The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
renting Joe Lowther’s second shop business had far exceeded her wildest dreams. Laura, whom she had persuaded to manage it for her, had proved to be both capable and efficient, and sales had doubled in the first six months. Emma perused the columns of those beautiful figures and sighed in gratification and relief. Edwina’s future and her own were now assured.
The tinkling of the bell brought Emma’s head up sharply and she put the ledger away and locked the cupboard. She stood up, smiling at the woman entering. It was the housekeeper from one of the fine residences in the elegant and exclusive row known as the Towers. ‘Good morning, Mrs Jackson,’ Emma said. ‘You’re out bright and early.’
‘Morning to you, Mrs Harte. By gum, it’s nippy today. I’m glad to be in your lovely warm shop. I don’t know why the other shopkeepers don’t follow your example and heat up their premises.’ Mrs Jackson shivered as she approached the counter with two large baskets. ‘I thought I’d best get my order in first thing, though I won’t be sending the gardener’s lad for it till later in the week.’ She handed over the baskets and sat down on the stool at the other side of the counter
Emma stowed the baskets away and said, ‘Can I offer you a cup of nice hot tea, Mrs Jackson?’
The woman’s face, white and pinched from the freezing weather, lit up. ‘You can that, luv, if it’s no trouble. It was a right frosty walk down Town Street, I can tell you.’
Emma always kept a huge pot of tea prepared in the cold weather, which she dispensed generously to her clientele. She had discovered that a little hospitality cost nothing and paid enormous dividends. She lifted the pot from the table next to the stove, adjusted the tea cosy and poured the tea. ‘Milk and sugar, isn’t it, Mrs Jackson? And how’s your little Freddy doing? Has he recovered from the measles?’ Emma asked. She made a point of knowing about her customers’ children and husbands, and their aches and pains, and she was always ready to offer a sympathetic ear.
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