Edwina spoke slowly, in a muted voice. ‘It’s been a shock, the divorce, I mean. But you’re right, Mother. I must think of Anthony first. Yes, it’s his happiness that counts.’
For the first time in her life, Edwina found herself turning to Emma for help. Her anger and bitterness now somewhat diffused, she asked softly, ‘What do you think I should do, Mother? He must be very angry with me.’
Believing that her attempts to drill some common sense into Edwina had had no effect whatsoever, Emma was a bit taken aback by this unanticipated reversal. Rapidly regrouping her thoughts, she said, ‘No, he’s not angry. Hurt perhaps, worried even. He loves you very much, you know, and the last thing he wants is a permanent split between you.’ Emma half smiled. ‘You asked me what you should do. Why, Edwina, I think you should tell him exactly what you’ve just told me … that his happiness is the most important thing to you, and that he has your blessing, whatever he plans to do with his life.’
‘I will,’ Edwina cried. ‘I must.’ She gazed at Emma, for once without rancour, and added, ‘There’s something else.’ She swallowed, finished in a strangled voice, ‘Thank you, Mother. Thank you for trying to help.’
Emma nodded and glanced away. Her face was calm but she was filling with uneasiness. I have to tell her about Sally, she thought. If I avoid revealing his involvement with the girl, holy hell will break loose tomorrow. Everything I’ve accomplished in the last half-hour will be swept away by Edwina’s wrath when she sees them together. This way, she’ll have time to sleep on her rage, perhaps put it behind her. When she’s calm she’ll surely recognize she cannot live her son’s life for him.
Gathering her strength, Emma said, ‘I have something further to say to you, Edwina, and I want you to hear me out before you make any comment.’
Edwina frowned. ‘What is it?’ she asked nervously, clasping her hands together in her lap. Emma was silent, but her face was readable for a change. It telegraphed trouble to Edwina. Steeling herself for what she somehow knew would be a body blow, she nodded for her mother to proceed.
Emma said, ‘Anthony is in love with another woman. It’s Sally … Sally Harte. Now, Edwina, I – ’
‘Oh no!’ Edwina cried, aghast. Her face had paled and she gripped the arms of the chair to steady herself.
‘I asked you to hear me out. You just said your son’s happiness was the only thing that matters. I trust you really meant that. He intends to marry Sally when he is free to do so, and you are – ’
Again Edwina interrupted. ‘And you said you had no axe to grind!’
‘I don’t,’ Emma declared. ‘And if you think I’ve encouraged them, you’re mistaken. I was aware he’d taken her out several times, when he’s been in Yorkshire, I don’t deny that. But I hadn’t paid much attention. Anyway, it seems they are seriously involved. Also, Anthony came to announce his plans to me, not ask my permission to marry my great-niece. Furthermore, I gather he took the same Stance with Randolph, told him he was going to marry his daughter, and without so much as a by your leave. Randolph can be old-fashioned at times, and his nose was considerably out of joint when we spoke late last night. But I soon put him straight.’
Moving to the edge of the chair, the fuming Edwina let her furious glance roam over Emma. She examined that old and wrinkled face minutely, looking for signs of duplicity and cunning. But they were absent, and the hooded green eyes were clear, guileless. Then without warning, a vivid picture of Sally Harte flew into Edwina’s twisting mind. They had run into each other nine months ago, at the exhibition of Sally’s paintings at the Royal Academy. She had sought Edwina out actually, and had been charming, very friendly. At the time Edwina had thought that Sally had grown up to become one of the most beautiful women she had ever laid eyes on. A Harte though, through and through, with her grandfather Winston’s arresting looks, his carefree blue eyes, his dark windblown hair.
Edwina snuffed out the disturbing image of Sally Harte and concentrated her attention on the old woman sitting opposite her, who in turn was observing her acutely and with sternness. Always ready and willing to brand her mother a manipulator, a schemer who contrived to control them and run all of their lives, Edwina decided that in this instance Emma Harte had indeed been an innocent bystander. As much as she wanted to blame her for this … this disaster, she could not. She had the most dreadful conviction that it was her son’s doing, and his alone. Anthony would be unable to resist that lovely, laughing, bewitching face, which she had been so struck by herself. It was his pattern, after all … falling for beautiful features and a shapely figure. Yes, once again, Anthony had managed to get himself involved with the wrong sort of woman, and all because of sex.
With a little shiver, Edwina drew herself up, and said in a clipped voice, ‘Well, Mother, I must admit you’ve convinced me that you’ve not been a party to this unfortunate relationship. I give you the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ Emma said.
‘Nonetheless,’ Edwina continued purposefully, her face set, ‘I must voice my disapproval of this match, or I should say mismatch, to my son. Sally is not cut out to be his wife. She is most unsuitable. For one thing, she is dedicated to her career. Her painting will always come first with her. Consequently, she most certainly won’t fit into his life at Clonloughlin, a life that revolves around the estate, the local gentry and their country pursuits. He is making a terrible mistake, one he will live to regret for the rest of his life. So, therefore, I intend to put a stop to this affair at once.’
How could I have ever given birth to such a pig-headed fool? Emma asked herself. She stood up and said, with great firmness, her manner conclusive, ‘I must leave. Shane will be here any minute. But before I go I have two statements to make, and I want you to listen most carefully. The first concerns Sally. You cannot point a finger at her, since she is beyond reproach and her reputation is impeccable in every sense. As for her career, well, she can just as easily paint at Clonloughlin as she can here. I might also remind you, silly snob that you are, that she is not only accepted by those ridiculous nitwits in so-called high society, whom you have the desire to kowtow to constantly, but is assiduously courted by them. Thank God she has more sense than you, and hasn’t fallen for all that worthless, high-falutin clap trap.’
‘As usual, you’re being insulting, Mother,’ Edwina snapped.
Emma shook her silvered head disbelievingly, her lips pursing. Trust Edwina to interrupt a serious conversation because her sensibilities were offended. She said with a small, very cold smile, ‘Old people believe that age gives them the licence to say exactly what they think, without being concerned that they may be giving offence. I don’t mince my words these days, Edwina. I speak the truth. And I will continue to do so until the day I die. Anything else is a waste of time. But getting back to Sally, I would like to remind you that she is an artist of some repute, also, in case you’d forgotten, she is an heiress in her own right, since my brother Winston left his grandchildren a great fortune. Mind you, I’ll give you your due, I know money isn’t particularly interesting to you, or Anthony, for that matter. Still, that doesn’t change the facts, and you’re making yourself look ridiculous by saying she is unsuitable. Poppycock! Sally is ideal for him. And let’s not dismiss their feelings for each other. They are in love, Edwina, and that’s the most important consideration of all.’
‘Love? Sex, you mean,’ Edwina began, and then stopped, seeing the look of disapproval in Emma’s eyes. ‘Well, you are correct about one thing, Mother, money doesn’t matter to the Dunvale family,’ Edwina finished, looking