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.
the very core of her, to touch her heart, and she responded with a rush of enveloping sweet warmth, spontaneously, wildly giving herself with no reserve. And her need for him was as clamouring as his need for her.
Memory became reality. Pain was transmuted into joy. Anger was diffused by passion. They were fused together in desire and exquisite bliss. Having suffered for each other and their love, there was a new awareness between them, an intensity of feelings heightened, a rare poignancy in their breathless consummation. And as perfect as their lovemaking had been in the past, this time it was more stunning than ever before, and they were devastated by the impact of their reunion.
Much later, when they lay clasped in each other’s arms, unable to tear themselves apart, shattered and exhausted, Paul said, ‘I will never leave you again, Emma. Never, as long as I live. I know you’re afraid I will hurt you. But I won’t. You must believe me, my darling.’
‘I’m not afraid, Paul,’ she said against his chest. ‘And I do believe you. I know now you will be with me always.’
He felt her smile. ‘What is it?’
‘Years ago someone called me Doubting Emma. Perhaps I was. Do you remember when you quoted Abelard to me and told me to have faith, before you went back to the front?’
‘Yes, I do, my love.’
‘Well, if I had that faith, when you were absent in Australia in 1919, perhaps all this anguish and torment we have experienced could have been avoided. I’ll never doubt you again.’
He smiled and pulled her closer to him and kissed a strand of her hair. ‘We’ll make up for the lost years,’ he said.
Emma let herself into her house in Roundhay, shivering slightly from the cold December wind. She slipped out of the sable coat, which Paul had bought for her the previous winter when they had been in New York together, and threw it on to a chair. She walked briskly across the hall, thinking of Paul with a rush of tenderness. She must telephone him immediately to let him know she was arriving in London tomorrow.
She went into the library and stopped dead in her tracks on the threshold, astonishment flashing on to her face. ‘Good heavens, Edwina! What are you doing at home? I thought the winter term didn’t end until next week.’
‘It doesn’t,’ Edwina snapped, staring coldly at her mother.
Her daughter’s face was unusually pale, and the girl’s distress instantly communicated itself to her. Upon reaching the sofa Emma made a motion to kiss her, but Edwina swiftly averted her head. Faltering, Emma sat down opposite Edwina. On closer inspection the girl seemed positively ill. Or was it that grey school uniform which drained the colour from her face? Edwina looked almost gaunt in the winter afternoon light.
‘Whatever is it, darling?’ Emma asked with real concern. ‘What are you doing at home? Did something happen to upset you?’
‘No, it didn’t. I came home because I wanted to see you,’ Edwina retorted. ‘To talk to you about this.’ She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and tossed it to Emma.
‘Whatever it is they are teaching you at that expensive boarding school, it certainly isn’t manners,’ Emma remarked softly, and bent to pick up the paper at her feet.
Edwina cried shrilly, ‘You don’t have to bother looking inside. It’s my birth certificate. You wouldn’t give me the original, so I wrote to Somerset House for a copy. You know what’s on it. And now I know why you have hidden it from me all these years.’
The envelope fluttered in Emma’s shaking hand and she stared at it blankly, the blood draining out of her. She looked at Edwina, a feeling of nausea overwhelming her, and her mouth was stiff and white-lipped. She could not speak.
In turn, Edwina regarded Emma fixedly, a scornful expression on her face. ‘Why are you looking so shocked, Mother?’ she spat. ‘I’m the one who should be shocked. After all, I’m the one who is illegitimate.’ She pronounced the word with such harshness, and her contempt was so evident, Emma flinched.
Edwina now leaned forward and her silver-grey eyes were febrile with hatred. ‘How could you let me go on believing Joe Lowther was my father all these years, when it was Blackie O’Neill?’ She laughed with derision. ‘Blackie O’Neill! Your dearest friend. I’ll bet he is. Hanging around you like a lovesick dog for as long as I can remember, and through two marriages!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You disgust me, Mother. I grieved for Joe for years after he was killed, and you let me. How cruel of you!’
Emma managed to pull herself together, but her voice shook as she said, ‘Would my telling you have helped, Edwina? Would it have assuaged your grief, or lessened it? Joe was your father, in the best sense of that word. He loved you as much, if not more than his own child. You loved him, too, and you would still have grieved for him if you had known the truth. Any man can father a child, Edwina. It’s what a man does after the child is born that makes him a real father, a good father. And although you were not of Joe’s flesh and blood he certainly treated you as if you were. And that’s all that counts.’
‘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