A Woman of Substance (91 page)

When Daisy was five years old, Paul had insisted she accompany him and Emma to Australia. After a week in Sydney he took them up to Coonamble and they spent four weeks at Dunoon. An unusual rapport sprang up between the vivacious little girl and her half brother, Howard, and Emma and Paul were touched by the relationship. Daisy seemed to reach the boy in a way no one else ever had before, and her devotion to him and his dependency on her warmed their hearts. They returned every year thereafter with Paul, who did not want to deprive Howard of the joy his little stepsister so apparently brought to his restricted life.

The years slipped by so quickly Emma often wondered what happened to time. The children were all growing up and leaving the house in Belgrave Square. Kit, a fine-looking young man who much resembled Joe Lowther, went to Leeds University, and the twins departed for their respective boarding schools, bitterly complaining about being separated for the first time. If Daisy was Emma’s best-loved child, then Robin was undoubtedly her favourite son, and she missed him more than she had realized she would during school terms. Robin had none of Arthur Ainsley’s annoying characteristics or habits, and bore a strong likeness to Winston. He was a thin vital boy, with a vivid intelligence, a quick wit, and inbred charm. Scholarly by inclination, he was a brilliant student and Emma had high expectations for him.

His twin, Elizabeth, also favoured the Harte side of the family. Emma would sometimes look at her and catch her breath, seeing striking echoes of her own mother in the girl, and occasionally she even caught a fleeting glimpse of Olivia Wainright in Elizabeth’s lovely face. She would ponder briefly then on the past, recalling the uncanny resemblance between those two women from such different worlds and which had so startled her as a girl. Of all Emma’s children, Elizabeth was the real beauty, willowy, graceful, her exquisite face delicately translucent, surrounded by a thick
cloud of dark hair. She too, was blessed with an abundance of charm. Unfortunately, Emma had long detected other traits in her, which she found dismaying. Elizabeth was violent of temper, flighty, and often difficult to control. Paul agreed with Emma that she needed a firm hand, and they hoped that the discipline of boarding school would tone her down without breaking her spirit.

Emma’s businesses continued to grow. The Knightsbridge store became world-famous, the Yorkshire stores a household name in the North; the mills flourished, as did the Kallinski clothing factories; the Emeremm Company, now known as Harte Enterprises, blossomed into an enormously rich organization with diverse holdings throughout the world. By following her own shrewd instincts and listening to Paul’s advice, Emma invested her money wisely and multiplied her worth threefold, as well as that of Winston and Frank, whose personal financial affairs she supervised. By the time she was forty-six years old she was a millionairess many times over and a power to be reckoned with, not only in London and the north of England, but in international business circles as well.

Despite her happiness with Paul and her family, and as preoccupied as she was with her gargantuan business enterprises, Emma’s interest in the Fairley family had not waned one iota. Their affairs continued to obsess her as they always had. Gerald Fairley, after she had ruined him in 1923, spent the last few miserable years of his life depending on the largesse of Edwin, since the brickyard was not a profitable concern. He died in 1926, ‘obviously from the gross excesses of his nature’, Emma had remarked to Blackie on hearing the news, and in the ensuing years her icy gaze had rested solely on Edwin. She followed his career with undivided interest. How she had longed for him to be a failure! But he had made a name for himself as a criminal lawyer of great brilliance, and there were constant rumours in the Temple that he would be made a K.C., although this had not yet happened. He resided and practised in London, but he had not entirely severed his ties to Yorkshire. He was often in Leeds, where he devoted an unflagging amount of energy to the
Yorkshire Morning Gazette
, just as Adam Fairley had done before him. He was chairman of the board
and the majority shareholder, and thus wielded the power on the newspaper.

Emma wanted that paper and she would stop at nothing to get it. Both Winston and Blackie pointed out that she had done enough to cripple the Fairley influence in Yorkshire, and remonstrated with her to drop her vendetta and forget about the newspaper. But Emma, as self-willed as always and still vindictive about the Fairleys, would not listen. She was determined to acquire their only remaining holding. Gradually she began to buy up the common shares as they came on to the market, moving with her usual stealth, and waiting patiently until she could find the right opportunity to move against Edwin. Although the paper was losing money, Edwin somehow managed to keep it operating and he clung to his shares, much to Emma’s frustration. Until she could wrest those shares from him she was powerless to move in and take over. She dreamed about the day she would oust Edwin. Only then would her revenge be complete.

‘And I do have the patience of Job,’ she told Winston one day in the summer of 1935. ‘I won’t rest until I own the
Yorkshire Morning Gazette
, and I will own it one day.’

‘I know you will,’ Winston said, and shifted in his chair. He lit a cigarette and went on, ‘I had a call from Joe Fulton yesterday. He’s prepared to sell you the remainder of his shares in the
Sheffield Star.
If you buy, you will have control. Do you want them?’

‘I do indeed,’ Emma declared, and her face brightened. ‘I also think you should talk to Harry Metcalfe again. He’s been hankering to sell the
Yorkshire Morning Observer
for a long time. I think I’d like to own it, after all. I can certainly use it as a vehicle against Edwin Fairley. Give him a run for his money and a lot of stiff competition. If we do buy the shares in both newspapers, I will really have a foothold in publishing in the North.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Let’s start a new company, Winston. What shall we call it? How about the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company?’ she suggested, and rushed on, before Winston could reply, ‘Yes, that’s a strong-sounding name. Let’s do it!’

‘I can’t think of any good reason why you shouldn’t take
over both papers, Emma,’ Winston said, suddenly infected by her enthusiasm. ‘They can easily be turned around. All they need is good management, an infusion of money, and some top-notch journalists to inject new life. Maybe Frank can recommend the right men. I’ll get on to it first thing tomorrow.’

‘I do wish we’d thought of this before,’ Emma exclaimed, hardly able to contain her excitement at the prospect of becoming a publisher, and going into competition with Edwin Fairley.

‘Obvious ideas are generally the last ones we think of, you know,’ Winston remarked casually, and stood up.

He walked slowly across the lovely upstairs parlour at Pennistone Royal, the great house near Ripon, which Emma had purchased three years before, and stood in front of the oriel window gazing down into the grounds. It was a glorious August Sunday, the sky a blaze of crystal blue above the clipped lawns, fanciful topiary hedges, and luxuriant abundance of trees, so verdant and lush and shimmering in the summer air. The gardens were spectacular, Elizabethan in design and so very English with their overwhelming greenness and profusion of vivid flower beds.

In the distance, he heard the plopping of tennis balls and he wondered how Paul found the energy to play three sets on such a gruelling day. His thoughts now turned to the news he had to impart to Emma, edging out all else as he sought the simplest way of doing it. His common sense told him to be direct. He looked at Emma sitting on the sofa, coolly beautiful in a white shantung dress and with her russet hair falling to her shoulders. Well, he might as well tell her. He said, ‘I spoke to Edwina yesterday. She’s getting married.’

‘Married!’ Emma repeated, sitting bolt upright on the sofa. She put down the balance sheet she was reading and gave him her full attention. ‘To whom, might I ask?’

Winston cleared his throat. ‘To Jeremy Standish.’

Emma stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Jeremy Standish? The Earl of Dunvale?’

‘That’s right. The wedding is in two weeks. In Ireland, of course, at his estate, Clonloughlin.’

‘But he’s so much older than she is, Winston,’ Emma said.
‘I’m not so sure about this marriage.’ She frowned. ‘It’s not a very likely match, in my opinion.’

‘There’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, Emma,’ Winston pointed out, relieved her reaction had been so mild. ‘After all, she is twenty-nine. Besides, it might just be the stabilizing influence she needs. And he does have pots and pots of money, you know.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Emma mused. She looked at Winston. ‘I don’t suppose she is inviting any members of the family.’

Winston shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid she’s not. But she did ask me to give her away. How do you feel about that? Do you mind, dear?’

Emma leaned forward and clasped her hand over his. ‘Oh, darling, of course not. I think it’s wonderful of her to ask you. It would please me enormously. She won’t seem quite so alone if you’re there.’ Emma paused and then asked hesitantly, ‘Did she mention me?’

‘No, Emma, she didn’t. I’m sorry.’

‘I must send a nice wedding present, of course.’ Emma changed the subject, realizing there was nothing further to add, but her eyes were reflective as she continued her business discussion with her brother.

When Winston returned from Ireland, Emma was full of questions about Edwina, the Earl of Dunvale, and the wedding. Winston satisfied her curiosity, and assuaged her anxieties about Edwina’s marriage to the man, who was twenty years her senior. It had been apparent to him that Edwina was deliriously happy, although he was not absolutely certain whether this was because she had become the Countess of Dunvale and a member of an ancient and celebrated Anglo-Irish family, or because she truly loved her husband. Dunvale, for his part, was besotted with Edwina, and Winston had no doubts about the bridegroom’s feelings in the least.

A year later Emma became a grandmother, when Edwina gave birth to a son, baptized Anthony George Michael. As the first-born he had the courtesy title of Lord Standish and was heir to the earldom. Emma wrote to her daughter congratulating her, and sent her a gift, as she had done at the time of the wedding. Emma received a courteous but cool thank-you note
from Edwina and she was hopeful that it would lead to a complete reconciliation one day. And she determined to enlist Winston’s help to effect this. Kit was not so positive. Feeling slighted at not having been invited to his sister’s fancy society wedding, he took to making derogatory remarks about her disregard for family, and her snobbishness, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Paul constantly admonished him and finally, in exasperation, forbade him to discuss Edwina with his mother. He himself encouraged Emma’s belief that she would be on friendly terms with her eldest daughter again, knowing that this was the only possibility acceptable to her, and he dare not demolish her hope.

One of Emma’s greatest assets was her ability to shelve unsolvable problems, and eventually she managed to put Edwina out of her mind. The present was her first priority, her true imperative. Her own life was as demanding as always. There was her work, her relationship with Paul, and the other children. She had no complaints about them and in general things were harmonious. Kit was working in the mills and learning the woollen business. Robin, in his last year of boarding school, was preparing to go up to Cambridge to study law. Elizabeth had expressed a wish to follow in Edwina’s footsteps and was at a fashionable Swiss finishing school. Finally the day came when Daisy left for boarding school, and Emma and Paul were alone in the house in Belgrave Square for the first time.

‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, and only me now,’ he teased her one evening when they were having a glass of champagne in the library.

‘I miss them all, particularly Daisy, but I’m glad we have our time together at last, Paul. Just the two of us.’

‘And we do have lots of time, Emma. Years and years stretching ahead.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t know how you feel, my love, but I rather like the prospect of growing old with you.’

It was the first week of September in 1938. And sitting there in the handsome mellow library, talking quietly as the twilight descended to fill the room with soft drifting shadows, it did not occur to Emma and Paul that anything could happen to destroy their security. They were at peace with themselves and with each other, and still deeply in love. And so they spoke for
a long time about their future together, and made plans for the Christmas holidays at Pennistone Royal, and discussed their impending trip to America in the new year. Later they went out to dinner at Quaglino’s, laughing and holding hands like young lovers, and it was one of the most carefree evenings they had spent in months.

But the Nazi shadow was spreading itself across Central Europe. Hitler, who gained power in Germany after the burning of the Reichstag in 1933, was on the march. War was inevitable. It was only a question of time.

‘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.

Emma sat back in the chair, and between the champagne, the delicious food, the stimulating conversation, and the gaiety that prevailed amongst their friends, she managed to push aside those troubling thoughts of war that had assailed her at the outset of the evening.

In the following week Paul did not mention the war again and she carefully avoided the subject herself. They went to East Texas to visit the Sydney-Texas Oil Company, recently renamed Sitex at her suggestion, and then proceeded to West Texas, where Paul purchased oil leases in Odessa and Midland, much to Harry Marriott’s annoyance. Emma did not particularly like Paul’s partner and had not hesitated to say so when she had first met him some years before. It was on their return journey to New York that she reiterated her opinion, and asked Paul why Marriott was so unhappy about the new purchases.

Paul grinned and said, ‘Because he always wants to play it safe. He never wants to gamble. He’s afraid of losing or diminishing what we’ve already accumulated over the years. The fool. We’re one of the richest oil companies in America today, but expansion is necessary. No, vital. Harry means well, but he lacks imagination. Remember how he fought me when I bought the oil tankers? I proved him wrong about that. They’ve been an enormous asset to the company and more than earned their money back. I’ll prove him wrong again, Emma. I have a nose for oil, and I guarantee you it will be discovered in Odessa and Midland within a few years. I plan to start drilling there before the end of the year.’

‘It’s a good thing you own the majority of stock in that company, otherwise you might have really insurmountable problems with Marriott,’ Emma said.

‘You’re damned right.’ Paul chuckled. ‘You don’t think I’d be fool enough to spend the millions I invested initially without having control, do you?’

‘No,’ she conceded, laughing. ‘You’re far too tough and smart for that.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you sorry Daisy wasn’t a boy?’

‘Good Lord, no! Whatever makes you ask that, darling?’

‘Well, Howard can’t very well follow in your footsteps. And
it’s often occurred to me you might be disappointed you don’t have a son to carry on the business, the McGill dynasty.’

‘What makes you think I’ve dismissed the idea of Daisy doing that? After all, if she takes after her beautiful mother she’ll make a hell of a good businesswoman. And she’ll marry one day and have children. My grandchildren. Ponder on that one, Emma.’

She did, never once forgetting his words.

One day, at the end of February, Paul came home early from the Sitex offices in New York, and Emma knew at once that something was terribly amiss. He appeared to be unusually preoccupied, kissed her somewhat absently, and fixed himself a drink, which was also rare in that it was only four o’clock.

Never one to hedge, she said immediately, ‘You’re upset, Paul. What is it?’

‘I can never hide anything from you, my love, can I?’ He sipped the drink, lit a cigarette, and then he told her, ‘I have booked a passage for you to England on the
Queen Elizabeth.
I was lucky enough to get a stateroom for you, even at this late date, so you will be comfortable, darling. You sail on Thursday.’

‘Aren’t you coming with me?’ she asked as evenly as possible, but her throat tightened.

‘No, darling, I can’t.’

‘Why not, Paul? You had planned to return with me.’

‘I want to go back to Texas for a few days, to take care of certain matters and to reassure myself that Harry fully understands I want to start drilling in Odessa as soon as possible. And then I’m going to Australia.’

‘But you weren’t supposed to go there until later in the year!’

‘Later in the year might be too
late
, Emma. I must leave as quickly as possible now, to attend to my interests over there and confer with the men who run my companies. You know how I feel about Japan’s threat to the Pacific. I can’t possibly leave anything to chance.’

Emma’s face had paled. ‘I don’t want you to go!’ she cried ‘I’m frightened—frightened you’ll get stuck in Australia if war breaks out before you can return to England. We could be
separated for years.’ She rose and went to kneel at his feet. She looked up at him. ‘Please don’t go, darling. I beg you not to go!’ She touched his face lightly, the dearest face in the world to her, and her eyes brimmed.

‘You know I must, Emma darling,’ he said with the utmost gentleness. He smoothed one hand over her head and his eyes regarded her tenderly. ‘But I won’t stay for long. Only two months at the most. Things are in relatively good order out there. They have been for years. However, I must be sure everything will run smoothly, should I have to be absent for longer than the usual year. And I might have to be. We don’t know how long this war will last when it does come, do we?’ He smiled at her confidently. ‘I’ll get back quickly. I want to be with you in England when the conflict starts. I certainly don’t want you to be alone. Now come along, cheer up, sweetheart. I’ll only be gone eight weeks. That’s not so bad.’

Emma did not argue with Paul or further attempt to dissuade him, knowing it would be fruitless to do so. His holdings were so vast they staggered the imagination, and he could not shrug off the responsibilities they entailed, which were of equal magnitude. Power had its undeniable privileges but it brought crushing burdens as well. It was quite apparent that Paul, in all good conscience, could not ignore the world political situation, and the effect it would have on his business. Because of who and what she was, Emma understood his motives and acknowledged the necessity of his plan, even though she was not enamoured of it.

And so she put up a gay front for the next few days before she sailed. But the idea of being separated from Paul depressed her more than it ever had before, and that awful sense of foreboding stayed with her during the entire voyage to England. Even when she was settled in their house in Belgrave Square it persisted, gnawing at her peace of mind.