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.
are going. How many exactly will there be in the group?’
‘Eight.’
‘That’s more like it! Eight girls out of a class of twenty-four is merely a third. You are prone to exaggerate sometimes, Edwina.’
‘So I can’t go?’
‘Not this coming year. Perhaps in a couple of years. I will have to give it some careful thought. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you should have discussed it with me first. And my decision is quite final, Edwina.’
Knowing that it was useless to argue with her iron-willed mother, Edwina sighed theatrically and stood up. She hated her. If her father were alive he would have let her go abroad. She smiled at Emma, craftily concealing her dislike. ‘It’s not that important,’ she said, and glided across the room to Emma’s dressing table. Picking up the brush, she began to brush her waist-length silver-blonde hair, staring with total absorption in the mirror. Emma watched her with mounting annoyance, her eyes narrowing as she saw the self-gratified smile on her daughter’s face revealed in the glass.
‘You know, Edwina, for a little girl you are terribly vain. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone gaze into a mirror as often as you do.’
‘Now you’re exaggerating, Mother,’ Edwina countered haughtily.
‘Don’t be impertinent,’ Emma said crossly. Her patience was worn thin this morning and her nerves were on edge. But regretting her flash of temper, she said in a lighter tone, ‘Your Uncle Winston is coming to tea today. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you, darling?’
‘Not particularly. He’s not the same since that woman got him.’
Emma suppressed a smile. ‘Your Aunt Charlotte hasn’t got him, Edwina, as you so curiously put it. She’s married to him. And she’s awfully nice. You know, too, that she is very fond of you.’
‘He’s still not the same,’ Edwina said stubbornly. She stood up. ‘I have to finish my homework, Mother. Please excuse me.’
‘Yes, dear.’
When Emma was alone she returned Paul’s photograph to the drawer, her mind preoccupied with Edwina’s request for her birth certificate, a disastrous development she had not anticipated. She ran downstairs to the study, closed the door firmly behind her, and telephoned Blackie in Harrogate.
‘Hello, me darlin’,’ Blackie said.
‘Blackie, something perfectly dreadful has happened!’
He heard the fear in her voice. ‘What’s wrong, Emma?’
‘Edwina just asked me for her birth certificate.’
‘Jaysus!’ He recovered himself swiftly. ‘Why does she suddenly want her birth certificate?’
‘To get a passport for a school trip to the Continent next year.’
‘You refused, I presume.’
‘Of course. But the day will come when I can’t stall her, Blackie. What am I going to do?’
‘You’ll have to give it to her. But not until she’s old enough to handle the situation, Emma.’ He sighed. ‘This was bound to happen one day.’
‘But how will I explain your name on the certificate? She thinks Joe was her father.’
‘You could let her think that I really am her father.’
‘But that’s such a responsibility for you, Blackie.’
He laughed. ‘I have a broad back, me darlin’. You should know that by now.’ His voice changed perceptibly, and he went on, ‘Of course, you could tell her who her real father is. But I don’t suppose you want to do that, do you, Emma?’
‘No, I definitely do not!’ Emma made a decision, drew in her breath, and plunged. ‘You know who he is, don’t you?’
Blackie sighed softly into the phone. ‘I can hazard a guess. She looks too much like Adele Fairley for me to be in doubt any longer. It was Edwin, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, Blackie,’ Emma responded quietly, and felt a sudden rush of relief that she had finally told him the truth. ‘But Edwina will never know. Must never know. I have to protect her from the Fairleys all of her life.’
‘Then you will just have to let her believe that I am her true father. I don’t object, Emma.’ He chuckled quietly. ‘Come on, me darlin’, relax. I can feel your tension coming over the wire. Forget this little problem for the moment. Delay as long as you can. You’re a clever woman. You can skirt the issue for several years. At least until she’s seventeen or eighteen.’
‘I suppose I can,’ Emma said slowly. ‘We’re never free of the past, are we, darling?’
‘No, mavourneen, that’s the sad truth, I’m afraid. But let’s not dwell on the past. It’s fruitless. Now you haven’t forgotten me party on Boxing Day, have you?’ Blackie went on in an effort to distract her. ‘The party for me new house. It’s a beauty, Emma, even though I do say so meself.’
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Frank is coming to Yorkshire for Christmas and he’s promised to bring me. And I’m longing to see the house. You’ve been so secretive about it.’
‘Ah, but you’ll be recognizing it the minute you see it, Emma. It’s exactly the way I described it to you all those years ago on the moors. Me fine Georgian mansion right down to the last detail.’
‘I’m so thrilled for you, Blackie. It was always one of your dearest dreams.’
‘Aye, that’s so. Emma, I must hang up. I can see me beautiful Bryan coming up the drive with Nanny. Now don’t you worry about that birth certificate. Forget it for the next year or so. We’ll deal with it only when it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘I’ll try. And thank you, Blackie. You’re always such a comfort to me.’
‘Sure and it’s nothing, mavourneen.’
Emma hung up the telephone and sat lost in introspection, her mind dwelling on her daughter. There was something so unapproachable about her, an innate coldness in her nature, and Emma was aware at all times of a curious disapproval in Edwina’s manner, and she was often at a loss to deal with it effectively.
How will I ever find the courage to face that child with the truth? she asked herself. How can I tell her without losing the little affection she has for me? She flinched at the thought of a confrontation, however far off it was, and for the first time in months Emma momentarily forgot about Paul McGill and her own misery.
Blackie O’Neill strolled across the magnificent entrance hall of his Georgian mansion in Harrogate, his arm around Winston’s shoulders. He ushered him into the library and locked the great double doors behind them.
‘Why are you doing that?’ Winston asked, looking puzzled. ‘I thought we came in here for a quiet brandy.’
‘True. True. But I want to talk to you privately and I don’t want any interruptions.’
‘Who would interrupt us? Everyone’s too busy enjoying the party.’
‘Emma, for one.’
‘Aha! You want to talk about my sister. Is that it?’
‘It is indeed.’ Blackie busied himself at the console, pouring generous amounts of the Courvoisier into two brandy balloons.
From his stance by the Adam fireplace, Winston watched Blackie, wondering what he had on his mind. He shook his head in bafflement and glanced around with admiration, appreciating the elegance of the furnishings and the beauty of the setting. The bleached pine walls, interspersed with book-shelves, were balanced by forest-green velvet draperies, and a carpet of the same colour covered the centre of the mahogany parquet floor. A number of deep sofas and