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 Bradford
Читать онлайн книгу.
been considering the South of France, although we haven’t definitely decided yet.’
Emma sat back in the chair, no longer listening to them. Their conversation washed over her as she retreated into herself. She had been utterly thrown off balance by Paul’s unexpected arrival and she could, at this moment, have cheerfully killed Frank for his participation in the scheme. She felt dazed, and many mixed emotions, so well controlled over the years, broke free in her. The impact of seeing him was devastating. Paul McGill was sitting here, unconcernedly chatting to Frank, smiling, nodding, and behaving as if nothing had happened between them. She felt the enormous power of him, his sheathed strength and virility, and she remembered every detail of the days they had spent together at the Ritz. And then she recalled, with a stab of sadness, how she had yearned for him. Pined for him. Needed him in the past. Now he was only inches away, and she stifled the impulse to reach out and touch him, to reassure herself he was real. Instead she looked at him surreptitiously. He was as immaculate as always, dressed in a dark grey chalk-striped suit and gleaming white silk shirt. Sapphire-and-gold links glittered in the French cuffs and he wore a deep blue silk tie, and a white handkerchief flared in his breast pocket. She knew he had been forty-two at the beginning of February, but he looked exactly the same as he had in 1919, except that his face was more deeply tanned and there were additional character lines around his eyes. His colouring was as vivid as it had ever been, and his chuckle was deep and throaty. How well she knew that amused, sardonic chuckle. Sudden anger swamped her. How dare he come back here so casually and expect her to treat him with civility after all the pain he had caused her. What audacity. What arrogance. Resentment edged out all other feelings, and she steeled herself against his potent charm.
Dimly, she heard Frank saying goodbye. He was leaving her alone with Paul. The idea terrified her.
‘I must go,’ she said, picking up her gloves and her purse. ‘Please excuse me, Paul. I have to leave with Frank.’
‘Don’t go, Emma. Please. I would like to talk to you,’ Paul said in the softest of voices. It was imperative that he detain her at all costs, yet he dare not exert obvious pressure on her.
Frank threw Paul a conspiratorial glance and addressed Emma. ‘I have to get back to Fleet Street. I’m running late.’ He kissed her on the cheek perfunctorily and departed before she could protest further, and she knew she was trapped.
Paul summoned the waiter and ordered more drinks, and then he leaned forward intently. His eyes were serious, his face grave. ‘Please don’t be angry with Frank. I persuaded him to arrange this meeting.’
‘Why?’ Emma asked, and for the first time she looked at Paul fully and with coldness.
Paul winced. He knew he had a difficult time ahead of him, but he was determined to convince her of his sincerity. ‘As I said, I wanted to see you and to talk to you. Very desperately.’
‘Desperately!’ she echoed, and laughed cynically. ‘That’s a strange word to use. You can’t have been all that desperate, otherwise you would not have let so many years elapse.’
‘I understand your feelings only too well, Emma. But it does happen to be the truth. I have been really desperate. And for the past four and a half years,’ he insisted.
‘Then why didn’t you write to me?’ she demanded, and her voice shook unexpectedly. She took furious control of herself, determined not to show any emotion whatsoever.
‘I did write to you a number of times and I also sent you three cablegrams.’
Emma stared at Paul, a look of disbelief crossing her face. ‘Don’t tell me they all got lost in the post! And that the cablegrams disappeared into thin air! I would find that very hard to swallow.’
‘No, they didn’t. They were stolen. As your letters to me were stolen,’ Paul said, his eyes not leaving her face.
‘Stolen by whom?’ Emma asked, returning his intense stare.
‘By my private secretary.’
‘But why would she do a thing like that?’
‘It’s rather a long story,’ Paul said quietly. ‘I would like to tell it to you. That was the reason I wanted to see you. Will you at least give me the courtesy of listening, Emma? Please.’
‘All right,’ she murmured. It would do no harm to hear what he had to say and her curiosity also got the better of her.
‘When I returned to Australia in 1919, the only thing on my mind was seeing my father and then returning to you as quickly as possible.’
Paul paused as the waiter appeared with the drinks. When he was out of earshot he went on, ‘I walked into quite a mess when I arrived in Sydney, but I won’t go into that now. Let me first tell you about the letters. Years ago my father befriended a young girl who worked in our Sydney office. He groomed her to be his private secretary during my absence. After I was demobbed I had to take over the reins of the business at once, because Dad was not at all well, and so I inherited her. Marion Reese was a godsend in those first few weeks. Anyway, for a couple of months I was working very long hours with Marion at my side, guiding me, helping me, and filling me in on most things. My father was gradually getting worse and he was confined to bed. Frankly, Emma, I relied heavily on Marion. I had enormous responsibilities thrust upon me and I was out of touch.’ Paul lit a cigarette, inhaled, and continued, ‘Marion had been like a member of the family before the war. My father was very fond of her and I looked on her as a friend, as well as a valued employee. She was like an older sister in a sense, since she is about four years my senior. One night, after we had been working rather late, I took her to supper, and I confided in her. I told her about you and my plans for the future, my intention of marrying you, once I had sorted out my marital problems.’
A regretful smile played around Paul’s mouth and he shook his head. ‘Confiding in Marion was a terrible mistake, as it turned out. A mistake I made when I had had a few drinks too many. Of course, I didn’t realize it was a mistake at the time. Marion was most understanding. She promised to help me pull everything back into shape as quickly as possible, so that I could come to London for a few months and—’
‘Why was it a mistake?’ Emma interrupted, frowning.
‘I didn’t know it at the time, but Marion Reese was in love with me and had been for many years. There had been nothing between us ever, and I had never done anything to encourage her. Naturally, the last thing she wanted was for me to leave Australia, and especially to go to another woman, although I was not aware of that then. In any event, I went on furiously reorganizing the business and writing to you, not realizing that my devoted secretary was confiscating my letters to you instead of posting them. I was puzzled and unnerved when you didn’t reply to my letters, other than the first one. I sent two cablegrams, begging you to at least let me know you were well. Of course, they were never transmitted. Marion destroyed them. Still, in spite of your silence, which I couldn’t understand, I was determined to see you and, as soon as I could, sailed for England.’
Emma, who had been listening attentively and digesting his words, knew with absolute certainty that he was speaking the truth. She looked at him alertly. ‘When was that?’
‘About a year later. In the spring of 1920. I wrote out a cable and gave it to Marion before I departed, announcing my arrival, and I prayed you would meet the boat. You didn’t because you never received the cable. The first person I telephoned was Frank. He told me you were on your honeymoon. That you had married Arthur Ainsley just one week before.’
‘Oh my God!’ Emma cried, her eyes flaring open. Dismay swamped her.
Paul’s smile was pained and he nodded his head. ‘Yes, I was a week too late to stop that. Unfortunately.’
‘But why didn’t you come before? Why did you wait a whole year?’ Emma demanded, her voice rising.
‘I simply couldn’t get away, Emma. You see, my father was dying of cancer. He passed away about eight months after I had returned to Australia.’
‘I’m