Emma's Wedding Page 7

  He didn’t wait for her to answer.

  As she closed the door she decided that it would be most ungracious to refuse his invitation since he had been so kind.

  She went to bed and slept soundly and set off once more on her fruitless search for work in the morning, to return home to the pleasant prospect of dinner with Dr van Dyke.

  Aware that she had hardly looked her best on the previous evening, she took pains with her appearance. The evenings were cool now, so she got into a dress and jacket in a soft uncrushable material. It was a subdued silvery green which made the most of her hair, which she had twisted into an old-fashioned bun at the nape of her neck. ‘Out-of-date but respectable,’ she told Percy, who was sitting on the bed watching her dressing.

  Dr van Dyke was waiting for her, studying the board outside the restaurant. His ‘Hello,’ was briskly friendly. ‘I see we’re in luck; there’s lobster on the menu.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Emma breathlessly. ‘I’ve brought Percy—you said…’

  ‘All arranged. Let’s go in; I’m famished.’

  The lobster was delicious, served simply on a bed of lettuce with a Caesar salad. They talked as they ate, unhurriedly. The place was almost empty and would close for the winter in a few days’ time. Peach Melba followed, and a pot of coffee which was renewed while they talked. As for Percy, sitting silently under the table, he had a bowl of water and, quite contrary to the house rules, a plate of biscuits.

  It was well after ten o’clock when they left. Walking back to the cottage, Dr van Dyke glanced at Emma in the semi-darkness of the little quay. His plans had become reality. It was now a question of convincing Emma that they were both practical and sensible. No hint of his feelings for her must be allowed to show. This would be a businesslike arrangement with no strings attached. Now it was merely a matter of waiting for the right moment.

  He unlocked the cottage door, switched on the lights, bade Percy goodnight and listened gravely to her little speech of thanks.

  ‘It is I who thank you, Emma. Lobster is something one should never eat alone and I have much enjoyed your company.’

  ‘I’ve never been compared with a lobster before,’ said Emma tartly.

  ‘I wouldn’t presume to compare you with anyone or anything, Emma. Sleep soundly.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’ As he turned away she asked, ‘When do you go back to Holland?’

  ‘Very soon now. Goodnight, Emma.’

  Not a very satisfactory answer.

  The doctor had kindly Fate on his side; two evenings later the lifeboat was called out to go to the aid of a yacht off Prawle Point. He had just sat down to his supper when the maroon sounded and within ten minutes he was in oilskins and heavy boots, putting to sea with the rest of the crew. It was a stormy evening, with squalls of heavy rain and a strong wind. This was something he would miss, he reflected, taking up his station. When he had first come to Salcombe a crew member had fallen ill; he had volunteered to take his place and been accepted as a man who could be useful when the need arose.

  Two hours later they were back in harbour, the yacht in tow, its crew led away to the Harbour Master’s office for warm drinks and plans for the night. Half an hour later the doctor said goodnight and went out into the narrow lane behind the boat house. He glanced along Victoria Quay as he reached it and then lengthened his stride. Emma and Percy were just turning into the cottage gate.

  She was at the door when he reached the cottage.

  She saw him then, and waited at the door until he reached her, took the key from her hand, opened the door and switched on the light. She saw him clearly then: wet hair, an old pullover.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, and then ‘You were in the lifeboat…?’

  ‘Yes, I was on the way home when I saw you both.’

  ‘I went up to the boat house to see if there was anything I could do. You’re all safe?’ When he nodded, she added, ‘Would you like a hot drink? Cocoa?’

  That was a drink he associated with his childhood, gulped down under Nanny’s sharp eye. ‘That would be most welcome. The weather’s pretty rough outside the estuary.’

  The little room looked cosy and smelled strongly of furniture polish. Indeed, looking round him, he could see that everything gleamed as though waiting for a special occasion, and in one corner there was a small box neatly packed with books.

  Emma came back presently, with the cocoa and a tin of biscuits, and he studied her face narrowly as he got up. She looked sad, but not tearfully so, and there was a kind of quiet acceptance in her face. He had seen that look many times before on a patient’s face when they had been confronted with a doubtful future.

  He sipped his cocoa, pronounced it delicious, and asked, carefully casual, ‘Have you heard from your mother? She plans to return soon?’

  ‘They will be coming next week—on Wednesday.’

  ‘And you? You have plans?’

  ‘I’ll find a job.’

  ‘For some time now,’ said the doctor casually, ‘I have been badgered by my secretary in Holland to find someone to give her a helping hand. She does have too much to do, and when I return there will be even more work. It has occurred to me that perhaps you would consider working for her? It is rather a menial job: filing letters and running errands and dealing with phone calls if she is engaged. She is a fierce lady but she has a heart of gold. She speaks English, of course. The money won’t be much but there’s a room in the house where she lives which I think you could afford.’ He added, ‘A temporary measure, of course, just to tide you over.’

  ‘You’re offering me a job in Holland? When?’

  ‘As from the middle of next week. Should you consider accepting, we could leave on the day your mother returns here, so that you could spend some time with her. I plan to go over to Holland on the late-night ferry from Harwich. We wouldn’t need to leave here before five o’clock.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Emma. ‘I won’t leave Percy.’

  ‘He can come with us; there’s time to deal with the formalities. Do you have a passport? And do you drive a car?’

  ‘Yes, to both.’ She put down her mug. ‘You do mean it, don’t you?’

  He said evenly, ‘Yes, I mean it, Emma. You would be doing Juffrouw Smit a good turn and save me hunting around for someone when I get home.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Near Amsterdam. My rooms are in the city, as are the hospitals where I work. You would live in Amsterdam itself.’

  He put down his mug, lifted a somnolent Percy off his knee and got up.

  ‘It’s late. Think about it and let me know in the morning.’ And as she went to open the door he said again, ‘The cocoa was so delicious.’ He smiled down at her bewildered face. ‘Sleep well.’

  And strangely enough she did, and woke in the morning with her mind made up. Here was her opportunity to make a life for herself. Moreover, it meant that she would still see Dr van Dyke from time to time. He was kind and thoughtful, he liked dogs and children, and he had offered her a job…

  ‘It’s a pity that I don’t appeal to him as a woman,’ said Emma to Percy. ‘It’s my hair, of course, and bawling my eyes out all over him.’

  She would have to let him know and without waste of time. But first she made sure that she had her passport, and then she sat down to tot up her money. She would leave half of it in the bank and take the rest with her; she might not be paid for a month and she would have to live until then.

  It wasn’t much but it would give her security, and she would arrange with the bank that her mother could use the money there. She would have to bear in mind that her mother and her friend might agree to part later on, in which case she would have to return. But there was no point in thinking about that; her mother had been quite positive about her plans and made it clear that Emma had no part in them.

  The doctor’s surgeries would be over by eleven o’clock; she went to the medical centre and waited until the last patient had gone and then knocked
on Dr van Dyke’s door. He was sitting at his desk but he got up as she went in.

  ‘Emma—sit down.’ When she did, he sat back in his chair again. ‘And what have you decided?’

  ‘When I went to bed last night,’ said Emma carefully, ‘I decided to make up my mind this morning—think about it before I went to sleep. Only I went to sleep first, and when I woke up this morning my mind had made itself up. If you think I could do the job you offered me, I’d like to accept.’

  ‘Good. Now, as to details: you will work from eight o’clock in the morning until five in the afternoon. An hour and a half for lunch at noon, half an hour for tea at half past three. You must be prepared to turn your hand to anything which Juffrouw Smit or I ask of you. You will be free on Saturday and Sunday, although if the occasion should arise you might need to work on either of those two days. You will be paid weekly.’ He named a sum in guilders and then changed it into English pounds. It seemed a generous amount, and when she looked questioningly at him, he said, ‘It’s the going rate for a job such as yours, and you will earn it. Juffrouw Smit expects the best. Do you still want to come?’

  He was friendly, but he was brisk too. This was a businesslike meeting, she reminded herself. She said quietly, ‘Yes, I still want to come. If you will tell me where to go and when…’

  ‘You will go over to Holland with me. You will need your passport, of course, not too much luggage—and Percy. You will perhaps let your mother know that we will leave in the late afternoon on Wednesday, so that she can arrange to be here before you leave? You are quite sure that is what she wants?’

  ‘Yes. She—she has never been happy living here with me, but I think she will settle down with her friend. They like the same things: bridge and driving around the country and being able to go back to Richmond when they want to. And if it doesn’t turn out as they hoped, then I’ll come back here…’

  ‘Just so,’ agreed the doctor. If he had a hand in it that would be the last thing his darling Emma would do.

  He said smoothly, ‘Shall we settle some of the details? I’ll see about Percy and arrange the journey. I’ll come down to the cottage at five o’clock on Wednesday. It will be quite a long drive and we shan’t get to Amsterdam until well after midnight. Will you have much luggage?’

  ‘A case and a shoulder bag.’

  Going home presently, she thought how coolly businesslike he had been. Since he was to be her employer, perhaps that was a good thing. She took Percy for a brisk walk and set about the task of sorting out her clothes. She wouldn’t need much; she doubted if she would have much social life…

  Her tweed jacket and skirt, the cashmere twin-set, a grey jersey dress which she thought might do for her work, another skirt—jersey again because it could be squeezed into a corner without creasing—blouses and a thin sweater, and, as a concession to the social life she didn’t expect, a sapphire-blue dress which could be folded into almost nothing and remained bandbox-fresh. ‘Shoes,’ said Emma to a watchful Percy. ‘And I’ll wear my winter coat and cram in a raincoat, gloves, handbag, undies and dressing gown…’

  She laid everything out on the bed in her mother’s bedroom and, being a sensible girl, sat down and wrote out all the things she had to do before Wednesday.

  There was a letter from her mother in the morning. She and Mrs Riddley would arrive during the morning on Wednesday.

  We shall spend the night on the way, and get to you in good time for coffee. Just a light lunch will do because we shall eat out in the evening. I expect you have arranged everything; I’m sure that by now you must have found just the kind of job you would like. Far be it from me to stand in the way of your ambition…

  Emma put down the letter. She loved her mother, and she hoped that her mother loved her, but that lady had a way of twisting circumstances to suit herself, ignoring the fact that those same circumstances might not suit anyone else. Emma had known that since she was a small girl and had accepted it; her mother had been a very pretty woman, and charming, and Emma had grown up taking it for granted that she must be shielded from worry or unpleasantness. There had been little of either until her father had died, and she didn’t blame her mother for wishing her former carefree life to continue.

  She went the next day to say goodbye to Miss Johnson and Phoebe. Miss Johnson wished her well and told her to be sure and visit the splendid museums in Amsterdam, and Phoebe looked at her with envy.

  ‘Lucky you, going to work for Dr van Dyke. What wouldn’t I give to be in your shoes? Going for keeps or coming back here later?’

  ‘I’m not going for keeps,’ said Emma, ‘and I dare say I’ll come back later on.’

  She met Mrs Craig the next day.

  ‘My dear Emma, the very person I want to see. I had a card from your mother. How excited you must be. It’s good news that she is going to stay in Salcombe—bringing a friend with her, she tells me.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘The cottage is rather small for three of you…’

  ‘I won’t be here,’ said Emma. ‘I’m going to work for Dr van Dyke when he goes back to Amsterdam. At least, I shall be working with his secretary. I’m to have lodgings with her. I’ve been working at the medical centre and I liked the work. It would have been difficult fitting three of us into the cottage, as you say.’

  ‘Your mother will miss you.’

  ‘Her friend is delighted to take my place—they have known each other since schooldays. She’s very much looking forward to being here and meeting you and Mother’s other friends.’

  Mrs Craig studied Emma’s face. There was no sign of worry or annoyance on it, all the same she didn’t sound quite right.

  Emma bade her a cheerful goodbye and hurried home to take Percy for his walk. He was becoming quite handsome, with a gleaming coat, melting brown eyes and a long feathery tail. Only his ears were on the large side, and she suspected that he wasn’t going to grow much larger. She had told him that he was going to live in another country with her and he had wagged his tail in a pleased fashion. This was only to be expected, considering the doubtful life he had been leading in Salcombe.

  Her mother and Mrs Riddley arrived in a flurry of greetings and embracing and gentle grumbling because they’d had to leave the car by the pub and there was no one to carry their luggage.

  ‘Do find someone, darling,’ said Mrs Dawson plaintively. ‘And I quite forgot to ask you to find someone to clean the place for us.’

  Emma accepted the car keys. ‘Well, it’s a bit late for me to do anything about that now,’ she said cheerfully, ‘but there are plenty of adverts in the newsagent’s. I’ll see what I can do about your luggage. Don’t let Percy out of the gate, will you?’

  ‘Such an ugly little dog,’ said Mrs Riddley. ‘But of course you’ll take him with you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma. ‘We shall be gone this afternoon.’

  She didn’t like Mrs Riddley. Emma had heard of her from her mother from time to time but they had never met, though she could quite see that she would be an ideal companion for her mother. Another one skimming over the surface of life, making light of anything serious or unpleasant, being fashionable and excellent company; her mother would be happy with her.

  The odd-job man at the pub helped with the luggage and Emma lugged it upstairs. She left the two ladies to begin their unpacking while she got the lunch, and over that meal she listened to their plans and intentions.

  ‘We two old ladies intend to keep each other company while you go off and enjoy yourself. You’re only young once, Emma. How wise of you to decide to see something of the world.’

  Just as though I had planned the whole thing, reflected Emma. She felt bitterly hurt at her mother’s bland acceptance of her leaving home, and felt as guilty as though she had actually arranged the whole thing herself. But there was no doubt that her mother was happy; she had convinced herself that Emma was pleasing herself, and beyond saying that it was so fortunate that Emma was going to work for someone she already knew she didn’t want to kn
ow about the job itself.

  After lunch Mrs Dawson said, ‘You must tell me what you have done about the bank account. Dear Alice will see to the bills, since she is living here rent-free, but I must contribute towards the housekeeping, I suppose, and that will leave me almost penniless.’

  ‘There’s an account in your name at the bank. I’ve put in all the money I’ve earned except for the last two weeks’ wages. I don’t know what expenses I’ll have until I’ve been in Amsterdam for a while and I won’t get paid until the end of the month.’

  ‘A good salary? You’ll be able to help me out if I get short, darling?’

  ‘Don’t depend on that, mother. I shan’t be earning much and I’ll have to pay for food and lodgings.’

  Her mother pouted. ‘Oh, well, I suppose I’ll just have to manage as best I can. Your father would turn in his grave, Emma…’

  Emma didn’t speak because she was swallowing tears. But presently she said, ‘I must take Percy for a walk. I’ll prepare tea when I come back.’

  She took quite a long walk: round the end of Victoria Quay and round the back of the town and back through the main street. She wasn’t sure when she would see it again, with its small shops and the friendly people in them. She waved to the butcher as she went past, and even the cross-faced woman at the bakery smiled.

  They had finished their tea and Emma had washed up and put everything ready for the morning when Dr van Dyke came.

  She introduced him, and she could see that the two ladies were impressed. He looked—she sought for words—respectable, and he said all the right things. But he didn’t waste time; he told her that they must leave and made his goodbyes with the beautiful manners which her mother and Mrs Riddley obviously admired.

  And then it was her turn to make her farewells, sent on her way with cheerful hopes that she would have a lovely time and to be sure and send a card when she had time. ‘And don’t forget your poor old mother,’ said Mrs Dawson in a wispier voice than usual—which sent Emma out of the door feeling that she was an uncaring daughter deserting her mother.