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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ about becoming pregnant again so soon after the birth of the twins. It never occurred to him that she loved another man, and as the months passed his complacency increased, as did his arrogance.

      As Arthur contemplated his appearance, Emma climbed out of the bath and dried herself briskly. She stood for a moment in front of one of the mirrored panels, gazing at her body with detached interest. Her full breasts were high and firm, her thighs gently rounded, her stomach flat. She had kept her figure; considering she would be thirty-four next month, and had borne four children, she looked amazingly youthful. There was nothing matronly about her shape, thanks to her busy schedule and her singular distaste for rich foods that sprang from the deprivations of her spartan childhood. Turning away, she put on the silk robe and padded into the bedroom.

      Seating herself at the dressing table, Emma picked up a silver monogrammed hairbrush, her head held on one side. She was delighted she had decided to cut off all her hair last week. She liked this new bob that was all the rage. The style suited her and was absolutely perfect with her new haute couture clothes from Vionnet and Chanel. There was a sudden loud knock and Emma swung around as Arthur strode in. Emma stared at her husband, surprised by his unexpected appearance. She pulled the robe around her swiftly and suppressed a stab of impatience, resenting the intrusion. She was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain a cordial front with him these days.

      ‘Really, Arthur, you quite startled me.’

      ‘Did I just!’

      Emma’s eyes lighted on the drink in his hand. ‘You’re starting a bit early, aren’t you?’ she said, striving to hide her annoyance.

      ‘For God’s sake, don’t start that again!’ he cried, walking over to the yellow velvet sofa. He draped himself on it and threw her a scathing look. ‘You can be such a crashing bore, my dear. A real killjoy, as a matter of fact.’

      Emma sighed, recognizing his mood. ‘We are facing a long evening, Arthur. I don’t want you to—’

      ‘Get drunk and disgrace you, my pet,’ Arthur interjected. ‘Emma must never be upset. God forbid that should happen,’ he snapped with a flash of arrogance. ‘What am I supposed to do all evening? Tread in the Queen’s shadow?’

      Ignoring the jibe, Emma turned to the dressing table and picked up a bottle of Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleu. She dabbed the crystal stopper behind her ears and, not wanting to provoke a quarrel, she changed the subject. ‘I had a sweet letter from Kit today. He sends his love. He’s enjoying school. I’m so glad I sent him to Rugby. He’s in his element.’

      ‘Yes, that was a good idea of mine, wasn’t it?’ Arthur smirked. ‘I do have quite a lot of them, you know, if only you would give me half a chance. Instead you treat me like an idiot.’

      After a moment’s silence, Emma said, ‘I have to finish dressing. Did you come in for something in particular, Arthur?’

      ‘Oh yes, I did, by Jove!’ Arthur answered, looking up. ‘I thought I had better glance at the guest list. Refresh my memory.’

      ‘It’s on my desk.’ Emma shifted in the chair and took a pair of superb teardrop diamond earrings out of a jewel case and screwed them on absently.

      ‘Rather a distinguished crowd we’re having,’ Arthur remarked, scanning the list and noting the names of a number of beautiful and possibly acquiescent ladies amongst the guests. Wanting suddenly to make his escape, he threw the list on the desk and edged to the door. ‘I think I’ll go downstairs and take a look around.’ He pulled out his watch. ‘It’s nine-thirty. I’ll leave you now so that you can dress.’

      ‘Thank you. I would appreciate that.’ Emma watched him saunter out. She shook her head, pondering on Arthur. If he was a fool, then she was surely a monumental fool. This mess was all her fault. How curious it was that she never made the same mistake twice in business, yet continually repeated them in her personal life. Loving David Kallinski, she had deliberately married Joe … loving Paul McGill, she had plunged into matrimony with Arthur. But the circumstances were different, she told herself. David had been forbidden to her because of the Orthdoxy of his mother. Paul had abandoned her because he did not want her. Still, it seemed that she had a penchant for picking the wrong men as husbands. Joe was decent, though, she mused, whereas Arthur is worthless. ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure,’ she said, remembering her brother’s words of warning. Damn my stubbornness, she muttered.

      Emma stood up purposefully. She could not dwell on this disastrous marriage tonight. She would think about it later. Tomorrow. She hurried to finish dressing and stood staring at herself in the mirror of the armoire. Her gown was a long slender sheath of turquoise silk encrusted with thousands of tiny bugle beads in shades of pale blue and emerald green. When she moved, however slightly, it undulated and changed colour in the way a summer sea ripples from blue to green to aquamarine. The gown emphasized her svelte figure and brought out the colour of her incomparable eyes. With her diamonds and pearls she was the epitome of elegance. If outward appearances counted for aught, then apparently she had everything. A handsome husband, lovely children, good looks, wealth and power. The world envied her.

      The carriage clock on the mantelshelf chimed ten and roused Emma from her reflections. She left her bedroom and stood poised at the top of the curving staircase for a brief moment. And then she picked up one side of her skirt and swept down to greet the first of her guests, who were just arriving. Her famous smile was intact, but her heart was covered with a layer of frost.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

      The butler who opened the door of Fairley Hall was a middle-aged man they did not know.

      Blackie said, ‘Good afternoon. My name is O’Neill. I have an appointment with Mr Gerald Fairley.’

      ‘The Squire’s expecting you, sir,’ the butler replied, opening the door wider. ‘Please come this way.’ He led them across the huge gloomy entrance hall and showed them into the library. ‘He will be with you in a moment. Please make yourselves comfortable.’ He bowed and retreated.

      When the door had closed Blackie said, ‘Murgatroyd must have retired.’

      ‘He’s dead,’ Emma said. ‘He died two years ago.’

      ‘And Cook?’ Blackie asked, remembering Elsie Turner with fondness.

      ‘She’s still alive. But she doesn’t work here anymore. She’s too old. She lives in the village.’

      Blackie strolled over to the fireplace and stood with his back to the flames, warming himself. ‘Well, how does it feel – being back in this house after all these years?’

      Emma threw him a swift glance. ‘Rather strange, I must admit.’ Her cool green gaze swept around the room and she laughed mirthlessly. ‘Do you know how many times I dusted this panelling, beat these carpets, and polished this furniture?’ She shook her head wonderingly, and her mouth unconsciously tightened into a grim line.

      ‘So many times I expect you’ve forgotten by now,’ Blackie said.

      ‘I never forget anything,’ Emma replied crisply.

      She walked slowly around the library, regarding the furnishings with interest. She had once thought this room so impressive, but in comparison to the library in her house in Roundhay it looked dreary and there was an unmistakable air of dejection about it. April sunshine was СКАЧАТЬ