The Trouble With Emma (18 page)

Chapter 33

At nine a.m. on Saturday, Emma’s mobile phone rang.

“Good morning, Mark,” she chirped, ignoring Lizzy’s upraised eyebrow and smirking face across the breakfast table. “I’m nearly ready. I’m just having a last cup of coffee before we go.”

“That’s why I’m calling, actually.” He paused. “I’m afraid we may not be going after all. Something’s come up.”

All sorts of things occurred to her – he’d changed his mind; he’d had a better offer; he really hadn’t wanted to go with her in the first place.

“I see.”

“You won’t believe it,” he went on, “but it’s happened again, only in reverse – my sister’s husband has to return a day early and she needs to take him to the airport straight away. So…”

“…so you need to look after the boys,” Emma finished.

“Yes.” His voice was contrite. “I’m sorry. I don’t think they’ll be up for spending the day looking at random paint splatters flung on canvases. Museums aren’t their thing, normally, unless either dinosaurs or Harry Potter are involved. Or both.”

“Why don’t you bring them along?” she said. “We don’t have to go to the Tate – we can go anywhere they’d like. The Natural History Museum has dinosaurs, or there’s always the zoo. We can have lunch at Pizza Express or Rainforest Café.”

He paused. “You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for with these two,” he warned her, amused. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m quite sure. Unless,” she added, frowning, “you’d prefer to handle the boys on your own, and I’m being rude and pushy by refusing to reschedule and insisting you drag me along –?”

He laughed. “Not at all, believe me. I’ll take any help I can get. I just wasn’t sure how you felt about taking two slightly rambunctious boys along for the day.”

“I don’t mind in the least. When my father was vicar we often had children at Litchfield Manor for Easter Egg hunts, Valentine parties, Christmas carolling – that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was. But it had a way of rapidly degenerating into chaos in the blink of an eye.”

“You’ll find that Nick and Colin are no different, I’m afraid.”

They settled on the Natural History Museum, followed by lunch, and perhaps a visit to Hamleys if time allowed; and Emma rang off.

“What was that about?” Lizzy asked, all innocence, as if she’d not been listening to every word.

“As if you didn’t know.” Emma eyed her. “We’re spending the day with Mark’s nephews.”

“This just gets better and better,” her sister said. “He’s pre-domesticated
and
a doting uncle. What more could a girl want?”

“A sister who minds her own business?” Emma retorted. “What a novel concept
that
would be.”

***

After entering the vaulted central hall of the Natural History Museum, Mark, Emma and the boys spent the morning gazing in awe at diplodocus and triceratops skeletons, roaming the balcony in the Large Mammal Hall, and studying a variety of birds, fossils and minerals, until Nick complained that he was (1) bored of dinos and (2) hungry.

They had lunch in the Central Hall Café, a noisy but impressively situated spot located behind the dinosaur’s tail – or, as Nick put it, ‘by the dino’s bum.’

“Where to next?” Mark asked them. “The V&A? The Science Museum?”

“You forgot Hamleys!” both boys chorused.

He glanced at Emma in mock surprise. “Did I fail to mention the toy store just now, Miss Bennet?”

“You did,” she said. “
Very
remiss of you.”

The boys eyed them anxiously in turn as Mark pretended to consider the possibility. “I don’t know. What do you think, Emma? Should we go to Hamleys?”

She smiled over at Nick and Colin. “I definitely think we should.”

As they left the restaurant, Colin – the taller and wirier of the two boys – darted out to pick something up from the pavement.

“What’s that you’ve got?” Mark asked him.

“A pound coin!” he answered, and held it up with an air of smug triumph. “Mine, now.”

“I want a pound coin,” Nick grumbled.

“Find your own, then,” his older brother said, in that superior way of older siblings everywhere.

As Mark tried to broker peace between his nephews, Emma smiled and glanced across the street. A blonde woman, tall and slim in a poppy-print sundress, stood on the pavement. She looked decidedly annoyed. She’d just taken her mobile out and begun texting – an angry text, Emma surmised, from the way her fingers jabbed at the screen – when a man emerged from inside and joined her.

Mr. Churchill.

He didn’t see her. Instinctively, Emma stepped back into the shadows of the entrance awning. She didn’t know why, exactly; she just sensed, somehow, that her presence would not be welcome.

He spoke to the blonde with a contrite expression on his face. After a terse exchange the rigid lines of her mouth relaxed, and they walked away, arms linked.

How interesting, Emma mused, and stepped back into the sun. She wondered who the woman was. Judging from the casual way she and James were dressed, she wasn’t a co-worker; and it was Saturday, at any rate.

She must be his girlfriend, then.

James Churchill had a girlfriend. Which meant, she thought with a frown, that Martine had competition…

“What’s got you looking so pensive?” Mark asked as he and the boys rejoined her.

“Oh, nothing. I just saw Mr Churchill, our neighbor from Litchfield.”

“Yes, I remember. You introduced us at the garden party.” He glanced at her. “He thought I was a prat.”

“Only because you wouldn’t tell him anything,” she retorted. “One can hardly blame him. You were more mysterious than James Bond, and twice as arrogant.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t at liberty to discuss the programme with anyone at that point. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. I think you rather enjoyed being rude to him.”

“I have to admit I did.” His smile was brief. “Did you say hello?”

“No.” Emma paused. “He was…with someone.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t read his expression, but guessed from the tense line of his jaw that he’d misread her comment, and she bit back a smile. He obviously thought she was interested in Mr Churchill.

This could be fun…

“James is the new owner of Crossley Hall,” she added. “Perhaps you’ve seen it – it’s that lovely old house up on the hill overlooking March Street.”

“I’ve seen it.” His words were clipped.

“He’s having a party once the renovations are finished. I’m dying to see the results.”

“I doubt I’ll be included on the invitation list.”

“You can be my plus one,” Emma said, airily. “After all, you might want to feature the Hall on your programme one day.”

“Are you familiar with that well-worn expression, Miss Bennet,” he retorted, “‘when hell freezes over’?”

“Can we go now?” Nick complained, and tugged at his uncle’s hand. “I’m
bored
.”

“Me, too,” Colin agreed, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Let’s go.”

“Very well.” Mark turned to Emma. “Are you ready to take on Hamleys with these two, Miss Bennet?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Can we each get a toy?” Nick asked.

“No,” Mark said, firmly.

“Yes,” Emma said, and lifted her brow. “My treat.”

“Now who’s spoiling them?” Mark grumbled, but shook his head in good-natured defeat. “Very well, Nick – one toy apiece, but nothing pricey, mind.” He smiled at Emma. “I don’t want you taking advantage of Miss Bennet’s generosity.”

She smiled as she took his proffered arm, and together the four of them made their way to Regent Street, and the much anticipated environs of the toy store.

Chapter 34

“I hope you don’t mind if I drop the boys off to their mum first,” Mark said as they all returned to the car late that afternoon. “I was due to have them back home –” he glanced at his wristwatch and grimaced. “An hour ago.”

“Bit late, then,” Emma observed. “We’d best hurry.”

Colin and Nick, happily exhausted, sat slumped back in their seats with their toys – a stuffed animal and several action figures – between them. They’d visited all seven floors of the toy store, including a stop at ShakeTastic for milkshakes.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if Nick doesn’t fall asleep before we arrive,” she added in a low voice.

True to her prediction, the younger boy was out by the time they arrived at the modest Victorian terrace in Islington. Mark reached back and levered Nick out of his car seat and hoisted him, still soundly sleeping, over his shoulder.

“Wait here, I won’t be a moment,” he told Emma, and turned to Colin. “Can you manage those carrier bags, mate?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Of course I can.”

“And do you have anything to say to Miss Bennet before you go?” Mark prodded him.

Colin pushed his glasses up. “Oh. Yeah. Thank you for the toys, Miss Bennet. And it was nice to meet you.”

“You’re very welcome. I had a good time today – I hope you did, too.”

He nodded. “It was ace. Thanks.”

The three of them went up the walkway to the terraced house, and Nick’s head jogged slightly against Mark’s shoulder as he was carried up the steps to the front door. Emma had a brief glimpse of a pleasant-faced woman with short blonde hair who opened the door and swooped down to wrap Colin in her arms. When she straightened, she glanced out at the car with a plainly curious expression, and gave her a smile and a tentative waggle of her fingers.

Emma smiled and waved back.

As Mark shut the door after them, she felt a longing, sharp and strong, sweep over her. She wanted that.

She wanted a husband. Children. A family of her own. She wanted to live in an ordinary house, with a bicycle and toys strewn around the front garden, and crayoned drawings taped to the refrigerator, and a collection of family photographs displayed on the mantle, and every year a Christmas tree strung with paper garlands and popcorn, and ornaments fashioned by her children’s hands…

…like the trees she and Lizzy and Charlie used to decorate every Christmas before mum died.

Her throat thickened, and she blinked to clear away the threat of tears.
You’re just tired
, she scolded herself.
Get a bloody grip
.

A few minutes later the door opened and Mark emerged. As he strode back down the walkway to the car, Emma admired his confident gait and was struck anew by how handsome he was. Lizzy’s words echoed now in her head.

This is the potential father of your children we’re talking about, Em.

She blushed and forced such ridiculous thoughts out of her mind. Her sister was an incurable romantic who believed that everyone should have their happy ending. But life wasn’t a fairy tale, Emma reminded herself firmly as Mark opened the car door and got in.

Love was for other people, not her.

“Let’s get you back to your sister’s,” he said as he snapped his seatbelt into place and started the engine. “Sorry for the delay. Eleanor was put out with me that I didn’t invite you in. You have a standing invitation to drop by for tea and cake any time.”

“How sweet! I’d love to meet her. She must have her hands full, raising two boys on her own so much of the time.”

“It’s trying at times,” he agreed, “but she manages it all pretty well. She’s used to it by now.”

“And she has you to help her. She’s very lucky.”

To cover the sudden, awkward silence – why did she
say
that? – Emma reached out and switched on the radio. ‘Our House’ by Madness filled the cabin.

OK…not much help, that song. She found something else – a nice, anodyne jazz instrumental – and lowered the volume.

“Thanks for putting up with the boys.” He glanced over at her. “You needn’t have bought them toys, you know. They liked you even before the bribery.”

“It wasn’t bribery!” she exclaimed, indignant. “How can you take boys to a place like Hamleys and not buy them a toy? It’s – it’s beyond harsh.”

He grinned. “Harsh, is it? Just wait until you have kids of your own. You’ll become as tough and heartless as a Royal Marines drill instructor.”

“Oh, no kids for me,” she said, firmly.

“Why not?” He looked at her in surprise. “You were great with Nick and Colin…they really liked you.”

“It’s just not in the books right now, that’s all.” Emma fiddled with the clasp of her seat belt. “I have my father to look after, and Litchfield Manor to take care of.”

“Your father seems quite capable of taking care of himself. And as for the house – that’s what Martine is for.”

“Martine’s young,” Emma pointed out. “She’ll leave to get married one day soon, and then what?”

“Then you hire someone else to take her place. And who’s to say your father won’t meet someone himself and get remarried?”

She looked at him in astonishment. “Get remarried? He’d never!”

“Why shouldn’t he? He’s intelligent, pleasant, a widower in possession of a charming property in the country – not to mention his three very lovely daughters.” He paused. “Mr Bennet would make any woman a nice catch.”

Emma thought of Mrs Cusack, and with a shudder, quickly thrust the thought aside. “He and Lady de Byrne saw each other for a bit, but it didn’t last.”

“Why not? And who is Lady de Byrne? She sounds formidable.”

“She’s Hugh Darcy’s godmother…and yes, she can be a bit intimidating. She has very high – and very
rigid
– standards. But she’s been a great help to Lizzy and Hugh since their marriage, and she and daddy have become good friends.”

“Friends,” Mark echoed, and regarded Emma with an upraised brow. “The word which puts paid to any hope of a potential romance between two people.”

“Yes, but in this case, it’s probably for the best.” Emma met his gaze with a trace of defiance. “Daddy loved my mother. I can’t see him ever getting married again. Why should he, when he has me to look after him? And as for Martine,” she added, before he could argue the point any further, “I already have someone in mind for her. If all goes according to plan, she won’t be under our employ much longer.”

“Ah. I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” Mark said as he raised his brow at her, “but who might that be? Who’s the lucky chap you’ve decided on as a potential husband for Martine?”