Unexpected Blessings

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Now she lay stretched out on the bed next to him, propped up by pillows for comfort, dozing in the dim light of early evening. She had been so tired all of a sudden, he had helped her upstairs to her bedroom, and stayed with her…because he didn’t want her to be alone, and because he himself had felt so utterly alone of late, so lonely and solitary without her. Their differences had created distance between them…but now, thank God, that distance had closed, and no matter what happened in their life together, he would not let anything come between them ever again.

  Gideon propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Evan’s face. Calm in repose, and lovely. How could he have ever doubted her? Through his own stupidity, of course.

  He had known when he first met her nine months ago that she was different from the other women he had known, that she was as straight as an arrow, a young woman with moral fibre and ethics, and great intelligence. It had been her ambivalence of late that had put him off. That, and her attitude to her father. But her adoration of Owen was only natural–he felt the same way about his own father, didn’t he?

  He moved a strand of hair away from her face, and she opened her eyes and looked straight at him.

  He stared back at her, a smile playing around his mouth, his clear green eyes filled with love, spilling that love for her.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts, Gideon Harte.’

  ‘That’s simple. I was thinking how much I love you.’ He placed his hand on her stomach gently. ‘And how much I love this child of ours growing inside you.’

  A smile brought a surge of happiness to her face, and her blue-grey eyes seemed light-filled and translucent at this moment. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Oh Evan, darling, I’m so sorry I was difficult these last few weeks. Forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I was being very difficult.’

  ‘But today you were courageous, telling your father about Robin.’

  She made a face. ‘Telling the truth can be hard. But in the end it’s worth it, because it’s the right thing to do. How awful if someone in the family told my father about Robin before I did. Imagine how he would feel–betrayed, I’m certain of that.’

  ‘He didn’t bat an eyelash when you said we were pregnant and getting married in January. And you hoped he and your mother would come to the wedding, that it wouldn’t be the same without them present. You were so matter of fact, even I was startled for a second.’

  ‘I knew I had to get it out, say it, just tell them, in the most down-to-earth way. I didn’t want a lot of free-floating emotion getting in the way.’

  ‘He took it very well, Evan, I must say, and your mother was just over the moon about the baby. “My first grandchild” she kept saying, and in the end your father was smiling, too. And he didn’t ask one question. But I have one, darling.’

  ‘Yes, what is it?’

  ‘Why January? Why can’t we get married sooner?’

  ‘In a way, I’d like to, Gid, but we can’t upstage Linnet. We really can’t, and even if we had a quickie wedding at a registry office, or eloped, it would still upstage her marriage to Julian, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. But you’re going to look…very pregnant when we tie the knot.’

  Evan began to chuckle, nodding her head. ‘I am, yes, but I don’t care, and anyway, I want a small wedding. Just your family and mine.’

  ‘Mine’s quite large, and it’s yours as well, come to think of it.’

  ‘True. There’s another thing, Gid. People are a little nervous about travelling right now, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘I know what you’re getting at…your sisters might not want to fly the Atlantic with terrorists in the news, and perhaps in the air.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘January it is then,’ Gideon agreed, and glanced at his watch. ‘I think I’d better go downstairs and see what’s happening. Are you coming?’

  ‘Yes, I think I’d better, I’d like to know what’s transpired between Robin and my father.’

  The three of them were sitting in front of the fire in the Stone Hall. Her mother, her father and her grandfather. She had called Robin grandfather to make a dramatic point earlier, but now she wondered if he would mind if she called him that all the time, instead of Robin. She would ask him later, when they were alone.

  Three pairs of eyes gazed at them as Gideon helped Evan to the big armchair, but it was her mother who asked, ‘That cast must be unwieldy to drag around, honey, isn’t it?’

  ‘It sure is, Mom. And tiring.’ Looking from Robin to her father, she then said apologetically, ‘I was rather blunt earlier, Dad, but I thought it was the only way to tell you about Robin and Glynnis.’

  Owen hurried over to her, kissed the top of her head. ‘You did the right thing, Evan. It was only a question of time before I discovered the truth. Better coming from you, honey. Your mother and Robin agree. And I’m a grown man, not a kid. I can handle the truth, however unexpected and startling it is.’

  ‘I know that, Daddy.’

  Aware of the time, Gideon said, ‘I’m afraid I do have to leave, Evan.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s such a long drive!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re going to be tired.’

  ‘No, I won’t be, because I’m taking a helicopter from Yeadon Airport. I’ll be in London before you can blink, almost.’ Gideon kissed her on the cheek, telling her, ‘Don’t get up, sweetheart. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘All right, Gid,’ she answered, smiling up at him. Kissing her fingertips, she then pressed them against his mouth. ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you.’

  He took his leave of the others and was gone, and Evan leaned back in the chair, enjoying the comfort of its roominess and the cushions, the warmth of the fire, the lambent light. It was very cosy here in spite of the vastness, the high-flung ceiling, and she was relaxed and suddenly happy sitting here with her parents and Robin…her family.

  The three of them had cocktails and chatted amicably as she sipped a glass of orange juice, thinking about the baby and Gideon and the future they had together…Her overwhelming joy and happiness seemed unreal for a while.

  Later Margaret came in and announced that supper was served in the breakfast room, and her father helped Evan up out of the chair; it was Robin who led them out of the Stone Hall, chatting to her mother about horses, of all things. She had never known her mother liked horses and horse-racing. She wondered why not. But then there was so much she didn’t know about her mother. And about her father. This afternoon it had come out that he had met Robin before, had been to this house…Why had he been so mysterious? Well, she knew the answer to that…

  Evan was so bone-tired after dinner she asked her mother to help her upstairs, excusing herself to her father and Robin. Once she was undressed and in bed, Marietta sat down on the edge of the bed and took hold of her hand.

  Clearing her throat, looking serious, her mother said, ‘I’m glad you told your father about Robin, and about the baby, Evan, but most especially about Robin. He needed to know.’

  Frowning, Evan looked at her mother alertly, and said slowly, ‘You say that in the strangest way, Mom, almost as if you knew already.’

  There was the merest hesitation on Marietta’s part before she answered, ‘I did, actually, although I never told your father.’

  Evan’s eyes opened wider, and she drew closer to her mother. ‘Who told you? Why do I ask that: it must have been Gran, who else.’

  ‘That’s right. Your grandmother told me, but not in so many words.’

  ‘I’m not following you.’

  ‘I realize that. Give me a moment, I’ll be right back.’ As she spoke Marietta was heading for the door, and she went out without saying another word.

  Evan had barely had time to ponder on her mother’s sudden confidences when Marietta came back to the bedroom, closing the door behind her quietly. She was carrying a package, and, returning to the bedside, she sat down and put the package in Evan’s lap
.

  Looking down at the brown paper parcel, Evan then glanced up at Marietta and asked, ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Letters from Emma Harte to Glynnis, written over the years. Glynnis kept them all, and one of the last things your grandmother asked me to do was to retrieve them from her apartment. She told me I had to give them to you, not to your father, and only to you. She made me promise not to break faith with her, and of course I did.’

  ‘You read them, though.’ It came out sounding like a statement rather than a question, and Evan’s brows lifted.

  ‘Most of them, yes. The package wasn’t sealed like this. I wrapped them up. I knew, deep within myself, that she wouldn’t mind…We had a special relationship, and your grandmother loved me, trusted me.’

  ‘I’ve always known that, Mom. So, you read the letters and discovered that Dad was Robin’s son.’

  Marietta sighed. ‘Yes…and other things. But she did insist I give them to you, and so here they are…’

  Evan leaned back against the pillows. ‘She wanted me to know everything, didn’t she? But why?’

  ‘I have always believed that the truth sets you free…and I think that was her reason…she wanted you to know the truth about her, about her life long ago, and your father’s heritage.’ Bending towards Evan, her mother lovingly and tenderly kissed her on the cheek. ‘They’re yours now, honey…to read whenever you feel like it. But remember, they’re not for anyone else’s eyes…just yours.’

  ‘I understand, Mom, and thank you for bringing them to me. But are you sure Dad doesn’t know anything about them, that he hasn’t peeked whilst you’ve been here?’

  ‘Oh no, I’ve kept them in my bank-deposit box,’ Marietta reassured her.

  Evan couldn’t help laughing. ‘Mom, you constantly surprise me!’

  Once she was alone, Evan couldn’t resist looking inside the parcel tonight, even though she was tired. After untying the string, she found a large cardboard box filled with letters. She pulled one out at random, and began to read; and slowly, for the next two hours, she continued to read the letters from Emma to her grandmother…reading and digesting until she could hardly keep her eyes open. And what she read startled and amazed her, sometimes made the tears well up.

  Eventually she had no choice but to put them away, turn out the light and go to sleep. But it was not a restful sleep for her and her dreams were filled with Emma and Glynnis and everything that happened over fifty years ago…

  PART TWO

  Emma and Glynnis

  Summer 1950

  Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate,

  Where that comes in that shall not go again;

  Love sells the proud heart’s citadel to Fate.

  ‘Love’: RUPERT BROOKE (1913)

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A rush of warm memories flooded Emma when she saw the postmark on the letter. WALES. Instantly she knew who it was from, because she also recognized the handwriting. She opened it eagerly, filled with anticipation, and read it swiftly.

  May 27th, 1950

  Dear Mrs Harte,

  I’m here in the Rhondda visiting my family in the Valleys. It’s been wonderful seeing everyone, and now I’m planning to come up to London for a visit. I do hope you’ll have time to have lunch with me, or a cup of tea. I will be staying at the Hyde Park Hotel and I expect to be there towards the end of next week.

  Love from Glynnis.

  Without hesitation, smiling, Emma slipped the letter back into its envelope, reached for a piece of her personal stationery and wrote back.

  June 1st, 1950

  Dearest Glynnis,

  What a lovely surprise to hear from you. I’m thrilled to know you’re on our shores, and it will be so nice to see you after all these years. Actually, I can’t wait. Please phone me as soon as you arrive in London, and we’ll arrange to have lunch.

  With much affection, E.H.

  After folding the letter in half, Emma put it in an envelope, addressed it and added a postage stamp. She propped the envelope against the lamp, stared at it for a moment, another smile spreading across her face. To see Glynnis again would be such a treat; she’d missed her former secretary…missed her beauty, her glamour, her lovely charm and grace, her pretty, lilting Welsh voice. Emma couldn’t help wondering how Glynnis looked these days. She hadn’t sent any photographs lately.

  Pushing back her chair, Emma rose, walked across to the large window which faced the moorland, stood looking out. It was such a glorious day today, sunny and warm, and the sky was as blue as speedwells.

  It was the first day of June. And if the weather was anything to go by, they would be in for a lovely summer. She hoped so. It had been quite rainy last year, and she’d felt as though she was living in the middle of a rain forest.

  Emma was planning to spend as much time in Yorkshire as she could this year, although she was aware she had to go to the Villa Faviola in the south of France. It was a necessity.

  Even though the war had been now over for the last five years, the villa still needed much work. Wartime neglect and its occupation by Nazi officers for quite a long period of time had created a great deal of damage. Some of it she had attended to last year, but there were a number of areas which still required her attention and much work.

  Perhaps she could go over there in August or September; Blackie had promised to make the trip with her, and she knew full well that she needed the benefit of his good eyes, his expertise and skill. She often teased him, said he was still a bricklayer at heart, just as he had been when she had first met him over forty-five years ago. He always laughed with her, enjoyed her teasing; like her he remembered, with much nostalgia, their early days together: in those days they were both impoverished and eyeing their prospects in the world, wondering how to improve their lot in life.

  Glancing at her watch, Emma saw that it was only eleven o’clock. There was time to go for a walk on the moors after all. Turning her back on the magnificent view, she walked across the upstairs parlour, sat down at her old Georgian desk once more, and finished going through her correspondence. After she had phoned the Leeds store and rung her secretary in London, she hurried into her bedroom and changed her shoes.

  A short while later she was hurrying downstairs, crossing the Stone Hall and heading for the kitchen.

  Hilda glanced around with a start when the door flew open, and she exclaimed, ‘Oh goodness me! You did make me jump, Mrs H. Gave me a right start, that you did.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Hilda. I just wanted to tell you I’m going for a walk. I need a bit of fresh air. I thought I’d have lunch around one-thirty. Is that all right with you?’

  ‘It is, madame. I’d planned on making you some luverly plaice and chips, with fresh summer peas, and cauliflower from the garden, steamed that way you like it, and a right grand parsley sauce. Do you fancy that, Mrs Harte?’

  ‘It sounds delicious, Hilda. And when I come back we can plan tomorrow’s dinner if you like. Mr O’Neill’s coming, as he always does on Fridays, and I think you should consider making a few of his favourites. Miss Daisy’s going to be here with Mr Amory and little Paula.’

  Hilda’s entire face became one huge happy smile. ‘Oooh, madame, she’s a right bonny snippet, that she is. We all luv her, Mrs H.’

  ‘Yes, there’s no doubt she’s the most adorable child, Hilda, I’ll grant you that. But she knows it, you know.’

  Hilda laughed, and turned back to her pots and pans, thinking about tomorrow’s dinner and the menu.

  As she walked towards her beloved moors, which she had claimed as her own when she was only a child of ten, Emma glanced around, taking in the cool, solitary beauty of this land. There were those who thought it bleak and unwelcoming, but she saw it through different eyes, found the solitariness consoling and restful. It was from the implacability of this land that she drew her strength and determination. She never felt lonely or alone up here, and she was always at peace amongst these rolling hills, for it was from he
re that she came.

  She climbed steadily to the top, noticing how parched and dried-out patches of grass looked, but then it was always dun-coloured at this time of year. By late August the heather would be blooming, and even though it was only the plain ling, it nonetheless covered the hills like mantles of purple, was a sea of undulating brilliant colour under the late-summer breeze.

  Finally, she came to her favourite spot at the top, and sat down on the big stone wedged into the niche created by two giant boulders. Above her soared great monoliths from the Ice Age which she had always marvelled at. Dropped here by nature millions of years ago, they resembled massive sculptures carved by some mighty omnipotent hand. And out in front of her stretched the breathtaking and familiar panorama she knew so well…the encircling moors and below them the green and verdant valley where the flowing river was a thin sliver of silver in the bright June sunlight.

  Glancing around, Emma suddenly sniffed, caught the scent of the moorland flora…it filled her nostrils, carried her back to her childhood, and she closed her eyes, for a moment thinking of her mother who had also loved these moors. Most especially the Top of the World. One day she would go there again…where she had gone so many times with her mother, and with Edwin Fairley. So long ago…when she had been only a very young girl, inexperienced and far too trusting. She heard the faint buzzing of the bees as they danced around in the air above the yellow gorse and tiny moorland flowers, and when she glanced up she saw the linnets and larks wheeling and turning against the sun. It was a gorgeous balmy day, soft, enfolding.

  Closing her eyes, she drifted, lost in her thoughts, thinking of Paul as she always did up here on the moors. But then she thought of him every day at some moment or other. He was in her heart forever. How much she missed him, missed his irreverent humour, his love and understanding, his charm, his devilishness…There never had been a man like him, and there never would be. He had been unique, and she missed him so much…more, sometimes, than she could bear.