A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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СКАЧАТЬ in disarray, the floating chiffon peignoir she favoured enveloping her like a nimbus. Some months ago, on a business trip to London, he had described her behaviour to his friend Andrew Melton, a doctor of some renown, who had listened patiently, and had suggested that Adele be examined by a doctor in Leeds or, better still, himself. Adam had been prepared to take Adele to London at once. But on his return to Fairley he had been astonished and relieved to find that her strangeness had evaporated and she seemed perfectly normal ever since. Frail, yes, but not suffering from delusions. But he knew instinctively, and with a crushing sense of dread, that the fragile cocoon of sanity that surrounded her might shatter at any moment.

      Now he obstinately pushed away this disturbing thought and glanced at Olivia Wainright’s letter. She would arrive at Leeds station on the three-thirty train from London. He would be able to meet her train immediately after his luncheon. He turned his attention to the balance sheet and made a few notations on the side, and then went through other business documents he had neglected and which needed his immediate attention.

      As he worked on the papers Adam was unaware that his face had changed quite perceptibly. The haggard look had miraculously disappeared, and his eyes had brightened. All Adam knew, as he worked, was that his spirits had lifted unexpectedly, and quite inexplicably. There was a diffident tapping on the door. Adam lifted his head and called, ‘Come in,’ shifting slightly in his chair to observe the door. It opened slowly and Emma entered. She was carrying a cup of tea on a small silver tray and she hesitated in the doorway.

      ‘It’s yer tea, Squire,’ she murmured. Her voice was hardly audible. She dropped a half curtsy as she spoke and almost spilled the tea. Her solemn green eyes regarded him steadily, but she made no move to bring him the tea and Adam thought she appeared afraid to approach the desk.

      He smiled at her faintly. ‘Put it over there, on the table by the fireplace,’ he said quietly. She did as she was told, deposited the tray, and hurried back to the door. She dropped a curtsy again and turned to leave.

      ‘Who told you to do that? To curtsy every time you see me.’

      Emma looked back at him, a startled expression crossing her face, and her eyes, widening, betrayed what seemed to him to be sheer fright.

      She swallowed and said timidly, ‘Murgatroyd, Squire.’ She paused and looked at him with great directness and asked in a stronger voice, ‘Don’t I do it proper like?’

      He bit back a smile. ‘Yes, you do. But it irritates me enormously to have you all bobbing up and down constantly. You don’t have to curtsy to me. I’m not King Edward, you know. I told Polly to refrain from doing it, and I assumed she had informed Murgatroyd of my wishes. Obviously she did not. You may tell Murgatroyd what I have said and don’t do it again.’

      ‘Yes, Squire.’

      ‘What’s your name, girl?’

      ‘Emma, Squire.’

      He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You may go, Emma, and thank you again for the tea.’

      Emma started to curtsy automatically, but corrected herself quickly and flew out of the room. As she descended the stairs to the kitchen she laughed softly to herself, and it was a grim laugh. Did he think she was daft, trying to soft-soap her like that! Telling her she didn’t have to curtsy. It was no skin off her nose either way and, whatever he did, she would never change her mind about him. Never. As long as she lived.

      Adam crossed the floor to the fireplace and Emma’s face stayed with him. It struck a chord in his memory, as it had done when he first noticed her earlier that morning, but one so hazy he could not grasp it. She must be from the village, yet she did not resemble any of the villagers and he had known every family all of his life. The puzzled frown returned to his handsome face as he probed around in his mind, attempting to revive the memory to full consciousness. It remained fleeting and elusive. There was a purity and innocence and nobility in the girl’s young face, and those eyes, filled with a piercing and brilliant Arctic greenness, were the most dazzling eyes he had ever seen. She reminded him of someone but he was damned if he could remember who it was.

      He picked up the cup and saucer and drank the tea quickly before it became cold. He was warming himself in front of the fire when there was another knock on the door, the same light tapping as before, but this time it was much firmer. At his bidding the door opened and Emma was standing there once more. She seemed less hesitant, and Adam looked at her intently, as the memory became strangely alive again, yet still unformed.

      For a brief instant their eyes met and locked and neither of them seemed able to look away, and Adam thought with amazement and sudden comprehension: Why, the girl’s not afraid of me. She hates me! He recoiled from her gaze. Emma thought: He’s a mean and wicked man, living off the toil of others, and her young and trembling heart hardened against him more resolutely.

      Her voice was strong and cold as she said, ‘Murgatroyd said ter tell yer the children are waiting for yer in the morning room, Squire.’ She gripped the side of the door tightly to steady herself, for she was dizzy from the second punishing blow she had just received from Murgatroyd’s cruel hand.

      Adam nodded, aware that he had an inflexible enemy in this strange yet attractive girl, although he could not conceive why this should be so. She retreated quietly without another glance. Adam noticed that she had not had to correct herself from curtsying.

ELEVEN

      A few moments later, Adam strode into the morning room, his manner brisk, his face composed. As he entered the room he collided with one of the fragile tables. He grabbed it, along with the Meissen shepherdess that reclined on its surface, just before both crashed to the floor, and as he righted them he swore under his breath with mingled irritation and frustration.

      Glancing at the butler, who was standing by the sideboard waiting to serve them breakfast, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Please remove this table later, Murgatroyd. Find another place for it. I don’t care where, just get it out of the way. I’m always tripping over it.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ Murgatroyd said, arranging the lids on the numerous silver chafing dishes.

      Adam sat down and regarded his two children, who were already seated. ‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly. Gerald made a mumbled response, but Edwin pushed his chair back, stood up swiftly, and came to Adam’s chair. He kissed him lightly on the cheek and said with the sunniest of smiles, ‘Good morning, Father.’

      Adam returned his younger son’s smile and patted his shoulder affectionately. His disillusionment with his life and his marriage was equalled only by his disappointment in his children, although he did have a genuine fondness for Edwin, who was the nicer of the two. He also bore a striking physical resemblance to his father.

      ‘How are you, old chap?’ Adam asked gently. ‘Feeling better, I hope.’ Observing Edwin’s pale face, he went on quickly, ‘But we have to get some colour into those cheeks, Edwin. I think you should go riding this afternoon, or at least take a walk on the moors. Blow the cobwebs away. Right?’

      ‘Yes, Father,’ Edwin said, sitting down and shaking out his linen serviette carefully. ‘I wanted to go out yesterday, but Mother said it was too cold for me.’ His face, surprisingly mature for a fifteen-year-old, lit up in anticipation. ‘Shall I tell Mother you said I could go out today?’

      ‘Don’t worry about that, Edwin. I will tell your mother myself,’ Adam answered crisply, thinking that Adele would turn the boy into a hypochondriac СКАЧАТЬ