A Woman of Substance

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘You were just protecting yourself! You—you—lying tramp!’

  Emma gaped at the eighteen-year-old girl sitting before her and she did not know what to do, or to say, to calm her, to deflect her obvious pain.

  ‘And what am I supposed to call myself, might I ask, Mother dear? I don’t have a name, do I? Is it O’Neill? Or Harte, perhaps?’ Edwina sucked in her breath harshly and her eyes were metallic. ‘You are a lying, immoral bitch!’

  Emma recoiled as if she had been slapped but she ignored the abusive remarks and took control of herself. ‘Your name is Lowther, Edwina. Joe adopted you and gave you his name.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.’ Edwina rose and held out her hand. ‘I’ll have my birth certificate, since I went to so much trouble to get it.’ She grabbed it from Emma rudely. ‘I am leaving.’

  Emma also rose. She took hold of Edwina’s arm but the girl snatched it away angrily. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed, and darted across the library.

  ‘Edwina, please sit down,’ Emma said quietly. ‘You are old enough to discuss this with me calmly and intelligently. In a sensible manner.’ Her voice took on a pleading note. ‘Please, darling. I know you are terribly upset and hurt, but let me explain. Please give me a chance to tell you—’

  ‘Nothing you have to say interests me. I’m leaving,’ Edwina rejoined.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Emma asked agitatedly, and stepped forward, stretching out her hand imploringly to her daughter. ‘Please, Edwina, don’t go. Let us talk this out. I want to make you understand, and then perhaps you will forgive me for hiding the truth. I had good reasons. I wanted to protect you. I only had your welfare at heart, my darling. I love you.’

  Edwina gave Emma a scathing look and her voice was tinged with bitterness. ‘I told you I am not interested in your explanations.’ She drew herself up haughtily. ‘I am leaving this house and I will never set foot in it again.’

  ‘But, darling, you can’t leave! Where will you go?’ Emma’s throat ached with suppressed tears.

  ‘I am going to stay with Cousin Freda in Ripon for Christmas. After the holidays, I intend to go to finishing school in Switzerland. The one I asked you to send me to, but which you refused to consider. Please make the necessary arrangements now.’ Edwina smiled contemptuously. ‘You’re rich enough to pull all the right strings to get me in at this late date. I presume you will continue to pay my school tuition, Mother. And that you will not stop my allowance.’

  ‘How could you even think that?’ Emma cried. ‘I have never deprived you of anything and I never will. Please stay.’ Emma’s eyes brimmed and her voice was unsteady. ‘Don’t leave like this. Let us discuss—’

  ‘I have said all I want to say to you.’ Edwina stepped purposefully to the door. Her hand rested briefly on the knob. She turned and looked at Emma and her delicate face twisted. ‘I hate you, Mother! I never want to see you again as long as I live!’

  The door slammed behind Edwina. Emma stared at it, her face crumpling, and she staggered into the nearest chair. She dropped her head into her hands and the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She had dreaded this day for years, had tried to avert this ugly confrontation. And now that it had finally happened she felt incapable of dealing with Edwina, who was so unbending. She had always known her daughter would react violently, just as she had always known she would lose Edwina’s affection, scant as it was, when the truth was revealed. Edwina had never had any deep feelings for her. Edwina had loved only Joe and Freda. All the devotion and tenderness she had showered on her firstborn had fallen on stony ground. Edwina had rejected her, even as a small child. She wondered suddenly if she should go and tell Edwina who her real father was. But that would not assuage Edwina’s pain and terrible humiliation. She would still be illegitimate. It was better to let matters rest for the moment. A jumble of painful memories and stark images danced around in her head. She thought of her struggles, the sacrifices she had made, the fears and humiliations she had experienced. And she thought, too, of all she had done to shield Edwina. Had it all been for nothing? Surely not. Besides, she had not known what else to do, and she had done her best.

  Emma wiped the tears from her face, and her inherent optimism surfaced. Perhaps in a few weeks, when Edwina was calmer, there would be a chance for a reconciliation. This new thought cheered her and she hurried upstairs. She would persuade Edwina to meet with her after Christmas, beg her to do so if necessary, and surely somehow they could reach an understanding. But to Emma’s dismay the girl was nowhere to be found. Emma stood in the centre of Edwina’s room, staring at the open armoire where empty coat hangers told their own story. She crossed to the window, looking down into the driveway. The Rolls had disappeared. Edwina had obviously asked the chauffeur to take her to the railway station. Emma pressed her throbbing head against the windowpane and she knew, with a terrible sinking feeling, that there never would be a reconciliation. Her daughter was lost to her.

  She turned away, her face ashen and troubled, and walked with leaden steps into her own bedroom. She must speak to Blackie. She reached for the phone and then her hand fell away. He was in Ireland until next week, which would be soon enough to break the news. Emma sat down wearily, overcome by a sense of loss. And her heart ached for Edwina, who was suffering such agonies, and she longed to comfort her.

  Eventually Emma stood up, pulling herself together with effort, and went into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on to her aching face and her swollen eyes, and redid her makeup. When she was sufficiently composed, Emma telephoned Arthur at the office. ‘Are you coming home for dinner tonight?’ she asked quietly when he came to the phone.

  Arthur was taken aback. ‘No. Why?’ he asked in his usual peremptory tone.

  ‘I must see you, Arthur. It’s rather urgent, actually, since I am leaving London tomorrow. I won’t take up much of your time. Just half an hour at the most.’

  ‘Well—all right,’ he acquiesced grudgingly, although more from curiosity than a desire to please her. ‘I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’

  ‘Thank you, Arthur.’ Emma hung up and went downstairs to wait for her husband.

  When Arthur entered the library a little later he gave her a guarded look and said, ‘What’s ruffled your feathers? You look bloody awful.’ He poured himself a drink and carried it to the fireplace. He sat down opposite Emma and scrutinized her with great interest. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Emma said, ‘Arthur, I have something important to tell you.’

  ‘Go ahead, my dear. I’m all ears.’

  ‘I’m going to have a baby,’ Emma said evenly.

  Arthur had the drink in his hand halfway to his mouth and for once in his life it did not reach its destination. He banged it down unsteadily and gawped at her, for a moment nonplussed. And then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh my God! That’s rich! Little Miss Goody Two-shoes has finally taken a lover. He must be a brave man indeed to want to tango with you!’ he cried. ‘And who’s the lucky fellow?’

  ‘I have no intention of telling you that, Arthur. I merely wanted you to know that I am almost four months pregnant. I am going to have the child, and you will recognize it as yours.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m going to give some bastard my name, do you? That’s preposterous. I shall divorce you immediately, Emma.’

  ‘I don’t think you will, Arthur.’ Emma fixed her cool gaze on him and smiled faintly. ‘I don’t want a divorce. At least, not at this moment. And neither do you.’

  ‘I bloody well do. You’re not going to rear your illegitimate brat as mine.’

  Emma rose and walked across to the bookshelves. She pressed a button and a panel swung open to reveal a concealed safe. She opened it, removed a pile of documents, and returned to the fireplace. She looked at Arthur thoughtfully and said, ‘Your father is a conservative old gentleman, Arthur. And as fond of him as I am, I have to admit he is also narrow-minded and decidedly old-fashioned. If I give him thes
e documents he will cut you out of his will at once, and without the proverbial shilling. And I fully intend to hand them over to him if you make trouble for me, or attempt to divorce me. And these do make fascinating reading.’ She smiled her icy smile. ‘Your father may not be surprised to learn of your gross infidelities to me over the years, or of your excessive drinking and gambling. However, Arthur, I am quite certain he will be shocked to discover his son, his heir, has questionable relationships with young men of dubious character who are known sexual deviants.’

  Arthur looked like a man who had been handed a death sentence. ‘That’s a damnable lie!’ he shouted. ‘You’re bluffing!’

  ‘No, I’m not, Arthur. You see, I have had a detective on you for several years. There is absolutely nothing I don’t know about your private life. Unfortunately you have not been very discreet.’

  ‘I say you are bluffing!’ Arthur yelled.

  Emma offered him the documents. ‘See for yourself.’

  He snatched them from her anxiously and shuffled through them, his eyes widening. He paled, and then an embarrassed flush suffused his neck and face. He looked at her, and very deliberately began to tear the papers into shreds, throwing the pieces into the fire.

  Emma let him continue without a word and, when he had disposed of them entirely, she laughed. ‘Oh, Arthur, you do underestimate me. Those were copies. I have the originals safely locked away. And, furthermore, I won’t hesitate to use them if you force my hand. I promise you I will go to your father.’

  ‘You bloody cow! That’s blackmail!’

  ‘Call it what you will, Arthur.’ Emma sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

  He stood up unsteadily. ‘What a nerve you have! Expecting me to live in this house with you, when you’re carrying another man’s bastard.’ He laughed hollowly. ‘I’m not going to tolerate your adultery.’

  Emma looked at him coldly. ‘Don’t be a hypocrite. That’s exactly what I’ve been tolerating for years.’

  He stepped away with abruptness, glaring at her with unconcealed animosity. He was shaking now and his face was strained and grey. He looked down at her. ‘You bitch!’ he hissed. ‘You may have won this round, but we’ll see about the next.’

  Emma remained utterly still, and she was silent. Arthur continued to glower at her for a prolonged moment and then he walked across the room in swift deliberate steps. When he reached the door he swung to face her. He was livid and fuming with rage. He drew in his breath. ‘God, how I hate you!’ he cried, then he left the library, banging the door behind him with a thunderous crash.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Paul McGill paced the floor of Emma’s living room in Wilton Mews with restless impatience, his hands plunged deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. He stopped at the window and gazed out, and when he eventually turned his head his eyes focused on Emma with intensity. He observed her reflectively, his face troubled.

  Finally, he said, ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t ask Arthur for a divorce, Emma. I really don’t. I thought we had agreed you would seek your freedom immediately. Why are you procrastinating? Is it because Constance won’t divorce me? Don’t you trust me? Don’t you know that I intend to be with you always? I would like an explanation, Emma.’

  ‘Come and sit down next to me, darling,’ Emma said gently.

  Paul joined her on the sofa and she took his hand in hers. ‘Of course I trust you, Paul. My decision had nothing to with your situation. I know you are doing everything you can to rectify it. And I will divorce Arthur. But not until after the baby has been born, registered, and christened. I want the baby to have a name, Paul. I don’t want the birth certificate to show that it is illegitimate.’

  ‘What you are actually saying is that you want my child to be brought up as Ainsley’s! I don’t like that, Emma. I’m not sure I will stand for it!’

  Emma stared at him in surprise. This was the first time he had ever spoken harshly to her. She must make him understand her motives. ‘I know how you feel,’ she placated. ‘But we must think about the child, Paul. You see—’

  ‘I am thinking about the child. I want it to have the benefit of my love and protection and all the other things I can give it, and I don’t want it growing up not knowing me. Furthermore, I want my child reared under my influence and not another man’s. I won’t have it living under Ainsley’s roof under any circumstances. You know my opinion of him. I thought I had made myself clear about all this, Emma.’

  ‘Yes, you did, darling. I told you the baby would remain in London. But I must protect the child. It must not carry the stigma of illegitimacy all of its life.’

  Paul sighed impatiently. ‘My money will protect the child, Emma. Give it immunity from scandal. Besides, I told you I would adopt it immediately. Please, Emma, you must consider naming me as the father on the birth certificate. I wish to acknowledge paternity.’

  ‘No! We can’t do that!’ Emma cried fiercely, her eyes flaring. Instantly recognizing the hurt flickering on his face, she brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it. She looked at Paul long and hard. She drew a deep breath and very slowly, in a sure voice, she told him.

  She told him first of her confrontation with Edwina the preceding day, and of the way she had handled Arthur. She told him about her early life as a servant at Fairley Hall. She told him about Edwin Fairley, her pregnancy, his repudiation of her, and her anguished flight to Leeds as a terrified young girl. She told him about her struggles and her poverty, her deprivations and the punishing days of toil she had endured. She told him of Gerald Fairley’s attempted rape of her. She told him everything there was to know, and she spoke with candour and with eloquence, and she neither embellished nor dramatized. Very simply, she gave him the facts without any show of emotion.

  Paul listened attentively, his eyes riveted on her face, and he was moved as he had never been before by anyone. When she had finished he took her in his arms and stroked her hair, and pulled her closer to him, overwhelmed by feelings of pro-tectiveness and abiding love.

  ‘Whoever passed around the ridiculous story that this is a civilized world we live in?’ he murmured into her hair, and kissed her forehead. He fell silent and then he said softly, ‘Oh, Emma, Emma. I have to make up for so much—all the pain you have suffered over the years. And I will. I promise you that.’

  Paul held her away from him and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Why ever didn’t you tell me all this before?’ When she dropped her eyes and did not answer, he continued gently, ‘Did you think it would have made any difference to the way I feel about you?’ He bent forward and kissed her on the lips. ‘You don’t know me very well if you think your past matters to me. I love you all the more for what you have made of yourself, what you have become. And for your indomitability and enormous strength. You are a very special woman, Emma.’

  ‘I didn’t deliberately avoid telling you,’ Emma said quietly. ‘There just never seemed to be the right opportunity.’

  Paul gazed at her, his heart bursting with his love. He thought: Oh, my darling, what cruelties and humiliations you must have endured and how bravely you have dealt with life.

  Emma said, ‘You do understand now, don’t you, Paul? I mean about my not divorcing Arthur just yet. I don’t want our child to turn on me one day. I couldn’t bear a repetition of yesterday’s scene with Edwina.’

  ‘That would never happen. Not with our child. But yes, I do understand,’ he said, ‘I will do whatever you want, Emma.’

  Their child, a girl, was born early in May of 1925, at a private nursing home in London. It was Paul who paced the waiting-room floor. It was Paul who took Emma in his arms after the delivery. It was Paul who chose the baby’s name. She was to be called Daisy after his mother.

  The following day Paul visited Emma, his face wreathed in smiles, his arms filled with flowers and gifts. ‘Where’s my daughter?’ he asked.

  ‘The nurse will bring her in momentarily,’ Emma said, smiling radiantly.

 
He settled himself on the edge of the bed and embraced Emma. ‘And how’s my love?’

  ‘I’m wonderful, Paul. But you must stop spoiling me.’

  ‘You might as well get used to it. That’s the way it is going to be from now on.’ He took her hand in his and to her amazement he pulled off her wedding ring before she could protest, opened the window, and threw it out.

  ‘Good heavens, Paul, whatever are you doing?’

  He did not respond. He reached into his pocket and took out a platinum wedding band. He slipped it on to her finger and then he added the great square-cut McGill emerald which had belonged to his mother and his grandmother before her.

  ‘We may not have had the benefit of clergy, but as far as I’m concerned you are my wife,’ he said. ‘From this day forward until death do us part.’

  Since his return to England in 1923, Paul McGill had made his feelings for Emma obvious in every way. He was passionately in love with her and his emotional involvement transcended all else in his life. He admired her as well, and was filled with a sense of pride in her achievements. After the birth of their daughter these feelings were only intensified. She and their child became the core of his life, his reason for living. They gave shape and meaning to everything he did, to the way he ran his life and his enormous business enterprises. Old disappointments and defeats, and the hurts which had accumulated over the years, were swept away and he was filled with burgeoning hopes for the future. Daisy might not bear his name, but she was his child, of his blood, and in her he saw the continuation of the McGill line and the dynasty founded by his grandfather, the Scottish sea captain who had settled in Coonamble in 1852.