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
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into her hands had passed the McGill dynasty for safekeeping.
Emma’s grief was a mantle of iron, but slowly she came to grips with her heartache. In all truth, her sorrow did not really lessen and she missed Paul and yearned for him constantly, but she took control of her emotions, and as the weeks passed she began to function like her old self. Also, her anguish was muted by the circumstances of her life and the world crisis which had developed.
She was beset by the most pressing problems as England plunged into the European conflict, and consequently her energies were taxed to the fullest, leaving little time or strength for self-indulgences. Her sons joined the forces, Kit enlisting in the army, Robin in the Royal Air Force.
Elizabeth, who had enrolled at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in the summer of 1939, was quietly married to Tony Barkstone during the Christmas holidays. Although Elizabeth was only eighteen and still too flighty to marry, in Emma’s opinion, she did not have the heart to object. Everyone had to grasp happiness when they could, especially in these terrible times, and, in spite of her misgivings, she gave her blessing. The young couple were obviously head over heels in love, and Emma approved of Tony, who was a friend of Robin’s from Cambridge and also a pilot in the RAF.
Despite the austerity, a spirit of gaiety prevailed at the wedding and all of the family were briefly reunited, with the exception of Edwina, who was still estranged from Emma, and Kit, who was unable to get leave. June, his wife of one year, came up to London for the occasion and stayed with Emma through the New Year. In January of 1940, Elizabeth dropped out of the Royal Academy to become a Red Cross nurse, much to Emma’s amazement. ‘But I thought you always dreamed of being a famous actress and seeing your name in lights,’ she exclaimed when she heard the news. ‘Oh, phooey to all that nonsense,’ Elizabeth quickly responded. ‘I feel I must be part of the war effort, too, Mummy.’ Emma was soon impressed by Elizabeth’s seriousness and her dedication to nursing, and she began to think the marriage would be the stabilizing influence her most wayward child needed.
The news grew more distressing by the day, and in March Emma contemplated sending Daisy to America to live with the Nelsons at their Hudson River estate. But the more she thought about it, the more she balked, acknowledging that the transatlantic crossing could be hazardous, and she decided that the child’s present location at boarding school in Ascot was probably the safest place.
As the year progressed, Emma threw herself into work with a vengeance, but she welcomed the distraction it offered. Henry Rossiter, who had handled some of her business in the past, became her financial adviser on a full-time basis, since she now had all the McGill holdings to supervise as well as her own. She was in constant touch with Mel Harrison in Sydney and Harry Marriott in Texas, and her days were longer and more arduous than ever before as her responsibilities increased. But she took everything in her stride. She was the dynamo she had been in her youth, and most especially during the First World War when she had also been left to cope single-handedly. If Emma’s face grew graver by the day, then so did every other face in England, for the country was held in the grip of fulminating desperation as Hitler’s blitzkrieg continued unabated.
Towards the end of May, just after his fifty-fourth birthday, David Kallinski came to London to discuss their mutual business interests with Emma. He was still a good-looking man and those penetrating blue eyes had not dimmed, although his hair was iron grey and he had thickened around the waist. His devotion to Emma had remained constant over the years and he was always concerned about her. To his relief, when she greeted him at the house in Belgrave Square, he immediately saw that her face had lost its gaunt look and her beauty was returning, and she had also put on a little weight. Later they were joined by Blackie, and after a light supper they adjourned to the library for coffee and liqueurs, their conversation revolving around the war.
‘Do you think we’ll be able to get the boys off the beaches in time?’ Emma asked, thinking not only of Kit, and Ronnie and Mark Kallinski, but of the thousands of other British troops stranded in Dunkirk.
‘If anybody can do it, by God, Winston Churchill can!’ Blackie asserted. He shifted in his chair and went on, ‘He’s assembled an armada the likes of which the world has never seen, albeit a motley one. But it’s united in one goal – getting our boys safely home to Deal and Ramsgate before they are annihilated by the Germans advancing across the Low Countries into France.’
‘I read they came from all over England to assist the Royal Navy’s destroyers,’ David interjected, puffing on his cigar. ‘Volunteers from all walks of life, with their rowing boats, sailing boats, fishing trawlers, yachts, pleasure steamers, and even barges. It’s the most wonderful display of patriotism and heroism I’ve heard of in my lifetime.’
Blackie nodded. ‘Aye, it is, David. Seven hundred vessels of all shapes and sizes, including the destroyers, of course. It seems the volunteers are picking up the men and carrying them out to the bigger ships that can’t get close enough to the beaches, while some are even ferrying the boys across the Channel on a round-the-clock basis. Enormously brave men, sure and they are, and indefatigable.’
‘How long do you think the evacuation will take?’ Emma inquired quietly, looking from Blackie to David with consternation.
David said, ‘A few days longer at least. There are hundreds of thousands of British and French troops to lift off, you know.’
‘I read today that the Luftwaffe is keeping up a steady bombardment of the beaches,’ Emma said. ‘I dread to think of the casualties.’
‘There are bound to be some, Emma,’ Blackie said. ‘But the RAF boys are up there in their fighter planes doing their damnedest to—’
‘Bryan, Robin, and Tony amongst them, Blackie,’ Emma interjected, and she looked away.
‘We all feel frustrated and helpless, sitting here in London. But all we can do is pray that our sons will be safe. And we must be cheerful,’ Blackie said. ‘Now come along, let’s have another drink. It will do us good.’ As she fixed their drinks Blackie’s eyes strayed to the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘Do you mind if we turn the radio on, Emma? Winston Churchill’s about to speak.’
‘No, of course not. I’d like to hear him myself.’ She rose and fiddled with the knob, tuning in to the BBC, and a moment later the familiar rhetorical voice rang out: ‘Good evening. This is the Prime Minister.’ The three old friends, who had shared so much in the past thirty years, sat back to listen, even more strongly joined together by fear for their sons and all the sons of England. When the Prime Minister had finished, Emma’s eyes stung and her voice quavered when she said, ‘What an inspiration that man is to us all. God help us if we didn’t have Churchill.’
The epic of Dunkirk gripped the imagination of England and her allies. Out of hell came back all the little steamers and rowing boats and pleasure steamers, bringing back the living and the wounded. The evacuation had taken eleven days, and 340,000 Allied troops had been rescued by the time the Germans captured the French sea town. Only 40,000, mostly French, were left behind. Emma and David were lucky. Amongst those to land at Ramsgate on June 1 and 2 were Ronnie and Mark, and on June 3 Kit stepped off the barge that had transported him to Deal across a choppy Channel jammed with vessels and wreckage. Kit told Emma later, when he came home on leave, ‘I just made it by the skin of my teeth, Mother. I must have a guardian angel watching over me.’ He embraced her tightly, and, clinging to him, she choked up, thinking of his father, who had died in France in 1916, apparently in vain.
On June 4 Winston Churchill rose in the House of Commons and made a speech on Dunkirk. At one moment he said, ‘We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing-grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.’ Six days later the French Government and the Army High Command fled Paris as the Nazi army drew closer. Four days after that the French capital was captured by the Germans, who took it without firing one shot. France had fallen.
Britain stood alone.