death?’ Emma’s mouth was dry. ‘Yours?’
‘Unfortunately not.’ He paused. ‘Well? Am I to be granted an audience?’
Emma hesitated. ‘You—you could come to the house. Have, dinner with—with David and me, if you want to.’ But she crossed her fingers as she suggested this. David would never sit down to a meal with Jordan Kyle.
Jordan sighed. ‘No, Emma. That wouldn’t do at all, and you know it.’
‘I’m sorry …’
‘Are you?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘All right, Emma. If I can’t persuade you to change your mind … I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
‘Wait!’ He was going to hang up on her. She knew it. And at the same time, she couldn’t allow it. ‘I mean …’ She faltered as she tried to justify detaining him. ‘Why did you want to speak to me, Jordan?’
‘You’ll never know, will you?’ he retorted equably, and hung up on her.
Emma continued to sit there, holding the receiver, for several agonising seconds. Then, as if it had suddenly burned her, she replaced it on its rest, staring at it mutinously as the familiar resentment she felt towards Jordan enveloped her in a wave of hot indignation. How dare he ring her up like that? After all this time? How dare he coolly invite her out to dinner when for the past eight years he had apparently ignored her existence?
She drew a long steadying breath. Thank goodness she had refused him, she thought, smoothing her hair with a nervous gesture. At least she had shown him that he could not drop her and then pick her up again when it suited him. How she would have despised herself if she had given in to his persuasions! And how David would have despised her if he had found out!
Even so, her hands trembled as she reached for the majolica vase she had been dusting when the telephone rang. One had to admire his audacity, she thought reluctantly. No one could ever say that Jordan Kyle lacked temerity. And there was no doubt, she was curious to know why he had suddenly chosen to contact her again. Could it have anything to do with the business? No. Her mother was no longer even a shareholder, and besides, if it had had to do with her mother’s affairs, surely Jordan would have contacted her. But what else could it be? What other connection could there possibly be between the Kyle family and her own?
She was still standing by the desk, absently smoothing her duster over the cherubs’ heads depicted on the vase, gazing blindly through the belling leaded panes of the shop window, when Gilda returned. The older woman came into the shop with its mellow chiming bell, closed the door and approached her assistant without Emma seeming to be aware of her. She stretched out a hand without speaking to rescue the fragile piece of pottery, and Emma’s startled response was a justification for her employer’s prudence.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she gulped, as the vase fell harmlessly into Gilda’s waiting hand. ‘I—I was miles away.’
‘So I noticed,’ remarked Gilda dryly, setting the vase down safely on the desk. ‘For heaven’s sake, where were you? I was sure you hadn’t heard the bell.’
‘I hadn’t.’ Emma’s face was flushed with embarrassment. ‘You’re back early. Did you get what you wanted?’
Gilda Avery removed the sheepskin jacket she was wearing over a slim-fitting jersey suit and hung it on the stand behind the desk. Then she held out her wrist watch for Emma to see.
‘I don’t know what time you think it is, my dear, but I make it a quarter to one. Don’t you want any lunch today?’
‘A quarter to one?’ Emma could hardly believe it. What time had Jordan rung? Half past ten? Eleven? Whatever, she had been standing staring out of the window for well over an hour.
Shaking her head as if to shake away the sense of unreality which still gripped her, she exclaimed: ‘I seem to have fallen asleep, don’t I?’ She forced a worried smile. ‘I don’t think I’ve missed any customers.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t,’ drawled Gilda amiably, subsiding into her armchair and stretching her booted legs in front of her. ‘God, I’m glad that’s over. Dealing with someone on a one-to-one basis is always harder than outbidding buyers at an auction.’
‘But did you get it?’ Belatedly Emma was remembering the French secretaire Gilda had gone to see that morning, and realising that in her absence she had done next to nothing.
‘Yes, I got it,’ Gilda replied now, pulling out a pack of Gauloises and putting one between her lips. ‘But …’ she lit the long French cigarette and inhaled deeply, ‘… at a vastly inflated price.’
‘Then why didn’t you—–’
‘—let it go?’ Gilda shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I’m getting soft in my old age, or perhaps Lady Margaret was too persuasive.’
‘I don’t believe that.’ Emma was striving for composure. ‘I—I can tell by your face that it’s what you wanted.’
‘Oh, it is!’ Gilda shed all pretence of indifference and enthusiasm shone in her light blue eyes. Drawing in her legs, she moved to the edge of her chair and resting her elbows on the desk, she exclaimed: ‘Emma, it’s exquisite. Really exquisite! It’s a genuine Riesener, of course, and the marquetry is so intricate—–’ She broke off abruptly to draw on her cigarette again, looking up at her young assistant. ‘You’ll love it, Emma. It’s so beautiful, I shan’t want to sell it.’
Unable to sustain the penetration of those curiously intent blue eyes, Emma moved round the desk, her fingernail trailing lightly over its surface. ‘Oh, I—I’m sure you will,’ she murmured, forcing a light tone. ‘Someone—some American—will come into the shop and offer you a fabulous price, and you’ll be unable to resist.’
‘Is that what you think?’ Gilda continued to study the girl’s unnaturally deepened colour. And then, with an abrupt change of topic, she said shrewdly: ‘What’s happened, Emma? Who’s been here? Why are you so nervous suddenly? Did David call?’
‘No.’ At least that was true. Emma pushed back the heavy weight of her hair with a determined hand. ‘You know what it’s like when you’ve been day-dreaming and you’re suddenly brought down to earth again. I—I guess I’m just a little off balance, that’s all.’
Gilda’s eyes narrowed. ‘What were you day-dreaming about?’
‘Oh, I don’t know …’ Emma shrugged. ‘This and that. Er—have you had lunch?’
‘No. I’ll have a sandwich here later.’ She frowned. ‘Emma, I don’t want to probe, but if there’s something worrying you, don’t you think you should tell me? We’ve been friends a long time, and I’ve known your family for years. If there’s something troubling you …’
‘Why should you think there’s something troubling me?’ Emma reached for her own suede coat and slipped her arms into the sleeves, and without waiting for an answer, added: ‘What sort of sandwich do you want? Ham or cheese?’
‘Ham, please.’ Gilda rose to her feet. ‘Emma, you’re not having trouble with David again, are you? I mean—well, he’s not being more objectionable than usual, is he?’
‘No!’
