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

‘Not at the moment. Are you?’ she retorted, and caught her breath, regretting the question.

Paul’s face changed, settled into harsh lines. ‘Well, I asked for that one, I suppose,’ he responded quietly. ‘I want a divorce, Emma. I have for many years. However, I have some serious difficulties with Constance.’ He paused, ruminated briefly, and went on. ‘My wife is an alcoholic. She was a heavy drinker before the war. That is one of the reasons the marriage broke up. By the time I returned to Sydney she was a lost cause. I put her in a nursing home at once. She ran away, just after I had buried Dad. It took me five weeks to find her and she was in a pretty ghastly state. Physically debilitated and mentally deranged as well. That was why I couldn’t come to England when I wanted to – I had to see her settled first. Believe me, I was infuriated. I don’t want to sound callous, but I have tried to help Constance over the years, to no avail. She won’t help herself. I lost my patience a long time ago.’

‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ Emma said grimly. ‘I’m sorry, Paul. Truly sorry. It’s a terrible situation for anyone to cope with. Is she still in the nursing home?’

‘Yes, she is. They have dried her out, but she is very weak in every way and not capable of looking after herself, or functioning normally. She will have to be institutionalized permanently, I imagine. Constance is a Roman Catholic, Emma, so that is another impediment to the divorce. Nonetheless, I haven’t given up hope of gaining my freedom one day.’ Paul took a sip of Montrachet. After a moment he continued, ‘There is something else I must tell you, Emma. It’s about my son.’ He hesitated. ‘Howard is – well, he’s retarded, I’m afraid. That’s what I meant earlier when I said he had problems.’

Emma was stunned. The pain on his face was raw. ‘Oh, Paul! Paul! How awfully tragic. And what a heavy burden for you to carry alone.’ Compassion flooded her face and her eyes softened. ‘Why ever didn’t you tell me years ago? Surely you knew I would have been sympathetic, and talking about your son might have helped you.’

Paul shook his head. ‘Perhaps I should have told you, Emma. I think I was a little ashamed, to tell you the truth. Especially after I had met your children. Also, I have always found it hard to discuss Howard. I love him, of course. However, my emotions are mixed. My heart aches for him. I also carry enormous guilt. And sometimes I—’ Paul frowned. ‘I am reluctant to admit this, and I never have to another soul, but at times I almost hate him. I know I shouldn’t. Yet I can’t help it. I hope you don’t despise me for that.’

Emma’s heart went out to him. ‘I don’t despise you, Paul. I know that parents of retarded children often do experience hatred. It apparently springs from frustration and despair. Truly, your feelings are not abnormal.’ Impulsively she reached out and touched his arm. ‘You must feel very helpless. How old is Howard?’

‘He’s twelve, Emma. And, yes, I do feel absolutely despairing most of the time.’ He shook his head. ‘Nature plays strange tricks. You know, he is a lovely-looking boy. He has a sweet, almost ethereal face and the most gentle eyes. And the mind of a five-year-old.’ Paul ran his hand across his face wearily. ‘And he’ll never be any different!’

Emma was silent, filled with sorrow, and she did not know how to comfort him. Eventually, she asked, ‘Where does he live?’

‘Out at the sheep station in Coonamble. He has a male companion-nurse who is devoted to him. My housekeeper is there and quite a large domestic staff. When I’m at Dunoon I spend a great deal of time with him, although I’m quite sure he doesn’t really know I’m around. He lives in his own very special world.’ Paul lit a cigarette. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to pile all my problems on you tonight. I never discuss them with anyone.’ He grimaced. ‘I must admit, though, I have felt rather defeated by my personal life in the past few years. It is so arid and unrewarding. Thank you for listening, for being so understanding.’

‘I have been far enough down to know what the realities of life are, Paul,’ Emma said. ‘My life has never been easy. Whatever you might think.’

He looked at her attentively, his eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure it hasn’t, Emma.’

‘But then life is hard, Paul. The important thing is how one copes with the hardships and overcomes them.’ She smiled her dauntless smile. ‘Let’s face it, Paul, neither of us are too badly off. Not when you look around and see other people’s problems. We are both successful. Wealthy. In good health. We are also fortunate in that we have our work.’

Paul gazed at her. He thought: She truly is a rare woman. He said, ‘Yes, I have buried myself in work these last few years, as I’m sure you have. And you are right, Emma. Our lives are not too bad. We must be grateful for all the good things we do have.’ He smiled at her lovingly. ‘Thank you again. I’m glad I told you about Constance and Howard. I feel a great sense of relief.’

‘I’m glad, too.’

Paul lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to you, Emma. You are a wise and understanding lady. I’m so happy we are going to be friends again, aren’t you?’

Emma touched his glass with hers. ‘Yes, I think I am, Paul.’

‘Well, enough of all this misery. Let’s talk about something more cheerful.’

Emma smiled at him. ‘Tell me about your oil fields in Texas, and the Sydney-Texas Oil Company. I was very intrigued when you mentioned your new venture earlier.’

After dinner Paul escorted Emma home to her small house in Wilton Mews, just off Belgrave Square. He helped her out of the cab, told the driver to wait, and saw her inside. He kissed her tentatively on the cheek. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Emma. May I call you soon?’

‘Yes, Paul. And thank you. Good night.’

‘Good night, Emma.’

Later, when she was in bed, Emma lay awake for a long time, musing on the evening. Paul McGill’s dramatic reappearance in her life was the last thing she had ever anticipated. Life was full of staggering surprises. She dwelt momentarily on Marion Reese. If Paul had not been the man he undoubtedly was, then perhaps that frustrated woman might never have loved him … might never have stolen the letters. If Paul had only written to Frank … If she had not rushed into marriage with Arthur. If … if … if. She sighed inwardly. It was such a waste of time dwelling on what might have been. And surely their characters had made their destinies. Her heart filled with sadness as her wandering thoughts settled on the tragic circumstances of Paul’s life. He who was so virile, and extraordinarily brilliant, must surely chafe under the burdens he had to carry. His life was as difficult and sterile as her own. She realized then, with a flash of surprise, that she had enjoyed the evening, once she had recovered from her initial shock and anger. She wondered if he had merely wanted to see her to set the record straight, or if he had been motivated by other reasons. Did he still love her? She did not know the answer to that. She shivered. One thing she did know: She was mortally afraid of his persuasive charm and of being engulfed by it again. She endeavoured to push him out of her mind, but when she finally fell asleep she was still thinking about Paul McGill.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE (#ulink_102657b3-8094-5141-ba7a-278dd9646368)

‘You look as if you’re about to commit murder,’ Winston said quietly, drawing to a standstill next to Paul McGill. He followed Paul’s gaze, which was resting with loathing on Arthur Ainsley. ‘He’s asinine,’ Winston went on. ‘Don’t pay any attention to him. Frank and I don’t.’

Paul swung to Winston, his expression one of mingled anger and disgust. ‘He makes my blood boil! The preposterous fool has embarrassed Emma all through lunch and now he’s compounding his execrable behaviour. The bloody imbecile. Apart from the fact that he can’t hold his liquor, he can’t keep his hands off the other women present. Emma must be mortified.’

Winston smiled thinly, his animosity for Arthur barely concealed. ‘I know. You don’t have to tell me. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool bastard. And furthermore, I’m quite sure he does it on purpose. As for Emma, she appears not to notice. That’s sheer defensiveness, of course. You know my sister. She doesn’t miss a trick.’ Winston shook his head. ‘I’ll be glad when Frank and Natalie are married next week, and these interminable luncheons and dinners end. Then we won’t have to suffer Ainsley’s continuing presence.’

‘He’s a bit of an unsavoury character, isn’t he?’ Paul probed. Winston was silent, and Paul continued, ‘I know a lot of Englishmen of his particular upbringing and education do have somewhat effeminate mannerisms, and that these don’t necessarily indicate a lack of masculinity, but, if I didn’t know differently, I’d swear to God he was a raving homosexual. Don’t you agree, Winston?’

‘It’s crossed my mind, and more than once lately. I’ve noticed a change in Arthur over the past few months. Certain tendencies seem to be coming out. Being married to Emma and fathering the twins doesn’t necessarily preclude sexual deviation, although I’ve no evidence to prove that about him. And he does go after women all the time.’

Paul frowned. ‘Perhaps he likes both sexes. That’s not unheard of, you know – bisexuality.’

‘I wish to God my sister had never married him. We all tried to stop her, but she’s very stubborn. She was on the rebound, of course.’

‘I realize that only too well,’ Paul muttered, and looked down at the drink in his hand. ‘You don’t have to rub it in.’

Winston drew Paul into a secluded corner of Lionel Stewart’s drawing room, where the guests had gathered after a prenuptial luncheon. Winston, who had always liked Paul, had discovered that his admiration and empathy for the Australian had only increased over the past ten days when, at various social functions, they had been thrown together and had gravitated to each other. Now he said, in a confidential tone, ‘Frank tells me you have been seeing quite a lot of Emma during the last month. I’m happy about that.’ Observing the look of astonishment flit across Paul’s handsome face, Winston grinned. ‘I know you regard me as the protective older brother, so I just wanted you to know that I approve, in spite of the complications in your very complicated lives. Emma needs a man like you, Paul. To be accurate, she needs you. You’re about the only man I know who is strong enough to handle her on a permanent basis. She can be quite intimidating. Most men can’t cope with an independent and brilliant woman – albeit a very alluring one!’

Paul smiled engagingly, a trifle startled, but delighted at this endorsement. ‘Thanks, Winston. I’m glad to hear it. And I agree with you.’ His eyes crinkled with laughter. ‘Do me a favour and tell that to the lady in question. I need all the help I can get.’

‘I have told her. So has Frank. But you know Emma. She has to make up her own mind.’ Winston regarded Paul keenly. ‘Perhaps she thinks you’ll take off for Australia at any moment. After all, you do have vast business interests there.’

‘True enough. However, I’ve told her that I intend to be around for a long time. It doesn’t seem to make a dent. Actually I’ve reorganized my business enterprises so well in the last few years I will only need to make an occasional trip to Australia from now on – maybe once a year, twice at the most. Emma is also aware that I expanded my London offices last year and that I’m going to operate from here in the future.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t say much any more because she always looks sceptical. I can’t say I blame her.’

‘Maybe you’ve been too subtle,’ Winston volunteered. ‘You know what women are like. Sometimes you’ve got to spell everything out for them.’

‘Emma’s hardly like most women.’

‘That’s the understatement of the year.’ Winston laughed. ‘Give her a chance to get used to the idea that you’re here on a permanent basis. She’ll come around to accepting it eventually.’

Paul nodded and glanced about the spacious elegantly appointed drawing room, seeking out Emma. He spotted her talking to Frank and Natalie and the latter’s parents. It was a scorching July day and everyone was suffering from the heat. The guests looked uncomfortable and a little wilted – except for the incomparable Emma. She was wearing a yellow silk summer frock that was simply styled, crisp and fresh. It gave her a carefree girlish air, as did the gay confection on top of her russet bobbed hair. She looked exceedingly feminine, and the other women paled in comparison. It was not only her beauty that set her apart, but that incandescent glow which emanated from her. It took one hell of a woman to conduct herself so elegantly and with such composure in the light of Ainsley’s antics, he conceded. Then he saw, to his surprise, that Emma was leaving. He handed his drink to Winston hastily. ‘Look after this, old chap. I’ll be back in a minute. Excuse me.’

Paul caught up with Emma in the entrance hall. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ he asked, taking her arm possessively and turning her to face him fully. ‘Running out? I thought I was the only one who did that.’ He chuckled.

Emma could not help laughing. ‘I am also fleet of foot when I want to be, Mr McGill,’ she said. ‘I felt it would be simpler if I made a quiet exit. I didn’t want to break up the party, and unfortunately, I have to get back to the store.’

Like hell you do, Paul commented dryly to himself, guessing she wanted to escape her ludicrous husband. ‘I’ll drive you,’ Paul asserted swiftly, taking charge and propelling her to the door.

At first Emma made a little desultory conversation as Paul edged his Rolls-Royce through the Saturday afternoon traffic congesting Mayfair. But after a few moments she fell silent, ruminating on the luncheon. She was seething. Arthur’s tasteless display had appalled her. He had not only demeaned himself but her as well. Usually indifferent to him, she had experienced real discomfiture during lunch and afterwards. She had handled it well, concealing her fury behind a dignified façade, yet, nonetheless, Arthur’s disregard for the social amenities rankled. She could no longer afford to turn a blind eye. After Frank’s wedding she would not expose herself in social situations. In part, her embarrassment sprang from the fact that Paul had witnessed it all. And yet, curiously, his presence had also been comforting.

Emma stole a glance at Paul, wondering what he was thinking. His face revealed nothing. On her recent trips to London she had dined with Paul on a regular basis. He had taken her to the theatre and the opera, and to parties. He had been charming, gallant – and oddly detached. She had half expected him to make overtures after their first few evenings together, but he had not, somewhat to her relief. In all honesty, she had wanted to see him, to spend time with him, and she could not deny he held a fascination for her. On the other hand, her inbred sense of self-preservation still made her wary of him. Her marriage was no marriage at all, yet the rest of her life was orderly. She could not permit anything to jeopardize her tranquil state of mind, acquired at such cost, and Paul could easily do that because he had the ability to hurt her. She was determined never to suffer for love again. An unprecedented feeling of depression swamped her. She looked at her watch.

‘Perhaps you had better take me home, Paul,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit late to go to the store. It’s almost five o’clock.’

‘Of course,’ Paul said. ‘Anything you want, Emma.’ He noticed that her expression was pensive and a wave of tenderness swept through him. As he stopped at the traffic lights he pondered on her, trying to gauge her feelings for him. She was pleasant and gay whenever they met, yet she held herself apart, and he had admitted days ago that she was impervious to his charms. He knew she was riddled with insecurity about him and he had acted accordingly, endeavouring to dispel this, but apparently without success. He wondered if his strategy had been all wrong. As he headed towards Belgrave Square he made a snap decision, drove around the square, bypassed Wilton Mews, and headed back to Mayfair.

‘Where are you going?’ Emma asked in a puzzled voice. ‘I thought you were taking me home.’

‘That’s exactly where I am taking you. Home. With me.’

Emma gasped. ‘But—’