Page 10 of The Importance of Being Emma
Emma and I sat down on either side of him and immediately edged our chairs further from the fire.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I didn’t bring the car, I walked.’
His jaw dropped. ‘At this time of year? Your clothes will be wet through, you’ll catch your death. Darling, pop upstairs and bring Mark one of my flannelette shirts and those baggy fawn cords, theymightfit him. If not—’
I laughed. ‘Henry, I’m fine, I enjoyed the fresh air and my clothes are perfectly dry. Look at my shoes, not a speck of mud on them.’
‘But how will you get home? Darling, order a taxi for Mark, shall we say about ten o’clock?’
‘That’s kind of you, Henry, but I’ll walk back. Along the road, of course, the bridle path will be pitch black.’
Emma, who had stayed seated despite Henry’s instructions, said briskly, ‘I’ll give you a lift.’
I shuddered. ‘No thanks, I’ve heard all about your driving from John.’
Henry gave me a reproachful look. ‘Emma’s a wonderful driver, your brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about—’
Emma hastily held up the claret. ‘Look what Mark’s brought you, Dad.’
‘Thank you, so thoughtful.’ He beamed at me, then turned to Emma. ‘Shall we drink it tonight, or have you already opened something?’
‘I have, but I’m sure we can manage more than one bottle. After all, it’s a celebration, our first meal together in years.’
‘Not for lack of trying on my part,’ I said. ‘But whenever I was back in England, you were away.’
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Pure coincidence, nothing personal. And now I can’t avoid you even if I wanted to, because you’re mentoring me. Oh joy.’
‘Just like old times, Big Brother looking over your shoulder.’
She got up rather abruptly and walked towards the door with the wine.
‘You must notice a big difference in Emma since you last saw her,’ Henry said, gazing after her.
I watched her stop by a glass-fronted cabinet, put the wine down and start to re-arrange the figurines inside.
‘Yes.’ I paused. ‘And no.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s changed physically, filled out here and there, acquired a bit of sophistication. But when I look at her I see the same old Emma, and I suppose I always will.’
Across the room, Emma slammed the cabinet door shut, snatched up the wine and hurried out; leaving me to reflect that, when necessary, I could be a bloody good liar.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
‘Filled out here and there . . . acquired a bit of sophistication . . . but still the same old Emma’?
I kicked open the kitchen door. It was going to be an uphill battle to get him to treat me like an adult. At least he’d stopped short of calling me his little sister. If he had, I swear I would have inserted the Château Cheval bloody Blanc somewhere about his person, without an anaesthetic.
Mark Knightley had a reputation for being fair and honest, but always diplomatic. Except when it came to me. It was as if he judged me by different standards from everyone else, the lowest being perfection and the highest something beyond sainthood.
Several deep breaths later, I returned to the dining room with the decanted wine and three glasses.
As I sat down, Mark gave me one of his calculating looks. ‘I was about to come and see if you needed a hand.’
‘I think I can manage to open a bottle of wine, not much call for mentoring there. Dad, would you like a little of this before dinner?’
