Emma looked at Joe, surprised at his harsh words and the sarcastic edge to his voice. Normally she disregarded his taunts, but now she could not help saying angrily, ‘You make me sound ruthless and hard. And I’m not. I’m simply a good businesswoman. Furthermore, nobody has ever handed me anything on a plate. I’ve had to work like a dog for everything I own, Joe.’

‘I can’t deny that. Work is your consuming passion, though, isn’t it?’ His eyes were as hard as pebbles, and condemning.

Emma sighed. She began to shuffle her papers, impatient for him to leave and in no mood to joust. ‘Why are you in town so early this morning?’ she asked gently, changing the subject.

‘I’m going to the office. I’m behind with some of the ledgers for the properties,’ he said offhandedly, and stood up. ‘Then I’m meeting Blackie for lunch at the Metropole. I want to talk to him about putting new roofing on the tannery and reinforcing the top floor. He’s been too overwhelmed with building contracts to attend to the work before now, but both jobs are long overdue.’

‘Give him my love and tell him I’ll come to see Laura on Sunday.’ Emma’s face changed, softening as she spoke of her friend. ‘I’m worried about Laura, Joe. She hasn’t seemed at all strong since the last miscarriage. She needs building up. I wish there was something I could do to-’

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Joe exclaimed. ‘That’s Blackie’s problem. He should exercise a little self-control and stop getting her-’ He bit off his sentence, flushing.

‘In the family way,’ Emma finished for him with chilly disdain. ‘Look who’s talking!’

Joe dismissed this dig with a wave of his hand, although his flush deepened. ‘Besides, you do enough for Laura as it is, Emma. Why, the way you dote on that woman anybody would think she’s a member of the family.’

‘She is!’ Emma snapped. ‘She’s like my sister, my dearest friend. I would do anything for Laura. Anything in this world.’

‘That I know!’ He strode to the door. ‘I’ll see you at home, Emma. Bye.’

‘Goodbye, Joe.’

After he had left, Emma stared at the door he had so harshly banged behind him, shaking her head. He’s got a bee in his bonnet this morning, she thought wearily. She did not have time to worry about Joe and his infantile bursts of petulance. She picked up the ledgers and carried them to the safe where she always kept them and locked them away securely. She walked back to her desk, a spring in her step, her head held high. She was about to become a millowner and stick a knife in Gerald Fairley’s back at the same time. She laughed aloud. The idea of being able to enhance her business enterprises whilst damaging the Fairleys appealed to her sense of irony. She looked at the photograph of her eight-year-old daughter reposing in a silver frame on her desk. ‘That’s called poetic justice, Edwina,’ she said to the photograph. ‘Justice for both of us. And it’s just the beginning.’

Emma rested her head against the chair. Once again she contemplated the war, endeavouring to gauge the effect it would have on commerce and industry. Her considered reflections prompted her to make a sudden decision. She would definitely discontinue selling certain types of merchandise to other retailers. She was undoubtedly going to need most of the warehouse stock for Harte’s in time, and she had no alternative but curtail the activities of the two remaining commercial travellers to a degree, and enforce limitations on their supplies. She began to selectively tick off the goods she could readily dispose of in her own store. Good old Gregson’s, she muttered under her breath. It’s the best investment I ever made.

And indeed it was. In 1910, a few months after her marriage to Joe, Emma had learned that the Gregson Warehouse, a wholesale company acting as the middleman between the manufacturers and the retailers was in in trouble and up for sale for a song.

Emma wanted it. More accurately, she craved it passionately. And she determined to have it, recognizing its enormous potential as a moneymaker of no mean proportions. It was also the vehicle she had been seeking, one that would enable her to implement two of her most potent schemes-rapid expansion for a small investment and volume buying from the manufacturers to obtain quality merchandise at low prices. She purchased Gregson’s for two thousand pounds and, with her own brand of initiative and expediency, smartly divested herself of its dated and second-rate goods with lightning speed. Her technique was simple but foolproof. She slashed prices drastically and sold everything to local stores that were in constant need of bargains for their semi-annual sales.

As she had shrewdly suspected, she actually made money from the stocks. With this money, and by persuading the manufacturers to give her extended credit, she bought in bulk. Some of the smaller clothing manufacturers even began to produce solely for her; consequently much of her merchandise was exclusive as well as reasonably priced. Utilizing the services of four veteran commercial travellers, who worked on a commission basis, she then became a wholesale vendor to retailers in London, Scotland, and Lancashire. Emma was also now in the enviable position of being able to stock her own three shops at no cost to herself, and by cannily supplying stores located in distant areas she kept her wares select and suffered no competition.

Early in 1911, when Gregson’s was operating smoothly, Emma had asked Joe to sell her the three shops she rented from him and the other five he owned. He had not wanted to sell to her, even though she had offered him five thousand pounds. Since he received a trifling annual income of fifty pounds from each shop, she had pointedly remarked he was making an immediate profit, and from his own wife.

‘I don’t want to make a profit at all,’ Joe had rejoined defensively, going on to grouse that he was disinclined to sell, preferring the income.

‘But I’m willing to give you the equivalent of ten years’ rent for each shop, plus an extra thousand pounds,’ Emma had cried, on the verge of losing her temper.

Joe was adamant, being reluctant to diminish his property holdings. But as a compromise, and in order to restore tranquillity to their home life and appease her, he had suggested she could rent the five other shops, leaving ownership in his hands. This was a lacklustre alternative to Emma, who had her own motives for wanting the shops, and she flatly refused to consider the proposition.

The deadlock was broken by Frederick Ainsley, who, to Emma’s surprise, became her champion and backed her unstintingly. His remarkably persuasive talents and smooth tongue were fortunately not altogether lost on the recalcitrant Joe. ‘It is only because of Emma’s unflagging work that the three shops are such a success. They were failures and vacant half the time before she rented them from you, Joe,’ Ainsley had adroitly pointed out. ‘Under the circumstances, don’t you think she deserves to own what she has so assiduously built up? It’s her investment for the future. And what do you have to lose, Joe, my boy? She’s prepared to pay an excellent price, one that more than recompenses you for the income you would receive, whilst relieving you of the burden of maintenance and repairs. Do be a good chap and at least consider selling her the eight shops, Joe. It’s to your advantage. That five thousand could easily be invested in something more lucrative.’

Privately, Frederick Ainsley had expressed surprise that Joe had not offered to give her the deeds to the shops. ‘As a wedding present, perhaps,’ the courtly solicitor had gallantly murmured. He was much taken with Emma, being aware of her superior brain and her business acumen. Skill with finances and nerve to gamble were a redoubtable combination in his eyes. They added up to business genius.

Emma had shaken her head vigorously. ‘No! I want to buy them from him. Then I know they’re really mine and no one can ever dispute the fact!’ she had cried.