it out with him next week, once the plans for taking over Aire Communications have been put into operation. Pushing business matters to the back of his mind, he rang his father at Allington Hall and chatted with him for a good twenty minutes. He then dialled Allison Ridley, his current girlfriend. He felt a rush of warmth when he heard her voice, and she sounded equally pleased to hear his. He confirmed that he and Shane would be at her dinner party the following evening, made plans with her for Sunday, and finally dashed upstairs to change.
Ten minutes later, wearing comfortable corduroys, a heavy wool sweater, Wellington boots and an old raincoat, Winston meandered through the dining room and out on to the flagged terrace overlooking the fish pond. The sky had brightened after the brief shower. The trees and shrubs and lawns appeared to shimmer with dewy greenness in the lovely late afternoon light which brought a soft incandescent glow to the fading blue of the sky. The scent of rain and damp grass and wet earth and growing things pervaded the air, and it was a smell Winston loved. He stood on the terrace for a moment, inhaling and exhaling, relaxing and shedding the rest of his business worries, then ran lightly down the steps into the gardens. He hurried in the direction of the beck, wanting to satisfy himself that the condition of the banks had not deteriorated after the recent shower.
Edwina had arrived.
Emma was aware that her eldest daughter was sitting downstairs in the library, having a drink and recovering from her journey from Manchester Airport. In the last few minutes first Hilda, then Emily, had been up to see her, to pass on this news.
Well, there’s no time like the present, Emma murmured, as she finished dressing in readiness for her dinner date with Blackie and Shane. Putting off the inevitable is not only foolish, it frays the nerves. There’s a time bomb ticking inside Edwina, and I’d better defuse it before the weekend begins.
Nodding to herself, glad she had stopped wavering, Emma fastened a pearl choker around her throat, glanced at herself in the mirror, picked up her evening bag and sable jacket, and hurried out.
She descended the long winding staircase at a slower pace, thinking about the things she would say, how she would handle Edwina. Emma had an aversion to confrontation and conflict, preferred to move in roundabout ways, and often with stealth, to accomplish her ends. Accommodation and compromise had been, and still were, her strong suits, both in business and personal matters. But now, as she approached the library, she recognized there was only one thing she could do: tackle Edwina head on.
Her quick, light step faltered as she walked through the vast Stone Hall, and dismay flew to the surface as she thought of doing battle. But Anthony’s happiness was at stake, and therefore Edwina had to be dealt with before she made serious trouble for him, for everyone, in fact. Emma took a deep breath, then continued across the hall, her step now ringing with new determination, her manner resolute.
The library door was partially open, and Emma paused for a moment before going in, one hand resting on the door jamb as she observed Edwina sitting in the wing chair in front of the fire. Only one lamp had been turned on and the light in the rest of the room was gloomy. Suddenly a log spurted and flared up the chimney, the lambent flames illuminating the shadowed face, bringing it into sharper focus. Emma blinked, momentarily startled. From this distance her daughter was the spitting image of Adele Fairley … the same silvery blonde hair, the delicate yet clearly defined profile, the shoulders hunched in concentration. How often had she seen Adele sitting like that, beside the fire in her bedroom at Fairley Hall, staring into the distance, lost in her thoughts. But Adele had not lived to see her thirty-eighth year and Edwina was sixty-three and her beauty had never been as ethereal and as heart-stopping as Adele’s once was. So Emma knew this image was part illusion; still, the resemblance was there, had been there since Edwina’s birth, and she had always been more of a Fairley than a Harte in many respects.
Clearing her throat, Emma said, ‘Good evening, Edwina,’ and bustled forward with briskness, not wanting her to know she had been watching her from the doorway.
Her daughter started in surprise and swung her head, straightening up in the chair as she did. ‘Hello, Mother,’ she replied in a formal voice that rang with coldness.
Emma paid no attention to the tone, accustomed to it by now. It had not changed much over the years. She deposited her jacket and bag on a chair, then proceeded to the fireplace, turning on several lamps as she walked past them. ‘I see you have a drink,’ she began, seating herself in the other wing chair. ‘Does it need refreshing?’
‘Not at the moment, thank you.’
‘How are you?’ Emma asked pleasantly.
‘I’m all right, I suppose.’ Edwina eyed her mother. ‘There’s no need to ask how you are. You’re positively blooming.’
Emma smiled faintly. Sitting back, she crossed her legs, and said, ‘I’m afraid I won’t be here for dinner after all. I have to go out. A last minute – ’
‘Business as usual, I’ve no doubt,’ Edwina sniffed scornfully, giving her an unfriendly look.
Emma winced, but suppressed her annoyance. Edwina’s rudeness and sneering manner were generally inflammatory to Emma, but tonight she was determined to overlook her daughter’s unwarranted attitude towards her. You don’t catch flies with vinegar, she thought dryly; and so she would continue to be pleasant and diplomatic, no matter what. Studying Edwina’s face, she at once noticed the tiredness of the drooping mouth, the weary lines around her silver-grey eyes which swam with sadness. Edwina had lost weight, and she seemed nervous, anxious even, and certainly the Dowager Countess of Dunvale, usually filled with her own importance, was not quite so smug this evening. It was apparent she was besieged by troubles.
Emma felt a stab of pity for her, and this was such an unprecedented feeling, and so unexpected, she was a little amazed at herself. Poor Edwina. She is truly miserable, and frightened, but she does bring it on herself I’m afraid, Emma thought. If only I could make her see this, get her to change her ways. Then becoming aware that she was being looked over as carefully as she was scrutinizing, Emma said, ‘You’re staring at me, Edwina. Is there something wrong with my appearance?’
‘The frock, Mother,’ Edwina replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘It’s a little young for you, isn’t it?’
Emma stiffened, and wondered if her charitable feelings had been misplaced. Edwina was intent on being obnoxious. Then she relaxed and laughed a gay, dismissive laugh, resolved not to let Edwina get her goat. When she spoke her voice was even. ‘I like red,’ she said. ‘It’s lively. What colour would you like me to wear? Black? I’m not dead yet you know, and whilst we’re on the subject of clothes, why do you insist on wearing those awful lumpy tweeds?’ Not waiting for a reply, she added, ‘You have a lovely figure, Edwina. You should show it off more.’
Edwina let this small compliment slide by her. And she asked herself why she had ever accepted Jim Fairley’s invitation, or agreed to stay here at Pennistone Royal. She must be insane, to expose herself to her mother in this way.
Emma compressed her lips, her eyes narrowing as they weighed Edwina speculatively. She said, with the utmost care, ‘I’d like to talk to you about Anthony.’
This statement jolted Edwina out of her introspection, and swinging to face Emma, she exclaimed, ‘Oh no, Mother! When Emily said you’d be coming down to see me, I suspected as much. However, I refuse to discuss my son with you. You’re manipulative and controlling.’
‘And
