have been all that desperate, otherwise you would not have let so many years elapse.’
‘I understand your feelings only too well, Emma. But it does happen to be the truth. I have been really desperate. And for the past four and a half years,’ he insisted.
‘Then why didn’t you write to me?’ she demanded, and her voice shook unexpectedly. She took furious control of herself, determined not to show any emotion whatsoever.
‘I did write to you a number of times and I also sent you three cablegrams.’
Emma stared at Paul, a look of disbelief crossing her face. ‘Don’t tell me they all got lost in the post! And that the cablegrams disappeared into thin air! I would find that very hard to swallow.’
‘No, they didn’t. They were stolen. As your letters to me were stolen,’ Paul said, his eyes not leaving her face.
‘Stolen by whom?’ Emma asked, returning his intense stare.
‘By my private secretary.’
‘But why would she do a thing like that?’
‘It’s rather a long story,’ Paul said quietly. ‘I would like to tell it to you. That was the reason I wanted to see you. Will you at least give me the courtesy of listening, Emma? Please.’
‘All right,’ she murmured. It would do no harm to hear what he had to say and her curiosity also got the better of her.
‘When I returned to Australia in 1919, the only thing on my mind was seeing my father and then returning to you as quickly as possible.’
Paul paused as the waiter appeared with the drinks. When he was out of earshot he went on, ‘I walked into quite a mess when I arrived in Sydney, but I won’t go into that now. Let me first tell you about the letters. Years ago my father befriended a young girl who worked in our Sydney office. He groomed her to be his private secretary during my absence. After I was demobbed I had to take over the reins of the business at once, because Dad was not at all well, and so I inherited her. Marion Reese was a godsend in those first few weeks. Anyway, for a couple of months I was working very long hours with Marion at my side, guiding me, helping me, and filling me in on most things. My father was gradually getting worse and he was confined to bed. Frankly, Emma, I relied heavily on Marion. I had enormous responsibilities thrust upon me and I was out of touch.’ Paul lit a cigarette, inhaled, and continued, ‘Marion had been like a member of the family before the war. My father was very fond of her and I looked on her as a friend, as well as a valued employee. She was like an older sister in a sense, since she is about four years my senior. One night, after we had been working rather late, I took her to supper, and I confided in her. I told her about you and my plans for the future, my intention of marrying you, once I had sorted out my marital problems.’
A regretful smile played around Paul’s mouth and he shook his head. ‘Confiding in Marion was a terrible mistake, as it turned out. A mistake I made when I had had a few drinks too many. Of course, I didn’t realize it was a mistake at the time. Marion was most understanding. She promised to help me pull everything back into shape as quickly as possible, so that I could come to London for a few months and—’
‘Why was it a mistake?’ Emma interrupted, frowning.
‘I didn’t know it at the time, but Marion Reese was in love with me and had been for many years. There had been nothing between us ever, and I had never done anything to encourage her. Naturally, the last thing she wanted was for me to leave Australia, and especially to go to another woman, although I was not aware of that then. In any event, I went on furiously reorganizing the business and writing to you, not realizing that my devoted secretary was confiscating my letters to you instead of posting them. I was puzzled and unnerved when you didn’t reply to my letters, other than the first one. I sent two cablegrams, begging you to at least let me know you were well. Of course, they were never transmitted. Marion destroyed them. Still, in spite of your silence, which I couldn’t understand, I was determined to see you and, as soon as I could, sailed for England.’
Emma, who had been listening attentively and digesting his words, knew with absolute certainty that he was speaking the truth. She looked at him alertly. ‘When was that?’
‘About a year later. In the spring of 1920. I wrote out a cable and gave it to Marion before I departed, announcing my arrival, and I prayed you would meet the boat. You didn’t because you never received the cable. The first person I telephoned was Frank. He told me you were on your honeymoon. That you had married Arthur Ainsley just one week before.’
‘Oh my God!’ Emma cried, her eyes flaring open. Dismay swamped her.
Paul’s smile was pained and he nodded his head. ‘Yes, I was a week too late to stop that. Unfortunately.’
‘But why didn’t you come before? Why did you wait a whole year?’ Emma demanded, her voice rising.
‘I simply couldn’t get away, Emma. You see, my father was dying of cancer. He passed away about eight months after I had returned to Australia.’
‘I’m so sorry, Paul,’ Emma murmured, and genuine sympathy was reflected in her eyes.
‘Yes, it was sad. And Dad was very dependent on me in those last few months. Well, to continue. I had hoped to leave immediately after Dad’s funeral, but then my wife—’ Paul hesitated and grimaced slightly. ‘My wife, Constance, became very ill, and I was further delayed. Just when I thought I could get away at last, my son fell sick.’ Paul eyed Emma carefully. ‘I have a son, you know.’
‘Yes, so I heard. You could have told me, Paul. I wish you had,’ she reproached.
‘Yes, I should have, Emma. But Howard, well, he has problems, and I have always found it difficult to talk about him.’ Paul sighed heavily and his eyes dulled momentarily. He straightened up in the chair. ‘Once Howard recovered I was able to leave for England.’
‘And you met with Frank?’
‘Not at first. Frank was a little reluctant to see me. I don’t believe he thought very highly of me. However, he did know how devastated I was when I learned of your marriage and I suppose he took pity on me, especially since I had told him on the phone that I had been writing to you diligently over the whole of the previous year. When he told me that you had never received my letters, and that you had also been writing to me, I was flabbergasted and baffled.’
‘How did you discover the letters had been stolen?’ Emma asked, her face as grim as Paul’s.
‘It struck me immediately, and most forcibly, that someone had been tampering with my mail. Several letters going astray was one thing, but not a dozen or so. It didn’t take much to deduce it was Marion. She was the obvious culprit, since she handled my correspondence in both Sydney and at the sheep station in Coonamble. And she also mailed all of my personal letters as well.’
‘It’s a pity you didn’t post them yourself, isn’t it?’ Emma said quietly, cursing Marion Reese under her breath. Her penetrating eyes focused on Paul.
‘Yes, that’s true. I admit I was careless. On the other hand, I had no reason not to trust her. Also, I was facing monumental problems. I was overworked and preoccupied.’
‘I presume you confronted her when you returned to Sydney,’ Emma ventured.
‘I did indeed. She denied
