Mrs Jackson accepted the tea, beaming with delight. ‘Well, isn’t that nice of you to remember Freddy. He’ll be up and about for Christmas.’ She opened her handbag and took out a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my list, Mrs Harte. I think it’s complete, but I’ll have a look round, if you don’t mind and—’ Mrs Jackson paused midsentence. The bell was tinkling and the door opened.
Emma’s face broke into a surprised but delighted smile. ‘Blackie!’ she exclaimed, ‘I didn’t expect you until tonight.’
‘Top of the morning to ye, Emma, and to ye, ma’am,’ Blackie responded cheerily, inclining his head in Mrs Jackson’s direction. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing ye, Emma.’
‘No, not at all. Come around the counter and help yourself to some tea, while I finish with Mrs Jackson,’ said Emma, turning her attention to her customer. She looked over the list quickly. ‘Yes, everything seems clear, Mrs Jackson. Still, perhaps you should—’ Emma paused and gave the housekeeper a thoughtful look. ‘I wonder if you should take some extra mince pies and yule logs. You know how the children love them, and it is a long holiday season this year. To be honest with you, I have a large number of orders to meet. I can’t promise there will be much left at the end of the week, if you did decide you wanted more.’
‘Ooh, I hadn’t thought of that. Well, perhaps you’d better increase it. I don’t want the missis upset with me. Make it three more of each and pop in another Christmas cake as well,’ said Mrs Jackson. Her eyes caught the display of imports and she walked over to the table, carrying her mug of tea. ‘By gum, these look real fancy.’ She examined a box of Turkish delight and read out Emma’s carefully lettered card. ‘Exclusive to Harte’s. Supply limited.’
Emma pretended to check the shopping list, watching Mrs Jackson from beneath her lashes. She had chosen those words deliberately last night, knowing they would appeal to her customers’ snobbishness.
Mrs Jackson continued to look over the foreign sweetmeats and then said, ‘I’m not so sure about any of these. They look interesting, but maybe they’re just a bit too fancy for my missis.’
‘Oh, do you think so, Mrs Jackson? I’ve always found the gentry to be partial to such delicacies,’ Emma said pointedly. ‘Actually, I’m sorry I didn’t order more. Those items are going like wildfire. Why, only yesterday, one of the cooks from the Towers asked me to save her two of everything,’ she improvised swiftly. ‘Still, I realize they are a little expensive.’
Mrs Jackson gave Emma a sharp look. ‘My missis isn’t concerned about the price of anything, Mrs Harte,’ she said defensively. ‘I’ll take three of everything!’
Emma smiled. She had learned to take advantage of the competitiveness between the local cooks and housekeepers, who were always trying to better each other. ‘Very good, Mrs Jackson. I’ll make a note and put them away immediately.’
Mrs Jackson’s eyes roved over the shelves behind Emma. ‘While you’re at it, you’d best add a tin of that imported ham and four bottles of your chutney to my list. My lady’s expecting a lot of posh guests over the holidays. It’s wise to be prepared.’
‘Yes, that’s true. And you can always send the gardener’s boy down later in the week, if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. You know I’ll always do my best for you, Mrs Jackson.’
The housekeeper preened. ‘It’s nice to know I’m a favoured customer, Mrs Harte. I know I can rely on you. Now, do you think I’ve missed anything off the list, being as how you know so much about catering? I do want the missis to be pleased with my menus for the holidays.’
Emma made a show of thinking hard. ‘I would add two tins of pork and three jars of apple sauce, if I were you. For emergencies. And perhaps a selection of cheeses to go with the Christmas cakes. Leave it to me, Mrs Jackson. I’ll pick out the very best of my cheeses, and perhaps a couple of other items.’
Mrs Jackson placed the mug on the counter, looking as if Emma had just done her an enormous favour. ‘Thank you, Mrs Harte. It’s thoughtful of you to take so much trouble for me. I must say, you’ve made my life easier since you’ve been in Town Street. I don’t have to do so much cooking these days. Well, I must be on me way. Merry Christmas to you, luv.’ She paused at the door and waved.
‘Merry Christmas, Mrs Jackson. And remember, don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll see your order is filled exactly,’ Emma called after her.
‘I bet you will,’ Blackie said with a grin as he came around the counter and lowered himself on to the stool Mrs Jackson had vacated. ‘Ye could sell coal to the natives in darkest Africa. I’ve never seen anything like it, Emma. Why, ye must have doubled that poor woman’s order.’
‘Tripled it,’ said Emma with a smug little smile.
Blackie shook his head and adopted a serious expression. ‘Well, Emma, I just stopped by to pay me condolences to ye.’
‘Condolences?’
‘Aye, I understand ye sailor husband passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago. Died of typhoid fever in the Indian Ocean, so I be hearing. How very sad.’ He threw back that great head and roared. Emma laughed with him. ‘My God, Emma, what an imagination ye have. It’s ye who should be an aspiring writer and not Frank. Typhoid fever in the Indian Ocean indeed!’
‘Well, I had to kill him off,’ Emma said. ‘It was becoming a real nuisance—having a husband. Even one who had deserted me. I thought it was best to have him die far away and be buried at sea.’
Blackie chuckled. ‘True. True.’ He eyed her red wool dress. ‘I can see ye are not in mourning.’
‘My friends wouldn’t expect me to wear black for a man who deserted me, now would they? I suppose Laura told you.’
‘That she did. She said ye had received a letter from the Admiralty the other morning. Ye certainly lay it on thick, don’t ye?’
‘I had to make it sound authentic, Blackie. They were only white lies. I can tell the truth from now on.’
‘Oh, ye can, can ye?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Emma said firmly. ‘But not about Edwina. We have to protect her at all costs. Nobody must know that she’s illegitimate, Blackie.’
‘I won’t be betraying ye, mavourneen. Ye know that. By the way, I saw David Kallinski yesterday. I went to look over the factory, so I can make me plans for the alterations. I hope ye don’t mind, but I told him about ye husband passing on.’
‘Oh! What did he say?’ she asked cautiously.
‘He said he was sorry. But to me he looked like a man who’d just inherited a million pounds.’ Blackie scrutinized her carefully. ‘What’s going on between the two of ye, Emma?’
‘Why, nothing,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m his business partner, that’s all.’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Blackie thoughtfully. ‘Well, it strikes me he thinks otherwise.’
‘Stuff and nonsense. It’s your Celtic imagination getting the better of you. Yours is a sight more vivid than even Frank’s.’
Blackie did not reply. He reached into his overcoat, pulled out a sheaf of papers, and handed them to Emma. ‘Here are the plans for renovating the middle shop and then joining all three together like ye wanted, mavourneen. I aim to go into Mrs Minton’s on either side. That is, from the haberdashery and through that wall over there. I’ll make a sort of passage that links all three. How does that sound?’
‘Wonderful, Blackie! You know I trust your judgement. I’ll look at the plans tonight. When will you start?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Knowing ye, I suppose ye’d like me to start immediately, but it’ll have to be after Christmas, Emma. We’ll do a fast job, though, and ye’ll be in the shop by the middle of January.’
THIRTY-FIVE
David Kallinski leaned back against the sofa in the kitchen-parlour behind Emma’s food shop and thoughtfully regarded the last of her sketches. He held it away from him, his eyes narrowing perceptively.
As he continued to gaze at it David experienced a flash of excitement and his hands tightened on the drawing. If anything, her designs for their winter coll
ection were even more striking than her summer outfits. They were superb, in fact. The lines were understated and elegant, balanced by fine detailing, and she had cleverly combined the colours for wholly different effects. Her colour sense was extraordinary, even if it was a little daring. Only Emma could have conceived of such unusual mixtures—burgundy trimmed with bright pink, navy blue highlighted with apple green, vivid cyclamen flashed with lilac, and, on the other side of the spectrum, a mélange of rich autumnal tones enlivened by pure white, misty greys, and blues combined with violet, plus fir green sparked with rose. And they all worked beautifully together. Not only that, because of the simplicity of their basic construction, their clean lines and general lack of fussiness, her creations were ideal for the mass-manufacturing techniques he was employing at the factory.
David smiled with pleasure and pride in Emma. He did not know where her artistic gifts sprang from, but they were indisputable and her taste was matchless, her flair unrivalled. He had long come to recognize, and with not a little wonder, that Emma possessed natural genius. There was no other term appropriate to describe her incredible talent and, coupled with her prodigious energy, it made her formidable. Apart from her brilliance as a designer, she had an innate understanding of the public’s whims, an uncanny knack of discerning ahead of time what they wanted and, more importantly, what they would buy. It was as if she had a daemon telling her things, and all of her ventures were instantaneous successes. David suspected that Emma Harte would make money at whatever she decided to turn her hand to, for her touch was golden. Both he and his father had been staggered at her total grasp of financial matters and her capacity for structuring complex monetary schemes, all of which stood up to their accountant’s scrutiny and won his astonished approval. She read a balance sheet the way other people read a newspaper and she could pinpoint its flaws and its virtues in a matter of minutes. She was only just twenty-one and already she was scaling ambition’s ladder with the swiftest and most determined of steps. It seemed to David that nothing could hold her back—it would have been like trying to harness lightning, he had long ago decided. She continually managed to amaze him and he dare not speculate where she would be in ten years’ time. At the top of that ladder, he conjectured, and the prospects were dizzying.
David placed the sketch with the others and lit a cigarette. Things were proceeding on schedule and exactly as he had planned. He had been in business for four months, with Emma and Joe Lowther as his partners. Emma also acted as the designer and stylist, and his brother, Victor, was the factory manager. In one month David would be twenty-five, and he had no doubts whatsoever about the future of the Kallinski Clothing Company, or his own destiny. He intended to be a rich and important member of the community; and the whole of Leeds, indeed if not Yorkshire, would take notice of him one day. That was a promise he had made to himself years ago and he had every intention of keeping that promise.
David had launched into business on his own with flair, assurance, and aggressiveness and it had been a fortuitous start. At the initial showing of the summer collection, the first samples had been received with enthusiasm by the buyers from the big emporiums in Leeds, Bradford, Sheffield, and Manchester, who had fortunately followed up their accolades with surprisingly large orders. The tremendous energy that Emma, Victor, and he had expended, and the long hours they had put in to get the first collection under way, had certainly been justified.
David could not resist shuffling through the sketches once more. He spread them out on the floor and his excitement was barely contained. Yes, by God, she had done it again! This new line could not be bettered by any other manufacturer in Leeds, or even London for that matter. He was absolutely confident that after the winter showing the orders would be huge. He had heady visions of tripling the amount of business he would do in the next few months, for, like Emma, David Kallinski was a born salesman—charming, suave, and utterly dedicated to business.
Emma interrupted his thoughts as she came into the room carrying a steak-and-kidney pie from the storage cellar. David looked up and caught his breath. She had changed into one of their samples and it was enormously becoming to her. Although the style of the dress was not particularly revealing, being tailored and dignified, the fine wool clung to her lovely figure, gently outlining the high curve of her breasts, the rounded smoothness of her thighs, and the length of her graceful legs. The dress was of a dark bottle green and this colour served to emphasize the brilliance of her eyes and the translucency of her skin. He noticed she had done something different with that magnificent and abundant hair. It was pulled back as always, so that the widow’s peak was highly visible, but she had brushed it loose for once and then captured the thick tresses in a dark green net, a sort of snood topped by a small green velvet bow. The netted russet hair fell to her shoulders and framed her incomparable face and it gave her an innocent look. She’s the the most alluring creature in the world, David thought wonderingly.
Uncomfortably aware of his prolonged examination of her, Emma halted, frowning. ‘Don’t you like the designs, David?’ she asked, misunderstanding the expression on his face.
‘Good God, yes!’ he cried. ‘They’re excellent, Emma. No, that’s an understatement. They’re outstanding. You’ve done a fantastic job. Truly.’
Emma smiled. ‘Don’t exaggerate,’ she demurred, but she sighed with relief. After she had placed the pie in the oven, she glided over and sat on the floor at his feet, her back to the fire. She sorted through the sketches, expounding quickly on each one, her face revealing her zeal. She suggested minor changes to some of the designs, explained her ideas on the cutting and manufacturing processes most suitable, and volunteered her thoughts about costing. When they had first started, Emma had applied strict cost accounting to every phase of manufacturing and because of this they would be able to produce more for less than their competitors. She reiterated those points and David leaned forward, eagerness washing over his fine young face. He listened carefully, making mental notes of everything she said. Her advice had proved to be sound, and he always followed it.
When Emma had finished, David said, ‘There’s only one thing we didn’t think about—a name for the line. We must come up with one immediately, because I’ve already put the summer collection into production and I must order the labels. I don’t think Kallinski Clothes is a very exciting name, do you?’
Emma looked up quickly. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she hesitated before saying, ‘Not really. It’s not—well—it’s not very feminine, David. But I don’t have any ideas. Why don’t you ask Victor? He’s very bright about such things.’
David broke into a grin. ‘I guessed you’d suggest that and so I did already. Victor came up with one name this afternoon. I sort of like it, though I’m not sure that you will approve. He suggested we use the name of your famous namesake.’
‘My famous namesake? Who on earth does he mean? I didn’t know I had one.’
‘I didn’t know either, I’m ashamed to admit. Just goes to show how ignorant we are. He meant the first Emma Hart. That’s Hart without the e.’
Undisguised curiosity flickered on to Emma’s face. ‘The first Emma Hart,’ she echoed. ‘Who is she?’
‘The first Emma Hart was quite a famous lady, or infamous, depending on how you look at it. Let me explain. Your namesake married Sir William Hamilton and became Lady Hamilton. That’s the name Victor suggested we adopt.’ David laughed at her bewilderment. ‘Emma Hart was Nelson’s Lady Hamilton. His great love. His mistress. His bequest to the nation in his renowned will, so Victor tells me. Don’t you remember your history books, my girl?’ he teased.
‘Oh, that Lady Hamilton! Mmmmm. It’s not a bad name actually. Not bad at all,’ she mused. ‘Rather distinguished, when you think about it. Lady Hamilton Dresses. No, since We are making suits and coats as well, it would have to be Lady Hamilton Clothes, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, it would. Do you really like it, Emma? To be honest with you, I took to it a
t once, but I wanted to discuss it with you before I had the labels made. What do you say?’
Emma pondered, repeating the name in her head. It did have a catchy ring to it and it was rather classy. She remembered that Nelson was Winston’s great naval hero. Perhaps this was a good omen. Maybe the name would be lucky. ‘Yes, I do like it! Let’s use it, David.’
‘What about Joe? Shouldn’t we ask his opinion?’
‘Good heavens, David, surely you know Joe will approve of anything we suggest. You don’t have to worry about him.’ She laughed. ‘What would we do without Victor? We’re such a couple of illiterates, aren’t we?’
‘Perhaps we are, but we know how to make money, Anyway, how about a spot of sherry to celebrate selecting the name?’ David stood up, bending over Emma. He offered her his outstretched hands and helped her up off the floor.
As Emma rose she lifted her head and smiled into David’s face. Their eyes met and held. They stared at each other for a suspended moment, unable to look away, bright blue gaze impaled on one of vivid green. Emma felt an internal quivering, as she always did these days whenever David touched her. A flush rose to her face, and her heart began to pound unreasonably. She continued to stare into his adoring face, hypnotized by that sapphire blaze so full of yearning.
Long aware of her hesitancy and reserve, David moved swiftly. He pulled her into his arms, his mouth seeking hers. His lips touched her lips and he parted them gently but firmly. Emma felt the warm sweetness of his tongue and her senses overwhelmed her. Her fingers flew to the back of his head involuntarily and ran through his crisp black hair, and it was as if her touch was a firebrand. David held her closer to him, his strong hands sliding down over her shoulders to the small of her back. His palms pressed her slender body into his own muscular one and, as his embrace tightened, Emma felt the rise of his own desire against her thigh. It had been like this for several weeks now—the kissing, the touching, the ardent glances. Every time they were alone together they were both engulfed by a consciousness of their bodies straining for fulfilment in each other.
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