in her tracks. Emily had just returned with Winston and Shane, had spotted Amanda and was about to chastise her little sister, who wore a guilty expression. Emma nodded to herself, amused at the little scene being enacted. Emily, for all her youth and gay disposition, could be very tough when she wanted to be.
Shane had detached himself from Winston and Emily, and was prowling across the floor. Her eyes followed him. He came to a stop next to David, drew Paula’s father to one side, began speaking to him intently. Shane is not himself today, Emma decided. He has a remote air. It occurred to her he might be suffering from ennui at this family function of hers, not to mention preoccupation with his impending trip to New York.
As for Sarah, her auburn-haired granddaughter appeared to be patently uninterested in Shane. Did Emily exaggerate? No, definitely not. Sarah, clinging to Jonathan like a barnacle to a hull, was, by her very actions, proving to Emma that she did indeed care greatly. If Shane no longer mattered to her she would not be huddled in a corner staying out of his way. Was Jonathan a handy convenience? Or had he and Sarah formed some kind of special alliance lately? If so, why? They had never been particularly close in the past.
Emma gave Jonathan a long hard stare, studying that bland and smiling face, noting his insouciant manner. How disarming he could be. He’s clever, she thought, but not quite as clever as he believes he is. He has acquired the knack of dissembling, most likely from me. And because I’m better at dissimulation than he is, he doesn’t deceive me one little bit. I have no hard evidence of his treachery, nothing concrete with which I can nail him, and yet I know he’s up to no good.
When Emma had first arrived at Fairley Church, Jonathan had rushed over to her, and told her he would see her on Monday morning, would bring her his new evaluation of the Aire Communications building. She had merely nodded, kept her face inscrutable. But she had immediately wondered why he suddenly thought the evaluation of the building’s worth was no longer urgent, that it could now wait until Monday. She had been stressing its urgency to him for some time. Emma had not had to think very hard to come up with the answer. Jonathan knew the evaluation was no longer pressing because he was aware that the Aire deal had collapsed. Neither she nor Paula had mentioned the failure of those negotiations, so he could only have acquired his information from Sebastian Cross, and in the last twenty-four hours.
This conversation at the church, coupled with Emily’s revelation of the night before, had convinced Emma that Jonathan was somehow involved with the Crosses, in cahoots with them. But to what purpose?
She did not know. But she would soon find out. She had no intention of confronting Jonathan on Monday morning. It was not her way to show her hand when that hand could be doling out rope, forming a noose. Instead she would go to London next week and start digging. Discreetly. Jonathan’s behaviour today had only served to underscore the nagging suspicion that he was not trustworthy, a feeling that she had harboured for weeks. Without realizing it, he had alerted her further. If he were really smart he would have acted as though the Aire deal were still alive. He had made a small slip – but it was a fatal one in her eyes.
Jonathan happened to turn around at this moment. His glance met hers. He smiled broadly and loped across the room to her.
‘Goodness, Grandy, why are you standing here all alone?’ he asked showing concern for her. Not waiting for a reply he went on, ‘Do you want anything? A glass of champagne, or a cup of tea maybe? And do come and sit down. You must be tired.’ He took hold of her arm affectionately, and his posture was loving.
‘I don’t want anything, thank you,’ Emma said. ‘And I’m not a bit tired. In fact, I never felt better.’ She gave him a smile as fraudulently sweet as his had been. Extracting her arm ever so gently, she remarked, ‘I’ve been enjoying myself, standing here watching everyone. You’d be surprised what people reveal about themselves when they believe they’re unobserved.’ Her eyes were riveted to his face.
She waited.
He squirmed under her unflinching gaze, returned it, managed to keep his expression open and candid. But he laughed too quickly and too loudly as he said, ‘You are a card, Grandy.’
And possibly you’re the joker in the pack, Emma thought coldly. She said, ‘What’s wrong with Sarah? She’s being rather aloof with everyone, apart from you, of course.’
‘She’s not feeling well,’ he answered with swiftness. ‘Fighting a bad cold.’
‘She looks as fit as a fiddle to me,’ Emma observed dryly, throwing a rapid glance in Sarah’s direction.
Emma suddenly stepped back, moved away from Jonathan, and levelled her direct stare on him again. ‘Did you come up here together? And when did you arrive in Yorkshire?’
‘No, we came separately. Sarah by train last night. I drove up this morning.’ This was said steadily enough, and he smiled down at her.
Emma saw the faintest flicker of deceit in his light eyes. She studied his face briefly. Arthur Ainsley’s weak mouth, she thought. She said, ‘I’m glad Sarah has you to look after her today, Jonathan. It’s most kind of you.’
He said nothing, changed the subject by remarking, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to sit down, Grandmother?’
‘I suppose I might as well.’
He steered her across the room towards Charlotte and Natalie, and Emma smothered a laugh. So that’s where he thinks I belong, with the old ladies, she thought with some acerbity.
He saw her settled on the sofa, spoke briefly to his great-aunts, and disappeared, heading back to Sarah.
Emma watched him go, filled with sadness and disappointment. Too bad about Jonathan, she thought with resignation. He surely doesn’t realize it, but he’s as transparent as water. Just like his father. She had always seen right through Robin, and had been several jumps ahead of him all of his life, usually to his perpetual irritation and discomfort. Sighing, Emma pushed herself into the cushions and accepted a cup of tea offered by one of the waiters, then turned to her sisters-in-law. Natalie, Frank’s widow, was unusually garrulous this afternoon, and she soon dominated the conversation, caught up in an endless recital about her only child, Rosamund, who lived in Italy with her diplomat husband. Charlotte and Emma listened, eyeing each other with amusement from time to time, but Emma’s interest rapidly waned. She soon fell into her myriad thoughts.
Emma would never know what prompted her to suddenly put down her cup of tea, stand up, and swing around at the precise moment that she did. And later, when she thought about it in private, she was to wish she had remained seated.
But she did go through these motions, and found Shane O’Neill in her direct line of vision. He did not see her. He stood alone, leaning against the wall in the shadow of a tall Regency cabinet. There was an expression of such unadulterated love and aching yearning on his handsome face Emma had to stifle a gasp of surprise. His face was naked, utterly vulnerable, and it revealed the strongest and most powerful emotions a man could feel for a woman.
And it was Paula whom Shane was staring at with such concentrated intensity and longing.
Oh my God, Emma thought, dismay flooding through her. Her heart missed a beat. How well she knew that look on a man’s face. It signified passion and desire, the overwhelming urgency to possess absolutely. And forever.
But her granddaughter was oblivious to him. She was bending over the nursemaid who sat cradling Tessa, adjusting the child’s christening robe, cooing to her. Paula’s face was tender with a mother’s love and she was completely absorbed in the baby.
Emma
