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.
Hitler had ordered an all-out offensive against the RAF, specifically Britain’s aircraft factories and the fighter bases that ringed London. Day after day, night after night, huge fleets of Dornier and Heinkel bombers swept across the Channel to pulverize Britain, while Messerschmitt fighter planes fought off the RAF Hurricanes and Spitfires that rose up into the sky in swift retaliation.
Awakened at night by the screaming air-raid sirens, Emma would get up and stand by the window in her darkened bedroom, looking out at the night sky starkly illuminated by the searchlights and echoing with the incessant drone of the bombers and fighter planes, her heart in her mouth as she thought of Robin, Tony, and Bryan and the other young pilots up there risking their lives. Some nights she was joined by Elizabeth, who had given up the small flat she had taken during her Royal Academy days, and was again living at home. ‘Are you awake, Mummy?’ she would invariably whisper, gliding into the room in her nightgown. ‘Yes, darling,’ Emma would answer, and the two of them would stand together, their arms around each other, watching the planes zooming past.
One night Elizabeth grasped her mother’s arm fiercely, and her voice was unusually harsh when she cried out, ‘Why, Mummy? Why? Why did this ghastly war have to start? What’s the purpose of it? They’re all going to be killed! Tony and Robin and Bryan, and all of our other boys!’
Emma had no answers for her daughter, or for herself. Elizabeth became distraught, sobbing uncontrollably. Emma put her arms around Elizabeth’s shoulders and led her to the bed. ‘They’re not going to be killed, darling,’ she comforted. ‘They’re going to be all right. I promise you. We must be brave. Get into my bed and sleep with me tonight. We’ll keep each other company.’
‘Yes, Mummy, I think I will,’ Elizabeth said, crawling under the covers. Emma held her close, as she had done when she was small and frightened of the dark. ‘Don’t cry and try not to worry, Elizabeth.’
‘If Tony gets killed I won’t be able to bear it,’ Elizabeth said through her tears. ‘I love him so much. And if Robin—’
‘Hush, darling. Try to sleep now. You must have your rest.’
‘Yes, I’ll try. Thank you, Mummy. Good night.’
‘Good night, dear.’
Emma lay in the darkness, waiting for Elizabeth’s tense body to relax and go limp in sleep. But it did not, and Emma knew that her daughter would spend yet another sleepless night worrying about her husband and her twin, as she would herself.
Emma had made a habit of walking to the store in Knightsbridge every day, and as the summer drifted on she did so to the accompanying sounds of anti-aircraft guns, whining sirens, falling rubble, and shattering glass. She would flinch when she saw a favourite landmark demolished, an ancient church in ruins, old haunts she and Paul had frequented flattened to the ground. Yet in spite of London’s devastation, its bleak mood, and the weary expressions on the faces she passed in the streets, Emma would nevertheless marvel at the stoicism and indomitability of her fellow countrymen and country-women. Often a cheery Cockney voice would break into a song, perhaps a fireman hosing a pile of smoking bricks or a workman clearing away the debris, and a cab driver would have a breezy comment to make, and they lifted her heart with courage. It was at times like these that she would remember Churchill’s words: ‘We shall never surrender’, and her strength was renewed, a spring returned to her step, her back straightened, and her head flew up proudly. And somehow her burdens seemed all that much lighter to bear.
The summer drew to a close. In September a large portion of the East End docks was destroyed in a massive air attack. The daily raids continued and the RAF pilots were tested to their limits, flying nonstop missions. The usual two- and three-day leaves were cancelled and Emma did not see Robin for weeks. The Royal Air Force was Britain’s last defence, and even though they were outnumbered three to one, the boys in blue in their Spitfires and Hurricanes out-performed the Luftwaffe. By October the Führer’s plan to destroy the RAF and break English morale in readiness for a full-scale invasion had proved a failure. In fact, Hitler had suffered his first major defeat. But the German bombers still continued night raids on the large cities, levelling many to the ground, and the grim years dragged on endlessly. Years of the Blitz; coupons, ration cards, and queues; shortages and deprivations; sorrow and grief as old friends and the sons and daughters of old friends were killed or named missing in action.
But in the midst of the devastation there was the miraculous renewal of life. In 1942, June, Kit’s wife, gave birth to a daughter. Emma was fond of June and delighted at the arrival of a second grandchild, and she went up to Leeds for the baptism of the baby, who was called Sarah. The same year, at the end of the summer term, Daisy left boarding school and came home to live with her mother and Elizabeth in Belgrave Square. Now the house did not seem so lonely and there were even moments of gaiety and laughter, especially when Robin came up from Biggin Hill, where he was stationed. He invariably brought one or two of his RAF friends from the 111th Squadron with him, explaining to Emma, ‘The chaps are going to bunk in with us, Ma. You don’t mind, do you? All the hotels are jam-packed.’ Emma did not mind. In fact, she willingly opened her doors and her heart to those dauntless young pilots.
At Christmas, Robin was fortunate to get a three-day pass at the last minute and he arrived unannounced on Christmas Eve, as usual dragging three friends in his wake. The moment David Amory walked into her living room Emma’s heart missed a beat. He was tall and dark, with bright blue eyes and a flashing smile, and there was something about his looks and his engaging manner that reminded her of Paul McGill. David was not as outrageously handsome as Paul had been as a young man, nor did he have his massive size or his audacious personality, yet he struck a chord in her memory of Paul as he had been during the First World War. David was twenty-four, a new arrival at Biggin Hill and already something of a war hero. With an ingeniousness that was quite endearing, he charmed Emma at once.
That Christmas was a particularly merry one and the house rang with peals of laughter, the friendly but unmerciful bantering that went on between the RAF boys and her daughters, the endless sound of the gramophone and the clink of glasses. Emma entertained gaily, taking them all under her wing, enjoying the fun as much as the young people. But whether she was being the gracious hostess or quietly sitting in a corner, looking on and knitting a Balaclava helmet, she was aware of David Amory. Her smile was benign but her eyes were watchful as she observed the seventeen-year-old Daisy, her most beloved child, being bewitched and falling under the fatal spell of the dashing young RAF officer. And David appeared to be as enamoured with Daisy as she was with him, and he was never far from her side. Emma held her breath, knowing they were falling in love and that there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Nor was she certain she wanted to interfere. After the holidays, David Amory became a constant visitor at Belgrave Square, whether he arrived with Robin or came alone, and over the months Emma took him to her heart. He was from an old Gloucestershire family, well bred and well educated, and had been studying law when the war had erupted. Emma quickly discovered he had integrity and a bright mind, as well as a gentleness that she found appealing, and she could not help but approve of him for Daisy. It did not come as a surprise when David asked her permission to marry her youngest child. He did so in May of 1943, just after Daisy’s eighteenth birthday. ‘But she’s so young, David darling,’ Emma exclaimed, intending to persuade them to wait. But she found herself saying instead, ‘When do you plan to get married?’
Daisy, who had been hovering nervously by the fireplace, hugged her so furiously Emma winced. Daisy’s face was radiant and her eyes sparkled. ‘Next weekend, Mummy, if that’s all right with you.’
The wedding was quiet, just as Elizabeth’s had been, because of the wartime conditions and Emma’s natural reluctance to display her wealth in such troubled times. Daisy wore a blue silk dress, a matching picture hat, and carried a nosegay of summer flowers. Winston gave her away, Robin was the best man, and Elizabeth the matron of honour. David’s parents and younger sister came up from Gloucestershire for the wedding and there was a small reception at the house afterwards. The young couple had a one-night honeymoon at the Ritz Hotel before David returned to Biggin Hill and Daisy to her mother’s house.
And then, almost before Emma could catch her breath, Robin married Valerie Ludden,