Emma’s Secret (38 page)

A moment later Winston came and stood with their group. Placing an arm around Emma’s shoulders, Winston whispered, ‘That’s the one thing I miss, Emm. Dancing. I used to love it so before I lost my leg.’

Slipping her arm through his, she whispered, ‘Yes, I know. But let’s just remember that if you hadn’t had it off when you did you wouldn’t be alive.’

‘That’s true.’ Winston was staring at Glynnis and Robin on the dance floor together, and he suddenly said, ‘She’s turned out to be the best secretary you’ve ever had, hasn’t she?’

‘Indeed she has,’ Emma answered and then laughed, as she watched an American flyer cut in on Robin, who had no option but to relinquish Glynnis. Her son loped over and exclaimed, ‘Why are you standing, Mother, let’s all sit down, shall we?’ He pulled out a chair for Emma and they all seated themselves at a table near the edge of the dance floor.

Jack Field was standing at the gramophone now, and he changed the record this time. The strains of Glenn Miller’s band playing
Fools Rush In
floated into the air, and Emma leaned back in the chair, her mind on Paul McGill. She had not ceased to miss him, and now she felt a pang in her heart, understanding at this moment that there would never be another man in her life. Paul had been her great love, and would remain so always.

When the music stopped, Glynnis glided across the floor, and Emma said, ‘Do sit down, Glynnis dear, and catch your breath.’

‘Thanks, Mrs. Harte. I am a bit puffed. But it was lovely, I’m crazy about dancing.’

‘Would you like a glass of lemonade, Glynnis?’ Bryan O’Neill asked, hovering around her solicitously.

‘Oh yes, I would, thanks, Bryan.’ Turning to Emma, Glynnis went on, ‘I was hoping my nice GI friend Richard Hughes would be here, but I haven’t seen him. Have you, Mrs. Harte?’

‘I haven’t, I’m afraid, but it’s quite early, and the canteen is full tonight, so it’s hard to spot everyone.’

Winston said, ‘How’s everybody in the Rhondda, Glynnis? Family all right, are they?’

‘Oh yes. Mum worries a lot about my brothers, off in the war. But then we all worry these days don’t we? There’s a great deal to worry about, as a matter of fact.’

Winston nodded, lit a cigarette, sat back relaxed, sipping his glass of red wine.

Robin bent towards Glynnis and asked her if she’d like another turn around the dance floor, but she declined. And she also said no to Bryan’s invitation when he returned with her lemonade. ‘I’m just a bit tired right now,’ she murmured, smiling at them in turn, dimpling, her eyes full of sparkle, her cheeks flushed from the exertion.

Watching the men ogling Glynnis, smiling at her, trying to win her favour, Emma saw her objectively, viewing her in quite a different light than she did at the office. There had never been any question about Glynnis’s good looks, but studying her intently tonight, watching her brothers, her son and Bryan O’Neill surrounding her like bees around a honeypot, Emma had become acutely aware of her sexuality. Glynnis was…
luscious
…as well as sultry and glamorous. She had long, very beautiful legs, an ample bosom, a small waist, and the most luxuriant dark hair.

She’s definitely a knockout, Emma thought. No wonder they all want to get her in their arms on the dance floor. But that’s the only place they will get her…she’s such a nice girl, not a flirt, not coy, not coquettish, not leading them on. Glynnis is a good girl. I hope her nice American GI comes tonight. She’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t show up.

No sooner had Emma thought this than Richard Hughes appeared out of the blue, striding over to the table. He nodded to everyone, stretched out his hand to Emma. ‘Good evening, Mrs. Harte.’

‘Hello, Private Hughes. It’s nice to see you.’

Glynnis looked up at him, her large blue eyes shining, full of laughter. ‘There you are, Richard. I’ve been wondering where you were?’

Richard gave her a long intense look, obviously smitten with her, and stretched out his hand. Glynnis took it and he pulled her to her feet.

‘Please excuse us,’ he said to the group at large, nodding to them politely, and then he led her away to the dance floor.

‘He seems like a nice chap,’ Frank observed, lighting a cigarette. ‘She deserves only the best, she’s a special girl.’

‘Yes, she is,’ Emma agreed, her gaze following them. The dance floor was now crowded. There was a happy feeling in the air tonight, a low excited buzz below the sound of the music…laughter, voices in conversation. She filled with gratification all of a sudden, pleased that she had started this servicemen’s canteen. It did such a lot to boost the morale of the troops…troops of all nationalities. British, Canadian, Australian, American, French, Polish…young men of spirit, courage and daring, all fighting to free the world of tyranny.

Feeling the cold wind biting into her bones, Emma pushed the memories away, stood up, casting a lingering glance at the high-flung fells, and then began to make her way down the path returning to Pennistone Royal.

‘Have you seen Glynnis?’ Emma stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking across at Hilda who was scraping parsnips at the sink.

Her housekeeper swung around, startled, and exclaimed, ‘Oh Mrs. Harte, you did make me jump! I didn’t know you were standing there. And yes, I saw her about half an hour ago. She had a sandwich, here at the kitchen table. And a cup of tea.’

‘Was she all right, Hilda?’

‘I think so,’ Hilda began and stopped, bit her lip, looking suddenly hesitant. ‘Well, madam, as I say that, I realize I don’t rightly know. Glum, she was, and–well, it’s a funny word to use, but I thought she seemed to be a bit downhearted…perhaps even troubled.’

‘I see.’

‘Why do you ask, Mrs. Harte? Isn’t she in that there little office at the end of the Stone Hall?’

‘No, Hilda, she’s not, and there’s a half-typed letter in her machine. I came to the kitchen thinking she might be here, still having lunch. Although it’s not like her to leave a letter in the typewriter.’ Emma paused, threw Hilda a baffled look.

‘I asked her about her boyfriend, the nice GI she told me about the last time she was up here, and she gave me such a funny look. Right queer it was, madam.’ Hilda shook her head, and announced, ‘There’s nowt so queer as folk, Mrs. H.’

Smiling knowingly, Emma exclaimed, ‘I know all of those Yorkshire sayings, Hilda, don’t think I don’t…There’s nowt so queer as folk, except for thee and me, and thee’s a bit odd. You should have finished it, you know.’

Hilda just laughed, thinking you never knew what Mrs. Harte was going to say. Putting the parsnip down, she wiped her hands on the tea cloth and said, ‘Speaking of lunch, madam, I notice you haven’t had anything to eat since that bit of toast for breakfast…you’ll not get fat on that, you know.’

‘You can make me a cup of tea, Hilda, that would be nice, but just at the moment I’m not hungry. Now, getting back to your mention of the boyfriend, do you think that perhaps there’s trouble between him and Glynnis?’

‘Ooh, I just don’t know about that. But she did act a bit queer…as I told you.’

‘Perhaps she’s not feeling well. She looked a little peaked earlier. I’ll just pop up to her room. In the meantime, you can put the kettle on, Hilda.’

‘Oh right away, madam.’

Glynnis was occupying a guest room on the floor above the upstairs parlour, and as Emma climbed the stairs she couldn’t help wondering about Glynnis’s boyfriend, the nice American she had met at the canteen in Fulham Road. Like herself and Jack Field, Glynnis worked there with some of her girlfriends, wanting to do something for the war, like everyone else. He had appeared to be pleasant. Had they broken up? she asked herself as she came to the door of the Blue Room.

Before she even knocked, Emma heard the muffled sobs, and she hesitated, wondering what to do. And then she rapped on the door, deciding that perhaps Glynnis needed help of some kind.

A moment later, Glynnis was staring at her from the entrance. She was as white as bleached bone, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Emma asked in a gentle voice.

When Glynnis did not respond, Emma went on, ‘May I come in? I can’t bear to see you like this, so very upset. Perhaps I can be of help in some way…’

Still Glynnis did not speak. She merely opened the door a little wider and stepped back so that Emma could enter the Blue Room.

As Emma glanced around she saw that the bed was rumpled–apparently Glynnis had been lying on it, crying. Moving towards the seating area in the bay window, Emma lowered herself onto the sofa and said, ‘Come and sit with me, my dear. You don’t have to talk if you don’t feel like it, but at least I can try and give you a bit of motherly comfort.’

Standing in the middle of the floor, staring at Emma, Glynnis immediately burst into tears, covered her face with her hands and just stood there, shaking and sobbing.

Emma was on her feet at once, and she guided Glynnis across the room, helped her to sit down, and then took the armchair opposite. ‘Take your time, my dear, try and calm down. Would you like a glass of water? A cup of tea?’

Glynnis shook her head and groped in her pocket for her handkerchief, pressed it to her swollen eyes. After a moment or two she took a deep breath, and said in a choked voice, ‘I’m so…so…sorry to break down like this…I’ve tried to be brave, but it just got to me today.’

‘What did?’ Emma asked quietly.

Glynnis shook her head, bit her lip, looking worried.

Emma said, ‘Is it something to do with your nice GI boyfriend?
Richard?
Have you quarrelled or broken up?’

‘Oh no, Mrs. Harte,’ Glynnis whispered between dry sobs.

‘But there is something terribly wrong, something that’s disturbing you, Glynnis dear, and I don’t want to pry, but I do want to help. Don’t you think you can trust me? I can assure you no one will ever know what you tell me. I would never break a confidence.’

Glynnis took a deep breath and tried to get the heaving under control. Finally, in a tearful voice, she blurted out: ‘I’m going to have a baby, Mrs. Harte. And I don’t know what to do.’

For a second or so Emma was speechless. Far away in the past she heard a poor little servant girl saying, ‘I’m going to have a baby, Edwin, and I don’t know what to do.’ And her chest tightened as memories of that day in the rose garden at Fairley Hall swamped her. But then determinedly shaking off the past, she reached out and took Glynnis’s hand in hers.

‘Oh Glynnis, no wonder you’re so upset,’ Emma consoled. ‘But what about your friend, Richard? Surely he’s going to do the right thing by you. I thought he seemed quite taken with you the night you introduced him to me, and I’ve noticed, subsequently, how lovely he is with you. He seems very caring, very protective.’

‘Yes.’

‘Doesn’t he want to marry you, Glynnis? Is that the problem?’

Glynnis bit her lip, looking suddenly flustered.

Emma frowned. ‘You have told him, haven’t you?’

Glynnis could not speak. She just shook her head, her face whiter than ever, and there was a stricken look in her lovely eyes.

‘But Glynnis, you must tell him, my dear—’

‘It’s not his,’ Glynnis whispered, interrupting Emma.

Emma sat back in a sudden movement, staring at her secretary, her expression extremely troubled. ‘Then have you told the man who
is
the father?’

Glynnis nodded, and began to cry, tears gushing down her cheeks.

‘He doesn’t want to marry you, is that it?’

‘Yes. He can’t.’

‘Is he married?’ Emma asked, giving the young woman a long, knowing look.

When Glynnis remained totally silent, Emma murmured, ‘Oh Glynnis, my dear, getting involved with a married man only spells trouble. They rarely, if ever, leave their wives…’ Emma broke off, wondering why she was giving this poor girl a lecture about married men when she needed comfort and guidance.

Glynnis began to weep once more, and Emma rose and went to sit next to her on the sofa. She put her arms around her, held her close, and eventually, as Glynnis calmed down a little, Emma told her firmly, ‘We must make a plan, Glynnis. I will help you in any way I can. I don’t suppose you want to go home to the Rhondda Valley?’

Glynnis pulled away with a jerk, and gaped at Emma askance. ‘No, no, Mrs. Harte, I can’t! My Da will kill me, or he’ll die himself. For one thing, he couldn’t stand the shame, me giving birth out of wedlock.’

‘Sssh, my dear, I understand what you’re saying,’ Emma murmured, and she surely did, for hadn’t she said the self-same thing to Edwin Fairley when she was fifteen years old?

‘Would you like me to speak to the man in question?’ Emma said softly, understanding her predicament and wanting to be gentle, sympathetic.

‘I don’t think it would…make any difference,’ Glynnis said in a low, choked voice.

‘Who
is
the father, Glynnis dear?’

There was a moment’s hesitation on Glynnis’s part, and then she told her.

Emma simply stared back at her, flabbergasted. For once in her life she did not know what to say, and she sat there, speechless, staring at her secretary.
Disaster.
I’m facing a disaster, Emma thought, and closed her eyes.

But quickly recouping, she opened them, took hold of the girl’s hand, and said in a steady voice, ‘I think perhaps you’d better tell me all about it.’

And Glynnis did.

It was an old, old story, as old as the world, of a man and a woman, and Emma Harte was only too familiar with its many different interpretations. An instantaneous attraction, a
coup de foudre,
overwhelming passion, a falling in love so hot and obsessive it obliterated everything else. A kind of insanity, a madness, a love so intense it transmuted the ordinary into the sublime…for a time. She knew all of the words and phrases Glynnis was uttering. And then tragedy, heartbreak and pain…as the man cooled when she told him her sorry tale of woe…informed him she was carrying his child. His bastard, was the way Glynnis had just put it.

Yet Emma now noticed that speaking about it seemed to have calmed Glynnis. The tears had ceased to flow, her voice no longer quavered and her excessive trembling had unexpectedly stopped.