‘And the lady?’ Paul asked.
‘Forgive me, Major, but I’m afraid I don’t know.’
‘So Mr Harte is well known, is he?’ Bruce interjected.
‘Oh yes, indeed, sir. He writes on politics now. I understand he was, and is, quite a favourite of Mr Lloyd George’s.’
‘Thank you, Charles,’ Bruce said. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’ He leaned forward and fixed his thoughtful gaze on his son. ‘Look here, Paul, I don’t want you doing anything foolish. Just watch your step. I’m heavily involved with a number of politicians in this country. I would hate to have problems because of your romantic philanderings. That might easily be the chap’s wife, you know, and since he’s well connected it could be a dangerous game you’re contemplating.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t embarrass you. However, I am going to find out who she is if it kills me.’ Paul sat back in his chair and took out a gold cigarette case. He lit a cigarette, his mind turning rapidly. His father’s immense fortune had opened every door for him, all the right doors, and he began to enumerate his friends, wondering who would be the most suitable candidate to arrange an introduction to Frank Harte.
There were a dozen or so people in Dolly Mosten’s drawing room when Emma and Frank entered it later that evening. Emma had only taken three small steps into the room when she halted abruptly and grabbed Frank’s arm. Startled, he turned to her quickly.
‘Frank, we’ve got to leave!’ she hissed.
Surprise flickered on to his face. ‘Leave! But we’ve only just arrived.’
Her fingers tightened on him and her eyes were pleading. ‘Please, Frank! We’ve got to leave. Immediately!’
‘Don’t be foolish, Emma. It would seem most odd and I don’t want to offend Dolly. That’s a fate worse than death. Anyway, apart from the fact that she’s London’s leading actress and not to be slighted, she’s been very helpful to me in the past. She would never forgive me. Why the sudden turnabout? You wanted to come earlier.’
‘I feel – sick,’ Emma improvised. ‘Faint.’
‘Sorry, but I’m afraid it’s too late, old girl,’ Frank muttered. Dolly Mosten was descending upon them, a cloud of yellow chiffon and canary diamonds, her flaming red hair a fiery nimbus around her superb but vacuous face. And in her wake was the Australian major they had seen at the Ritz. So that’s it! Frank thought. His eyes were teasing as he looked at Emma and said pointedly, ‘He won’t bite.’
Emma did not have a chance to reply. Dolly was greeting them warmly and making the introductions, her famous bubbling voice ringing with laughter, her theatrical vivaciousness enveloping them in an intimacy Emma found curiously distasteful. She averted her head to avoid the major, who loomed up in front of her, all too predatory. Emma felt cornered, and then she found her hand being tightly grasped by a much larger, stronger one. Emma was in a quandary and she stared down at the fine black hairs spreckling that hand, almost afraid to raise her head.
‘I’m most delighted to meet you, Mrs Lowther. It is an undeniable pleasure and one I did not anticipate experiencing quite so soon, although, to be frank, I had determined to make your acquaintance. How fortuitous for us both that I stopped by Dolly’s tonight,’ the resonant voice drawled, the faint Australian twang hardly discernible.
Why, the impertinent and conceited devil, Emma thought, embarrassment and discomfiture she had experienced at the Ritz flaring within her again. She had the overwhelming desire to slap his face, but her innate good manners prevented her. Instead, she lifted her head and finally looked up into that face staring with such intensity at hers. Her mouth parted. No words came out. She blinked, conscious of the roguish expression in those stunning eyes, the sardonic smile as he waited for her response.
Emma felt the insistent pressure of Frank’s hand on her back and then to her horror, and before she could stop herself, she said coldly, ‘I understand you are an Australian, Major McGill. I hope the deplorable manners you so patently displayed earlier this evening are not typical of your nationality, but merely spring from your own lack of upbringing. Otherwise your fellow countrymen will find a frosty reception in this country, where women are treated with respect. This is not the Outback, Major.’
Dolly gasped. Frank cried, ‘Emma, you are being ungracious!’
But Major McGill was apparently amused. He threw back his head and roared with laughter, and he held on to her hand all that more firmly, so that Emma winced.
Emma turned to Dolly. ‘Forgive me, Dolly. I don’t mean to be discourteous to you. Please excuse me. I must leave. I feel perfectly dreadful. Something definitely disagreed with me at dinner.’ She endeavoured to extract her hand, but the major had tightened his grip like a vice.
The major said, ‘Touché, Mrs Lowther. I deserved that, I do believe.’ Paul bent forward, lowered his head, and offered his right cheek to Emma. ‘Want to slap it and get it over with?’
Flushing, Emma took a step backwards. The major immediately pulled her forward into the group again. He said, ‘I think I had better take Mrs Lowther for a glass of champagne. And I hope I will be able to convince her that even colonials are civilized.’ He tucked Emma’s arm through his in a proprietary way. Emma tried to disentangle her arm, but he instantly clamped his free hand over it and shook his head slowly. ‘Come along, Mrs Lowther,’ he said commandingly. She saw that his eyes were irreverent and taunting, and she loathed him more than ever.
‘Do excuse us,’ Paul said to Dolly and Frank, obviously well pleased with himself as he swept her away.
‘A little champagne will cool you off,’ Paul said, bowing elaborately to a couple he knew but without slowing his pace.
‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink,’ Emma hissed, her blood boiling
‘Even the most stubborn and temperamental fillies eventually get thirsty, Mrs Lowther,’ he said in a low voice, his eyes roving over her boldly. ‘Depending, of course, when they last quenched their thirst. You look positively parched to me.’
His words, appearing innocent enough on the surface, were full of innuendo and the unconcealed desire flickering in his eyes was revealing of his thoughts and his intentions. Emma’s cheeks were scarlet as they walked across the floor, and to her considerable irritation she discovered she was acutely aware of Paul McGill’s physical proximity – of his fingers biting into hers, of his arm brushing so intimately against her bare shoulder. He was taller and broader than she had realized at the Ritz, and he seemed to overpower her. He exuded a sheathed strength, an earthy and domineering masculinity that disturbed her. The room swam before her eyes and she was overcome by faintness. A peculiar tingling sensation invaded her entire body and her heart quickened, beating so rapidly underneath the green velvet she thought it was about to burst. She was flustered and unnerved. It’s only anger, she told herself, and she truly believed this was the real cause of her sudden distress.
Dolly’s drawing room appeared to Emma to have tripled in size and she thought the long stretch of chartreuse carpet would never come to an end. ‘Please, I would like to sit down,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Over there. You can go and find a waiter—’
‘Oh no, not on your life! You’re not going to escape quite so easily,’ Paul cried.
‘Where are you taking me?’
Paul stopped in his tracks and swung her to face him. He peered down at her, his violet eyes filled with speculation. ‘Well now, I’m not quite sure. There are hundreds of interesting possibilities and alternatives—’ Observing the chilly expression on her face, he laughed that bantering laugh and remarked softly, ‘Don’t look so terrified. I’m not going to abscond with you. I merely wanted to get you away from your brother