Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

‘There will be a war in the Pacific, just as surely as there will be a war in Europe,’ Paul McGill said quietly. ‘The facts are incontrovertible. Japan industrialized late, as Germany did, and their success has shaped them both into arrogant, warlike nations with plans for world domination.’ He paused and drew on his cigarette. ‘I know I’m not wrong, Dan. America had better be prepared. Europe isn’t, unfortunately.’

Daniel P. Nelson, one of the most powerful men in the world, and grandson of the most famous of all the great robber barons, nodded thoughtfully. He smiled but his eyes were worried as he said, ‘I don’t doubt you, Paul. I’ve been saying the same thing for months. Told the President, only last week when I was at Hyde Park, that Japan has real aims in the Pacific. Has had since the twenties, to be accurate. Roosevelt’s not blind. He’s aware of the situation. On the other hand, this country’s still recovering from the Depression. Not unnaturally, his thoughts are focused on the domestic scene. There are still ten million unemployed here, Paul.’

‘Yes, I know. What worries me is that since Congress passed three neutrality acts a few years ago the prevailing attitude has been isolationist. It still is, I’m afraid. However, America can’t possibly remain neutral if Britain goes to war with Germany.’

Dan said, ‘But as far as Roosevelt’s concerned, I know he’s not an isolationist himself. I feel he will come to Britain’s aid if the necessity arises. We’ve been natural allies for more than a century, and he’s also aware he can’t let the West sink. But-enough of all this depressing talk of war. Emma is looking far too grave.’

‘I am concerned,’ Emma said, ‘as any informed person is today. My brother is a political writer in London, and he believes Hitler seeks global power and will stop at nothing to get it. Unfortunately, like his good friend Winston Churchill, Frank is patently ignored. When will the world open its eyes and see what is going on?’

Dan smiled faintly. ‘The prospect of another world war is frightening, my dear. There is a tendency to dismiss those with the vision to foresee onrushing disaster. The public has a bad habit of sticking its collective head in the sand, as do a great number of politicians.’

‘I suppose that’s human nature-the desire not to face such a terrible reality as war. But some of us must be prepared-’ She stopped short, as Paul caught her eye. Aware that he wished to discuss business with Dan Nelson, she murmured, ‘Well, I’ll leave you. If you will excuse me, I must attend to my other guests.’

The two men watched her glide across the drawing room, the white chiffon evening gown floating out behind her, the magnificent emeralds blazing at her throat and ears, on her arms and hands. Dan said, ‘I do believe Emma’s the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met. You’re a lucky man.’

‘I know,’ Paul replied. He turned his attention to Dan Nelson and went on, ‘I wanted to talk to you about my oil tankers and a couple of other rather pressing matters. I think we have time before we leave for the opera. Let’s step into the library.’ They slipped out discreetly.

As Emma circulated amongst the other guests assembled in their luxurious Fifth Avenue apartment, the thought of impending war nagged at the back of her mind. She had, only that morning, received a disturbing letter from Frank, who had just returned from a trip to Berlin. He had been full of dire predictions, and, trusting his judgement as she did, she knew he was not exaggerating. He had said Britain would be at war before the end of the year, and she believed him. She glanced at the three other men in the room. They also wielded immense international influence and their combined wealth added up to hundreds of billions of dollars. She saw that their eyes betrayed their fears, even though they, too, were making a show of conviviality that befitted the occasion. Yes, they knew that the world was on the brink of another holocaust. She thought of her two sons with a stab of apprehension. Both of them were eligible to be called up. Another generation of young men in their prime would be sacrificed to the war machine. Despite the warmth of the room she shivered and she thought then of Joe Lowther, and remembered the Great War and the havoc it had wreaked. Had the past twenty-one years been only an armed truce?

Later, when they were seated in their box at the Metropolitan Opera, Emma was temporarily distracted by the anticipation that pervaded the air. Her eyes swept over the opulent red-and-gold décor, took in the glittering beauty of the bejewelled women and the elegance of the men in their tails. And she thought how normal they all seemed, even carefree, as though they were oblivious to the gathering storm.

Emma glanced down at her programme, determined to enjoy the opera. It was from Blackie O’Neill that she had learned about music, and as the breathtaking theatrical spectacle unfolded on the stage she suddenly wished Blackie was here with them to share the experience. She began to relax, captivated by ‘Mignon’. Risë Stevens, the young mezzo-soprano who had made her debut two months before, was magnificent in the title role and at one moment her glorious voice so moved Emma she felt the rush of tears. What a gift that superb voice was. Emma was soon transported into a magical world of make-believe and she let herself be engulfed by the melodic arias, the performances of Risë Stevens and Ezio Pinza, the exquisite sets and costumes, and for several hours her worries were entirely forgotten.

Paul had invited their eight guests to Delmonico’s for dinner, and as they settled themselves at the table Emma looked across at Paul, endeavouring to assess his mood. Despite the grave conversation with Dan Nelson earlier, he now appeared to be unconcerned, and as always he was the expansive host, ordering Dom Pérignon and caviar, and beguiling everyone. He is the most brilliant and handsome man here, Emma thought with a flash of possessiveness. It was February 3, 1939. His birthday. He was fifty-nine years old, but he carried his years splendidly, and the wings of white in his black hair only served to emphasize his dashing appearance. His eyes had not lost their vivid blueness and the brows above were still the colour of jet, as was his moustache. There were deep lines around those eyes, but his tanned face was surprisingly free of wrinkles and his body was as firm and as muscular as it had been twenty years ago. Emma was always slightly stunned by the sheer physical size of him, the bulk of those wide shoulders and barrel chest. Tonight, in his white tie and tails, he had an aura of true glamour that was more electrifying than ever.

His eyes met hers and he winked, and then gave her that old appraising look she knew so well. Why, the devil’s flirting with me. And after all these years, she thought. She herself would be fifty in April. It hardly seemed possible. She had known Paul for twenty-one years, and they had been together on a permanent basis for sixteen of them. Sixteen incredible years. They had not always been easy years. Paul could be as authoritative and as self-willed as she was herself, and he often felt the need to assert himself forcefully. He was domineering, frequently bossy, and he had made it clear who wore the trousers in their household. She had learned to let him have his way in most things pertaining to their private lives, and he, in turn, was wise enough never to interfere in her business. Paul was also a flirt and he made no secret of the fact that he liked the ladies. Emma suspected he might have had other women when he travelled abroad alone, but he never gave her cause for heartache, or embarrassment, and she never doubted his devotion. Also, since she considered sexual jealousy a useless emotion, she rarely contemplated his infidelities, if indeed there were any. His passion for her had not lessened with time, and she knew she was a lucky woman.