cigars stinking it all to bits.’
Her father laughed and folded his newspapers as he sat back in his armchair. Emily was a bit worried he was looking thinner than usual, his moustache showing traces of silver in the chestnut, and she wondered if Mary was right that work was not everything. Maybe her father could use a holiday, to Cannes or Portofino, some place warm. She did worry about his health and she knew that this caused many of his worries for her, for who would take care of her one day.
‘It was a brilliant idea,’ he said. ‘Cafés in department stores, it’s sure to catch on. In fact, that is something of what I wanted to talk to you about, my dear.’
‘The cafés?’
‘Paris. I had a note from Mr Gordston asking if we could have a meeting soon, to talk about the possible expansion.’
‘Really? I thought the Gordstons were not in the city now. My last letter from Alex was from their country chateau outside Versailles.’ She smiled to think of Alex and how happy she was now with her department-store millionaire husband, adored and pampered, just as she deserved. Emily rather envied her.
‘Yes, it seems they don’t plan to make it back to England any time very soon and I am so caught up in that business with the new spice company out of Madras. I was thinking you could go to Paris in my place. You did such a grand job last year.’
Go back to Paris? Where she’d last seen Chris? Last did such a foolish thing and kissed him in the maze at Lady Rippon’s garden party? Emily turned away as she felt her cheeks turn hot.
Her first instinct was to say no. Paris had such an intoxicating effect on her. But Gordston’s business was very important. And she had heard that Chris was still gadding about the Continent somewhere, doing who knew what. Perhaps he was in Austria with Will and Diana. She would surely not even see him in Paris again.
The butler announced dinner before she could answer and she took her father’s arm to make their way towards the dining room. She glimpsed her mother’s portrait, as she did every night, hanging near the doorway. Maude Fortescue smiled down at her husband and daughter serenely, always young, always perfect. How Emily wished she could ask her advice now!
But she could not. She never could. Growing up without a mother had made her keep her own counsel, find her advice in books and from her friends. That couldn’t change now. But Alex and Diana’s marriages, the way they did something different from most of the women in their world, made her wonder if there could be a way for her, too. Probably not. Will and Malcolm were unique husbands.
The dining room was a grand space, meant for entertaining and impressing business associates. With a long, polished mahogany table lined with blue-and-white-striped satin chairs, the silk-papered walls lined with valuable Old Masters, the sideboard gleaming with silver, it spoke quietly of her father’s success and good taste. But with only herself and her father at dinner, it seemed full of shadows, echoing, empty.
But two places were arranged at one end of the vast table, a cosy oasis of candlelight glowing on the Wedgwood porcelain, the heavy old silver. Their own cosy world, made just for themselves. What would she do one day when there was only one place laid at her table?
‘How lovely it is to get to spend the evening with my beautiful daughter,’ her father said as the footman ladled out the salmon bisque. ‘It is much too rare. You’ve become quite the social butterfly lately!’
Emily laughed. Parties were one way to outrun herself, to be sure. ‘You are the one who always taught me the value of connections, Father. I’m finding future customers wherever I go. You are no slouch in that direction, either. Were you not at the Criterion with Lady Musgrave’s party last week? I am sure I read about it in the paper.’
Albert’s cheeks flushed just a bit above his silvering whiskers and Emily wondered if there was more to the contact with Lady Musgrave than a visit to the theatre and a restaurant. She certainly was a handsome lady, widowed and energetic and cultured. Maybe that was the sort of rest her father needed? A new companion? Where would Emily’s place be, then? Yet she would love her father to find a friend.
‘You are quite right, my dear,’ he said. ‘Connections are all. And Lady Musgrave does serve the best wine in town, her cellar is beyond excellent. I should see about selling her a few cases.’
Emily laughed. ‘See? Always working. But, yes, it is very nice to have a dinner to ourselves.’
The footman brought in the fish course, a trout in lemon sauce. ‘Perhaps a hand of piquet after?’
‘I have to go out after dinner.’
Her father chuckled. ‘Another dance?’
‘Not at all. A meeting of the Women’s Franchise League.’
His laughter turned to a doubtful frown. ‘Not Mrs Hurst’s group?’
‘Yes, of course, Father. She is the president of the League. You know I go every month. It’s most fascinating and her speakers always have such excellent arguments to make.’
‘Emily, I do wish you would not associate with people of such radical and dangerous ideas,’ he scolded. ‘It’s dangerous.’
Emily sighed. They had indeed had such conversations before. She knew her father did not think her or any other educated woman incapable of voting; she knew he had supported the measure quite wholeheartedly when women householders were given the vote in local elections and two were even voted on to the London County Council in 1889. But he disliked tales of riots and arrests at meetings of union leaders and worried such things could happen with the League, as well. It was one of the reasons he was always trying to find a good husband for her, a son-in-law to take care of her and keep her away from such ‘radical’ interests.
But Emily liked what she heard at the meetings, liked not being dismissed for her brains and ambition. She had to believe her mother would have agreed, as well.
‘Oh, Father, I know you do not believe women making their own decisions for their own lives to be radical,’ she said. ‘Have I not done a fine job with you in the business? Have I not a brain and ideas, useful things to offer the world, just like anyone else?’
Her father gave her a gentle smile. ‘I could not have done without you these last few years, Emily, and you know that is true. You’re a natural at the business, my own daughter, but you are your mother’s daughter, as well. I’m afraid I have not reminded you of that often enough.’
‘Oh, Father,’ Emily said softly. ‘I do think of Mama so often. But whatever do you mean?’
‘I mean, you have her kind heart as well as her beauty. You should have your own family to appreciate that.’ It was an argument he made often and one she knew came from his heart.
Emily stared down hard at her plate, trying to swallow past the knot in her throat. Trying not to think about why she had vowed not to marry. ‘You know I don’t wish to wed anyone. Not right now, anyway.’
‘I know you have said that. And it’s quite true I know of no man worthy of my lovely daughter. But there must be someone, someone strong and intelligent and kind, who could possibly come into the business with us.’ He reached out and gently touched her hand. ‘I’m not a young man, Emily. I want to leave everything in capable hands—and not leave you alone.’
‘Oh,
