance.’
He led her proudly on to the floor, took her in his arms, and they glided away, smoothly in step to the strains of the Cole Porter medley the band had begun to play.
Blackie was well aware that they cut quite a swathe together, and towering above Emma as he did, he was conscious that they were the centre of attraction, knew that all eyes were on them. He caught sight of Kit scrutinizing them and he inclined his head, smiled, and peered around, seeking Robin. There he was, swinging Daisy across the floor, so smooth, so sleek…and so slippery. Blackie despised her sons for their treachery towards Emma, and now he wondered if either of them had enough sense to realize how foolish they had been, pitting themselves against this brilliant woman, trying to outsmart her. They had had as much chance as a snowball in hell. Of course she had won hands down. She always won.
Emma whispered against his chest, ‘Everybody’s looking at us, talking about us, Blackie.’
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