For the Love of Emma Page 3

  “I simply liked the name.” Briony gave a reminiscent chuckle. “I drove my parents mad. I remember going out in the car with my father one day, and at the last minute insisting that Saucepan came with us. Dad said, ‘Which one?’ I said, ‘Saucepan,’ and he said, ‘Yes, but which Saucepan?’ I didn’t know what he meant, because to me it was obvious that when I said Saucepan I was talking about all of them. My mother had to explain it to him. It was obvious to her, too.”

  “Well, I guess it’s not so easy for a father to follow what’s going on in a little girl’s head,” Carlyle observed with a sigh.

  “Do you find that often?” Briony asked sympathetically.

  He gave a wry smile. “It can be like talking to someone from another planet.” He leaned back suddenly and regarded her with appreciation. “I guess you really do know what it’s all about. I can’t believe that you have no family. You act like a woman with a dozen nieces.”

  “I told you, I used to be a little girl myself,” she said lightly. “There’s no mystery about it.”

  “Now you’re putting me off. I wonder why.”

  Briony stiffened. “I see no need to talk about this,” she said in a tight voice. “If you think I can be helpful with Emma, I’m glad, but I won’t discuss my private affairs.”

  For a moment a scowl darkened his face. “Miss Fielding—” he growled, then stopped himself impatiently. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long since anyone snubbed me that I’ve forgotten how to cope. I had no right to pry. Please forgive me.”

  There was genuine warmth in his smile, which seemed to reach out across the table and touch her. Nature had given his mouth a sensual curve that she could appreciate now that he wasn’t barking orders at her. She drew in her breath, alarmed at this man’s impact. There was an intensity about him that left her slightly stunned. She was suddenly convinced that everything he did—whether loving, hating or suffering—would be done intensely. He had charm, too, not the emollient kind, but a rough vitality that filled the world with excitement and made her feel alive all over.

  “Miss Fielding?”

  “Briony,” she said mechanically.

  “Briony, I asked you to forgive me and you went off into a dream.”

  “I’m sorry.” She pulled herself together. “Yes, of course, it’s all right. It’s fine. Honestly.” With dismay she realized that she was babbling, and pulled herself together. To her relief his attention was taken with ordering them some more tea. She looked away, feeling self-conscious, hoping that her moment of awareness of him as a man hadn’t shown in her face.

  “Emma’s adorable,” she said, seeking a safe topic.

  “Yes, I know,” he said simply.

  Briony was annoyed with him. She was doing her best to make polite conversation and he wasn’t helping. Even the compliment to his child hadn’t made him smile. If anything the shadowed look on his face had deepened.

  “I wonder if you aren’t a little too protective of her,” she went on determinedly. “I understand about the Big Dipper, but some of the other rides you’ve vetoed would surely be all right. That Mini Dipper over there, with the dragon cars, looks safe enough.” A desire to get under his skin made her add, “I’ll go with her if you’re scared.”

  That got him, she was glad to note. His eyebrows shot up. “Are you trying to annoy me Miss—Briony?”

  “To tease you a little, perhaps. This is a funfair. You’re supposed to look cheerful.”

  “I’ll look cheerful when Emma returns.”

  “You mean, you’ll switch it on for her. Actually your mind is seething with worry about how the office is managing without you. I’m surprised you didn’t bring your mobile phone to keep in touch.”

  “That would have spoiled it for her,” he said seriously.

  “You’re spoiling it for her by wrapping her in cotton wool.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled. Then he made a sound of impatience. “I’m sorry—again. I seem to do nothing but apologize to you for my bad manners. Try to ignore them, if you can. I do have a lot on my mind, but it’s not what you think.”

  Before she could answer, Emma returned, bouncing into her chair, beaming happily. Briony noticed how Carlyle’s face immediately brightened for her, as though he were suddenly on duty again.

  “Daddy, there’s some Dodgem Cars over there,” Emma said. “Can we go on them?”

  “Darling, I don’t think—”

  “Oh, please, Daddy, please. You haven’t let me go on anything really exciting.”

  “We’ve just been on the lake,” Tom protested.

  “Yes, but that’s not exciting,” Emma explained. “Not unless the boat has a hole, and it sinks. And it didn’t,” she added, sounding disappointed.

  “Poor Tom.” Briony laughed. “He wouldn’t have gone with you if he’d known what you call fun.”

  “But you’d like to go on the Dodgems, wouldn’t you?” Emma appealed to her. “You’d like it best of all.”

  “Yes, I think I would,” Briony said with a defiant look at Carlyle.

  “Please, Daddy.” Emma supplicated her father with a look strongly suggestive of a neglected orphan.

  “All right,” he said reluctantly. “But look—”

  The rest of his words were lost. Emma was already scampering away with the long-suffering Tom in tow. By the time Carlyle and Briony caught up, the other two had bagged a car and Emma was yelling, “Daddy, you go with Briony, and Tom and me will bash you and bash you.”

  “Thank you, darling,” he yelled back at her. He looked at Briony. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

  She knew Dodgem Cars were cramped, but she’d never appreciated just how cramped until she found herself sharing the tiny space with him. It was a struggle to seem indifferent as his body was pressed close to hers. She could feel the warmth of his flesh right down from her shoulder to her waist, her hips, and along the line of her leg. She wanted to pinch herself to believe that this was happening. Only this morning she’d been abusing him as a heartless monster. But that was hours ago, and in those hours the world had turned upside down, making her electrifyingly aware of his masculinity, and thrilled by the enforced contact. She tried to keep her breathing steady, and concentrate.

  “Will you drive or shall I?” Carlyle demanded.

  “You. I’ll watch out for attack. I think it’s coming now.”

  Sure enough, Emma, eyes wide with excitement, was bearing down on them. “That’s not fair,” Briony called. “Let us get started.” The last word was jerked out of her as the cars collided. Their tormentor sped off, but only to turn for a renewed assault.

  Carlyle managed to get their car out into the center of the rink and execute a few dodging movements, but Emma came zooming at them again.

  “Got you!” she yelled.

  “Look, there isn’t room for two pairs of shoulders in this thing,” Carlyle said breathlessly. “You drive and I’ll put my arm round the back.”

  She found herself enclosed in the circle of his arms. For a moment she was flooded by self-consciousness, but almost immediately the moment passed as Emma came flying toward them and she had to concentrate on evasive action. She turned and began to head in Emma’s direction, but Carlyle said quickly, “Don’t hit Emma’s car. And try not to let her hit us.”

  It was easier said than done. Emma had none of her father’s compunction and rammed whenever she had the chance. Briony twisted and turned, but without much success, and by the time they got out she felt as if all her bones were shaking.

  “I think it’s about time we went home now,” Carlyle said.

  “Oh, no, Daddy, please let’s stay a little longer,” Emma begged. “Please.” She clutched Briony’s hand tighter as though relying on her for support.

  Carlyle went down on one knee before her. “Look, darling, you can’t—” He broke off suddenly as Emma’s eyes closed. She forced herself to open them at once, but they closed again and she began to sway. �
�Daddy,” she whispered.

  “Tom, get the car,” Carlyle said harshly. The next moment he’d swept his daughter up into his arms and began striding away. Briony was forced to go, too, for Emma’s hold on her hand hadn’t relaxed.

  Tom raced ahead and brought the car down to meet them. Briony followed Carlyle and Emma into the back. On the journey home he sat with Emma on his lap, enfolding her protectively in his arms. The child’s head rested on his shoulder, her eyes were closed and she looked frighteningly pale.

  “What’s the matter?” Briony asked in alarm. “Is she ill?”

  He didn’t answer in words but with a frown and a shake of the head. It wasn’t a denial of her suggestion, but a command to wait until later.

  “The car phone’s on your side,” he said. “Would you please dial a number I’ll give you?”

  She did so, and offered him the receiver, but he only tightened his arms about his daughter and indicated for Briony to hold it to his ear. When he answered, it became clear Carlyle was talking to a doctor’s secretary. “She just keeled over,” he said. “It’s only tiredness—I’m quite—fairly sure of that. It’s happened before—it’s just tiredness. But I’d like Dr. Carson to—thank you. We’ll be home in ten minutes.”

  He nodded for Briony to replace the receiver and leaned back, closing his eyes. His brow was damp and his face had the same dreadful look she’d seen on it earlier. She felt her heart begin to thump painfully as an appalled suspicion dawned on her. Emma had spoken of having been “not very well,” as though her illness was in the past. But it wasn’t. The sight of her drooping figure was enough to confirm that she was still very sick. And that terrible expression on Carlyle’s face! No parent ever looked like that about a child unless…

  Briony felt as though she were choking. She couldn’t face this. She’d been through the valley of the shadow and seen the darkness claim one little girl. The misery and horror had almost overwhelmed her, but somehow she’d emerged. Now she was being pulled back in and it was more than she could stand. She had to get out of this car, she thought wildly. She’d make some excuseany thing—but she had to get away.

  “Thank God we’re here,” Carlyle said as the car drew up outside a large house, set well back from the road and almost concealed by trees.

  “Mr. Brackman, I—”

  “Can you help me get her out?”

  Briony had no choice but to do as he asked. As he lifted the child again, she tried gently to get her hand free, but Emma held on, as though even in her semiconscious state she knew that this one contact mattered.

  “Come in and help me put her to bed,” he said curtly.

  Silently she followed him into the house and up the wide stairs to Emma’s bedroom. A middle-aged woman with a kindly face looked in. “My Tom said she’d been taken poorly,” she said.

  “At the fair,” Carlyle told her. “The doctor should be here at any moment. Watch for him at the front door and show him straight up.”

  “I think I hear him,” she said, and vanished.

  She returned a moment later with an elderly man. Emma’s grip had relaxed at last, and Briony drew away. Carlyle seemed unaware of her, but as she reached the door he said abruptly, “Wait for me downstairs.”

  Reluctantly she complied. Part of her still longed to escape, but a stronger part of her needed to stay and hear how Emma fared. She was followed down by Tom’s wife, who introduced herself as Nora, and offered to bring some coffee.

  Briony drank it alone in a large room overlooking the front garden. It was expensively furnished in a style that was up to date without being aggressively modern, but for her taste it was too neat. There was no cheerful clutter to suggest that a child lived here.

  At last she heard the doctor coming downstairs, and Carlyle letting him out. When the front door had closed there was total silence for a long moment, then the sound of footsteps coming near until Carlyle burst into the room. He went straight to the drinks cabinet, poured himself a generous measure of brandy and tossed it off in one gulp. He seemed about to pour another one, but instead he set down the glass sharply. The next moment his fist slammed into the wall in a punch that shook the room.

  He stayed motionless for a moment, then leaned his forehead against the wall as though his strength had drained away. Briony stared, horrified. He looked like a man in the extremity of agony.

  Slowly she moved closer and touched him on the shoulder. He turned and stared at her with eyes that saw nothing. He was breathing heavily.

  “Come and sit down,” she said gently.

  He let him draw her to the sofa, where he sat. He seemed only half aware of what he was doing.

  “Your hand’s bleeding,” Briony said, examining the grazed and bruised knuckle. “Shall I call Nora—?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “I don’t want her to see me like this.” He took out a handkerchief and wound it round the hand. “Just pour me another brandy. A large one.”

  She did so and set it beside him. “What’s the matter with Emma?” she asked quietly.

  But her worst fears told her the answer even before he raised his head and said bleakly, “She’s dying.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “SHE’S dying,” Carlyle repeated when Briony was silent.

  Briony had half expected to hear something of the kind, but she had to brace herself against the blunt words before she could speak.

  “She told me she’d been ill, but she spoke as if it was in the past—”

  “She thinks it is, and she must go on thinking so. But it’s not over. It won’t be over until—” He stopped and shuddered. “It’ll never be over,” he finished.

  “But—why?”

  “Her heart. Her mother’s heart wasn’t strong. We didn’t know that when we married, but late in the pregnancy she had a heart attack. We’d never dreamed—she seemed so strong—she survived the heart attack, but the doctor warned us that the birth would probably be too much for her. For the last month, we knew what was going to happen. We pretended we didn’t, but we did. She had a Caesarean birth, to ease the strain on her but—” Carlyle couldn’t go on. He raised both hands in a gesture of helplessness, and some powerful protective instinct made Briony enfold them in hers. He began to talk again. “She lived long enough to hold Emma in her arms. Then she fell into a coma. I stayed with her for two days, holding her hand, talking to her, but she never woke again.”

  Suddenly he seemed to notice that he was holding Briony’s hands. He released her self-consciously, and made a visible effort to pull himself together. “I’m sorry. I had no right to lose control and put you through it, too. Usually I manage things better.”

  It would have been impossible for Briony to tell him that he was more likable now than the super-controlled man she saw at work. “It’s all right,” she said gently. “Just tell me whatever you want to.”

  “The doctors warned me that Emma might have the same trouble as her mother, but for years I thought we’d got away with it. And then—suddenly—”

  “But isn’t there anything they can do?” Briony asked. “There are marvelous heart operations these days. Surely there’s one for her?”

  “Yes, if she were strong enough. But it’s too late. She’s too weak to stand the strain. It would simply mean her dying now instead of—in a few months.”

  He looked at her. “Do you understand? I’m trying to cram everything into those months. I’m trying to be the father I never made time to be before. I’ve always loved her, but building the firm up has taken a lot of my attention and—God forgive me, I thought she was all right.” The words were a cry.

  “Oh, heavens!” Briony whispered, full of horror.

  “I meant to be a better father than I’ve been, but I believed there was plenty of time. Do you know what she wants most in the world?”

  “You?”

  “No, a mother. That’s all she’s ever really wanted, to have a mother like other little girls. I always promised to get her one, but now I
’ve left it too late. All I can do is try to give her everything else in the short time she has left.”

  He drank his brandy and began talking again in a confused, desperate way. “She pleaded to go to the funfair. I shouldn’t have agreed—it was bound to be too much for her—but she wanted it so much—so I gave in. And then when she collapsed—how could I have been such a fool?”

  “But she’s not dying now?” Briony asked quickly.

  “No, the doctor says she just needs a good rest. But it’s taken some of her strength, and she has so little left. How can I be sure if I did the right thing?” He dropped his head into his hands.

  Briony’s heart ached for him. She knew only too well the agonies of self-reproach and regret that he was suffering. Hardly conscious of her actions, she gently took hold of his shoulders. After a moment he looked up and met her eyes. His face was ravaged.

  “Listen to me,” she said softly. “You can’t ever be totally sure you did the right thing. Life just doesn’t make it easy for us like that. But if you love her, and she knows it, then—then that has to be enough. You mustn’t torment yourself with guilt, because—” Her voice shook. “Because useless guilt is so destructive. You can only give her all your love and do what seems best at the time.”

  His gaze was fixed on her, his attention caught by her tone and by a look of strain on her face that echoed his own.

  “You understand, don’t you?” he said quietly.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Then it’s easier for me to ask you to do something—not for me, but for Emma. She likes you. I’ve never seen her take to someone so quickly.”

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked with a heart full of dread.

  “Be her friend until—for as long as she needs one. Let us spend some time with you. Let her pretend that you’re her mother.”

  She was backing away before the words were out. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, but you like her, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Briony choked. “Too much.”

  “Please, it’ll mean so much to her. And it won’t be for long. Can’t you see that?”