Emma smiled as Ann ran up to Polly, clambering onto her lap. It was lovely to see the children getting so much affection, something she knew
they had lacked since their mother died. She touched her tummy, looking up as Polly spoke again.
‘They’re all good girls, and I’m lucky to have them, it…it’s just that sometimes you can love too much, and in the wrong place.’
Emma frowned, puzzled by Polly’s cryptic remark. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, take no notice of me, it’s nothing,’ she blustered. ‘How about another cup of tea, or I’ve got some Camp coffee?’
‘If it isn’t too much trouble, coffee would be lovely.’
‘Right, off you get, darling,’ she said to Ann, but not before giving her another hug.
Emma was still pondering Polly’s cryptic remark, but then they started chatting again and another hour quickly passed. The children were starting to bicker, obviously fed up with playing ludo and, knowing that they were itching to go out, Emma rose to her feet.
‘Right, I’m off now. ’Bye, girls, I’ll see you next week. ’Bye, Polly. It was lovely to see you.’
‘It was nice to see you too,’ Polly said.
Emma gave a small wave, but as she made her way home, she found herself thinking of Polly’s strange comment again. She had said you could love someone too much, which sort of made sense, but what did she mean by ‘in the wrong place’?
Emma’s eyes widened. Surely Polly wasn’t having an affair? No, it was ridiculous, of course she wasn’t, but what other explanation could there be?
Horace, too, was on his way home, his thoughts on Emma. What a disaster his marriage had turned out to be. He was just about sick of it. Sick of watching Emma’s stomach growing, and sick at the thought of the baby she was carrying.
He still couldn’t believe it had happened. He’d been careful, he was sure of it, but still Emma had fallen pregnant. His eyes narrowed, a suspicion forming, one that made his guts churn. Christ, was that the reason? Was that why Emma had never welcomed him sexually? No, it couldn’t be true, but even as Horace dismissed the thought, a seed had been planted in his mind.
Now, as he strolled along by the Common, he was surprised to see Emma coming towards him in the distance. So, she’d been out again, but who had she been to see? The seed grew, the sickening thought, and suddenly Horace knew what he wanted to do. Just the thought brought an immediate sense of relief, but would it be possible? God, he didn’t have much time, and he stood to lose a lot, but even that was better than the alternative.
As Emma drew closer, she waved, and Horace grimaced. My God, look at the state of her with
that stomach sticking out and lifting her skirt at the front! How much longer did she have to go? Three months maybe. Hopefully that was enough time to put his new plans into action. In the meantime he would have to ensure that he didn’t arouse Emma’s suspicions. So planting a smile on his face as they turned into the drive from opposite directions, he said, ‘Hello, my dear. Where have you been?’
‘I went to see Polly and my sisters,’ Emma said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you home so early.’
Hmm, Horace thought. She was lying, of course, but he’d continue the act. ‘That’s nice. How were they?’
‘Fine, they’re all fine,’ and as Horace opened the door she swept inside.
With his eyes on her back, Horace felt a surge of disgust–disgust that he’d been made a fool of–but he’d make her pay. As she swung round to smile at him, her cheeks pink and her blue eyes bright, for a moment he felt a surge of doubt. God, she was beautiful, maybe too beautiful. His eyes travelled to her stomach again, and needing an excuse to feel as he did, to think as he did, he dismissed the doubt, focusing instead on his plans. He’d put them into action first thing in the morning, and just hoped to God everything went smoothly.
* * *
Later, when they were sitting down to dinner, Horace was deep in thought, still planning, still scheming, and when Emma spoke he hardly heard her.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said that Polly has knitted a lovely matinée jacket for the baby. Speaking of that, we really do need to start thinking about the nursery. We need a cot, a pram, nappies and, of course, clothes.’
‘There’s no hurry. You have months to go yet. Tell me, how are you getting on with
A Tale of Two Cities
? Have you finished the book?’
‘No, I haven’t, but please, Horace, don’t change the subject. Every time I mention our baby, you do this. I know it’s going to cost money, but if you allow me a bit more housekeeping each week, I can buy things a little at a time.’
Horace hid his annoyance, forming a lie. ‘Stop worrying, my dear. I’ve been putting money aside, and when there’s sufficient we’ll get everything the baby needs all at once.’
‘Really! Oh, that’s wonderful.’
Horace lowered his head, hiding his satisfaction. Yes, my dear, he thought, you look happy now, but one day in the near future that smile will be wiped off your face.
It was hot in July, and in the last month of her pregnancy Emma was so huge that she remained at home. The baby kicked and she cupped her stomach, a soft smile on her face. She hadn’t wanted this baby, but from the first time she felt it move, a fierce love had been born and it sickened her to think that she had once considered an abortion.
Horace was still reluctant to buy the things they needed, but once he’d explained how he felt, she understood. He was superstitious, he said, preferring to wait until the baby was born before kitting out the nursery. Nevertheless, some things couldn’t wait, and she intended to speak to him again that evening.
There was a knock on the front door and Emma waddled to answer it.
‘Hello, Dick, what are you doing here?’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘Yes, but Horace should be home soon.’
Dick followed her inside, saying without preamble, ‘I’m worried about Luke.’
‘Why? Is he ill?’
‘No, but his behaviour is odd and growing worse.’
‘I was worried about him too for a while, but Polly said he was probably embarrassed by my tummy.’
‘No, there’s more to it than that. He seems a nervous wreck. Something is upsetting him, worrying him, and he hardly talks nowadays. Not only that, Em, he’s taken to going to church.’
‘Has he? Have you had a word with him?’
‘I tried, but he just says everything’s fine.’
Emma saw the concern in her brother’s eyes, saying sadly as she pointed to her tummy, ‘I expect you want me to have a word with him, but to be honest I’m not up to going out and about at the moment.’
‘I should have thought of that,’ Dick said, smiling at last as he looked at her huge girth. ‘Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll have another go at talking to him myself.’
Emma felt a twinge of pain and her eyes rounded. Was it time? Was this the start of her labour?
The pain was short-lived, but Dick must have noticed, his voice registering concern. ‘Are you
all right, Em? You looked a bit funny for a moment.’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, her head turning at the sound of the front door opening.
Horace walked into the room, but when he saw Dick he didn’t say a word. Instead he marched straight out, shoulders rigid, and went upstairs.
‘I see I’m still not welcome here,’ Dick said.
‘Oh, take no notice of him. As far as I’m concerned you can call round to see me as often as you like.’
‘If you say so, but it’s obvious that Horace doesn’t feel the same. Anyway, I’m off. When I call round again, let’s hope he’s out.’
Emma walked with her brother to the door. ‘Try talking to Luke and let me know how you get on.’
‘Will do. See yer, sis.’
‘’Bye, love.’ Emma watched her brother for a moment, and then with a sigh closed the front door. She had wanted to talk to Horace about the nursery, but after seeing that Dick had paid her a visit, he’d be in a rotten mood all evening.
It was ten minutes later when Emma felt another spasm of pain and once again wondered if she was in labour. She would have to time the contractions, and if they continued, Horace would have to take her to hospital. For a moment she
felt a tremor of fear, but then as the pain subsided again she felt a wave of excitement. Her baby was ready to be born. She wondered how Horace would react to being a father. It would change things, change their relationship, and for the baby’s sake somehow they had to make this marriage work.
Horace was annoyed to see Dick in the house and slammed his bedroom door. But then he shook his head. What did it matter now? He was ready. Everything was set up. A new house, a new mistress, and to avoid the area in future, he had sold all his properties. He was determined to be out before the child was born, a child he had no intention of supporting, and with this in mind had even changed his name. After all, he told himself, he’d been careful so there was no possibility that the child was his. Emma had never welcomed him sexually, and he was sure she had another man.
Horace had convinced himself that this was the case, and it had righteously given him the excuse he needed to put his plans into action. There had been twenty houses to sell and the wait for buyers hellish, but then he’d struck lucky when a businessman saw the potential, buying a whole block.
Horace rubbed his hands together gleefully.
The houses had increased in value beyond his expectations. He was a very rich man, exceedingly rich, so much so that he wouldn’t have to risk selling the Balham property. He thought about Tom Chambers and scowled. He’d have liked to throw the man out, but what did it matter really? With the money he had now, the rent he’d gain by putting in new tenants would seem like peanuts. Not only that, there would be the problem of collecting it. Anyway, Emma would only move the lot of them in here so there would be no suffering. But oh, how he wanted them all to suffer, to see Emma suffer.
He smirked, pleased with how clever he’d been. If Emma found out how well off he was she was sure to come looking for him, but by retaining the house in Balham, and using another name, there’d be no way to trace him. Of course it helped that her family were uneducated louts. They knew nothing of the law, of finding people who didn’t want to be found.
There was only one thing that remained to anger him. He wouldn’t be able to divorce Emma. She would remain his wife, but one that wouldn’t get a penny out of him. He consoled himself with that thought. They’d been married for less than a year, a brief period out of his life, and he was still young enough to start again. It was better to get out now, the marriage short, far
preferable to the length of time he’d been with Isabelle.
Horace looked around his bedroom. At one time he had loved this house, thinking it the culmination of his dreams. Now it held nothing but bad memories–memories of the humiliation he’d suffered at Isabelle’s hands and had hoped to eradicate when he married Emma. This time he’d intended to be the man of the house, with a beautiful, innocent, and obedient wife. Instead, Emma had destroyed that dream and as far as he was concerned she could rot in this house, until one day, in the distant future, he would sell it from under her.
His eyes continued to roam and he frowned. Not only this room but the rest of the house was full of choice pieces of furniture, paintings and fine porcelain. He hated leaving it behind, but when he left it had to be clean, swift, with no time for Emma to rally any of her family.
Horace shrugged, consoling himself again. What did it matter? He was a wealthy man, and his new home far superior to this one. He was starting afresh now, and he’d learned his lesson. It may have taken two marriages to see the light, but he’d never make the same mistakes again. Women were all the same, and from now on he’d stick to mistresses.
He went to the window, saw Emma’s brother leaving and stiffened his shoulders. It was time.
Time for the confrontation–and though he felt a little nervous, what could Emma do? Nothing.
Horace found Emma in the kitchen. He interrupted her as she made to speak and was gratified to see the look of horror on her face.
‘You’re leaving. What do you mean?’
‘I see I need to repeat myself. I’m leaving you, Emma, and I won’t be back.’
‘But…but why?’ she cried, leaning over, hands clutching her tummy.
‘Why? You have the audacity to ask
why
? I took you from the gutter, married you, and instead of being grateful, within a few months you turned into a shrew, berating me, and no doubt laughing at me behind my back.’
Emma gasped, still clutching her stomach, but he didn’t give her time to protest, holding up his hands as she tried to interrupt.
‘Don’t bother trying to deny it. You seem to forget that you came from a slum into
my
house, but made it obvious from the start that you couldn’t stand me near you. Why is that, Emma? Were you getting your pleasure elsewhere?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t you?’ Horace said, his eyes travelling pointedly to Emma’s stomach.
‘What? Surely you’re not suggesting that the baby isn’t yours?’
Emma’s voice had risen, and Horace shifted uncomfortably. Time to go–to get this over with. ‘That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, and now I’m leaving.’
‘But what about me? What will I do?’
Horace swung on his heels. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you can rot in hell, but you should be grateful that you have this house in which to do it. Mind you, it’ll never be yours, madam. You may be able to live in it, but don’t get too cosy.’
He heard Emma screech but didn’t look back as he hurried through the hall. He had a train to catch, one that would take him far away from Battersea. He was just glad it was over with, that he was free.
He had no idea that he’d left Emma doubled over in pain, falling to the floor as the door had slammed behind him.
Emma groaned as another wave of pain gripped her stomach. She knew she had to get up, to find help and, struggling to her feet, just managed to make it to the hall before bending double again. Something was wrong, very wrong, and when the pain subsided again, Emma moved forward, but as she stepped outside she fell, the house keys in her apron pocket digging agonisingly into her side.