‘Winston and I have been worried about you lately. You’re sitting in a hopeless marriage and it disturbs us both. In fact, we think you should divorce Arthur. I promised Winston I would broach the idea to you.’
‘A divorce!’ Emma laughed gaily. ‘Whatever for? Arthur doesn’t bother me.’
‘He’s not right for you, Emma, and you know it. There’s his terrible drinking, for one thing, and the way he carries on with—’Frank swallowed and drew on his cigarette.
‘Other women,’ Emma finished for him. She looked amused. ‘I realize the wife is always supposed to be the last to know. However, I’ve been aware of Arthur’s activities for a long time. You don’t have to spare my feelings.’
‘And it doesn’t upset you?’ Frank asked.
‘My monumental lack of interest in Arthur Ainsley and the way he conducts his life must surely negate the idea that I care for him. Actually, I have no feelings for Arthur whatsoever.’
‘Then why not get a divorce, Emma?’
‘Because of the children, mainly.’
‘Fiddlesticks! You’re using them as an excuse. Edwina and Kit are away at boarding school. They wouldn’t be affected—’
‘I was thinking of the twins, Frank. They are Arthur’s children and they need a father.’
‘What kind of father is Arthur?’ Frank snorted.
Emma picked up the drink the waiter had placed before her. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers. Now, come on, give me an answer.’
‘Well, he is a presence in their lives. He’s very fond of them, and quite good with them, really.’
‘When he’s sober,’ Frank pointed out with a degree of acerbity.
Emma sighed. ‘There’s a grain of truth in what you say, of course. But look here, Frank, I honestly don’t want to divorce Arthur, even though I have grounds. At least, not right now. You know I hate upheaval and I really do think it’s the wrong time. Perhaps when the children are older I’ll consider it.’ Her voice trailed off and she looked pensive. She cheered. ‘I’m reasonably content. Arthur doesn’t interfere with me, or the business, and you know how much I love that.’
‘You can’t take ledgers to bed with you, our Em. They don’t keep you warm on a cold night, and they certainly can’t cherish and love you as you should be cherished and loved.’
Emma laughed. ‘Why is it you men are always thinking of sex?’
‘I did say “cherished” and “loved”. You’re a young woman. You should have some companionship, a relationship with a decent man. My God, you must be bloody lonely!’
A cloud passed over Emma’s face and her eyes were briefly sad. She shook her head slowly, ‘I don’t have time to be lonely. I’m very busy these days, as you well know, constantly travelling between here and Leeds. And I am adamant about the divorce, Frank. Now, let’s not waste any more time talking about Arthur. Tell me about the house you found in Hampstead. Does Natalie like it?’
Frank groaned, acknowledging it was useless to pursue the conversation, and said, ‘Yes, she does. So do I. It’s ideal for us. But I would like you to take a look at it, and give me your opinion. It’s quite expensive, you know.’
‘I’d be delighted. And don’t worry about the price, Frank. If it’s more than you can afford, I’ll give you the difference.’
‘Oh, Emma, I couldn’t take it,’ Frank protested.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Years ago Blackie told me that money was meant to be spent and he was correct. I want you to have a nice house, to start this marriage off on the right foot. I want you to be happy, Frank.’ She laughed. ‘Whoever said money doesn’t buy happiness was misinformed, in my opinion. It buys a lot of happiness, for a lot of people. And frankly, I’d rather be miserable with money than without it.’ She squeezed Frank’s arm. ‘You know anything I have is yours and Winston’s. It will be part of my wedding present to you and Natalie.’
‘You’re so generous, Emma. I really appreciate it. And what can I say but thank you very much.’ Frank sipped his drink and continued, ‘Can you spare an hour to view it tomorrow?’
‘Indeed I can. How is dear Natalie?’
Frank beamed. ‘She’s marvellous. A treasure. I love that girl, Emma. I really do.’
‘I know. You’re lucky, Frank. You’re going to have a wonderful marriage. She’s—’ Emma stopped and caught her breath. From her position at the table, a vantage point in the bar, Emma could see a major portion of the lobby and her eyes were now riveted on two men talking together near the reception desk.
Frank, watching Emma carefully, said, ‘What’s wrong?’
Emma glanced at Frank, white with shock. ‘It’s Paul McGill!’ She looked down the steps again. ‘Oh my God! He’s coming this way. I think he’s heading for the bar. I must leave immediately, before he sees me.’
Frank put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘It’s perfectly all right, Emma. Don’t get excited. And please don’t leave,’ he implored softly.
Emma’s eyes blazed. ‘Frank! You knew he was in London, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t—you couldn’t possibly have asked him to join us?’
Frank did not answer. He looked down at his drink.
Emma hissed, ‘My God! You did!’
‘Guilty, I’m afraid,’ Frank murmured.
‘Oh, Frank, how could you?’ Emma half rose, and Frank pressed her gently back into the chair.
‘Please, Emma. You have to stay.’
She looked at him furiously. ‘This sudden desire to talk about Arthur and the house was just a ruse, wasn’t it?’ she cried accusingly.
‘No!’ Frank exclaimed. ‘It wasn’t! I did want to discuss your marriage. I have for a long time. I told you, Winston and I are very perturbed. And I do need your advice about the house. However, I did agree to arrange this meeting.’
‘My God! What am I going to do?’ Emma whispered hoarsely.
‘You are going to be your civilized self and have a drink with Paul.’
‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘You don’t understand. I must go!’ As she spoke, Emma knew it was already too late to make a graceful exit. Paul was bounding up the steps and then he was standing at the table, his bulk casting a shadow on them. Emma lifted her eyes slowly and looked at him looking down at her. She was relieved she was, seated. Her legs had turned to jelly and her heart was palpitating.
‘Hello, Emma,’ Paul said, and stretched out his hand.
Automatically she gave him hers. ‘Hello, Paul,’ she responded in a strangled voice, shaking internally. She felt his strong fingers tighten on hers, felt the bright colour flooding her face. She extracted her hand quickly and gazed blindly at the table.
Paul greeted Frank like an old friend and sat down. He ordered a scotch and soda, leaned back, crossed his legs non-chalantly, and lit a cigarette. He turned his attention to Emma. ‘It’s good to see you, Emma. You look lovely. You haven’t changed a bit. And I must congratulate you. Your store in Knightsbridge bowled me over. It’s magnificent. A monumental accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, not daring to look at him.
‘I must congratulate you, too, Frank. Your new book is splendid. Thanks for the copy. I was up half the night reading it. Couldn’t put it down, in fact.’
Frank grinned with pleasure. ‘I’m glad you like it. I’m also happy to say it’s doing very well.’
‘And so it should. It’s one of the best novels I’ve read in years.’ Paul’s drink arrived and as he lifted it he said, ‘Here’s to old and dear friends, and your impending marriage, Frank.’
Emma was silent. She had never thought her brother capable of duplicity, but he had certainly been devious in this instance, and was obviously on cordial terms with Paul.
Frank said, ‘I’m delighted you will be here in July. Natalie and I hope you can come to the wedding.’
Emma could not believe her ears. She glared at Frank, who ignored her penetrating look
and continued,’And thanks for the invitation to dine with you later this week. Natalie suggested Friday, if you are free.’
‘I am. And I wouldn’t miss the wedding for anything.’ Paul’s eyes rested on Emma. ‘Could you join us for dinner on Friday, Emma?’
‘I’m quite sure I can’t,’ she responded, avoiding his eyes.
‘Why don’t you check your appointment book later?’ Frank suggested.
‘I don’t have to. I am positive I have a dinner engagement,’ she enunciated clearly and in a firmer tone, her eyes signalling her displeasure to Frank.
Recognizing the stubborn expression settling on her face, Paul refrained from pressing the point and, turning to Frank, he said, ‘Where are you planning to go on your honeymoon?’
‘We’ve been considering the South of France, although we haven’t definitely decided yet.’
Emma sat back in the chair, no longer listening to them. Their conversation washed over her as she retreated into herself. She had been utterly thrown off balance by Paul’s unexpected arrival and she could, at this moment, have cheerfully killed Frank for his participation in the scheme. She felt dazed, and many mixed emotions, so well controlled over the years, broke free in her. The impact of seeing him was devastating. Paul McGill was sitting here, unconcernedly chatting to Frank, smiling, nodding, and behaving as if nothing had happened between them. She felt the enormous power of him, his sheathed strength and virility, and she remembered every detail of the days they had spent together at the Ritz. And then she recalled, with a stab of sadness, how she had yearned for him. Pined for him. Needed him in the past. Now he was only inches away, and she stifled the impulse to reach out and touch him, to reassure herself he was real. Instead she looked at him surreptitiously. He was as immaculate as always, dressed in a dark grey chalk-striped suit and gleaming white silk shirt. Sapphire-and-gold links glittered in the French cuffs and he wore a deep blue silk tie, and a white handkerchief flared in his breast pocket. She knew he had been forty-two at the beginning of February, but he looked exactly the same as he had in 1919, except that his face was more deeply tanned and there were additional character lines around his eyes. His colouring was as vivid as it had ever been, and his chuckle was deep and throaty. How well she knew that amused, sardonic chuckle. Sudden anger swamped her. How dare he come back here so casually and expect her to treat him with civility after all the pain he had caused her. What audacity. What arrogance. Resentment edged out all other feelings, and she steeled herself against his potent charm.
Dimly, she heard Frank saying goodbye. He was leaving her alone with Paul. The idea terrified her.
‘I must go,’ she said, picking up her gloves and her purse. ‘Please excuse me, Paul. I have to leave with Frank.’
‘Don’t go, Emma. Please. I would like to talk to you,’ Paul said in the softest of voices. It was imperative that he detain her at all costs, yet he dare not exert obvious pressure on her.
Frank threw Paul a conspiratorial glance and addressed Emma. ‘I have to get back to Fleet Street. I’m running late.’ He kissed her on the cheek perfunctorily and departed before she could protest further, and she knew she was trapped.
Paul summoned the waiter and ordered more drinks, and then he leaned forward intently. His eyes were serious, his face grave. ‘Please don’t be angry with Frank. I persuaded him to arrange this meeting.’
‘Why?’ Emma asked, and for the first time she looked at Paul fully and with coldness.
Paul winced. He knew he had a difficult time ahead of him, but he was determined to convince her of his sincerity. ‘As I said, I wanted to see you and to talk to you. Very desperately.’
‘Desperately!’ she echoed, and laughed cynically. ‘That’s a strange word to use. You can’t have been all that desperate, otherwise you would not have let so many years elapse.’
‘I understand your feelings only too well, Emma. But it does happen to be the truth. I have been really desperate. And for the past four and a half years,’ he insisted.
‘Then why didn’t you write to me?’ she demanded, and her voice shook unexpectedly. She took furious control of herself, determined not to show any emotion whatsoever.
‘I did write to you a number of times and I also sent you three cablegrams.’
Emma stared at Paul, a look of disbelief crossing her face. ‘Don’t tell me they all got lost in the post! And that the cablegrams disappeared into thin air! I would find that very hard to swallow.’
‘No, they didn’t. They were stolen. As your letters to me were stolen,’ Paul said, his eyes not leaving her face.
‘Stolen by whom?’ Emma asked, returning his intense stare.
‘By my private secretary.’
‘But why would she do a thing like that?’
‘It’s rather a long story,’ Paul said quietly. ‘I would like to tell it to you. That was the reason I wanted to see you. Will you at least give me the courtesy of listening, Emma? Please.’
‘All right,’ she murmured. It would do no harm to hear what he had to say and her curiosity also got the better of her.
‘When I returned to Australia in 1919, the only thing on my mind was seeing my father and then returning to you as quickly as possible.’
Paul paused as the waiter appeared with the drinks. When he was out of earshot he went on, ‘I walked into quite a mess when I arrived in Sydney, but I won’t go into that now. Let me first tell you about the letters. Years ago my father befriended a young girl who worked in our Sydney office. He groomed her to be his private secretary during my absence. After I was demobbed I had to take over the reins of the business at once, because Dad was not at all well, and so I inherited her. Marion Reese was a godsend in those first few weeks. Anyway, for a couple of months I was working very long hours with Marion at my side, guiding me, helping me, and filling me in on most things. My father was gradually getting worse and he was confined to bed. Frankly, Emma, I relied heavily on Marion. I had enormous responsibilities thrust upon me and I was out of touch.’ Paul lit a cigarette, inhaled, and continued, ‘Marion had been like a member of the family before the war. My father was very fond of her and I looked on her as a friend, as well as a valued employee. She was like an older sister in a sense, since she is about four years my senior. One night, after we had been working rather late, I took her to supper, and I confided in her. I told her about you and my plans for the future, my intention of marrying you, once I had sorted out my marital problems.’
A regretful smile played around Paul’s mouth and he shook his head. ‘Confiding in Marion was a terrible mistake, as it turned out. A mistake I made when I had had a few drinks too many. Of course, I didn’t realize it was a mistake at the time. Marion was most understanding. She promised to help me pull everything back into shape as quickly as possible, so that I could come to London for a few months and—’
‘Why was it a mistake?’ Emma interrupted, frowning.
‘I didn’t know it at the time, but Marion Reese was in love with me and had been for many years. There had been nothing between us ever, and I had never done anything to encourage her. Naturally, the last thing she wanted was for me to leave Australia, and especially to go to another woman, although I was not aware of that then. In any event, I went on furiously reorganizing the business and writing to you, not realizing that my devoted secretary was confiscating my letters to you instead of posting them. I was puzzled and unnerved when you didn’t reply to my letters, other than the first one. I sent two cablegrams, begging you to at least let me know you were well. Of course, they were never transmitted. Marion destroyed them. Still, in spite of your silence, which I couldn’t understand, I was determined to see you and, as soon as I could, sailed for England.’
Emma, who had been listening attentively and digesting his words, knew with absolute certainty that he was speaking the truth. She looked at him alertly. ‘When was that?’
‘About a year later. In the spring of 1920. I wrote out a cable and gave it to Marion
before I departed, announcing my arrival, and I prayed you would meet the boat. You didn’t because you never received the cable. The first person I telephoned was Frank. He told me you were on your honeymoon. That you had married Arthur Ainsley just one week before.’
‘Oh my God!’ Emma cried, her eyes flaring open. Dismay swamped her.
Paul’s smile was pained and he nodded his head. ‘Yes, I was a week too late to stop that. Unfortunately.’
‘But why didn’t you come before? Why did you wait a whole year?’ Emma demanded, her voice rising.
‘I simply couldn’t get away, Emma. You see, my father was dying of cancer. He passed away about eight months after I had returned to Australia.’
‘I’m so sorry, Paul,’ Emma murmured, and genuine sympathy was reflected in her eyes.
‘Yes, it was sad. And Dad was very dependent on me in those last few months. Well, to continue. I had hoped to leave immediately after Dad’s funeral, but then my wife—’ Paul hesitated and grimaced slightly. ‘My wife, Constance, became very ill, and I was further delayed. Just when I thought I could get away at last, my son fell sick.’ Paul eyed Emma carefully. ‘I have a son, you know.’
‘Yes, so I heard. You could have told me, Paul. I wish you had,’ she reproached.
‘Yes, I should have, Emma. But Howard, well, he has problems, and I have always found it difficult to talk about him.’ Paul sighed heavily and his eyes dulled momentarily. He straightened up in the chair. ‘Once Howard recovered I was able to leave for England.’
‘And you met with Frank?’
‘Not at first. Frank was a little reluctant to see me. I don’t believe he thought very highly of me. However, he did know how devastated I was when I learned of your marriage and I suppose he took pity on me, especially since I had told him on the phone that I had been writing to you diligently over the whole of the previous year. When he told me that you had never received my letters, and that you had also been writing to me, I was flabbergasted and baffled.’
‘How did you discover the letters had been stolen?’ Emma asked, her face as grim as Paul’s.
A Woman of Substance Page 84
