‘Yes, I suppose I am. But it’s not really like that, David. Please, try and understand-’ She broke off. She had hurt him profoundly and she could not bear it.

David extracted his hand from hers and moved it across his face. He felt horribly faint to a point of nausea and an intolerable pain moved across his chest. It seemed that his life was draining away. It was as if someone had suddenly snatched his hopes and dreams and the promise of the future from his grasp. But he knew what Emma said was indeed true. He knew, too, that she would not change her mind, just as his mother would not.

David leapt up and paced in front of the fire. Finally, after a few minutes, he stopped and turned to Emma, staring at her. ‘Is that your last word?’ he asked so quietly she could scarcely hear him.

‘Yes, David. I’m sorry, but I can’t destroy your mother.’

‘I understand, Emma. You must excuse me. I have to leave. Sorry about the dinner, but I seem to have lost my appetite.’ He strode out before she could see the tears swimming in his eyes.

Emma stood up swiftly. ‘David! Wait! Please wait!’ The door slammed behind him and she was alone. She gazed at the door for a long moment and then picked up the sketches and placed them in the cupboard. Vaguely she thought of the dinner spoiling in the oven, but such intense feelings of dejection and misery overcame her she did not have the strength to remove the food. Her thoughts centred on David and not on herself, for unconsciously she had always known their relationship was doomed. They could be friends and business partners, but that was all. She had spent enough time with Janessa Kallinski to understand that David’s mother would not tolerate anything else. Emma sat for a long time looking into the empty room and David’s face swam before her. She would never forget that awful look of hurt on his face as long as she lived.

About an hour later Emma was roused from her stupor by a loud banging on the door. David had come back! She flew out into the small hallway, her heart leaping, his name on her lips. She flung open the door with eagerness and found herself staring into the bulbous face of Gerald Fairley.

Emma was so dumbfounded she momentarily lost all power of speech. But immediately her hand tightened on the knob and she stiffened, alerted for trouble. She tried to close the door but he had anticipated her. He pushed himself inside and closed the door firmly behind him.

Emma found her voice. ‘What do you want?’ she asked coldly. How had he managed to find her?

Gerald grinned. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in, Emma?’ he asked.

‘No. I have nothing to say to you. Please leave immediately,’ she said, summoning all of her courage and adopting her iciest tone.

Gerald, after all the years of gorging himself, was revolting in his incredible obesity, a mountain of flesh and powerfully strong. There was a derisive expression on his blubbery face. ‘Not on your life! I have a few words to say to you, Mrs Harte,’ he exlaimed with disdain.

‘I repeat, I have nothing to say to you. Please leave.’

‘Where’s the child?’ countered Gerald, his sly eyes full of malicious intent.

‘What child?’ said Emma coolly, but her legs shook and she longed for help, for David to return.

Gerald laughed in her face. ‘Come on, don’t give me that! I know you had Edwin’s child. There’s no use denying it. He confessed it to me this weekend. You see, I told him I had found you. Quite by accident, of course, since I wasn’t looking for you. The silly fool wanted to come and see you, wanted to help you and his child. But I couldn’t permit that.’ Gerald brought his bloated face closer. Emma drew back against the wall, hardly breathing. Gerald smiled. ‘It’s a small world, Emma. We bought Thompson’s mill last week. Imagine my surprise when I saw your name on the old books. You used to work there as a weaver, before you came up in the world. Went into trade, I see,’ he said disparagingly. ‘Now, where’s the baby?’

‘I did not have a child,’ Emma insisted, clenching her hands by her sides.

‘Don’t lie to me. It would be very easy for me to check it out. Remember one thing, Mrs Harte. I have money and power. I can go to the local hospital-St Mary’s, isn’t it?-and after a few pounds have changed hands in the right quarters I can look at the records any time I want.’

Emma’s heart sank. She knew he spoke the truth. Despite this, she was determined not to admit anything. ‘I did not have a child,’ she repeated, her gaze unflickering.

‘Oh, come on, Emma, tie one on the other leg and pull it. Edwin wouldn’t confess such a thing if it were not true, especially since he is about to become engaged to Lady Jane Stansby.’ Gerald grabbed her arm. ‘I have the feeling you might use this child to blackmail Edwin later. That’s common practice with tramps from the working class. But I aim to circumvent that. The Fairleys cannot afford a scandal. So come on, out with it. Where’s the little bastard? And was it a girl or a boy?’

Emma glared at him. ‘I told you, I did not have Edwin’s child,’ she said harshly, and her eyes blazed with intense hatred. She pulled her arm away. ‘And if you ever lay a finger on me again, Gerald Fairley, I will kill you!’

He laughed and then his eyes shifted to the stairs illuminated by the dim glow from the bedroom lamp. He shoved her out of the way abruptly and bounded up the steps. Emma recovered her balance and flew up after him. ‘How dare you push your way into my home! I shall go and fetch the police!’ she cried.

Gerald had disappeared into the bedroom, and when Emma hurried in she found him pulling out drawers and flinging their contents all over the room. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she shouted, shaking with rage.

‘Looking for some evidence of the child you say you never had. I want to know where it is and who has it. I want to get to the bottom of this before you can cause any trouble.’

Emma stood rigidly still in the middle of the room, and her eyes held a dangerous gleam. Gerald Fairley was a bumbling fool. He would find nothing here that would lead him to Edwina.

Gerald turned, glaring, his great body swaying hideously as he lumbered across the floor. He grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her with such violence her head flew backwards and forwards. ‘Bitch! You’re nothing but a whoring bitch! Out with it! Where’s the child?’

Spots of bright colour stained her pale cheeks, but nasty insinuations slid over her, leaving no real impression, for Gerald Fairley was beneath her scorn. ‘There is no child,’ Emma said through gritted teeth. ‘And let go of me, you foul monstrosity.’

Gerald continued to shake her harder than ever, his huge hands biting into her shoulders until she winced with pain. Suddenly he released her unexpectedly and threw her from him so forcibly Emma staggered and fell back on to the bed.

Gerald took in the richness of her tumbling hair, her ravishing face, the provocativeness of her shapely figure, and something stirred in him. He began to laugh as he eyed her lasciviously. ‘How about a little of what you so willingly gave to my baby brother, Emma Harte? Women like you are usually ready for it any time of day or night. How about a bit of loving, Mrs Harte? Edwin always did have a sharp eye for a looker. I don’t mind baby brother’s leavings.’

Emma gaped at him, so stupefied she found she was paralysed. He advanced towards her and she saw, to her revulsion, that he was unbuttoning his trousers. She shrank back against the pillows, and then she tried to scramble off the bed. But it was too late. He was on her, his great weight crushing her back. He struggled with her skirt, attempting to lift it. Emma began to kick her legs, and Gerald grinned, holding her down with one arm. His face drew closer and he lowered his lips to her face. Emma moved her head from side to side, fighting with him, pushing him off, but although she was physically strong he was too much for her. He began to roll on top of her, grunting and moaning, pressing his horrendous body against hers, trying to pull up her skirts, without success, for he was hampered by his enormous weight. The grunting and the moaning and the rolling became more violent and then, with a final shudder, he went limp next to her and lay back on the bed depleted. Emma pushed herself up and sprang on to the floor, her breath coming in short, rapid pants. As she moved away from him her hand caught the side of her dress. It was horribly wet. A feeling of repugnance rose up in her throat, and she thought she would vomit. She flew to the tangled mass of clothes and linens scattered on the floor and grabbed a towel. She wiped her dress clean and then leapt to the sewing table. Her fingers curled around the scissors and she picked them up, and swung on Gerald, her eyes filled with murderous lights.