‘Oh, sorry, darling,’ he apologized and bent over and kissed her cheek. ‘Good morning,’ he added as he walked across the terrace and leaned against the balustrade, where he stood regarding her lovingly for a moment before proffering her a warm smile.
Emily smiled back. ‘And tell me, what are you doing up so early? You’re usually dead to the world until ten o’clock at the earliest.’
Winston shrugged his bare shoulders, put the towel he was holding on the balustrade. ‘I couldn’t sleep this morning. But it’s always the same with me, isn’t it, Em? I mean, on our last few days here I seem to want to cram everything in, enjoy every single second, just like the kids.’
‘And as I do, too.’
‘Yes, that’s true … you do love this place so. But then it loves you, Emily … why you’re positively blooming.’
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she said.
He eyed the glass in front of her. ‘I suppose that’s water you’re drinking … aren’t you going to make coffee?’
Emily shook her head. ‘No, Winston, I’m not,’ she said very adamantly. ‘Because if I do, I’ll also make some toast and I’ll butter the toast and put jam on it and then I’ll eat it, and when Odile arrives at seven, with all that scrumptious stuff from the bakery, I’ll have another breakfast, a second breakfast, and you know perfectly well that I’ve got to watch my weight.’
‘You look pretty terrific to me, Mrs Harte,’ he said with a chuckle and leered at her. ‘I don’t half fancy you.’
‘Honestly, Winston, at this hour!’
‘What’s wrong with this hour? It’s still very early … come on darling, let’s go back to bed.’
‘Oh don’t be so silly, I’ve a thousand things to do this morning.’
‘So do I,’ he remarked lightly, giving her a pointed look. Then his face changed suddenly, and he levelled a swift appraising glance at her, liking what he saw. Emily was now thirty-four and one of the prettiest women alive, in his opinion. She was blonder than ever and brown from the sun and her brilliant green eyes, so identical in colour to his own, sparkled with a vivid intelligence and a joie de vivre that were uniquely hers. She was wearing a lime-green-and-pink cotton shift over her bikini and looked impossibly young, fresh and delectable this morning.
‘Winston, you’re staring. And very rudely. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Just admiring you, that’s all. And thinking that you look like a delicious ice cream … and good enough to eat.’
‘Oh pooh!’ Emily laughed, but her neck turned bright pink and she dropped her head, stared at her engagement book intently.
There was a tiny silence.
Winston swallowed a smile, both amused and pleased that he could still make her blush after eleven years of marriage, but then that was his Emily and he adored her for her girlishness and her femininity and her softness. Odd, he thought, that she can be so tough in business and yet she has such a soft edge to her in her personal life. Like Paula, of course, and Aunt Emma, when she was alive; it was just this dichotomy in their natures that made the Harte women so original. He had known that for a long time.
Emily raised her head. At once, she saw the contemplative expression on her husband’s face and asked, ‘And what are you thinking about now?’
‘I was just wondering what all this is in aid of this morning?’ Winston murmured, strolling over to join her at the table. He flopped down in the chair opposite and held her eyes as she looked across at him.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘Why are you going at the work hammer and tongs today, when you’ll be back in London at the end of the week? It hardly seems worth it, love.’
‘I’m not working, actually, I’m trying to figure out the dates for my buying trip to Hong Kong and Mainland China,’ Emily explained. ‘If I leave on the tenth of September, instead of the sixth as I’d planned, I’d still be there when Paula breaks her return journey back to the States from Sydney. We were talking about it yesterday afternoon, and decided it would be nice to have a couple of days in Hong Kong. Relaxing … doing our Christmas shopping … and then we could fly on to New York together, spend a day or two there before taking the Concorde home to England. What do you think?’
‘It sounds good to me, if that’s what you feel like doing. I’ve certainly no objections, I don’t have to be in Canada until the first week of October. Presumably you’d be back in England before I left?’
‘Yes, of course I would. I’ve taken your Canadian trip into consideration and planned around it.’
‘Then it’s fine, darling,’ Winston answered with a smile and stood up, went to get his towel. ‘Well, if you’re not going to take pity on your poor husband and make him a cup of coffee, I think I’ll go for a swim before that tribe of fiendish little monsters invades the area and ploughs down everything in sight.’
Emily couldn’t help laughing at the expression on his face. ‘Oh I don’t know, darling, they’re not so bad,’ she protested, feeling the sudden need to defend the younger generation.
‘Oh yes they are!’ he retorted. ‘They’re bloody awful most of the time!’ A lopsided grin glanced across his face. ‘But I must admit, I do love ’em … especially the three that are mine.’ He kissed her quickly and loped off in the direction of the swimming pool without another word, nonchalantly swinging the towel and whistling merrily.
Emily watched him go, thinking how fit and healthy he looked with his tanned body and face and his reddish hair turned to gold by the Riviera sun. The summer here had done him good. He worked extremely hard running the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company and its Canadian subsidiaries, and she was always after him to slow down a bit. But he paid not the slightest attention to her, merely commented that they all worked like demons, which was true, of course. It was the way her Gran had brought them up. Emma had only disdained slackers, so naturally they had all become over-achievers.
How lucky I am to have Winston, Emily mused, settling back in the chair, idly drifting with her thoughts, putting off preparing the menus for that day’s meals for a few moments longer.
Sometimes, when she turned her gaze back into the past, she realized she had managed to catch him by the skin of her teeth, understood how easily she might have lost him to another woman.
Emily had been in love with Winston since she was sixteen. They were third cousins. His grandfather and namesake, Winston Harte, had been her grandmother’s brother. Although Winston was five years older than she, they had been bosom pals as children, but once he had grown up he had hardly noticed her again, at least not as an attractive young woman with whom he might become romantically involved.
He had gone off to Oxford with his best friend, Shane, and the two of them had rapidly acquired reputations as terrible womanizers. Almost everyone had been scandalized by their disreputable antics. She had ached with a mixture of jealousy and longing, wishing she were one of the girls Winston chased and bedded. Only her Gran had been sanguine. Emma had simply laughed, had said they were merely young bucks sowing their wild oats. But then neither Winston or Shane could do much wrong in Emma Harte’s eyes and she had had a special fondness for them both.
And so Emily had worshipped Winston from afar, hoping that one day his glance would fall on her again. But it hadn’t, and much to her profound dismay he suddenly became seriously involved with a local girl, Alison Ridley. At the beginning of 1969 the gossip going around the three clans was that he was about to get engaged to Alison. Emily had thought her heart was going to break.
Then everything had changed. Quite miraculously, Winston had noticed her at the christening of Paula and Jim Fairley’s twins in March of that same year. And all because of an incident with