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.
gives us a burden that is too heavy to bear.’
‘Oh, Laura, I can’t—’
‘And don’t forget my Christmas presents for the children, will you? The dog is at the kennel for Kit and the jasmine scent for Edwina is all wrapped. In my bedroom. You’ll find it. There’s something for you, too, my dearest Emma—’ Laura closed her eyes and the smile, so radiant a moment before, was a mere fleeting shadow on her face.
‘No, I won’t forget, darling.’
Emma felt Laura’s hand go slack in hers. ‘Laura! Laura!’ she cried, pressing the cold hand to her lips.
Dr Stalkley had to forcibly uncurl Emma’s fingers from Laura’s hand, so tightly was she grasping it. The priest led her out of the room, murmuring words of condolence. Emma closed her ears, drained and numb in her terrible sorrow.
After a few minutes the doctor joined them. ‘I think we will be able to discharge the baby in a few days, Mrs Lowther. We’ll let you know when you can come and fetch him. That was Mrs O’Neill’s wish.’
Emma hardly heard him. ‘Yes, I understand,’ she responded automatically in a low voice. ‘You have my address and telephone number.’ She left them abruptly and without saying goodbye.
Emma pushed open the door of St Mary’s Hospital and walked along the drive and out through the iron gates, moving like a somnambulist. She turned and headed up over Hill Top, climbing steadily, gazing ahead yet seeing nothing. It was a cold December afternoon and the empty sky was bloated with snow and sunless, and the harsh wind blew hard over the hill and dried the tears coursing down her cheeks.
Emma trod the path of her grief in measured steps – steps that sometimes faltered and often slowed but which never failed completely. She buried her pain deep and the world saw only that face of inscrutability, and as the weeks and months passed she learned to live with her heartbreak and the crushing loneliness of her life.
The baby, Bryan, lived with her and the children. Blackie, who had come home briefly on compassionate leave, had agreed this was the most sensible course to take under the circumstances, recognizing that his son would be in a more normal atmosphere with her than if he was put in charge of a nurse at his Uncle Pat’s house. Blackie, unconsolable, and burdened down by his grief, had returned almost at once to the front, and Emma was alone again.
At first Emma had resented the baby, seeing it as the instrument of Laura’s death, but one day it struck her, and most powerfully, that she was being unjust and bitter. She came then to understand that she was betraying Laura’s love and trust in her and was also negating her own abiding love for Laura with her attitude. This was Laura’s son, the child she had yearned for and had died for so that he might live. Emma was seized by remorse and became ashamed of herself and she took the child to her compassionate heart as if he were her own. Bryan had Blackie’s dark colouring and jet-black hair, yet his eyes were Laura’s, large and limpid and of the same soft hazel. He was a good baby, with Laura’s sweet disposition, and when he smiled it was Laura’s smile that Emma saw and she would pick Bryan up out of the crib and hold him fiercely to her breast, overcome with love, and she determined to cherish him always.
Sometimes Emma forgot that Laura was dead, and her hand would automatically reach for the telephone whenever she had a special confidence to impart, and then it would fall away and she would sit for a while, lost in memories of the past ten years, her eyes moist, her heart aching. But there were always the children to help dispel her sadness and pain. Emma devoted all of her free time to them, aware that they needed her more than ever now, with Joe gone and in their most formative years, and she gave of herself unstintingly. Winston came home on leave and Frank visited her regularly and she found solace in her family.
He who ascends to mountaintops, shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
He who surpasses or subdues mankind
Must look down on the hate of those below.
– LORD BYRON, ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’
‘Why are you angry, Frank?’ Emma asked, staring at her brother across the dinner table in the Ritz Hotel.
Consternation swept across Frank’s sensitive face and he reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘I’m not angry, love. Just worried about you, that’s all.’
‘But I’m feeling so much better, Frank. Truly I am, and I’ve quite recovered from the pneumonia,’ she reassured him with a vivid smile.
‘I know, and you look wonderful, Emma. But I do worry about you. Or rather, your life,’ he responded quietly.
‘My life! What do you mean? What’s wrong with my life?’ she exclaimed.
Frank shook his head regretfully. ‘What’s wrong with your life? you ask. Oh, Emma, don’t you ever stop to think? You’re on a treadmill, love. In fact, you’re as much a drudge now as you ever were at Fairley Hall—’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Emma interjected, her face clouding over.
‘You’re not scrubbing floors, I’ll grant you that,’ Frank countered quickly, ‘but you’re still a drudge, albeit in luxury. You’ve put yourself in bondage with your business, Emma.’ He sighed. ‘You’ll never break free.’
‘I don’t want to break free,’ Emma said, suddenly laughing. ‘Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I might enjoy my work?’
‘Work! That’s all you do, and that’s exactly what I’m getting at. Isn’t it about time you had a bit of fun in life? Now, while you’re still young.’ He threw her a wary look and his tone was cautious as he added, ‘Also, you’re going to be twenty-nine in a few months. I think you ought to consider remarrying.’
Laughter rippled through Emma. ‘Remarry! Frank, you’re absolutely crazy. Who would I marry? There are no men around. There’s still a war on, you know.’
‘Yes, but it’s bound to end later this year. When America got in, the situation started to change and the Allies are making great headway. I’m positive armistice will be declared within nine months or so, and men will be coming back.’
‘But it’s still only January,’ Emma gasped, still laughing, her eyes wide. ‘All the young men are noticeably absent. You’re a little premature, darling.’
‘What about Blackie O’Neill, for one thing?’ Frank suggested, watching for her reaction. ‘He’s always adored you. And you’re both free now. Not only that, you’ve been looking after Bryan as if he were one of your own for the past year.’ Noting she was not perturbed, he grinned and finished, ‘It’s not as if you are strangers.’
‘Oh, Frank, don’t be so silly,’ Emma said dismissively, with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Blackie is like a brother to me. Besides, I’m not sure I want to remarry. Apart from anything else, I don’t think I would like a man interfering with my business.’
‘That blasted business, Emma! I don’t understand you sometimes.’ His eyes were thoughtful when he glanced up at his sister. ‘Surely you must feel secure these days. You are a rich woman in your own right and Joe left you well provided for. How much is going to be enough money for you, our Em?’
A small smile flitted across her mouth on hearing this affectionate diminutive from their childhood, and she shrugged casually. ‘It’s not the money, really. I do enjoy business, Frank. Honestly, I get a lot of gratification