everything he said was true, but even so she felt tensely anxious. She wanted to succeed at this interview, as much for Robert’s sake as her own. He had been the one to give her first ‘on screen’ chance when she came to Television South. He had helped and encouraged her giving her the self-confidence to project herself well. He was forty-five and a burly, dark-haired man with a pleasant sense of humour and a keenly ambitious drive. Emma liked and admired him, and knew that if she had not been the person she was, or if her liking and respect had been less strong she could quite easily have been persuaded into an affair with him.
She admired him for his faithfulness to his wife—a quiet, serene woman she had met on several occasions. The temptations in a job like his must be never-ending and yet from somewhere he found the strength to resist them. Emma liked that in him. Her own strong moral code was due more to her own inner beliefs than being a vicar’s daughter—their father had never tried to impose his faith on either her or Camilla; perhaps because she had had to grow up without a mother and be responsible for Camilla, Emma had formed her own moral code, based on her observations of life around her.
Her own self-respect was all important—without it she believed it was impossible for any human being to function properly. After all one had to live with oneself and her keenly honed ability to be self-critical was far sharper than any outside criticism she might have to face. An affair with a married man would be both messy and ultimately painful, but apart from that she could never feel completely comfortable in a relationship with someone else’s husband, and then there was always the nagging doubt that having been unfaithful to her, how could he be expected to stay faithful to a mere mistress … No … such a role was not for her. She was acutely distrustful of sexual attraction; people so often mistook it for ‘love’ with disastrous results. She herself had never met a man she wanted so intensely that the need to make love with him over-rode everything else. Camilla thought her cold, even frigid, Emma knew differently but she respected her body sufficiently to listen to what it told her; and it told her it would never be happy with anything less than the best.
She had had menfriends; often dating people who worked for the television company, but always terminating the relationship when it threatened to get too intense. She had the reputation of an ambitious career woman, but it didn’t worry her. Her career was important to her because it was a way of proving to herself her own ability but if she ever met a man who could fire both her emotions and her body; someone to whom she could give love and respect and who felt the same way about her, she suspected that all the energy she poured into her career would then go into her relationship with him. Sometimes the inner knowledge of her own intensity worried her; everyone thought she was so cool and controlled, but she didn’t have chestnut hair for nothing. Her emotions were there all right, it was just that she had learned young the wisdom of leashing them under her own control.
She gave her boss a brilliant smile. ‘I think everything’s under control … right down to a new outfit for the big occasion.’
She had chosen her interview outfit with care. It was a beautifully cut fine wool suit in a sludgy nondescript olive that was a perfect foil for her hair and skin. The jacket was tailored and workmanlike, the skirt slim with a provocative slit at the front and back, just long enough to give a glimpse of her long legs—the suit combined both provocation and discretion, and it had amused her to buy it, knowing as she did that it was a contradiction of itself. If nothing else it should keep them guessing she thought drily, trying to concentrate on everything that Robert was telling her.
When she got home that night there was a letter from Drake Harwood’s solicitors waiting for her. Mr Harwood was agreeable to seeing her, it told her. An appointment had been made on the day and at the time she had requested and that was a relief.
When she told Camilla, her sister pouted sulkily and complained that Emma was trying to make her feel guilty. ‘I’m trying to forget all about that …’ she told her, shuddering, ‘and now you’re trying to make me remember.’
‘I should have thought that was all too easy,’ Emma said drily, ‘especially when it involved a bill of several thousand pounds. Have you tried to talk to David about it.’
‘I can’t. He’d understand, but his mother wouldn’t. Do you know what she said to me today…?’
Emma closed her ears while Camilla set off on a long diatribe against David’s mother. The newly married couple were to make their home at the Manor with her. They were going to have their own wing, and Camilla was already planning how she would re-decorate and re-furnish it. If Mrs T. allowed her to have anything other than very traditional Colefax and Fowler plus assorted antiques, she would be very surprised, Emma thought, but kept her thoughts to herself. Camilla thought that by marrying David she was gaining the freedom to spend his money and buy herself all the things she had never had, but what she was really doing was entering a prison … However, it was her own choice.
She had decided to spend the night before her interview in London—that would save arriving there with her clothes all creased from the train journey. She had booked herself a room at a fairly inexpensive hotel. Her father was busy writing his sermon when she went to tell him she was going. He looked up and smiled at her. The Reverend Richard Court had a vague, appealing smile. There had been several female parishioners eager to step into her mother’s shoes, but he had managed to evade them all. Her father rather liked his bachelordom, Emma suspected. He had several friends at Oxford, dons with whom he spent long weekends re-living the days of their youth. He was also an avid reader. Outwardly gentle and mild, he possessed a core of inner steel. Emma suspected she had inherited from him. No one would ever persuade her father to do something he didn’t wish to do. In many ways he was extremely selfish, but he was so gentle and mild, that very few people realised it. He was kind though and extremely adept at distancing himself from arguments and trouble. He could always see both sides of an argument—something else she had inherited from him Emma thought.
‘I should be back tomorrow evening.’ Her interview with the TV people was in the morning and she was seeing Drake Harwood after lunch.
‘Camilla seems very anxious. I suppose it’s all this fuss over the wedding.’
‘She’ll make a lovely bride…’
‘Yes. Her one redeeming feature in Mrs T’s eyes, no doubt,’ he agreed, surprising Emma as he so often did by seeing what one had not believed that he had seen. ‘It’s lucky for her that she’s so malleable. Marriage to a man like David would never do for you Emma.’
‘No,’ she agreed with a smile, ‘I’m more likely to turn into another Mrs T.’
‘I don’t think so. No one could ever accuse you of being narrow-minded. I hope you get the job.’
Emma knew that he meant it, which was generous of him, because if she did she would have to find somewhere to live in London, and by removing herself from the vicarage she would deprive him of a housekeeper/secretary/general dogsbody. Being her father though, no doubt he would find someone else to take her place, with the minimum of fuss and inconvenience to himself.
She drove herself down to the station. It was only tiny and Joe the stationmaster promised to keep an eye on her car for her. ‘Hope you get the job,’ he told her, as he sold her her ticket. Everyone in the village probably knew why she was going to London—or at least thought they did. None of them knew of her appointment with Drake Harwood. It was ridiculous but she almost felt more apprehensive about that than she did about her interview for her new job.
The train arrived ten minutes late but was relatively empty. It took just over an hour and a half to reach London. Emma was both bored and stiff when it did. She allowed herself the extravagance of a taxi to her hotel, although she noticed that the driver looked less than impressed by its address. It seemed
