A Woman of Substance (63 page)

Joe stood up, determined not to dwell on Mrs Minton’s accusations. He would go and see Emma right away and tell her that Mrs Minton was about to vacate the premises. Emma could now have her third shop. Although she had never said a word to Joe, he knew that she had been angling for it for some time. It made sense, he had to admit that. With Mrs Minton gone Emma could indeed expand and the three adjoining shops would be like the department store she envisioned owning one day. He caught sight of the clock. It was well turned nine. He shrugged. To hell with the neighbours. I don’t care what they believe. He went upstairs to put on a clean shirt.

Emma stood in the middle of the food shop and surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. Everything looked beautiful, she decided, and it certainly had been well worth getting up at four-thirty that morning to create her special displays for Christmas. Her keen eyes spotted a particle of dust on one of the glass cabinets and she flew over with a cloth. She flicked it off and stood back scanning the cabinets that sparkled in the bright light from the gas fixtures on the walls. Now they were absolutely perfect and nothing marred their pristine glitter. The food inside looked delectable. There were Christmas cakes topped with almonds; round fat plum puddings wrapped in fresh muslin, each one tied with a gay red ribbon; a selection of mince pies of various sizes; and yule logs made of sponge cake, thickly coated with rich dark chocolate and decorated with sprigs of marzipan mistletoe. Emma, assisted by the Long girls, had spent endless hours baking all of this seasonal fare but she knew her industriousness would be rewarded. Every item would be sold, along with the additional supplies stored in large tins in the cool cellar.

Emma smoothed the fresh white cloth on the table in front of the glass food cabinets and regarded her arrangement of foreign imports, delicacies she had purchased for the holiday
season and which no other shop in Armley carried. She moved a blue-and-white china crock of crystallized ginger so that the French glazed fruits and the Turkish delight were easily visible, and deftly straightened the boxes of Egyptian dates and figs from Greece. She then hurried behind the counter and returned with a tray of small straw baskets containing marzipan fruits and jolly little pigs, which had arrived yesterday from Germany. The night before, Emma had lined the baskets with strips of crinkled green paper, and tied red bows on the handles. She was heavily stocked, but she anticipated a brisk business in the next few days. This was her third Christmas in the shop, and she was now so well established in the district she had no qualms about sales. She was convinced she would be inundated with customers, both her regulars and new ones.

Emma gave the shop a final glance, her eyes critically seeking out the tiniest imperfection. Not one was visible. The innumerable shelves, running around the walls and soaring up to the ceiling, held tins of ham, pork, and game, great blackand-gold canisters of varied teas, all manner of other staples, and her own bottled fruits, vegetables, and jams. Ranged below were jars of candied peel, glazed cherries, mincemeat, and cranberry and apple sauces for the Christmas turkeys and geese. Three huge barrels, to the right of the side counter, were filled to overflowing with nuts, apples, and oranges for the children’s traditional Christmas stockings, and the faint aroma of fruit wafted sweetly on the air to blend with the mingled scents of the pungent herbs and spices from the Indies, the fragrance of the newly baked confectionery, and the mouth-watering smells of cheeses and cooked meats. Oh, how she loved her shop! Here she was secure, far away from the Fairleys and protected from them. She thought, too, and with enormous pleasure, of the forthcoming sales and her spiralling profits, and her face immediately broke into a smile.

Now Emma crossed to the door, pulled up the blinds, and drew back the bolts in readiness for her first customers. These would undoubtedly be the cooks and housekeepers from the fine mansions, who usually came trooping in early in the day to place their orders. Emma hoped their shopping lists would be
longer than ever this week.

As the clock struck eight Emma took up her usual position behind the counter, seating herself on a stool next to the paraffin stove. She bent down and opened a cupboard, taking out the ledger for the haberdashery. In the year she had been renting Joe Lowther’s second shop business had far exceeded her wildest dreams. Laura, whom she had persuaded to manage it for her, had proved to be both capable and efficient, and sales had doubled in the first six months. Emma perused the columns of those beautiful figures and sighed in gratification and relief. Edwina’s future and her own were now assured.

The tinkling of the bell brought Emma’s head up sharply and she put the ledger away and locked the cupboard. She stood up, smiling at the woman entering. It was the housekeeper from one of the fine residences in the elegant and exclusive row known as the Towers. ‘Good morning, Mrs Jackson,’ Emma said. ‘You’re out bright and early.’

‘Morning to you, Mrs Harte. By gum, it’s nippy today. I’m glad to be in your lovely warm shop. I don’t know why the other shopkeepers don’t follow your example and heat up their premises.’ Mrs Jackson shivered as she approached the counter with two large baskets. ‘I thought I’d best get my order in first thing, though I won’t be sending the gardener’s lad for it till later in the week.’ She handed over the baskets and sat down on the stool at the other side of the counter

Emma stowed the baskets away and said, ‘Can I offer you a cup of nice hot tea, Mrs Jackson?’

The woman’s face, white and pinched from the freezing weather, lit up. ‘You can that, luv, if it’s no trouble. It was a right frosty walk down Town Street, I can tell you.’

Emma always kept a huge pot of tea prepared in the cold weather, which she dispensed generously to her clientele. She had discovered that a little hospitality cost nothing and paid enormous dividends. She lifted the pot from the table next to the stove, adjusted the tea cosy and poured the tea. ‘Milk and sugar, isn’t it, Mrs Jackson? And how’s your little Freddy doing? Has he recovered from the measles?’ Emma asked. She made a point of knowing about her customers’ children and
husbands, and their aches and pains, and she was always ready to offer a sympathetic ear.

Mrs Jackson accepted the tea, beaming with delight. ‘Well, isn’t that nice of you to remember Freddy. He’ll be up and about for Christmas.’ She opened her handbag and took out a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my list, Mrs Harte. I think it’s complete, but I’ll have a look round, if you don’t mind and—’ Mrs Jackson paused midsentence. The bell was tinkling and the door opened.

Emma’s face broke into a surprised but delighted smile. ‘Blackie!’ she exclaimed, ‘I didn’t expect you until tonight.’

‘Top of the morning to ye, Emma, and to ye, ma’am,’ Blackie responded cheerily, inclining his head in Mrs Jackson’s direction. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing ye, Emma.’

‘No, not at all. Come around the counter and help yourself to some tea, while I finish with Mrs Jackson,’ said Emma, turning her attention to her customer. She looked over the list quickly. ‘Yes, everything seems clear, Mrs Jackson. Still, perhaps you should—’ Emma paused and gave the housekeeper a thoughtful look. ‘I wonder if you should take some extra mince pies and yule logs. You know how the children love them, and it is a long holiday season this year. To be honest with you, I have a large number of orders to meet. I can’t promise there will be much left at the end of the week, if you did decide you wanted more.’

‘Ooh, I hadn’t thought of that. Well, perhaps you’d better increase it. I don’t want the missis upset with me. Make it three more of each and pop in another Christmas cake as well,’ said Mrs Jackson. Her eyes caught the display of imports and she walked over to the table, carrying her mug of tea. ‘By gum, these look real fancy.’ She examined a box of Turkish delight and read out Emma’s carefully lettered card. ‘Exclusive to Harte’s. Supply limited.’

Emma pretended to check the shopping list, watching Mrs Jackson from beneath her lashes. She had chosen those words deliberately last night, knowing they would appeal to her customers’ snobbishness.

Mrs Jackson continued to look over the foreign sweetmeats and then said, ‘I’m not so sure about any of these. They look
interesting, but maybe they’re just a bit too fancy for my missis.’

‘Oh, do you think so, Mrs Jackson? I’ve always found the gentry to be partial to such delicacies,’ Emma said pointedly. ‘Actually, I’m sorry I didn’t order more. Those items are going like wildfire. Why, only yesterday, one of the cooks from the Towers asked me to save her two of everything,’ she improvised swiftly. ‘Still, I realize they are a little expensive.’

Mrs Jackson gave Emma a sharp look. ‘My missis isn’t concerned about the price of anything, Mrs Harte,’ she said defensively. ‘I’ll take
three
of everything!’

Emma smiled. She had learned to take advantage of the competitiveness between the local cooks and housekeepers, who were always trying to better each other. ‘Very good, Mrs Jackson. I’ll make a note and put them away immediately.’

Mrs Jackson’s eyes roved over the shelves behind Emma. ‘While you’re at it, you’d best add a tin of that imported ham and four bottles of your chutney to my list.
My
lady’s expecting a lot of
posh
guests over the holidays. It’s wise to be prepared.’

‘Yes, that’s true. And you can always send the gardener’s boy down later in the week, if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. You know I’ll always do my best for
you
, Mrs Jackson.’

The housekeeper preened. ‘It’s nice to know I’m a favoured customer, Mrs Harte. I know I can rely on you. Now, do you think I’ve missed anything off the list, being as how you know so much about catering? I do want the missis to be pleased with my menus for the holidays.’

Emma made a show of thinking hard. ‘I would add two tins of pork and three jars of apple sauce, if I were you. For emergencies. And perhaps a selection of cheeses to go with the Christmas cakes. Leave it to me, Mrs Jackson. I’ll pick out the very best of my cheeses, and perhaps a couple of other items.’

Mrs Jackson placed the mug on the counter, looking as if Emma had just done her an enormous favour. ‘Thank you, Mrs Harte. It’s thoughtful of you to take so much trouble for me. I must say, you’ve made my life easier since you’ve been in Town Street. I don’t have to do so much cooking these days.
Well, I must be on me way. Merry Christmas to you, luv.’ She paused at the door and waved.

‘Merry Christmas, Mrs Jackson. And remember, don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll see your order is filled exactly,’ Emma called after her.

‘I bet you will,’ Blackie said with a grin as he came around the counter and lowered himself on to the stool Mrs Jackson had vacated. ‘Ye could sell coal to the natives in darkest Africa. I’ve never seen anything like it, Emma. Why, ye must have doubled that poor woman’s order.’

‘Tripled it,’ said Emma with a smug little smile.

Blackie shook his head and adopted a serious expression. ‘Well, Emma, I just stopped by to pay me condolences to ye.’

‘Condolences?’

‘Aye, I understand ye sailor husband passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago. Died of typhoid fever in the Indian Ocean, so I be hearing. How very sad.’ He threw back that great head and roared. Emma laughed with him. ‘My God, Emma, what an imagination ye have. It’s ye who should be an aspiring writer and not Frank. Typhoid fever in the Indian Ocean indeed!’

‘Well, I had to kill him off,’ Emma said. ‘It was becoming a real nuisance—having a husband. Even one who had deserted me. I thought it was best to have him die far away and be buried at sea.’

Blackie chuckled. ‘True. True.’ He eyed her red wool dress. ‘I can see ye are not in mourning.’

‘My friends wouldn’t expect me to wear black for a man who deserted me, now would they? I suppose Laura told you.’

‘That she did. She said ye had received a letter from the Admiralty the other morning. Ye certainly lay it on thick, don’t ye?’

‘I had to make it sound authentic, Blackie. They were only white lies. I can tell the truth from now on.’

‘Oh, ye can, can ye?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Emma said firmly. ‘But not about Edwina. We have to protect her at all costs. Nobody must know that she’s illegitimate, Blackie.’

‘I won’t be betraying ye, mavourneen. Ye know that. By
the way, I saw David Kallinski yesterday. I went to look over the factory, so I can make me plans for the alterations. I hope ye don’t mind, but I told him about ye husband passing on.’

‘Oh! What did he say?’ she asked cautiously.

‘He said he was sorry. But to me he looked like a man who’d just inherited a million pounds.’ Blackie scrutinized her carefully. ‘What’s going on between the two of ye, Emma?’

‘Why, nothing,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m his business partner, that’s all.’

‘Oh, aye,’ said Blackie thoughtfully. ‘Well, it strikes me he thinks otherwise.’

‘Stuff and nonsense. It’s your Celtic imagination getting the better of you. Yours is a sight more vivid than even Frank’s.’

Blackie did not reply. He reached into his overcoat, pulled out a sheaf of papers, and handed them to Emma. ‘Here are the plans for renovating the middle shop and then joining all three together like ye wanted, mavourneen. I aim to go into Mrs Minton’s on either side. That is, from the haberdashery and through that wall over there. I’ll make a sort of passage that links all three. How does that sound?’

‘Wonderful, Blackie! You know I trust your judgement. I’ll look at the plans tonight. When will you start?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Knowing ye, I suppose ye’d like me to start immediately, but it’ll have to be after Christmas, Emma. We’ll do a fast job, though, and ye’ll be in the shop by the middle of January.’

David Kallinski leaned back against the sofa in the kitchen-parlour behind Emma’s food shop and thoughtfully regarded the last of her sketches. He held it away from him, his eyes narrowing perceptively.

As he continued to gaze at it David experienced a flash of excitement and his hands tightened on the drawing. If anything, her designs for their winter collection were even more striking than her summer outfits. They were superb, in fact. The lines were understated and elegant, balanced by fine detailing, and she had cleverly combined the colours for wholly different effects. Her colour sense was extraordinary, even if it was a little daring. Only Emma could have conceived of such unusual mixtures—burgundy trimmed with bright pink, navy blue highlighted with apple green, vivid cyclamen flashed with lilac, and, on the other side of the spectrum, a mélange of rich autumnal tones enlivened by pure white, misty greys, and blues combined with violet, plus fir green sparked with rose. And they all worked beautifully together. Not only that, because of the simplicity of their basic construction, their clean lines and general lack of fussiness, her creations were ideal for the mass-manufacturing techniques he was employing at the factory.

David smiled with pleasure and pride in Emma. He did not know where her artistic gifts sprang from, but they were indisputable and her taste was matchless, her flair unrivalled. He had long come to recognize, and with not a little wonder, that Emma possessed natural genius. There was no other term appropriate to describe her incredible talent and, coupled with her prodigious energy, it made her formidable. Apart from her brilliance as a designer, she had an innate understanding of the public’s whims, an uncanny knack of discerning ahead of time what they wanted and, more importantly, what they would buy. It was as if she had a daemon telling her things, and all of her ventures were instantaneous successes. David suspected that Emma Harte would make money at whatever she decided to turn her hand to, for her touch was golden. Both he and his father had been staggered at her total grasp of financial matters and her capacity for structuring complex monetary schemes, all of which stood up to their accountant’s scrutiny and won his astonished approval. She read a balance sheet the way other people read a newspaper and she could pinpoint its flaws and its virtues in a matter of minutes. She was only just twenty-one and already she was scaling ambition’s ladder with the swiftest
and most determined of steps. It seemed to David that nothing could hold her back—it would have been like trying to harness lightning, he had long ago decided. She continually managed to amaze him and he dare not speculate where she would be in ten years’ time. At the top of that ladder, he conjectured, and the prospects were dizzying.

David placed the sketch with the others and lit a cigarette. Things were proceeding on schedule and exactly as he had planned. He had been in business for four months, with Emma and Joe Lowther as his partners. Emma also acted as the designer and stylist, and his brother, Victor, was the factory manager. In one month David would be twenty-five, and he had no doubts whatsoever about the future of the Kallinski Clothing Company, or his own destiny. He intended to be a rich and important member of the community; and the whole of Leeds, indeed if not Yorkshire, would take notice of him one day. That was a promise he had made to himself years ago and he had every intention of keeping that promise.

David had launched into business on his own with flair, assurance, and aggressiveness and it had been a fortuitous start. At the initial showing of the summer collection, the first samples had been received with enthusiasm by the buyers from the big emporiums in Leeds, Bradford, Sheffield, and Manchester, who had fortunately followed up their accolades with surprisingly large orders. The tremendous energy that Emma, Victor, and he had expended, and the long hours they had put in to get the first collection under way, had certainly been justified.

David could not resist shuffling through the sketches once more. He spread them out on the floor and his excitement was barely contained. Yes, by God, she had done it again! This new line could not be bettered by any other manufacturer in Leeds, or even London for that matter. He was absolutely confident that after the winter showing the orders would be huge. He had heady visions of tripling the amount of business he would do in the next few months, for, like Emma, David Kallinski was a born salesman—charming, suave, and utterly dedicated to business.

Emma interrupted his thoughts as she came into the room
carrying a steak-and-kidney pie from the storage cellar. David looked up and caught his breath. She had changed into one of their samples and it was enormously becoming to her. Although the style of the dress was not particularly revealing, being tailored and dignified, the fine wool clung to her lovely figure, gently outlining the high curve of her breasts, the rounded smoothness of her thighs, and the length of her graceful legs. The dress was of a dark bottle green and this colour served to emphasize the brilliance of her eyes and the translucency of her skin. He noticed she had done something different with that magnificent and abundant hair. It was pulled back as always, so that the widow’s peak was highly visible, but she had brushed it loose for once and then captured the thick tresses in a dark green net, a sort of snood topped by a small green velvet bow. The netted russet hair fell to her shoulders and framed her incomparable face and it gave her an innocent look. She’s the the most alluring creature in the world, David thought wonderingly.

Uncomfortably aware of his prolonged examination of her, Emma halted, frowning. ‘Don’t you like the designs, David?’ she asked, misunderstanding the expression on his face.

‘Good God, yes!’ he cried. ‘They’re excellent, Emma. No, that’s an understatement. They’re outstanding. You’ve done a fantastic job. Truly.’

Emma smiled. ‘Don’t exaggerate,’ she demurred, but she sighed with relief. After she had placed the pie in the oven, she glided over and sat on the floor at his feet, her back to the fire. She sorted through the sketches, expounding quickly on each one, her face revealing her zeal. She suggested minor changes to some of the designs, explained her ideas on the cutting and manufacturing processes most suitable, and volunteered her thoughts about costing. When they had first started, Emma had applied strict cost accounting to every phase of manufacturing and because of this they would be able to produce more for less than their competitors. She reiterated those points and David leaned forward, eagerness washing over his fine young face. He listened carefully, making mental notes of everything she said. Her advice had proved to be sound, and he always followed it.

When Emma had finished, David said, ‘There’s only one
thing we didn’t think about—a name for the line. We must come up with one immediately, because I’ve already put the summer collection into production and I must order the labels. I don’t think Kallinski Clothes is a very exciting name, do you?’

Emma looked up quickly. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she hesitated before saying, ‘Not really. It’s not—well—it’s not very feminine, David. But I don’t have any ideas. Why don’t you ask Victor? He’s very bright about such things.’

David broke into a grin. ‘I guessed you’d suggest that and so I did already. Victor came up with one name this afternoon. I sort of like it, though I’m not sure that you will approve. He suggested we use the name of your famous namesake.’

‘My famous namesake? Who on earth does he mean? I didn’t know I had one.’

‘I didn’t know either, I’m ashamed to admit. Just goes to show how ignorant we are. He meant the first Emma Hart. That’s Hart without the
e.
’

Undisguised curiosity flickered on to Emma’s face. ‘The first Emma Hart,’ she echoed. ‘Who is she?’

‘The first Emma Hart was quite a famous lady, or infamous, depending on how you look at it. Let me explain. Your namesake married Sir William Hamilton and became Lady Hamilton.
That’s
the name Victor suggested we adopt.’ David laughed at her bewilderment. ‘Emma Hart was Nelson’s Lady Hamilton. His great love. His mistress. His bequest to the nation in his renowned will, so Victor tells me. Don’t you remember your history books, my girl?’ he teased.

‘Oh,
that
Lady Hamilton! Mmmmm. It’s not a bad name actually. Not bad at all,’ she mused. ‘Rather distinguished, when you think about it. Lady Hamilton Dresses. No, since We are making suits and coats as well, it would have to be Lady Hamilton Clothes, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes, it would. Do you really like it, Emma? To be honest with you, I took to it at once, but I wanted to discuss it with you before I had the labels made. What do you say?’

Emma pondered, repeating the name in her head. It did have a catchy ring to it and it was rather classy. She remembered that Nelson was Winston’s great naval hero. Perhaps this was a good omen. Maybe the name would be lucky. ‘Yes, I do like it!
Let’s use it, David.’

‘What about Joe? Shouldn’t we ask his opinion?’

‘Good heavens, David, surely you know Joe will approve of anything we suggest. You don’t have to worry about
him.
’ She laughed. ‘What would we do without Victor? We’re such a couple of illiterates, aren’t we?’

‘Perhaps we are, but we know how to make money, Anyway, how about a spot of sherry to celebrate selecting the name?’ David stood up, bending over Emma. He offered her his outstretched hands and helped her up off the floor.

As Emma rose she lifted her head and smiled into David’s face. Their eyes met and held. They stared at each other for a suspended moment, unable to look away, bright blue gaze impaled on one of vivid green. Emma felt an internal quivering, as she always did these days whenever David touched her. A flush rose to her face, and her heart began to pound unreasonably. She continued to stare into his adoring face, hypnotized by that sapphire blaze so full of yearning.

Long aware of her hesitancy and reserve, David moved swiftly. He pulled her into his arms, his mouth seeking hers. His lips touched her lips and he parted them gently but firmly. Emma felt the warm sweetness of his tongue and her senses overwhelmed her. Her fingers flew to the back of his head involuntarily and ran through his crisp black hair, and it was as if her touch was a firebrand. David held her closer to him, his strong hands sliding down over her shoulders to the small of her back. His palms pressed her slender body into his own muscular one and, as his embrace tightened, Emma felt the rise of his own desire against her thigh. It had been like this for several weeks now—the kissing, the touching, the ardent glances. Every time they were alone together they were both engulfed by a consciousness of their bodies straining for fulfilment in each other.

David assaulted Emma’s emotions in a way that made her breathless and reeling. Her latent ardour, only tentatively and fleetingly awakened years before and then submerged, was surfacing with increasing persistency when David kissed her and held her in his arms. Emma trembled with a mixture of apprehension and alarm, old familiars that constantly assailed
her in his presence. She tried to fight her clamouring feelings, but her mind floundered and she gave herself up to his sensual kisses.

They gravitated to the sofa without releasing their hold on each other and fell on to it. David bent over Emma, his eyes locked on hers and brimming with longing. His image filled her vision until she was lost in it, and she closed her eyes. David stroked her face and kissed her eyelids, her forehead, and her lips. Very carefully, he untied the green velvet bow and removed the net so that her hair was released in a cascade over her shoulders. He ran his hand through it, marvelling at her beauty and the fervency of the passion she aroused in him. He burned to possess her fully, and he knew he would never let her go.

David’s vivid eyes roved over her body, lying so languorous on the sofa, and he was unable to restrain himself further. He began to caress her face, her neck, her shoulders, and her breasts, and a choking sensation filled his throat when her nipples hardened under his touch through the fine fabric of the dress. His desire spiralled into an exquisite pain that was almost unendurable.

Emma opened her eyes and she saw a fleeting flash of anguish smudge out the blueness of his eyes so that they became dark and intense. David moved closer to her and gripped her shoulders, and his mouth was demanding and hard on hers. He covered her body with his own, pressing down on her, and Emma rejoiced in the weight of him.

His voice was rasping in the hollow of her neck. ‘Oh, Emma! Emma, darling! I can’t stand this!’

‘I know, David, I know,’ she murmured. She smoothed his darkly curling hair and held his head against her breast, cradling him in her arms. Her hand stroked his broad shoulders and a cry of longing trembled on her lips. She bent her head and rested it on his and her hair drifted down around them like a silken veil. A long sigh rippled through her and she acknowledged that she loved David Kallinski and wanted him for herself, for the rest of her life, but her natural rectitude, coupled with her terrible fear of the consequences of sexual intimacy out of wedlock, would not permit her to succumb to
her overwhelming emotions. It was not that she did not trust David. She did. She knew he would never betray her. He was no Edwin Fairley. And yet she bit down on those insistent desires, stifling them, and finally she denied him in her mind if not in her heart.

Very quietly Emma whispered into his hair, ‘We have to stop this, David. It’s getting worse every time, and it’s not fair to you. We must not let the situation get out of hand.’ She pushed him away from her with the utmost gentleness and sat up, dizzy and shaking.

David leaned back against the sofa and picked up a strand of her hair. He kissed it and then let it fall. He half smiled. ‘Emma, I love you so much. Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you. Ever.’

Emma flinched at this deadly echo from the past. ‘I’m not afraid of you, David,’ she answered quietly. ‘I’m afraid of myself when I’m with you like this and what might happen when we get so—so—’