White Rose Of Winter. Anne Mather
Julie, managing a slight smile. ‘Come on. We’ll soon be able to have a bath and change our clothes. And those eyes look very tired, young lady.’
Emma smiled. ‘It’s exciting, though, isn’t it?’ she breathed. ‘I mean – we are here, aren’t we? In London. Do you think Grandma will be better by tomorrow?’
Julie shook her head. ‘I have no idea,’ she answered shortly, and was conscious of a faint reaction from the man ahead of them. He seemed to hesitate, as though he was about to say something more, but then he went on, his broad shoulders blocking Julie’s vision until they reached the swing doors and he stood aside politely to allow her to precede him.
Robert’s car was a pale grey Aston Martin, sleek and powerful, like the man himself. Six years ago, Julie reflected, he had driven an E-type Jaguar, but perhaps his tastes had changed since then. The porter stowed their cases in the boot of the car, and straightened to thank Robert enthusiastically for the tip he received. Robert seemed indifferent to the man’s gratitude, his face expressionless as he held open the passenger door for Julie to get in. Emma clambered into the back, bouncing up and down on the seat.
‘Isn’t it a super car?’ she exclaimed, her annoyance at the non-appearance of her grandmother vanishing in the excitement of the moment.
‘Super,’ echoed Julie, a trifle dryly, giving her small daughter a smile before hunching her shoulders in the soft fur coat.
Robert came to get in beside her, slamming his door and flicking the ignition with impatient precision. His thigh was only a few inches away from hers, and she had only to move her leg slightly to encounter his, and the realization brought back a flood of recollections she had forced herself to believe were forgotten. But was anything truly forgotten? she asked herself. Was it not more accurate to say that the mind could shed veils over things one wanted to forget, and until those veils were tom aside one could delude oneself into believing anything?
Robert turned on the screen wipers as they moved out of the parking area into the stream of traffic making for the city. The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was grey and dismal, causing the cars to use their lights even though it was only the middle of the afternoon. To Emma, it was all curiously new and exciting, but Julie shivered. She knew how cold and miserable London could seem in November.
Robert was an expert driver, his long-fingered hands sliding smoothly round the wheel, his eyes intent on the road ahead. However, as the traffic thinned on the motorway, he said: ‘There are some cigarettes in the glove compartment, if you’d like one.’
Julie shook her head. ‘I seldom smoke,’ she replied politely. Then, for Emma’s sake, she went on: ‘I hope your mother’s not seriously ill.’
Robert flicked a glance in her direction. ‘A cold, nothing more.’
‘I see,’ Julie linked her fingers together in her lap.
‘Where are you taking us, Uncle Robert?’ Emma asked, her arms resting on the backs of their seats. It was the question Julie had wanted to ask since Robert met them at the airport, but had been unable to voice.
Robert swung past a lumbering wagon before replying. Then he said casually: ‘We’re going into the city, Emma. I live there. I have an apartment. Would you like to see it?’
Julie looked swiftly at him. ‘Where’s your mother?’
Robert’s expression hardened. ‘Don’t alarm yourself, Julie. She’ll be there waiting for us.’
‘I’m not alarmed!’ Julie couldn’t prevent the sharpness of the retort. She hated this feeling of tension he was deliberately creating, and although Emma could not be aware of it, she resented it.
‘You mean Grandma is waiting for us at your apartment?’ cried Emma excitedly.
‘That’s right. She’s longing to see you again.’
Robert’s tone was entirely different when he spoke to Emma. And well it might be, thought Julie dryly. After all, she could hardly expect Robert to welcome her warmly after everything that had happened. But perhaps outright anger would have been better to cope with than this curt civility that was so chilling, so cold-blooded …
‘Your mother lives with you, then?’ Julie ventured at last. She had to ask.
Robert shook his head. ‘No. She doesn’t live in Richmond any more, as you possibly know, but she has an apartment of her own in town.’
‘I see.’ Julie frowned. She didn’t altogether care for that. If they were to live with Lucy, as she had led them to believe from her letters, an apartment in town was not the environment Julie would have chosen for Emma. After the freedom of the last few years it would be very hard for her to adapt.
And Robert was making things no easier by behaving as though she should be content to wait and see what was to happen to them. And he still hadn’t mentioned Michael! Why? Because of Emma’s presence? Or for some other reason? Surely he must realize after three months that they were both able to accept the situation, however distressing it might be. But it was not up to her to bring up that subject, so she said nothing.
‘Will I be able to see Buckingham Palace from my window?’ Emma was asking now, and Julie turned to reprove her with gentle tolerance. ‘London’s not like Rhatoon, darling,’ she said, smiling. ‘There are lots and lots of buildings here. Skyscrapers, too. You know what they are, don’t you?’
Emma’s lips drooped. ‘What will we see, then? The sea?’
Julie sighed. ‘No, not the sea. Probably more houses,’ she added dryly.
Robert changed down rapidly. ‘Stop trying to put the child off even before she’s seen where she’s going to live,’ he said briefly. Then, to Emma: ‘Actually, you can see Buckingham Palace from the apartment windows.’
Julie’s cheeks burned at the reproof, but Emma was delighted. ‘Can you? Can you really? Is it very high up?’
‘Very high up,’ agreed Robert. ‘The top of a skyscraper, in fact.’
‘Gosh!’ Emma was impressed. ‘How do we get up there? Are there lots of stairs? Do we go round and round like we did in the pagoda—’
‘There are lifts,’ inserted Julie shortly, trying to calm her indignation. She realized her explanations to Emma must have sounded off-putting, but she was tired, too. Couldn’t Robert make allowances for that?
‘Electric lifts,’ said Robert, continuing his conversation with Emma almost as though Julie was not present. ‘You work them yourself. You just press a button for the floor you want, and up you go.’
‘But what if the lift’s upstairs and you’re downstairs?’ asked Emma, with her painstaking logic.
Robert grinned at her over his shoulder, but Julie looked away. She couldn’t bear the realization that unless she was careful Robert would succeed in winning Emma’s affection. She didn’t want that. It might be a selfish thought, but that was something she could not accept. Not now. Not now that Michael was dead.
Oh, why had he had to die? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. Their world had seemed so peaceful, so secure. And now it was shattered.
Neither Robert nor Emma were aware of her anxieties. ‘Good question,’ Robert was remarking in answer to Emma’s query. ‘Well, you press another button, and the lift automatically comes down to you. And in the same way, if you’re upstairs and the lift is down it comes up. Of course, it’s an enormous building, so there are six lifts really.’
Emma was impressed. ‘But what would you do if the lifts broke down?’ she asked. ‘If there was no electricity to work them.’
Robert slowed behind a stream of cars entering Hammersmith flyover. ‘There are stairs to use in an emergency,’ he answered. ‘But I shouldn’t care to have to climb them, would you? Those short legs of yours might wear away before you reached the top.’
Emma