Chapter 27 The Wild Girl, Chapter 17 #2
“That’s just the point,” Cynthia Morton said, coming into the room again. “She can’t remember. And it upsets her to talk about it. Besides, we have a guest.”
Emma looked towards the door as Tony Gordon entered. Her immediate reaction was that she should have put on a dress and done something more with her hair. Then she reminded herself that he had a girlfriend.
Iris held out her hand to him. “Tony, darling. How good of you to be at my beck and call.”
He came over and kissed her on the cheek. “As if anyone could refuse your commands, Iris.” He looked across to Emma, giving her an encouraging smile. “Hello, Emma.”
“Hello,” she said, feeling horribly self-conscious. When was she going to stop blushing like a schoolgirl?
“Help yourself to a sherry, Tony,” Cynthia said.
“Oh, thanks awfully.” He went across to the tray on the sideboard. He glanced back at Emma. “You don’t have a glass yet. Would you like one?”
“Please,” Emma said. He came over with two glasses. Emma took hers and then was going to sit when Iris said smugly, “Emma has already finished reading my manuscript.”
“That was quick. And?” Tony looked at her.
“It’s very exciting,” Emma said, “but it breaks off in the most suspenseful place. I have to know what Iris intended and where the story is supposed to go from here.”
Iris gave a tired sort of smile. “It’s no use my darlings. I can’t remember what I intended. So don’t let’s talk about it now. Drink your sherry and sit down. You’ve been working too hard. I thought you’d take days to get through the book.”
“It wasn’t that long,” Emma said. “And I was just getting caught up in the story when it stopped.”
“I know,” she said. “So was I. I foolishly thought I’d write just one more book.
Wrap things up nicely with Melrose. Wouldn’t it be nice to take him back to his roots, I thought.
To let people see what shaped him as the man we later knew.
But then I started it and I suddenly realized ‘I can’t do this.
’ Melrose used to speak to me and now he doesn’t any more.
I don’t really know what sort of man he was in those days.
I can’t think through a plot in my head any more.
I’ve always been a great plotter, you know.
My books were known for their fiendishly clever outcomes.
And now . . . all gone.” She sighed. Then she reached out a bony hand to Emma.
“That’s why I’m counting on you, dear child. You won’t let me down, will you?”
Emma had been heading for the sofa. Instead she stepped forward to take the hand. Iris pulled her closer with surprising strength until she was standing right beside the chair, feeling the heat of the fire on her left side. Iris gazed up at her with such fervency that she found it unnerving.
“I’ll do my best,” she said.
“As if she can possibly finish it,” Cynthia Morton said angrily.
When they turned to look at her, she went on.
“You said yourself, Iris, that you are known for your meticulous plotting, cunning twists. And you’re entrusting your work to a girl who has published one slight volume with almost no twists and turns that I know of?
Of course she won’t be able to do it justice, and you’ll be disappointed, and the whole thing will have been a waste of time. ”
Emma felt her hackles rise. Cynthia was speaking as if she wasn’t even in the room.
She waited for Iris to say something, but then she said, “You’re right, Miss Morton.
I only said I’d do my best. And if my best isn’t good enough, well that’s that, isn’t it?
I’ll go away and Iris can hire a more experienced writer. ”
“Who will want to put their own stamp on my book,” Iris said.
“Who will want equal billing on the cover. I do know what I’m doing, Cynthia.
I saw something in this young lady’s work that touched a nerve.
It was like reading what I’d written in my twenties.
And I thought, ‘Yes, she’ll understand what is needed. She’ll finish it for me.’”
Emma hoped this was not misplaced confidence but did not say so.
“Well, are you coming in to dinner before it gets cold?” Cook stood in the doorway, hands on hips.
“To hear is to obey,” Iris said. “Help me up.”
When Tony and Emma moved to Iris, Cynthia stepped in. “Come along then,” she said.
Tony and Emma followed behind. Tony drew closer to Emma, making her heartbeat quicken for a second before he whispered, “You’ve read the book. What do you really think? Is it all right?”
“It’s only half there,” Emma said, “but what she’s written is great. All the atmosphere of Skye. I can’t wait to see it for myself.”
“That means you’re taking on the task and going to Scotland?”
“I’d be stupid not to,” Emma said. “It will kick me into writing again.”
He paused, looking at her with interest. “Writing means a lot to you, does it?”
“It meant everything until recently. I haven’t been able to write since I came to England, and I’ve been terrified I’ll never get a good idea again.”
“Of course you can’t write about a place you don’t know well,” he said.
Emma gave a worried chuckle. “And yet I’m being asked to write about Skye, where I’ve never been.”
Tony grinned. “That was a tactless thing to say, wasn’t it? I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly.”
“I wish I was equally sure,” Emma said, “but I’m going to give it a lash as we say.”
“A what?”
“A try. I’m going to give it a try.”
“Come on, you two. I know you’d like to have your tryst in the darkness, but Mrs Fisk will kill you if the food gets cold,” Iris called, her voice booming, remarkably strong, down the hallway.
Emma and Tony exchanged an amused grin and hurried in.
Dinner passed pleasantly enough. Iris refused any more mention of the book and did not hint at why Tony had been summoned.
Emma glanced at him across the table. He was so nice, so easy to talk to, but it was no good thinking he was being any more than naturally friendly.
Iris had instructed him to be nice to her.
She’d invited a young person to make Emma feel more at home.
That was all there was to it. With a little sigh Emma looked down to focus on her meal.
The food, as Emma had come to know, was delicious.
It was a consommé with herbed croutons, lamb cutlets with mint sauce, parsley potatoes and a vegetable marrow with white sauce.
There was claret to accompany it, then floating island followed by cheese and fruit.
To Emma, who had lived on grilled cheese, omelette and the occasional Sainsbury’s individual steak and kidney pudding since she arrived in London, this felt like heaven.
It took her back to the old days growing up on the farm, a time of absolute plenty when leg of lamb, steaks on the barbie, shrimp and lobster were all taken for granted.
When there was fruit to pick whenever you wanted it.
And a whole cellar full of wine. She hadn’t realized until now how much she missed it.
Missed her dad and her pony and the life there.
To her embarrassment she felt tears coming to her eyes.
“I should be getting back,” Tony said, shaking her out of her thoughts. “Thank you for dinner.” He started to stand up.
“So you’ve looked into arrangements for me, haven’t you?
” Iris said, making him sit down again. “Emma will need enough money to tide her through and a letter of credit to the bank in Scotland in case she runs short. Oh, and book her a berth on the night train to Glasgow. She’ll want to spend at least a day in that city, seeing Melrose’s home before she goes on to Fort William and Mallaig. ”
“Really?” Tony looked concerned. “Are you sure that line is still open? It wasn’t part of Beeching’s Axe?”
“They have probably axed the line from Inverness to Kyle but the line from Mallaig must still be operating. It’s the only way to get the herring from the port to the cities,” Iris said.
“And the lobsters and Scotch to the south. More important, I suspect.” Tony smiled. “So when would you want to leave, Emma?”
Emma felt this was all a bit rushed. “I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t even discussed the book with Iris yet. I really can’t make decisions until—”