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

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СКАЧАТЬ away, sir.’

      Paul swung the chair away from the desk. ‘Let’s sit over there by the fire. I always feel chilled to the bone these days.’

      When the butler had left, Paul said, ‘I should have been more forceful with the doctors weeks ago, and made them discharge me then. I think being in familiar surroundings has helped me a great deal.’

      ‘I’m sure it has,’ Mel said brightly. ‘Cheers, old chap.’

      ‘Cheers,’ Paul responded. They clinked glasses and Paul went on, ‘I’ve spent a lot of time on the papers, Mel. They’re in good order now. We can sign them later.’

      ‘Fine, Paul. Incidentally, I told Audrey I wouldn’t be home for dinner. If you can stand my company for a second night running I thought I’d foist myself on you. Is that all right?’

      ‘Of course. I’d be delighted to have you dine with me.’ He wheeled himself to the bar and poured another scotch. ‘How’s your drink, Mel? Can I freshen it up?’

      ‘Not right now, thanks. Listen, Paul, I’ve been thinking a lot about Emma these past few days, since you’ve been home. I think we ought to send for her. I’ve discussed it with Audrey, and she agrees with me.’

      ‘No!’ Paul spun the wheelchair around. He peered into Mel’s face and his eyes blazed. ‘I absolutely forbid it!’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘I don’t want her to see me like this. Besides, the news is getting graver every day. We could be at war with Germany tomorrow. I don’t want her travelling halfway across the world at such a dangerous time.’

      Mel regarded Paul carefully. ‘I understand your feelings. But I also dread to think what she’ll do to me when she finds out I’ve lied to her in my letters, just as you have in yours. You also used your considerable influence to keep the details of the accident out of the newspapers, and so she is in the dark about the seriousness of your condition. But isn’t it time you wrote and told her the truth? She should know.’

      Paul shook his head. ‘She’s not to know. Not under any circumstances whatsoever.’ He softened his tone. ‘Not yet, anyway. I’ll decide when it’s the right time to tell her.’ His face became morose. ‘How does a man tell a passionate and active woman like Emma that she’s tied to a hopeless cripple who is paralysed from the waist down, who has lost half his face and—’ He paused and looked at Mel intently. ‘And who is impotent. Who will always be impotent. Not easy, my friend. Not easy at all.’

      Mel did not know how to respond and such strong feelings of sympathy swept through him he stood up quickly before Paul detected the pity filling his eyes. He stepped to the bar and picked up the bottle of scotch. He said, ‘I think you might be underestimating Emma. In fact, I’m damned sure you are. She would want to be with you. To give you all of her support and love. Let’s cable her, Paul. Now.’

      ‘No,’ Paul said, his voice suddenly tinged with weariness. ‘I don’t want her to be burdened down with me. I’m no use to her. I’m not much use to myself, if the truth be known.’

      Mel walked back to the fireplace, racking his brains for a way to convince Paul to send for Emma. He needed her more than he had ever needed her in his life, but he was an obstinate devil, and proud. ‘Emma wouldn’t see it that way. She loves you. Why, she worships the ground … You,’ Mel quickly corrected himself, and cleared his throat. Then his face brightened perceptibly as another thought struck him. He said rapidly, ‘Look here, if you don’t want Emma travelling, why don’t you book a passage to England yourself? You could be there in a month.’

      ‘That’s not feasible. I have to go to the hospital almost every day for treatment. There are no medical facilities of the kind I need on board a ship.’ Paul gulped down the scotch and placed his glass on the table. He brought his gaze back to Mel and his eyes were deadly serious, his tone bleak. ‘There is something I haven’t told you, Mel. The prognosis is bad. Very bad, actually. The doctors don’t know how long they can keep the infection out of my kidneys. That’s what usually kills paraplegics – kidney failure.’

      Mel stared at Paul and his ruddy face lost most of its colour. ‘H-h-how l-l-long?’ he stammered, unable to complete the question.

      ‘Nine months – at the most,’ Paul replied in a matter-of-fact voice. He had already adjusted to his death sentence. He had no alternative.

      Mel said with a desperate urgency, ‘I think we ought to call in more specialists, Paul. Surely there must be a way to—’

      ‘No, there isn’t.’ Paul said. ‘If I had broken my spine the doctors could have fused it. But the nerve ends of the spinal cord were crushed. There is no known way to repair those.’

      Mel looked away into the fire. He had no words that would comfort Paul. The accident had been a catastrophe, but he had been led to believe Paul had years of life ahead of him, albeit confined to the wheelchair. But now … Oh, God, what a waste of a rare and brilliant man. Eventually, after a long silence, he said, ‘Is there anything I can do, Paul? Anything at all? You only have to ask me.’

      Paul smiled gently. ‘No, old chap. Thanks, though. Don’t take this so hard. And for Christ’s sake, don’t start getting maudlin on me now. I need that cheery spirit of yours, and your optimism. Also, you’ve become my right arm and you’re going to be around me a great deal. I don’t want a glum face staring at me. Now come on, let’s have another drink and then we’ll dine. I’ve got some great Chambertin, which my father put down years ago. We’ll have a couple of bottles with dinner. Might as well drink it now, while there’s still—’ Paul bit off his sentence abruptly. He picked up the empty glasses, dropped them into his lap, and rolled over to the bar.

      Mel was again unable to respond coherently. He reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. He looked at Paul’s wide shoulders and broad back outlined above the chair, and his eyes dimmed with infinite sorrow. It was heartbreaking to see that splendid body so horribly broken, that extraordinarily handsome face so hideously ruined. And yet how stoically this incredible man bore his afflictions. The admiration Mel had always held for his oldest and dearest friend increased inordinately. Paul’s unimpaired courage and his strength of character in the face of defeat were immense. He wondered if he could have been so brave and indomitable in similar circumstances. He was not sure. One thing he did know, Paul needed all the support he could get and he was going to do his damnedest to give it to him without reserve.

      Much later that same evening, long after Mel had left, Paul sat in his dimly lit study, nursing a balloon of brandy and chain-smoking. His face was calm, his eyes thoughtful as he mused on the conversation of earlier. Perhaps Mel was right. Perhaps he should write to Emma and tell her the truth. In his previous letters he had underplayed the accident and used business as an excuse for his tardiness in not returning to England. Yes, he owed her that. The truth. For all they had been to each other and still meant to each other. And it must be the absolute truth. Nothing less would do for his Emma. He moved the wheelchair up to the desk, pulled a piece of notepaper towards him, and began the letter.

       Sydney, July 24, 1939

       My dearest darling Emma:

       You are my life …

      His eyes lifted and rested on the gold-framed photograph of her on the corner of his desk. He picked it up, gazing at it intently. It had been taken a few years after Daisy’s birth and Emma looked radiant and she was smiling that incandescent smile that was so uniquely hers. He thought his heart would burst with his love СКАЧАТЬ