‘You have no reason at all, I can assure you,’ Paul chuckled, relaxing for the first time. As the tension slipped away he took command with his usual panache. ‘Then it’s settled. Where would you like to go?’
‘I don’t know,’ Emma said, feeling curiously weak and so overpowered she was incapable of declining the invitation again.
‘Let’s go to Rules across the street in Covent Garden. Do you know it?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never dined there.’
‘It’s a charming old place. I know you’ll like it,’ he said, and motioned to the waiter for the bill.
They were halfway through dinner when Paul said, somewhat abruptly, ‘Why did your marriage go wrong, Emma?’
Emma was so startled by the unanticipated question she did not answer for a long moment. Because I still loved you, she wanted to say. Instead she murmured, ‘Because Arthur and I are incompatible.’
‘I see. What’s he like?’ Paul questioned, riddled with curiosity and not a little jealousy.
Emma said carefully, ‘He’s handsome, charming, and from a good family. But he’s also a little weak. And rather vain.’ She glanced back at Paul and said quietly, ‘He’s not the type of man you would have much in common with.’
Nor you apparently, my love, Paul thought, but said, ‘Are you going to get a divorce?’
‘Not at the moment. Are you?’ she retorted, and caught her breath, regretting the question.
Paul’s face changed, settled into harsh lines. ‘Well, I asked for that one, I suppose,’ he responded quietly. ‘I want a divorce, Emma. I have for many years. However, I have some serious difficulties with Constance.’ He paused, ruminated briefly, and went on. ‘My wife is an alcoholic. She was a heavy drinker before the war. That is one of the reasons the marriage broke up. By the time I returned to Sydney she was a lost cause. I put her in a nursing home at once. She ran away, just after I had buried Dad. It took me five weeks to find her and she was in a pretty ghastly state. Physically debilitated and mentally deranged as well. That was why I couldn’t come to England when I wanted to – I had to see her settled first. Believe me, I was infuriated. I don’t want to sound callous, but I have tried to help Constance over the years, to no avail. She won’t help herself. I lost my patience a long time ago.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ Emma said grimly. ‘I’m sorry, Paul. Truly sorry. It’s a terrible situation for anyone to cope with. Is she still in the nursing home?’
‘Yes, she is. They have dried her out, but she is very weak in every way and not capable of looking after herself, or functioning normally. She will have to be institutionalized permanently, I imagine. Constance is a Roman Catholic, Emma, so that is another impediment to the divorce. Nonetheless, I haven’t given up hope of gaining my freedom one day.’ Paul took a sip of Montrachet. After a moment he continued, ‘There is something else I must tell you, Emma. It’s about my son.’ He hesitated. ‘Howard is – well, he’s retarded, I’m afraid. That’s what I meant earlier when I said he had problems.’
Emma was stunned. The pain on his face was raw. ‘Oh, Paul! Paul! How awfully tragic. And what a heavy burden for you to carry alone.’ Compassion flooded her face and her eyes softened. ‘Why ever didn’t you tell me years ago? Surely you knew I would have been sympathetic, and talking about your son might have helped you.’
Paul shook his head. ‘Perhaps I should have told you, Emma. I think I was a little ashamed, to tell you the truth. Especially after I had met your children. Also, I have always found it hard to discuss Howard. I love him, of course. However, my emotions are mixed. My heart aches for him. I also carry enormous guilt. And sometimes I—’ Paul frowned. ‘I am reluctant to admit this, and I never have to another soul, but at times I almost hate him. I know I shouldn’t. Yet I can’t help it. I hope you don’t despise me for that.’
Emma’s heart went out to him. ‘I don’t despise you, Paul. I know that parents of retarded children often do experience hatred. It apparently springs from frustration and despair. Truly, your feelings are not abnormal.’ Impulsively she reached out and touched his arm. ‘You must feel very helpless. How old is Howard?’
‘He’s twelve, Emma. And, yes, I do feel absolutely despairing most of the time.’ He shook his head. ‘Nature plays strange tricks. You know, he is a lovely-looking boy. He has a sweet, almost ethereal face and the most gentle eyes. And the mind of a five-year-old.’ Paul ran his hand across his face wearily. ‘And he’ll never be any different!’
Emma was silent, filled with sorrow, and she did not know how to comfort him. Eventually, she asked, ‘Where does he live?’
‘Out at the sheep station in Coonamble. He has a male companion-nurse who is devoted to him. My housekeeper is there and quite a large domestic staff. When I’m at Dunoon I spend a great deal of time with him, although I’m quite sure he doesn’t really know I’m around. He lives in his own very special world.’ Paul lit a cigarette. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to pile all my problems on you tonight. I never discuss them with anyone.’ He grimaced. ‘I must admit, though, I have felt rather defeated by my personal life in the past few years. It is so arid and unrewarding. Thank you for listening, for being so understanding.’
‘I have been far enough down to know what the realities of life are, Paul,’ Emma said. ‘My life has never been easy. Whatever you might think.’
He looked at her attentively, his eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure it hasn’t, Emma.’
‘But then life is hard, Paul. The important thing is how one copes with the hardships and overcomes them.’ She smiled her dauntless smile. ‘Let’s face it, Paul, neither of us are too badly off. Not when you look around and see other people’s problems. We are both successful. Wealthy. In good health. We are also fortunate in that we have our work.’
Paul gazed at her. He thought: She truly is a rare woman. He said, ‘Yes, I have buried myself in work these last few years, as I’m sure you have. And you are right, Emma. Our lives are not too bad. We must be grateful for all the good things we do have.’ He smiled at her lovingly. ‘Thank you again. I’m glad I told you about Constance and Howard. I feel a great sense of relief.’
‘I’m glad, too.’
Paul lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to you, Emma. You are a wise and understanding lady. I’m so happy we are going to be friends again, aren’t you?’
Emma touched his glass with hers. ‘Yes, I think I am, Paul.’
‘Well, enough of all this misery. Let’s talk about something more cheerful.’
Emma smiled at him. ‘Tell me about your oil fields in Texas, and the Sydney-Texas Oil Company. I was very intrigued when you mentioned your new venture earlier.’
After dinner Paul escorted Emma home to her small house in Wilton Mews, just off Belgrave Square. He helped her out of the cab, told the driver to wait, and saw her inside. He kissed her tentatively on the cheek. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Emma. May I call you soon?’
‘Yes, Paul. And thank you. Good night.’
‘Good night, Emma.’
Later, when she was in bed, Emma lay awake for a long time, musing on the evening. Paul McGill’s dramatic reappearance in her life was the last thing she had ever anticipated. Life was full of staggering surprises. She dwelt momentarily on Marion Reese. If Paul had not been the man he undoubtedly was, then perhaps that frustrated woman might never have loved him … might never have stolen the letters. If Paul had only written to Frank … If she had not rushed into marriage with Arthur. If … if … if. She sighed inwardly. It was such a waste of time dwelling on what might have been. And surely their characters