Emma's Wedding Read online

  There were a lot of patients, and Dr Walters was far too busy to do more than glance at her. Confident that she looked exactly as usual, she ushered patients in and out, found notes and made herself generally useful. Only to come face to face with Dr van Dyke.

  She tried sidling past him and found her arm gently held.

  ‘So you will be leaving us, Emma. Dr Walters is sorry to see you go, but I dare say you will be glad of more leisure?’

  ‘Oh, I shall, I shall… I can’t stop. Dr Walters wants some notes.’

  He took his hand away and she skipped off to hide behind a cupboard door until he had gone. The less she saw of him the better, she told herself, and knew that that wasn’t true. But he would be gone in a few weeks and she would forget him.

  The week went too rapidly, and her last day came. She said goodbye to everyone—everyone except Dr van Dyke, who had gone across the estuary to East Portlemouth to deliver a baby.

  ‘You’re bound to see him around the town before he leaves,’ observed Dr Walters. ‘We shall miss him, but of course he wants to go back to his own practice, and naturally we shall all be glad to see Dr Finn back again. Probably he will bring back a number of new ideas from the States.’

  There was a letter from her mother when she got home; she wouldn’t be coming home for the next week or so, she wrote.

  And Alice Riddley—remember her, my old school-friend—has made an exciting suggestion to me, but I will let you know more about that later, when we have discussed it thoroughly. I’m sure you are enjoying yourself without your tiresome old mother to look after. Make lots of young friends, Emma, and buy yourself some pretty dresses. You can afford them now that I’m not at home to buy food for.

  Emma folded the letter carefully. Why was it that her mother always made her feel guilty? As for new clothes, every penny would need to be hoarded until she had more work. She would start looking on Monday…

  Mrs Craig stopped her after church on Sunday. ‘I have had a letter from your mother; she hints at all kinds of exciting happenings for the future. Do you know what she means, dear?’

  ‘No, I’ve no idea, Mrs Craig. She mentioned that she would have something to tell me later, but I’ve no idea what it is. She won’t be coming home for another week or two.’

  ‘You’re not lonely, Emma?’

  ‘Not a bit; the days are never long enough…’

  A pity she couldn’t say the same of the nights. Why is it, she wondered, that one’s brain is needle-sharp around three o’clock in the morning, allowing one to make impossible plans, do complicated mental arithmetic and see the future in a pessimistic light?

  She started her job-hunting on the Monday. The season was coming to an end, temporary jobs would finish very soon, and since so many of the shops would shut until the spring there was no question of them taking on more staff. The holiday cottages to rent would lock their doors and the few for winter-letting were maintained by their owners.

  After several days Emma realised that she would have to go to Kingsbridge and find work there. It would mean a daily bus ride, and not much leisure, but if she could find something full-time that would see them through the winter. There was a large supermarket there which sounded promising…

  She had seen nothing of Dr van Dyke. Perhaps he had already left, she wondered, and found the thought depressed her. He might not have liked her but she would have liked to have known him better. And he had been very kind about Derek.

  She went to the library on Thursday evening, and as they packed up Miss Johnson called her over. ‘After this week we shall be closing down the evening session and I’m afraid there won’t be enough work for you to continue, Emma. We shall be sorry to let you go but there wouldn’t be anything for you to do. If you would come on Tuesday evening and help us go through the shelves and generally tidy up…’

  Emma found her voice. It didn’t sound quite like hers but at least it was steady. ‘I shall miss working here. Perhaps I could come back next year? And of course I’ll come on Tuesday.’ She said goodnight, called a cheerful greeting to Phoebe and went home.

  This was something she hadn’t foreseen. The money from the library wasn’t enough to live on, but it would have helped to eke out her savings until she was working again. This time she didn’t cry; she hadn’t time for that. She would have to plan for the next few weeks, pay one or two outstanding bills, think up some cheap menus. At least she had only herself to think about.

  She was getting into bed much later when she heard a faint whine. It sounded as though it was coming from the front garden and she went downstairs to have a look, opening the door cautiously, forgetful that she was in her nightie and with bare feet.

  There was a very small dog peering at her through the closed gate, and she went at once to open it. The cottage next door was empty of visitors so there was no one about. The dog crept past her and slid into the cottage, its tail between its legs, shivering.

  Emma fetched a bowl of bread and milk and watched the little beast wolf it down. It was woefully thin, its coat bedraggled, and there was a cut over one eye. There was no question of sending it on its way. She fetched an old towel and rubbed the skinny little body while the dog shivered and shook under her gentle hands.

  ‘More bread and milk?’ said Emma. ‘And a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow I shall give you a good wash. I always wanted a dog and it seems I’m meant to have one.’

  She carried him upstairs to bed then, wrapped in a towel, and he fell asleep before she had turned out the light. She went to sleep too, quite forgetful of the fact that she was out of work and, worse, was never going to see Dr van Dyke again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS raining when she woke up in the early morning and the little dog was still asleep, wrapped in the towel. But he opened frightened eyes the moment she moved and cowered away from her hand.

  ‘My poor dear,’ said Emma. ‘Don’t be frightened. You’re going to live here and turn into a handsome dog, and in any case this is no weather to turn you out into the street.’

  He pricked up his ears at her voice and wagged a wispy tail, and presently, rendered bold by the promise of breakfast, went cautiously downstairs with her.

  She had intended job-hunting directly after breakfast, but that would have to wait for a while. Full of a good breakfast, the dog accepted her efforts to clean him up, sitting on his towel in the little kitchen, being washed and dried and gently brushed. When she had finished he looked more like a dog, and cautiously licked her hand as she cleaned the wound over his eye. By that time it was mid-morning and he was ready for another meal…

  Emma found an old blanket, arranged it in one of the chairs, and with the aid of a biscuit urged him into it.

  ‘I’m going out,’ she told him. ‘You need food and so do I.’

  A marrow bone was added to the sausages for her own lunch, suitable dog food and dog biscuits and, in one of the small shops which sold everything, a collar and lead. She went back in the rain and found him asleep, but he instantly awoke when she went in, cowering down into the blanket.

  She gave him another biscuit and told him that he was a brave boy, then fastened the collar round his scrawny neck and went into the garden with him and waited patiently while he pottered among the flowerbeds and then sped back indoors.

  ‘Time for another meal,’ said Emma, and opened a tin. Since he was still so frightened and cowed she stayed home for the rest of the day, and was rewarded by the lessening of his cringing fear and his obvious pleasure in his food. By bedtime he was quite ready to go upstairs with her and curl up on her feet in bed, anxious to please, looking at her with large brown eyes.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she told him, ‘I must go looking for work, but you’ll be safe here and we will go for a little walk together and you’ll learn to be a dog again. I have no doubt that before long you will be a very handsome dog.’

  The rain had stopped by morning. The dog went timidly into the garden, ate his breakfast and settled do
wn on his blanket.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Emma told him, and went into the town to buy the local paper. There weren’t many jobs going, and the two she went after had already been taken. She went home dispirited, to be instantly cheered by the dog’s delight at seeing her again.

  ‘Something will turn up,’ she told him, watching him eat a splendid dinner. ‘You’ll bring me luck. You must have a name…’ She considered that for a minute or two. ‘Percy,’ she told him.

  She took him for a short walk later, trotting beside her on his lead, but he was quickly tired so she picked him up and carried him home.

  And it seemed as though he was bringing her luck for there were two jobs in the newsagent’s window the next day. She wrote down their addresses and went home to write to them. She wasn’t sure what a ‘general assistant’ in one of the hotel’s kitchens might mean, but the hotel would be open all winter. And the second job was part-time at an antiques shop at the end of an alley leading off Main Street. She was tempted to call there instead of writing, but that might lessen her chances of getting the job.

  She posted her letters, saw to Percy’s needs, had her supper and went to bed, confident that the morning would bring good news.

  It brought another letter from her mother, a lengthy one, and Emma wondered at her Mother’s opening words. ‘At last you will be free to live your own life, Emma.’

  Emma put down her teacup and started to read and when she had read it, she read it again. Her mother and her old schoolfriend had come to a decision; they would share life together.

  We shall live at the cottage, but since she has a car we can go to Richmond, where she will keep her flat, whenever we want a change. I’m sure you will agree with me that this is an excellent idea, and since I shall be providing a home for her she will pay all expenses. So, Emma, you will be free to do whatever you like. Of course we shall love to see you as often as you like to come. Such a pity that there are only two bedrooms, but when we go to Richmond you can use the cottage.

  Emma drank her cooling tea. She had no job, she had received her very last pay from Miss Johnson, and now, it seemed, she was to have no home.

  ‘Well, things can’t get worse,’ said Emma, and offered the toast which she no longer wanted to Percy. ‘So things will get better. I’ll advertise in the paper for a live-in job where dogs are welcome.’

  Brave words! But Emma was sensible and practical as well. There was work for anyone who wanted it; it was just a question of finding it. Since her mother now didn’t intend to return for another week or so she had all the time in the world to go looking for it.

  There were no replies to her two letters, but there was still time for their answers. She didn’t give up her search, though, and filled in her days with turning Percy into a well-groomed, well-fed dog. He would never be handsome, and the scar over his eye had left a bald patch, but she considered that he was a credit to her. More than that, he helped her to get through the disappointing days.

  She had written to her mother, and it had been a difficult letter to write. That her mother had had no intention of upsetting her was obvious, but circumstances had arisen which would make it possible for her to live in comfort with a congenial companion and she had brushed aside any obstacles which might stand in her way. She had had no difficulty in persuading herself that Emma would be glad to be independent and she had written cheerfully to that effect, unconcerned as to how Emma would achieve that independence.

  It might take a little time, Emma had pointed out, before she could find work which would pay her enough to give her her independence, but no doubt that was something which had been considered in their plans and in any case Salcombe was still full of visitors. Which wasn’t quite true, but Emma had felt justified in saying so. The longer her mother delayed coming back to Salcombe the better were her chances of getting a job.

  The days went by. She went to Kingsbridge by bus and spent the day searching out agencies and scanning the adverts in the newspaper shops, and finally she tried the supermarket. No chance of work, she was told roundly. They were shedding seasonal staff, and if a vacancy occurred it would go to someone local.

  It was early evening by the time she got back and Percy was waiting impatiently. She fed him and took him for a walk, and went to get her own supper. Almost another week, she reflected. Unless something turns up tomorrow I shall have to write to Mother and tell her I can’t leave until I can find a job…

  She wasn’t hungry; Percy gobbled up most of her supper and went back to sleep on his blanket and she sat down to peruse the local paper. Work was getting scarce now that the season was almost over and there was nothing there for her. She sat in the darkening evening, doing nothing—for once her cheerful optimism had left her.

  Someone knocking on the door roused her and Percy gave a small squeaky bark, although he didn’t get off the blanket.

  Dr van Dyke was on the doorstep.

  Emma was conscious of the delight and relief she felt surge through her person at the sight of him—like finding a familiar tree in a wood in which she had been lost. She stood there looking at him, saying nothing at all.

  When he asked, ‘May I come in?’ she found her tongue.

  ‘Yes, of course. Did you want to see me about something?’

  He followed her into the living room and closed the door. He said coolly, ‘No, I was walking this way and it seemed a good idea to call and see how you are getting on.’ His eye fell on Percy. He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Yes. His name is Percy.’

  He bent to stroke Percy’s untidy head. ‘Your mother is not home?’

  ‘Mother’s away, staying with friends in Richmond. Won’t you sit down? Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  She must match his coolness with her own, she thought, and sat down composedly, facing him, forgetful of the table-lamp which highlighted her face.

  ‘What is the matter, Emma?’

  The question was unexpected, and she said far too quickly, ‘The matter? Why, nothing. Have you been busy at the medical centre?’

  ‘No more than usual. I asked you what is the matter, Emma?’

  He sounded kind and friendly in an impersonal way, but he watched her from under his heavy-lidded eyes. The weeks without a regular sight of her carroty topknot and their occasional brief meetings had made it plain to him that the strong attraction he felt for her had become something beyond his control; he had fallen in love with her.

  He smiled at her now and she looked away quickly. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I’m a bit disappointed at not finding another job, and the library doesn’t want me now that summer’s over…’

  When he remained silent, she said with barely concealed ill-humour, ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

  ‘You have no work, no money and you are lonely.’

  She said waspishly, ‘You’ve put it very clearly, and now, you know, I think you should go…’

  ‘You will feel better if you talk to someone, and I am here, am I not? What is more, I have the added advantage of leaving Salcombe in the very near future. After all, I am a good listener; that is something which my profession has taught me—and you need a pair of ears.’

  ‘Well, there is nothing to tell you,’ said Emma rather defiantly, and burst into tears.

  Dr van Dyke, by a great effort of will-power, stayed sitting in his chair. Much as he would have liked to take her into his arms, now was not the moment to show more than friendly sympathy, but presently he leaned across and stuffed his handkerchief into her hand and watched while she mopped her face, and blew her nose in an effort to return to her normal sensible manner. But her voice was a bit wobbly and she was twisting his handkerchief into a travesty of its snowy perfection.

  ‘Well,’ began Emma, and it all came tumbling out—not always in the right order, so that he had to sort out the details for himself. And when at last she had finished she muttered, ‘Sorry I’ve made such a fool of myself. I do think it would be better if you went now; I
am so ashamed of being such a cry-baby.’

  Already at the back of the doctor’s clever head a vague plan was taking shape. Far-fetched, almost for certain to be rejected by Emma, yet it was the obvious answer. To leave her to the uncertainties of her mother’s plans, workless and more or less penniless… It was something he would think over later, but for now he said cheerfully, ‘I’ll go if you want me to, but I think a cup of coffee would be nice first.’

  She jumped up. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. It won’t take long.’

  She went into the kitchen and laid a tray, and was putting the last few biscuits in the tin onto a plate when he followed, the dog at his heels.

  ‘This is a charming little house. I’ve often admired it from the outside, and it’s even nicer indoors. I like kitchens, don’t you?’ He glanced round him. She had left a cupboard door open and it looked empty; she was very likely not having quite enough to eat. He carried the tray back to the living room and sat for another half an hour, talking about nothing in particular, feeding a delighted Percy with some of his biscuit, taking care not to look at Emma’s tearstained face.

  ‘Wibeke wanted to know how you were,’ he told her. ‘They enjoyed their holiday here. The children have all got chicken pox now; she’s thankful that they’re all having it at the same time.’

  ‘They were dears, the children,’ said Emma, and smiled at last. ‘They must be such fun.’

  ‘They are.’ He got up to go. ‘Have dinner with me tomorrow evening and we’ll talk about them. Eight o’clock? Shall we see if the Gallery has any lobsters?’ And when she hesitated, he added, ‘I’m not asking you because I’m sorry for you, Emma, but a meal and a pleasant talk is a comfortable way to end an evening.’ He glanced at Percy. ‘I dare say we might be allowed to hide him under the table—the manager owes me; I stitched up his cut hand late one night.’