Page 120 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘Poor Jane! I don’t see how it’ll last, she barely knows him, they only met last October.’
Mark cleared his throat. ‘So, for a relationship between a man and a woman to be successful, you think they need to have known each other a long time.’
I gave a strained laugh as I sat down between them. ‘Like Izzy and John, or even Mark and I—’ But I got no further.
‘Poor Isabella,’ Dad said, with a sigh. ‘She must have known what she was letting herself in for — no offence, Mark, but your brother is rather difficult — and still she went ahead.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, on to other things. Emma doesn’t seem to have suffered any ill effects from her walk in the rain, I’m looking forward to hearing how you did it, Mark.’
Mark nearly choked on his whisky. ‘Ah, Henry, I’m afraid my lips are sealed. It’s a secret remedy that’s been in the Knightley family for years. But back to relationships between men and women, Emma and I—’
‘Secret family remedies?’ Dad frowned. ‘I didn’t know you had any.’
‘That’s because they’re secret,’ Mark said patiently. ‘As I was saying, Emma and I have known each other for years. Now — well, we’ve discovered we love each other. Very very much.’ He smiled across at me and I smiled back.
Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course you do, you’ve always said Emma’s like your little sister.’
Mark flushed and bit his lip. ‘Just forget what I’ve said in the past. Believe me, that’s not how I feel about her now.’
‘We want to be with each other all the time,’ I put in. ‘Every hour of every day — and night.’
‘Good gracious, I don’t see any need for that nonsense,’ Dad said. ‘Far better to go on as you were. As Woodrow Wilson once said, if you want to make enemies, try to change something.’
Mark and I looked at each other in despair. Then Mark leaned forward and said in a grave voice, ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t have to worry you with this, Henry, but there’ve been some disturbing rumours recently. Do you remember Emma’s little joke about the Highbury Humper? Well, it seems that he actually exists and he may be on the prowl this very minute . . . ’
* * *
~~MARK~~
It was early spring before I could arrange a day at Ashridge for Emma and me. Until then, I’d been too busy progressing the merger between our companies and adjusting to life at Hartfield, which was enough to try the patience of a saint. And I certainly wasn’t that.
I’d also taken Emma to India, as promised. I could have done at the Taj Mahal what I wanted to do at Ashridge; but we’d gone there with Rob and Harriet, which wasn’t ideal. In any case, our time in India was rushed because I had to focus on getting Rob up to speed as my replacement. He and Harriet had fallen in love with the place and he’d been delighted to accept my offer of a job there. His parents had been less than delighted, but I’d managed to placate them by finding someone with the necessary experience to take over at Abbey Mill Haulage.
Now, as we approached Ashridge, the sun broke through the clouds and filtered between the green-tipped trees. It reminded me of our visit last autumn, except that this time I was filled with anticipation of a much more pleasurable kind. We parked the car and strolled hand in hand to the front entrance. Just before we reached it, I stopped.
‘Fancy a walk up there?’ I said, pointing to the wide cutting in the trees on our left.
She looked along the grassy path and saw, on the horizon, a pale slender column tapering to a small cross. She smiled at me. ‘Why not?’
And so we retraced the steps of Earl Brownlow on his daily pilgrimage to his beloved wife’s memorial. I let Emma do the talking, all about the synergy benefits she anticipated from merging Highbury Foods’ marketing activities with Donwell’s. The path ended at a road and we waited there for a couple of cars to pass. Directly opposite us was the cross, standing perhaps twenty feet tall on Little Gaddesden’s village green. A few minutes later, we were climbing the steps up to it and reading the simple inscription: ‘In remembrance of Adelaide. Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and peace have kissed each other.’
Emma turned to me, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. ‘When you first told me this story, I remember saying something like “That’s true love”. But at the time I didn’t know what true love was.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I do now.’
I reached for her hand, took a deep breath. ‘I can’t make long flowery speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, I could talk about it more, but with me what you see is what you get.’ I laid her hand against my cheek, covered it with mine. ‘Only you would have put up with me like you’ve done over the years, all that lecturing and criticising — even though it had absolutely no effect! Not that I’d want it any other way, you know I love you just as you are. There’s only one thing I want to change about you, and that is — I’d like you to become my wife.’
With my other hand, I brought the little box out of my pocket and flipped it open with my thumb. Her eyes widened as she saw the ring, diamonds encircling a large emerald. A tear spilled onto her cheek and I wiped it tenderly away.
‘This belonged to my mother, but if you don’t like it—’
‘Oh Mark, it’s perfect.’
I took the ring out of its box and slipped it onto her finger; a man giving a woman a token of his love, beside a memorial to another love, from another time.
Digestif
Hartfield, the following Christmas
~~EMMA~~
While Mark carved the turkey beside me, I studied the faces around the dining table. They were the same as last year, with the addition of George and Saffron. But in other respects this Christmas Day was completely different from the previous one.
