Sins (58 page)

‘If you would, please,’ Emerald thanked her. ‘My mother is still with my stepfather and naturally we’re all concerned about her as well.’

‘Did you manage to find out anything?’ Janey asked as soon as Emerald returned to the waiting room.

‘No, but they’re going to send us some tea.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Drogo should be here soon.’

It irked her a little to have to acknowledge that Drogo was likely to have more success in obtaining information from the hospital staff than she was herself, but the years had developed in Emerald a certain pragmatism over some things, and she knew there was no point in getting angry about things she couldn’t change. Not when there were matters that needed to be dealt with that she could organise.

‘When the others get here we’ll need to have a talk about the future,’ she warned Janey. ‘I know that the first priority for you and Ella and the twins will be your father, and what’s happening now, but we have to be practical as well. There’ll be things to discuss and arrangements to be made.’

In case her father died, Janey knew Emerald meant.

In the small ward Amber was oblivious to everything but Jay. At some stage she had started to talk to him, just a few words at first, more speaking her own thoughts out aloud than anything else, and then she had felt his fingers tremble against her own and she had known that he had heard her, so she had kept on talking, not about her fear of losing him now but of the past and the happiness they had shared, the love they had shared. She had laughed as well as cried as the memories flooded over her and with their release had come a sense of peace.

She was still holding his hand. She felt tired, her eyes dry from the heat, and her throat raw from talking. Love was such a wonderful gift when it was shared, transforming those who shared it, illuminating the dark side of life, transcending mortality.

‘Drogo.’

Robbie was nineteen and considered himself an adult, but the minute he saw Drogo he felt his eyes sting with tears, his emotions reminding him of the way he had felt as a boy, knowing always that he had his stepfather to turn to for comfort and protection.

From the depths of Drogo’s warm hug he asked uncertainly, ‘How’s Gramps?’

‘The last time I spoke to the Hospital they said he was holding his own.’

‘Will he…is he…is he going to die?’

‘I don’t know, Robbie,’ Drogo answered honestly. ‘He’s had what sounds like a serious heart attack, but on the plus side, your grandfather is a very strong and determined man, and if anyone can survive something like this then it’s him. We’ll know more once the consultant has the results of the tests that have been done.’

‘When I saw him at Christmas he was joking that he’d put me to shame if he came skiing with me.’

‘I dare say he would have done, as well. We’ve got fifteen minutes yet before your aunt Polly’s flight comes in from Venice, let’s go and have a cup of coffee whilst we’re waiting for her.’

Manchester; funny how it always smelled of rain, even on a dry day like today, Polly thought, as she stepped off the aircraft.

‘Polly.’

She hadn’t expected anyone to meet her at the airport, but it was a relief to hear Drogo call her name,
although disappointingly he had no further news about her father.

‘Will we be able to see Gramps, Drogo?’ Robbie asked as soon as the three of them were in the car and Drogo was driving them south towards Macclesfield.

‘That will depend on the consultant. I’ve already spoken with his secretary and she’s confirmed that he will see us and bring us up to date with what’s happening once he’s seen Jay and checked over the tests they’ve already done.’

‘He’s alive, though, now, isn’t he?’ Robbie pressed his stepfather anxiously, asking the question Polly had not felt able to voice.

‘Yes he is,’ Drogo confirmed.

‘Have you seen him?’ Robbie asked.

Drogo shook his head.

A young nursing assistant came into the waiting room carrying a tray with two thick earthenware mugs of tea on it, some sachets of sugar and a couple of small packets of biscuits, which she put down on the melamine coffee table before exiting the room.

‘I never thought I’d be so grateful for a mug of tea,’ said Janey as she reached for one of the mugs.

Emerald looked at the remaining mug. The tea in it was dark and so strong that she could actually smell it. Reluctantly she reached out to pick up the mug and then stopped as her stomach recoiled from both the sight and the smell of it and heaved nauseously.

‘What’s wrong?’ Janey asked.

‘Nothing,’ Emerald fibbed. It wouldn’t do to have Janey
thinking she was so badly affected by Jay’s heart attack that she felt sick; not when, as Drogo had said, she must be the strong one.

She couldn’t face drinking the tea, though, and it was still there untouched when Drogo arrived ten minutes later.

‘Where’s Polly?’ Emerald asked him after she had greeted Robbie with a hug.

‘She’ll be in in a second. She wanted to ring Rocco to tell him that she’d arrived safely.’

Emerald nodded. ‘Drogo, I’m thirsty, but the tea they brought is dreadfully strong. Could you sort out some water for me, do you think?’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Drogo looked at his watch. ‘But first I want to give the consultant’s secretary another ring and find out exactly when he’s going to be here.’

The arrival of the twins in the waiting room virtually at the same time as one another provoked a new round of sibling greetings and hugs followed by a fresh spate of anxious questions.

‘Drogo has gone to telephone the consultant’s secretary,’ was all Emerald could tell them. ‘We won’t know anything more really until he has seen Jay.’

‘Can we see Daddy, and where’s Mummy?’ Cathy, the elder of the pair, demanded.

‘No, and she is with your father,’ Emerald answered. When she saw that the twins were about to start protesting she reminded them both firmly, ‘Don’t forget that your father is in intensive care, and will probably be sedated.’

‘Emerald’s right,’ Janey supported her, looking up as Drogo walked back into the waiting room.

‘The consultant was delayed,’ he told them, ‘an emergency that required his immediate attention, but he should be here shortly. Amber is still with Jay and is refusing point-blank to leave, as one would expect.’

‘Poor Mummy,’ said Cathy. ‘She and Daddy have always been so devoted to one another.’ In her voice was the fear that none of them wished to put into words–that Jay might not survive.

Thanks to Drogo fresh tea and coffee had appeared, along with bottled water for Emerald, and some surprisingly good sandwiches, according to Robbie, who was the only one so far who had eaten any of them.

‘There’s no point in us coming all this way to be here if we aren’t even going to be allowed to see Daddy,’ Cathy fretted.

Emerald exhaled and then said coolly, ‘Yes there is. It’s an excellent opportunity for us to deal with certain important issues, although I’d have preferred to wait until Rose gets here.’

‘You think she will come then?’ Janey queried.

Emerald didn’t know, but she did know that the problem she wanted to discuss could not be properly discussed or resolved without Rose.

‘She certainly owes it to Mummy to be here.’ Cathy’s voice was sharp, and loud enough to carry past the slightly open door to where Rose was hesitating outside in the corridor. ‘Especially when you think of all that Mummy did for her.’

‘No more was done for Rose than for any of the rest
of us—’ Emerald started to point out, coming to an abrupt halt as Rose pushed open the door and stepped into the waiting room.

‘Except that you are all either her own or Jay’s daughters–and in the twins’ case both–whilst I am not,’ she said quietly.

‘Oh, Rose, Cathy didn’t mean anything,’ Janey was quick to say, and just as quick to get up and give Rose a fierce hug. ‘We’re all on edge because we’re so worried.’

Cathy, who was now looking self-conscious and guilty, confirmed, ‘Janey’s right. I’m sorry, Rose, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.’

‘No? Then what did you mean? Perhaps that since my father was disinherited by our mutual great-grandmother I should not, like everyone else, have had a trust fund? Or maybe perhaps that since I am what I so obviously am, that I should, as that same great-grandmother was so fond of saying, been sent back to the slums of Hong Kong and left to die there?’

Rose could see that she had shocked them all. That hadn’t been her intention but the conversation she had overheard had somehow not just touched a nerve but pressed a spring that had released a jack-in-the-box of destructive self-defence.

‘Now it’s my turn to apologise.’ She gave a tired shrug and pushed her hand through her hair.

‘Behaving as though we’re still in the nursery isn’t going to help anyone,’ Emerald told them all. ‘Now that Rose is here I think we should talk about what will need to be done, whilst we have the chance. We’ve got a lot
of things to sort out whilst we’re here together,’ Emerald reminded her siblings.

Janey paled and looked close to tears whilst Robbie tried to look grown up as he stood by her side.

‘I don’t think that this is an appropriate time to be talking about this kind of thing. Don’t you think we should wait and see what the consultant has to say before we start making any plans?’ Cathy challenged Emerald sharply. ‘After all, the parents may have made their own arrangements for if anything should happen.’

‘On the contrary,’ Emerald told Cathy sturdily, ‘I can’t think of a more appropriate time. The discussion I want to have applies whatever the future might hold, and in my opinion is best discussed now whilst we have the time to do so. We need to talk about the business. We all know how much the business means to Mummy.’

When no one made any comment Emerald continued, ‘You may all have been too busy with your own lives to notice what’s been going on with the London end of things, and of course it’s only natural that I should have seen more and been more aware of it because I live there.’

‘What do you mean?’ Polly demanded. ‘The factory is doing very well. I know that Angelli puts a lot of business its way.’

‘The factory may be doing well but I am talking about the Walton Street shop,’ Emerald clarified. ‘Mummy hasn’t been coming down to London as often as she once did, and I rather expect that she won’t want to come down at all in future, no matter what happens.’

‘Well, the shop can be closed down, can’t it?’ Janey asked,
after a long pause whilst they all digested what Emerald was saying.

‘It can, yes,’ Emerald agreed.

They didn’t share the kind of closeness with one another that would have enabled her to explain how she had felt when she had seen her mother’s face when she had looked at Emerald’s Designers Guild bedroom, even if she hadn’t been the kind of person who loathed talking about her own feelings. To see such sadness and loss in her mother’s expression had reminded Emerald of how important to her mother the interior design business was. At the time that hadn’t really mattered, but now somehow it did.

‘The property could be sold quite easily, I imagine,’ Janey continued.

‘Very easily,’ Emerald agreed, ‘but I don’t think that’s what we should do.’

‘What do you mean?’ That was Cathy, the rebel who had always taken delight in doing the opposite of what was expected of her.

‘We all know how much silk means to Mummy, both via Denby Mill and the Walton Street shop, how passionately she has always felt about her own father’s designs and the heritage that goes with all of that. More than anything else she wanted that heritage to be preserved and woven into a future.’

‘Well, yes, we all know that, Emerald. That was why she sent me and Polly to Italy to train at Angelli’s.’

‘That was part of the reason,’ Emerald agreed. ‘The other part was surely that she hoped you would give back to Denby Mill and the Walton Street business something of what she had given you.’

There was a small tense silence, and then Polly objected, ‘Oh, that’s good coming from you, Emerald, trying to make us feel guilty about the shop, and make sacrifices because we trained at Angelli’s, whilst you get off scot-free because all you ever did was be a deb and marry Drogo.’

‘It wasn’t my intention to make you feel guilty. I simply wanted us to discuss what we felt we could all do to help get the business back on its feet. And as for making sacrifices, well, there’s only one of us who would have to do that.’

They all looked at her.

‘Who?’ Janey asked.

‘Rose,’ Emerald announced. ‘It was Rose who Mummy always wanted to take over from her.’

‘That was a long time ago, Emerald. I have Pete to think of now, and it’s years since I worked professionally as an interior designer,’ Rose protested.

‘We all know how much the Walton Street shop and its business has meant to Mummy,’ Emerald continued, ignoring Rose’s outburst. ‘After all, she wanted all of you to be involved in its future, and she planned for that.’

A shared uncomfortable and guilty silence met Emerald’s unexpected comments.

‘It’s my belief that, more than anything else, whatever happens to Jay, what will give Mummy more comfort and hope than anything else will be the survival and renewed success of the Walton Street business. At the moment it’s dying on its feet and it needs new life breathed into it.’

Emerald paused, but none of them had missed the significance of her choice of language.

‘Its designs are old-fashioned, and so is the shop. The whole business needs revamping, and that is something we could all contribute to. It needs new designers for the fabrics. You two, Polly and Cathy, could take on the fabric design side of things.’

‘No.’

‘Impossible.’

The twins spoke together.

‘I live in Italy now, Emerald, and even if I could make the time, it’s been years since I last did any designing,’ Polly told her.

‘I’m an artist, Emerald,’ Cathy protested crossly.

‘I’m not suggesting that either of you design the fabrics yourself–as you’ve both said, neither of you is really qualified to do so any more–but you, Polly, are married to a man who provides what is regarded as the best training for young untested designers there is, and you, Cathy, have the skill to recognise the potential in the young graduates coming out of St Martins and the like. There is nothing to stop you selecting the best of the new designers straight from college, and nothing to stop you and Rocco, Polly, offering them a chance to spent six months with Angelli’s, really learning their trade, with a view to them then giving at least a year each to the Walton Street shop designing new fabrics.’