White Rose Of Winter

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 giggled, and Julie steeled herself to look about her with feigned interest. But in actual fact, it was interesting. So much old building had gone and in its place the concrete structures of streamlined living. The motorways were a revelation, linking and interlinking in a network of steel girders. She wondered whether she would ever dare drive here again after the quiet roads around Rhatoon, and then decided rather wryly that she might not get the chance. After all, Michael had left all his shares in the company to the family, and what little income she had in her own right would scarcely run to a car. Indeed, she expected to have to return to secretarial work to support herself. She didn’t want to feel beholden to the Pembertons.

By the time they reached Sloane Street and turned into Eaton Gate, Julie had her bearings again. Inner London had changed much less than the outskirts, and it was all painfully familiar. They passed the end of the street where the Pemberton Construction Company had its offices, and she recalled with clarity her first day there in the typing pool. She had been very young in those days, and it wasn’t until later that she progressed up the scale to become Vincent Harvey’s secretary, and through him had been introduced to the chairman, Robert Pemberton. Her nerves tautened. The classic situation, she thought bitterly. Ideal scope for the romantic. But how disastrously it had all ended.

Robert was turning into a quiet square and presently he brought the car to a halt in the forecourt of an immense block of apartments. Even in the rain, Julie could see how impressive it all was, the sculptured forecourt with its formal gardens and fountains, the shallow steps leading up to a row of swing glass doors, the commissionaire from his office vetting all would-be visitors. Recognizing Robert’s car, he saluted politely and Robert raised a casual hand in his direction as he slid from behind the wheel.

When Robert opened the boot to take out their luggage, the commissionaire left his office to approach them. ‘Good afternoon, sir. May I be of assistance?’

Robert shook his head, drops of water sparkling on the thick darkness of his hair. ‘Thank you, Norris, I can manage. Miserable afternoon, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Norris looked curiously at Julie and Emma, who had climbed out of the car and were standing together looking vaguely lost and alien.

Robert intercepted Norris’s interest and standing down the cases, he straightened and slammed the boot lid. ‘My sister-in-law and her daughter are staying with me for a few days,’ he commented by way of an explanation. ‘They’ve just arrived back from Malaya.’

Julie’s eyes widened at this unexpected piece of information. They were to stay with Robert?

But she could not say anything with Norris looking on, so she confined herself to a pointed stare at her brother-in-law. However, Robert seemed utterly indifferent to her reaction, and picking up the cases he indicated that they should precede him into the building.

Julie took Emma’s hand and climbed the shallow steps seething with indignation. What did he mean? Why were they to stay with him? Lucy had said in her letters that they were to stay with her, that she was lonely now that Robert had his own apartment, that she would welcome them into her home wholeheartedly. Needless to say, Julie had taken this with some degree of scepticism. She knew her mother-in-law too well to believe that she should have changed her attitude towards her. But even so, she had never doubted the truth of the arrangements.

In the cramped environs of the lift, cramped with two adults, one child, and two suitcases, Julie had to say something.

‘Why are we to stay with you, Robert? I understood from your mother’s letters we were to stay with her.’

Robert was propped indolently against the wall of the lift, his legs astride the cases. ‘Now now, Julie,’ he responded curtly. Then to the child: ‘Well, Emma? What do you think?’

Emma was thankfully too young to be aware of the undercurrents present in the adults’ conversation and smiled up at him. ‘Does it take very long to reach the top?’

‘Not very. We’ll be there in a few seconds. Look – can you see the red light moving behind those numbers? They’re the numbers of the floors we’re passing. See – ours is this one, right at the top.’

Emma’s eyes grew wide. ‘Oh, yes. Look, Mummy, we’re almost there. Gosh, my tummy feels all empty somehow.’

There was a slowing moment when Emma looked slightly disconcerted at the sudden change in her metabolism, and then the lift stopped and Robert opened the door.

They stepped out on to a pile-carpeted hallway, but although all the lifts opened on to this hall there were only two doors, and one of them was obviously a service door. Julie was impressed in spite of herself. Robert’s apartment must be huge.

Robert lifted the cases, but as they reached the door into the apartment it opened and a man, dressed all in black, stood waiting for them. He was middle-aged, with greying gingery hair, and a ginger moustache.

‘Oh, hello there, sir,’ he greeted Robert cheerfully, his round face beaming. ‘I heard the lift and I said to Mrs. Pemberton, I bet that’s Mr. Robert, and it is!’

Robert smiled faintly. ‘Very efficient,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Here, you can take these cases.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The man came forward and as he did so Robert glanced rather reluctantly at Julie. Then he said shortly: ‘This is Halbird, Julie. He goes everywhere with me. He’s a sort of general factotum, I suppose. At any rate, he’s capable of turning his hand to anything.’

Julie smiled the sort of wintry smile that was all her tight features would run to. ‘Good afternoon, Halbird.’

‘Good afternoon, madam. And you, too, miss,’ he added, looking warmly at Emma. ‘I hope you had a pleasant journey. Not much of a day for arriving back here, though, is it? Miserable!’

‘Miserable,’ echoed Julie, and Emma, with her usual curiosity, said:

‘Why hasn’t your moustache gone grey, like your hair?’

‘Emma!’ Julie was horrified, but both Halbird and Robert laughed.

‘I don’t know, little missy,’ he replied, picking up the cases. ‘Perhaps the frost hasn’t penetrated that far yet.’

‘What do you mean?’ Emma frowned.