A Woman of Substance (89 page)

‘And I’ve never stopped loving you, Paul,’ she said softly, and her eyes grew huge, turned dark, and swam with tears.

He stood up and pressed her back on to the bed. He stretched himself on top of her, encircling her with his arms, kissing her face, her throat, and her shoulders. It seemed to Paul that the rest of their clothes just fell away. They were naked and in each other’s arms again, and he was blinded by his searing passion, the feverishness of his unendurable desire. He could hardly wait to possess her, to become one with her, but he controlled himself rigorously, leading her along as he always had in the past, arousing her as only he could. He covered her entire body with kisses, and caressed every intimate and erotic part of her until she gasped with delight, and her unbridled excitement only served to inflame him more than ever.

She thought:
There is only him. He is the only thing that matters in my life. He is the only man I have ever truly loved and desired. If he goes away, and I never see him again as long as 1 live, this moment will have been worth it. It will last me for ever.

He felt her fingers gripping his shoulders. She stiffened and spasmed and then her body was racked by shudders, and she called his name in a low moaning voice and he knew, with the utmost certainty, that only with him had she experienced this special kind of ecstasy and fulfilment. He lifted his head and trailed his lips up over her smooth flat stomach until they reached her breasts. His mouth lingered there a moment and moved on into the hollow of her neck. She sighed and quivered under him, her arms entwining him, her hands sliding voluptuously down his back. He thought he was going to explode. He arched his body over hers, his arms braced on either side of her, and gazed down into her pleasure-filled eyes. Her deepest emotions were explicit on her face, that best-loved face that haunted him always, and he was moved by the wonder of it all, by the wonder of her, and his heart twisted.

And he took her then, his manhood at full flood, thrusting
deeply into 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 her voice was unsteady. ‘Don’t leave like this. Let us discuss—’

‘I have said all I want to say to you.’ Edwina stepped purposefully to the door. Her hand rested briefly on the knob. She turned and looked at Emma and her delicate face twisted. ‘I hate you, Mother! I never want to see you again as long as I live!’

The door slammed behind Edwina. Emma stared at it, her face crumpling, and she staggered into the nearest chair. She dropped her head into her hands and the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She had dreaded this day for years, had tried to avert this ugly confrontation. And now that it had finally happened she felt incapable of dealing with Edwina, who was so unbending. She had always known her daughter would react violently, just as she had always known she would lose Edwina’s affection, scant as it was, when the truth was revealed. Edwina had never had any deep feelings for her. Edwina had loved only Joe and Freda. All the devotion and tenderness she had showered on her firstborn had fallen on stony ground. Edwina had rejected her, even as a small child. She wondered suddenly if she should go and tell Edwina who her real father was. But that would not assuage Edwina’s pain and terrible humiliation. She would still be illegitimate. It was better to let matters rest for the moment. A jumble of painful memories and stark images danced around in her head. She thought of her struggles, the sacrifices she had made, the fears and humiliations she had experienced. And she thought, too, of all she had done to shield Edwina. Had it all been for nothing? Surely not. Besides, she had not known what else to do, and she
had
done her best.

Emma wiped the tears from her face, and her inherent optimism surfaced. Perhaps in a few weeks, when Edwina was calmer, there would be a chance for a reconciliation. This new thought cheered her and she hurried upstairs. She would persuade Edwina to meet with her after Christmas, beg her to do so if necessary, and surely somehow they could reach an understanding. But to Emma’s dismay the girl was nowhere to be found. Emma stood in the centre of Edwina’s room, staring at the open armoire where empty coat hangers told their own story. She crossed to the window, looking down into the driveway. The Rolls had disappeared. Edwina had obviously asked
the chauffeur to take her to the railway station. Emma pressed her throbbing head against the windowpane and she knew, with a terrible sinking feeling, that there never would be a reconciliation. Her daughter was lost to her.

She turned away, her face ashen and troubled, and walked with leaden steps into her own bedroom. She must speak to Blackie. She reached for the phone and then her hand fell away. He was in Ireland until next week, which would be soon enough to break the news. Emma sat down wearily, overcome by a sense of loss. And her heart ached for Edwina, who was suffering such agonies, and she longed to comfort her.

Eventually Emma stood up, pulling herself together with effort, and went into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on to her aching face and her swollen eyes, and redid her makeup. When she was sufficiently composed, Emma telephoned Arthur at the office. ‘Are you coming home for dinner tonight?’ she asked quietly when he came to the phone.

Arthur was taken aback. ‘No. Why?’ he asked in his usual peremptory tone.

‘I must see you, Arthur. It’s rather urgent, actually, since I am leaving London tomorrow. I won’t take up much of your time. Just half an hour at the most.’

‘Well—all right,’ he acquiesced grudgingly, although more from curiosity than a desire to please her. ‘I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’

‘Thank you, Arthur.’ Emma hung up and went downstairs to wait for her husband.

When Arthur entered the library a little later he gave her a guarded look and said, ‘What’s ruffled your feathers? You look bloody awful.’ He poured himself a drink and carried it to the fireplace. He sat down opposite Emma and scrutinized her with great interest. ‘What’s wrong?’

Emma said, ‘Arthur, I have something important to tell you.’

‘Go ahead, my dear. I’m all ears.’

‘I’m going to have a baby,’ Emma said evenly.

Arthur had the drink in his hand halfway to his mouth and for once in his life it did not reach its destination. He banged it down unsteadily and gawped at her, for a moment nonplussed. And then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh my God!
That’s rich! Little Miss Goody Two-shoes has finally taken a lover. He must be a brave man indeed to want to tango with you!’ he cried. ‘And who’s the lucky fellow?’

‘I have no intention of telling you that, Arthur. I merely wanted you to know that I am almost four months pregnant. I am going to have the child, and you will recognize it as yours.’

‘You don’t think I’m going to give some bastard my name, do you? That’s preposterous. I shall divorce you immediately, Emma.’

‘I don’t think you will, Arthur.’ Emma fixed her cool gaze on him and smiled faintly. ‘I don’t want a divorce. At least, not at this moment. And neither do you.’

‘I bloody well do. You’re not going to rear your illegitimate brat as mine.’

Emma rose and walked across to the bookshelves. She pressed a button and a panel swung open to reveal a concealed safe. She opened it, removed a pile of documents, and returned to the fireplace. She looked at Arthur thoughtfully and said, ‘Your father is a conservative old gentleman, Arthur. And as fond of him as I am, I have to admit he is also narrow-minded and decidedly old-fashioned. If I give him these documents he will cut you out of his will at once, and without the proverbial shilling. And I fully intend to hand them over to him if you make trouble for me, or attempt to divorce me. And these do make fascinating reading.’ She smiled her icy smile. ‘Your father may not be surprised to learn of your gross infidelities to me over the years, or of your excessive drinking and gambling. However, Arthur, I am quite certain he will be shocked to discover his son, his heir, has questionable relationships with young men of dubious character who are known sexual deviants.’

Arthur looked like a man who had been handed a death sentence. ‘That’s a damnable lie!’ he shouted. ‘You’re bluffing!’

‘No, I’m not, Arthur. You see, I have had a detective on you for several years. There is absolutely nothing I don’t know about your private life. Unfortunately you have not been very discreet.’

‘I say you are bluffing!’ Arthur yelled.

Emma offered him the documents. ‘See for yourself.’

He snatched them from her anxiously and shuffled through them, his eyes widening. He paled, and then an embarrassed flush suffused his neck and face. He looked at her, and very deliberately began to tear the papers into shreds, throwing the pieces into the fire.

Emma let him continue without a word and, when he had disposed of them entirely, she laughed. ‘Oh, Arthur, you do underestimate me. Those were copies. I have the originals safely locked away. And, furthermore, I won’t hesitate to use them if you force my hand. I promise you I
will
go to your father.’

‘You bloody cow! That’s blackmail!’

‘Call it what you will, Arthur.’ Emma sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

He stood up unsteadily. ‘What a nerve you have! Expecting me to live in this house with you, when you’re carrying another man’s bastard.’ He laughed hollowly. ‘I’m not going to tolerate your adultery.’

Emma looked at him coldly. ‘Don’t be a hypocrite. That’s exactly what I’ve been tolerating for years.’

He stepped away with abruptness, glaring at her with unconcealed animosity. He was shaking now and his face was strained and grey. He looked down at her. ‘You bitch!’ he hissed. ‘You may have won this round, but we’ll see about the next.’

Emma remained utterly still, and she was silent. Arthur continued to glower at her for a prolonged moment and then he walked across the room in swift deliberate steps. When he reached the door he swung to face her. He was livid and fuming with rage. He drew in his breath. ‘God, how I hate you!’ he cried, then he left the library, banging the door behind him with a thunderous crash.