Emma’s Secret (36 page)

‘Now come along, ladies, and you too, Bryan, Randolph. You all look a bit nithered; what you’ll be needing now is a drink and your backs to the fire for ten minutes. It’s hellish cold out there today.’

‘I’m just going to pop into the kitchen to make sure everything’s all right,’ Emma murmured to Blackie, and glided away. He watched her go, his love and adoration of her written all over his face for all the world to see. Then he marched across to the console table and filled two crystal glasses with Irish whiskey, saying to Frank as he did, ‘Anything new? What’s happening in the world today, Frank?’

‘Not a lot, thank heavens,’ Frank answered, and gave Blackie a knowing look. ‘And I hope it stays that way, at least for Christmas Day. Oh look, Blackie, here’s David and the boys.’

As soon as they spotted Blackie and Frank, David and his sons came over to greet them, and a moment later Robin was dashing across the room to welcome the two young pilots from Biggin Hill, whom he had invited to spend Christmas with them.

Leading them around the drawing room, Robin introduced Matthew Hall and Charlie Cox to everyone present before going to get them both glasses of champagne.

A few minutes later, when Emma finally returned to the drawing room, she first went to greet David, Ronnie and Mark Kallinski, and then floated over to talk to the two young pilots, wanting to make them feel welcome and at home.

Frank, watching her from the sidelines, as always the astute observer, could not help admiring her. His sister was charming and gracious this afternoon, not to mention staggeringly beautiful, and he was proud of her, proud of everything she had become. To Frank, Emma was, at fifty-three, a great lady…soignée, sophisticated, knowledgeable about countless things, exceedingly intelligent, a fountain of information about everything from
haute couture
and jewels to great art, eighteenth-century French furniture, porcelain and silver and Georgian antiques.

When he thought about their early years, so poverty-stricken and isolated in Fairley, it was miraculous to him that she had become this most extraordinary woman. She was also a tycoon par excellence, renowned in international business circles, and a power to be reckoned with. In certain ways it beggared belief; she was, to him, a phenomenon.

He shifted his eyes from Emma, who was busy being the perfect hostess, and let them roam around the drawing room. Frank thought it was one of the most beautiful rooms he had ever seen, and she had designed and decorated it herself, just as she had her other homes.

The walls were a funny sort of colour–not quite blue, not quite pale green, but a mingling of both shot through with a hint of grey. The billowing silk taffeta draperies at the three tall windows were the identical colour, and this same shade was repeated in French chairs and a sofa, while a love seat was covered in pale blue; another series of four French chairs were in pale green. Jade and crystal lamps, shaded in cream silk, stood on various eighteenth-century French tables and chests, and the whole was pulled together by the faded antique Aubusson carpet underfoot.

Emma had acquired any number of beautiful objects, but the art was perhaps the most stunning element in the room: two Renoirs, a Sisley, and a Monet; all of them in pale pastel colours that added to the soft quality of the room awash in pale greens and blues, creating a misty effect.

She taught herself everything, he reminded himself. But she always had great taste.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-S
IX

J
ack Field and Dennis Scott, both single with no immediate family in London, and nowhere to go on Christmas Day, had been willing and happy to help Emma with her holiday dinner–flattered to be asked, in fact.

Promptly at six o’clock Grace came into the drawing room and whispered to Emma that the buffet table in the kitchen had been completed and the helpers were waiting to serve.

Emma, who was standing next to Blackie, asked him to announce that dinner was ready, and he did so, his deep voice booming out across the room. He repeated what Emma had just asked him to say, but of course it was in his own words.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, our Christmas fare awaits us in the kitchen. Emma has had everything set out on a grand buffet table, but you will take your places in the dining room once you have your food. Now, let’s be going into the kitchen before everything gets cold.’

Jack, Dennis, Grace and Mrs. Coddington, the cook, all stood behind the buffet table, which was grand indeed. Covered in a white damask cloth, it had two silver candelabra holding red candles at each end and was groaning with food: two large delicious-looking boiled hams from Yorkshire, three roast turkeys and three roast chickens, all browned to perfection and steaming, a selection of vegetables, also from Pennistone Royal, a huge platter of roast potatoes, bowls of sage-and-onion stuffing, smaller crystal bowls of relishes such as piccalilli and chutney, as well as the pickled beetroots and onions, all from Hilda’s larder, and several gravy boats of Emma’s special gravy.

Once everyone had been served, they trooped out, following Emma into the dining room, which looked very festive, filled with seasonal touches. Again she had used red candles in the silver candlesticks on the long mahogany table, and in the centre was a large crystal bowl filled to overflowing with red, silver, gold and green Christmas tree baubles, which she had used instead of a floral arrangement. On the sideboard were matching crystal vases filled with red Christmas berries, sprigs of holly and mistletoe, flanked by more red candles in silver sticks; standing on a chest was an artificial Christmas tree glittering with gold and silver ornaments and big gold bows. Next to the chest Emma had placed a double crib for the baby boys, Winston II and Shane.

Everyone found their seats, thanks to Emma’s table plan. Kit, Robin, Bryan and Randolph were assigned the task of serving the red and white wines, which they promptly did, moving briskly around the table. Once they had finished and were seated, everyone began to eat.

As always, Emma ate sparingly, and as the meal progressed she was gratified to see that all of the young men were tucking in, relishing the wonderful home-cooked meal. Her eyes settled on each one of them in turn…

Tony, sitting next to his beloved Elizabeth, his face so open and easy to read, without guile, blessed with blond good looks, his air-force blue uniform echoing the colour of his eyes.

And Kit, on the other side of his sister Elizabeth, so proud in his army captain’s uniform, and adoring of June and their baby Sarah, who gurgled in the small crib Emma had placed against the wall, just behind June. He was the same type as Tony, fair skinned, with light brown hair and a pleasant, honest face. No mistaking
his
heritage either. He was true blue English.

Bryan, alongside Geraldine, also in air-force blue, and as proud as the others to be serving his country. He was the spitting image of Blackie, just like Blackie had been as a young man. Tall, broad of chest and shoulder, he had the same merry black eyes and a fine head of curly black hair. He looks
exactly
the way Blackie did the day I met him on the moors above Fairley, Emma thought, smiling inwardly. Bryan was her surrogate son, the child she had raised after Laura’s death when Blackie was away fighting, and she loved him like one of her own. Her eyes moved on.

There was her darling Robin, handsome as the day was long, very dashing in his air-force uniform, his sensitive, finely drawn face quick and alert as he listened to everyone and talked to everyone, as usual the genial and articulate host. Robin sat between his sister Daisy and his Aunt Charlotte, who had always been drawn to him because of his similarity in appearance to Winston.

For a moment her eyes rested on her elder brother, and her heart overflowed with love for him. He had always been her good right hand: devoted, loyal and hardworking. How happy he looks tonight, she thought, because Randolph, Georgina and baby Winston are here. He loved his family deeply.

Now it was her nephew’s turn to undergo a moment of her fixed scrutiny. Randolph, sitting next to his wife, was tall, a little broader in the chest than Winston, and good-looking; it was obvious he was a Harte from the shape of his face and his colouring. He had eyes only for Georgina. A lieutenant in the Royal Navy, he wore his uniform with great aplomb.

And so did Ronnie and Mark, David’s sons, who were both in the army, and seated on either side of Natalie. Handsome young men, dark-haired, with lively, intelligent blue eyes inherited from their grandmother Janessa Kallinski. How good that family had been to her when she had had no one except Blackie.

David caught her studying his sons, and he smiled at her and winked. She was seated at the head of the table, and he was on her left. Blackie was on her right, as he usually was.

‘Quite a gathering of the clans, Emma,’ David murmured. ‘We’re all enjoying this wonderful meal, it’s delicious. And just look at all the boys…they’re practically smacking their lips. I bet they haven’t had food like this in a while.’

She laughed, her green eyes sparkling. ‘I’m quite certain it’s a bit different from their usual fare,’ she murmured and, hearing Daisy’s sudden lilting laughter, she looked down the table, saw the fervent happiness on her daughter’s face, and her heart sank. Daisy was sitting next to David Amory, and she was absolutely fascinated by him, totally absorbed in the young Royal Air Force pilot. And I fully understand why, Emma thought, for a moment concentrating on him.

David Amory was undoubtedly a charmer, and his looks were guaranteed to make him a target of women. Robin had described him as ‘a real pin-up boy, Ma, but he’s genuine, very sincere’. Robin had grinned at her and added, ‘It’s Daisy you should watch.’ It was his uncanny likeness to Paul which had first startled Emma when he had arrived with Robin last night. But slowly she was growing accustomed to him. It struck her again that he was as interested in Daisy as she was in him, and she wondered if he knew her daughter was only seventeen. She would make sure Robin pointed that out to him later. David was quite obviously well-bred, with impeccable manners, and Robin had told her he was from an old Gloucestershire family.

As for Matthew and Charlie, the other two pilots from Biggin Hill, they were having a wonderful time, she could see that. Matthew had made her laugh uproariously earlier, when he had given her a rave review about the bathroom adjoining his bedroom, which was on one of the upper floors of the maisonette. He kept going on and on, exclaiming about the marble walls, the size of the bath, which he pronounced gargantuan, and the
hot
water. Not to mention the
heated
towel rail. ‘A bit different from our billets,’ he had explained.

Matthew Hall, a lanky young fellow with brown hair and a sensitive face, seemed much more serious than the others. And yet he did have that lovely sense of humour, a wicked grin and a somewhat wry approach to life. She had taken to him immediately.

Emma’s eyes moved to his friend. Charlie Cox, who was seated next to her niece Rosamunde, was obviously an experienced raconteur, and he was engaged in a long story which Rosamunde was listening to with obvious interest. He was a pleasant-looking, clean-cut young man, with the same fair-complexioned English colouring as Kit, and deep brown eyes, rather soulful. Emma decided that his quiet, almost ordinary looks belied a fatal charm. He’s deceptive at first glance, she thought, but she liked him.

The quietest person at the dining table was her nephew Simon, Frank’s son, and as her eyes slid to him in concern Emma realized that he
was
enjoying himself after all. She saw how much he was appreciating the food, really relishing it, and there was a happy expression reflected in his light-grey eyes. He was a clever and studious boy, she knew that, and Frank and Natalie had great hopes for him–were planning to send him to Oxford. He looked more like his mother; there was not much Harte in him, she could see that most pointedly tonight. Although he did have Frank’s eyes and his finely wrought mouth and high cheekbones. As for Natalie, Emma decided she had never seen her looking prettier. She wore a silver-coloured silk cocktail suit, beautifully cut and very understated. It suited her extremely well, but Emma couldn’t help thinking how unusually thin Natalie was, and for a moment this troubled her.

And then her attention was caught by Jack Field, who had appeared in the doorway of the dining room, inviting them to come back to the buffet table in the kitchen to select their desserts.

‘There’s quite a lot to choose from,’ Emma told Blackie and David Kallinski as they escorted her to the kitchen. ‘Hilda’s bottled fruits with hot custard, Christmas plum pudding with a brandy sauce, Christmas cake full of sultanas, currants, candied peel and sherry.’ She threw Blackie a quick glance, and added, ‘Just like those fruitcakes Mrs. Turner used to make in that other life of ours.’

Blackie looked down at her, and put his arm around her shoulder, almost protectively, as thoughts of their past came flooding back to him. ‘I think I’ll be having a bit of each…I won’t be able to resist, and neither will David.’

‘Only too true,’ David Kallinski agreed. ‘But I’ve always loved your fruitcake.’

After dinner, when everyone was replete with food, Robin ushered everyone into the drawing room. ‘For a sing-song, Mother,’ he told Emma, and thought to add, ‘Oh, by the way, I invited some other chaps over for drinks later, Ma; some American pilots I got to know recently. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not, Robin,’ she said, well used to the way her younger son did things on the spur of the moment. Long ago she had decided it was part of Robin’s charm, that spontaneity of his. He had an outgoing personality, a friendliness about him, and he enjoyed meeting new people, making new friendships. He definitely had a ‘hail-fellow-well-met’ air about him.

Coffee was served in the drawing room by Grace. Georgina, Geraldine, Elizabeth and Daisy passed the cups around; Kit stoked the fire, piling more logs onto it, and Blackie walked over to the baby grand, lifted the lid and tinkled on the keys for a few seconds.

‘It’s in fine tune,’ he announced to the room at large, and then realized, much to his embarrassment, that this was rather a silly comment on his part. Anything to do with Emma Harte was always in fine tune, so to speak, whatever it was…exactly the way it should be.

Robin, Bryan and Randolph acted as bartenders, pouring cognac for Blackie, Winston and Frank, and a crème de menthe for Charlotte. The other women declined, staying with the coffee.

‘There’s quite a lot of sheet music in the piano stool,’ Emma began, and stopped as the doorbell pealed loudly.

‘It’s my Yanks!’ Robin exclaimed, hurrying across the floor, out into the hall and down the stairs three steps at a time.

Within a few minutes he came back, escorting the three young American pilots who entered the drawing room rather shyly, Emma thought. Her heart went out to them as they came over with Robin to be introduced to her. They were just boys.

‘Gee, thanks for having us, Mrs. Harte,’ Harry Trent said after Robin introduced them, shaking her hand enthusiastically, smiling. He was so tall she had to really crane her head to look him in the face.

‘It’s great to be with a family for Christmas,’ Phil Rodgers murmured, glancing around. ‘Beautiful place you have, Mrs. Harte, and thanks for having us. It’s just like being at home.’

‘It’s kind of you to have us over, ma’am,’ the third pilot, Harvey Wilson, said. ‘This is better than the officers’ club any day.’

Emma smiled and nodded and ushered them over to various chairs and asked them if they wanted anything to eat, as usual being her gracious and thoughtful self. None of them were hungry, it seemed, but they did accept the drinks Bryan and Randolph offered, and jumped up when Elizabeth, Daisy and Rosamunde came to speak to them.

‘Would you be excusing me, mavourneen,’ Blackie murmured, bending over Emma who was now seated with Winston on one of the sofas. ‘I think it might be a good idea for me to get this sing-song of Robin’s going, sure an’ I do.’

‘Oh yes, do do that, Blackie darling. It’ll be lovely. I know everyone’s going to enjoy it.’

Striding over to the piano, Blackie sat down, made himself comfortable, and announced, ‘I’ll start this sing-song off then, and you must all join in…’

‘Go for it, Uncle Blackie!’ Kit called out, grinning.

‘I will, I will, lad, just give me a moment.’

Blackie looked through the sheets of music, and then sat back, and began to play…it was a haunting melody, and everyone fell silent, touched by it, waiting for him to begin singing.

In an instant Emma recognized it, and as Blackie started to sing the words her throat tightened with emotion, and she leant into the cushions and closed her eyes, let herself be carried back to the very first day she had met him. And she remembered what a shabby, starveling little creature she had been as she had hurried over the cold and windswept moors. And how he had come across her, as he walked out of the mist, asking the way to Fairley Hall. He had frightened the wits out of her…

Blackie’s wonderful baritone rang out, filling the room. ‘“The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, in the ranks of death you’ll find him. His father’s sword he has girded on, and his wild harp slung behind him…”’