Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

‘You were just protecting yourself! You-you-lying tramp!’

Emma gaped at the eighteen-year-old girl sitting before her and she did not know what to do, or to say, to calm her, to deflect her obvious pain.

‘And what am I supposed to call myself, might I ask, Mother dear ? I don’t have a name, do I? Is it O’Neill? Or Harte, perhaps?’ Edwina sucked in her breath harshly and her eyes were metallic. ‘You are a lying, immoral bitch!’

Emma recoiled as if she had been slapped but she ignored the abusive remarks and took control of herself. ‘Your name is Lowther, Edwina. Joe adopted you and gave you his name.’

‘Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.’ Edwina rose and held out her hand. ‘I’ll have my birth certificate, since I went to so much trouble to get it.’ She grabbed it from Emma rudely. ‘I am leaving.’

Emma also rose. She took hold of Edwina’s arm but the girl snatched it away angrily. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed, and darted across the library.

‘Edwina, please sit down,’ Emma said quietly. ‘You are old enough to discuss this with me calmly and intelligently. In a sensible manner.’ Her voice took on a pleading note. ‘Please, darling. I know you are terribly upset and hurt, but let me explain. Please give me a chance to tell you-’

‘Nothing you have to say interests me. I’m leaving,’ Edwina rejoined.

‘Where are you going?’ Emma asked agitatedly, and stepped forward, stretching out her hand imploringly to her daughter. ‘Please, Edwina, don’t go. Let us talk this out. I want to make you understand, and then perhaps you will forgive me for hiding the truth. I had good reasons. I wanted to protect you. I only had your welfare at heart, my darling. I love you.’

Edwina gave Emma a scathing look and her voice was tinged with bitterness. ‘I told you I am not interested in your explanations.’ She drew herself up haughtily. ‘I am leaving this house and I will never set foot in it again.’

‘But, darling, you can’t leave! Where will you go?’ Emma’s throat ached with suppressed tears.

‘I am going to stay with Cousin Freda in Ripon for Christmas. After the holidays, I intend to go to finishing school in Switzerland. The one I asked you to send me to, but which you refused to consider. Please make the necessary arrangements now.’ Edwina smiled contemptuously. ‘You’re rich enough to pull all the right strings to get me in at this late date. I presume you will continue to pay my school tuition, Mother. And that you will not stop my allowance.’

‘How could you even think that?’ Emma cried. ‘I have never deprived you of anything and I never will. Please stay.’ Emma’s eyes brimmed and her voice was unsteady. ‘Don’t leave like this. Let us discuss-’

‘I have said all I want to say to you.’ Edwina stepped purposefully to the door. Her hand rested briefly on the knob. She turned and looked at Emma and her delicate face twisted. ‘I hate you, Mother! I never want to see you again as long as I live!’

The door slammed behind Edwina. Emma stared at it, her face crumpling, and she staggered into the nearest chair. She dropped her head into her hands and the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She had dreaded this day for years, had tried to avert this ugly confrontation. And now that it had finally happened she felt incapable of dealing with Edwina, who was so unbending. She had always known her daughter would react violently, just as she had always known she would lose Edwina’s affection, scant as it was, when the truth was revealed. Edwina had never had any deep feelings for her. Edwina had loved only Joe and Freda. All the devotion and tenderness she had showered on her firstborn had fallen on stony ground. Edwina had rejected her, even as a small child. She wondered suddenly if she should go and tell Edwina who her real father was. But that would not assuage Edwina’s pain and terrible humiliation. She would still be illegitimate. It was better to let matters rest for the moment. A jumble of painful memories and stark images danced around in her head. She thought of her struggles, the sacrifices she had made, the fears and humiliations she had experienced. And she thought, too, of all she had done to shield Edwina. Had it all been for nothing? Surely not. Besides, she had not known what else to do, and she had done her best.

Emma wiped the tears from her face, and her inherent optimism surfaced. Perhaps in a few weeks, when Edwina was calmer, there would be a chance for a reconciliation. This new thought cheered her and she hurried upstairs. She would persuade Edwina to meet with her after Christmas, beg her to do so if necessary, and surely somehow they could reach an understanding. But to Emma’s dismay the girl was nowhere to be found. Emma stood in the centre of Edwina’s room, staring at the open armoire where empty coat hangers told their own story. She crossed to the window, looking down into the driveway. The Rolls had disappeared. Edwina had obviously asked the chauffeur to take her to the railway station. Emma pressed her throbbing head against the windowpane and she knew, with a terrible sinking feeling, that there never would be a reconciliation. Her daughter was lost to her.

She turned away, her face ashen and troubled, and walked with leaden steps into her own bedroom. She must speak to Blackie. She reached for the phone and then her hand fell away. He was in Ireland until next week, which would be soon enough to break the news. Emma sat down wearily, overcome by a sense of loss. And her heart ached for Edwina, who was suffering such agonies, and she longed to comfort her.

Eventually Emma stood up, pulling herself together with effort, and went into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on to her aching face and her swollen eyes, and redid her makeup. When she was sufficiently composed, Emma telephoned Arthur at the office. ‘Are you coming home for dinner tonight?’ she asked quietly when he came to the phone.

Arthur was taken aback. ‘No. Why?’ he asked in his usual peremptory tone.

‘I must see you, Arthur. It’s rather urgent, actually, since I am leaving London tomorrow. I won’t take up much of your time. Just half an hour at the most.’

‘Well-all right,’ he acquiesced grudgingly, although more from curiosity than a desire to please her. ‘I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’

‘Thank you, Arthur.’ Emma hung up and went downstairs to wait for her husband.

When Arthur entered the library a little later he gave her a guarded look and said, ‘What’s ruffled your feathers? You look bloody awful.’ He poured himself a drink and carried it to the fireplace. He sat down opposite Emma and scrutinized her with great interest. ‘What’s wrong?’

Emma said, ‘Arthur, I have something important to tell you.’

‘Go ahead, my dear. I’m all ears.’

‘I’m going to have a baby,’ Emma said evenly.

Arthur had the drink in his hand halfway to his mouth and for once in his life it did not reach its destination. He banged it down unsteadily and gawped at her, for a moment nonplussed. And then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh my God! That’s rich! Little Miss Goody Two-shoes has finally taken a lover. He must be a brave man indeed to want to tango with you!’ he cried. ‘And who’s the lucky fellow?’

‘I have no intention of telling you that, Arthur. I merely wanted you to know that I am almost four months pregnant. I am going to have the child, and you will recognize it as yours.’

‘You don’t think I’m going to give some bastard my name, do you? That’s preposterous. I shall divorce you immediately, Emma.’

‘I don’t think you will, Arthur.’ Emma fixed her cool gaze on him and smiled faintly. ‘I don’t want a divorce. At least, not at this moment. And neither do you.’