tell me, Emily.’
‘She asked Aunt Daisy if she could invite Anthony over for coffee later, and then went to telephone him at Uncle Randolph’s.’
Emma stiffened, asked with a frown, ‘Did he come?’
‘Oh yes.’ Emily grinned. ‘With cousin Sally. Oh Gran, they’re so much in love, and super together.’
‘Sally came with him! How did Edwina treat her?’
‘With cordiality. My eyes were popping, I can tell you that, and I wouldn’t have missed that little scene for all the tea in China. Of course Edwina was falling all over Anthony. She was a bit too obsequious, if you ask me, you know, Uriah Heapish, but then she’s always fawned over her son.’ She gave Emma a huge smile, and finished, ‘In a nutshell, Grandma, the dinner was a roaring success.’
Emma was flabbergasted and temporarily rendered speechless. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘this is one for the books. I never expected Edwina to do such a volte-face.’ Privately she congratulated herself. Her dire warnings had frightened Edwina into behaving like a normal person seemingly. This is a major victory, she thought, and hoped that her daughter would not have a change of heart. Edwina was unpredictable. There was no telling what she might do in a moment of pique. Now,, don’t go begging for trouble, Emma cautioned herself. Relax.
Smiling brightly, filled with an enormous sense of relief, Emma propelled herself to her feet. ‘On that rather surprising but pleasant note I think I’ll get off to bed, darling girl.’ She leaned over and kissed Emily. ‘It looks as if everyone is going to behave with decorum tomorrow. Well, let’s hope so. Goodnight, Emily.’
Emily rose and hugged her tightly. ‘I do love you so much, Gran. And goodnight, sleep tight.’ She picked up the tray. ‘I suppose I’d better do the same. I’ve got to collect the twins from Harrogate College tomorrow, and I’ve thousands of other chores.’ She sucked in her breath. ‘Phew!’ she exhaled, ‘I never seem to have a minute to spare.’
Emma swallowed a smile and disappeared into her bedroom before Emily decided to regale her with those chores she had planned for the following morning.
‘Oh Grandy,’ Emily called after her, ‘I’m glad you’re not upset about the Aire Communications deal collapsing.’
Emma came back to the doorway. ‘I’d venture to say that it’s their loss, our gain.’
‘Yes, so Paula indicated when she mentioned it earlier.’ Emily glided to the door, and muttered with a degree of terseness, ‘Sebastian Cross is simply dreadful. I thought Jonathan might make headway with him. Apparently he didn’t, and if Jonathan couldn’t succeed, then nobody could.’
Emma stood perfectly still, said with the utmost care, ‘What are you chattering on about, Emily?’
Emily stopped in her tracks, swung to face Emma. ‘The Aire deal. You asked Jonathan to talk to Sebastian, didn’t you?’
‘No,’ Emma replied in the quietest of voices.
‘Oh,’ Emily said, looking confused.
‘What makes you think I propelled Jonathan into those particular negotiations?’ As she spoke Emma steadied herself against the door jamb, her astute eyes glinting darkly as they rested with fixity on her grandchild. All of her senses were alerted, and she remarked tersely, ‘Obviously something did.’
‘Well, yes,’ Emily began, and scowled. ‘On Tuesday, when I had dinner with Daddy in London, I saw the two of them in the bar of Les Ambassadeurs when we were leaving. We’d had an early dinner, you see, and Daddy was in a frightful stew about being late for a business meeting. He was in such a hurry I didn’t get a chance to go over and speak to Jonathan.’
‘I see.’ Emma was thoughtful for a moment, asked, ‘Why did you suggest Jonathan would be able to influence young Cross?’
‘Because of their old friendship … they were at Eton together. But then you know that, Gran. You once took me there with you, when you went to visit Jonathan at half-term. Don’t you remember?’
‘Yes. Naturally I also remember that Jonathan went to Eton. What I hadn’t realized was that Cross was a pupil there as well, or that Jonathan and he had been friends in those days. I had – ’
‘I think they’re still friends actually,’ Emily interrupted.
This bit of information chilled Emma to the bone, but she attempted a smile. ‘He probably wanted to surprise me. He might have realized the negotiations were going to be touchy and was endeavouring to smooth the way for Paula,’ she said, trying to convince herself this was the truth. But her intuition told her it was not. Emma gripped the door jamb more tightly, and, adopting a meticulously casual tone, asked, ‘Did Jonathan see you in Les Ambassadeurs, Emily?’
Emily shook her head. ‘He was in deep conversation with Cross.’ She pondered, asked swiftly, ‘Why? Is it important?’
‘Not really. Did you mention this to Paula?’
‘I didn’t get an opportunity. She had just started to tell me about the Aire fiasco, as she called it, and Cross being horrid to her, when Hilda announced dinner.’ Emily bit her inner lip, frowning, beginning to wonder precisely what her grandmother was leading up to with her questions.
Emma nodded, as though to herself, remarked in that same lightly casual voice, ‘I’d prefer you not to say anything about this to Paula. I wouldn’t want her to think he was interfering, queering her pitch. Unintentionally, of course. And don’t bother to bring it up with Jonathan either. I’ll talk to him, find out what his aim was, if indeed he had an aim. It might have been a strictly social evening you know, in view of their friendship.’
‘Yes, Grandy, whatever you say.’
Emily stood rooted to the spot, studying her grandmother closely, filling with alarm. Emma’s face had paled as they had been talking and she noticed that the happy light in her eyes had fled. They were uncommonly dull, lifeless for once. Emily put down the tray hurriedly, and flew across the room. She grasped Emma’s arm, exclaimed with concern, ‘Are you all right, Gran darling?’
Emma made no response. Her mind was working with that razor-sharp precision and vivid intelligence which were so integral to her great genius. Assessing and analysing with her rare brand of shrewdness and perception, she suddenly saw things with a clarity that shocked. For a split second she recoiled from the truth. I’m making assumptions, she thought, but then her ingrained pragmatism reminded her that she was rarely wrong. The truth was staring her in the face.
Becoming conscious of Emily’s hand clutching her arm, her worry and anxiousness apparent, Emma dragged herself out of her disturbing thoughts. She patted the girl’s hand, brought a smile to her face that was convincing, reassuring in its certitude.
‘I’m just tired,’ Emma said in a contained voice and smiled again. But she felt as though something cold had touched her heart.
The medieval church at the top of the hill in Fairley village was filled to capacity, almost bursting at the seams.
Family and friends occupied the front pews and the villagers were crowded in closely behind, for they had turned out in full force to honour Emma Harte at the baptism of her great-grandchildren. And after the ceremony they would troop across the road to the parish hall to partake of the special celebration tea, which Emma had instructed Alexander to arrange.
All was peace and serenity within the ancient grey stone walls. Sunshine pouring in through the stained-glass windows threw rainbow arcs of dancing, jewelled light across the sombre stone floor and the dark wood pews. Masses of spring flowers were banked around the altar and on the altar steps. The mingled scents of hyacinths, narcissi, freesia, imported mimosa and lilac filled